Gap

So there are 2,400 places on earth where everybody can buy the same pants. I'm sleeping at night. Why aren't you?

Perhaps you have Gap anxiety, a modern condition in which ubiquitous khaki and solid-colored separates trigger hives and a petty identity crisis. Maybe you still suffer from quaint delusions about being unique or having style and taste. It could be that you are appalled by the Gap's casual enlistment of dead cultural icons for their ad campaigns. You saw through their treacherously stylish attempt to rationalize banality as a matter of life imitating art. You are afraid that sci-fi writers got it all wrong and the next Millenium will be an eternal Casual Friday. You refuse to believe that neutral is a virtue.

I am here to reassure you. When it comes to Gap apparel, I am like the lab rat that gets fed 5 billion milligrams of saccharine just to see what happens. I say: "Buy that crisp stretch-cotton shirt. It's okay."

I am not so much a Gap apologist as a verbose impulse-shopper who really likes cheap simple clothes. My friends threaten intervention; my mind goes blank at the thought. I do have my issues with the Gap. (They stopped making size 5. They call petite lengths "ankle," as if tall people's pants end somewhere else.) But basically, from the Michigan Avenue flagship to mid-Missouri Gap outlet stores, if it has a clearance rack, it might as well be a crack house.

GAP. Those three lovely letters approach profundity as I contemplate the ranks of little square labels in my closet. It has a nice Zen connotation, a certain emptiness. Acceptance of the Gap–if not total oneness–lies within the word itself. Absence of fashion, absence of desire. In my next life, maybe I will be a more contemplative shopper.

After a while, the very simplicity makes it sound like a staple or an element, like water or wood. It makes other blatantly market-driven clothing lines sound crass. I could never stomach my closet if all my things were tri-colored and self-promoting like Tommy gear.

That is not to say that the Gap is inconspicuous. In fact, the Gap is bigger than all of us, and we must learn to accept it. It started out as an indie operation in San Francisco and became a global retail force. It is simply a matter of selling a product people want. Lots of people.

What half-assed romantic notion makes you think that in a world of 6 billion, you could be the only one who deserves your shirt? And as unofficial uniforms go–peasantwear, if you will–comfortable cotton classics are nothing to take for granted. (I will skip a discussion about the economic structure of texttiles and the garment industry. I shouldn't have to tell you that American society is in total denial about the economic cost of its lifestyle in every realm. But you can see the Canadian Office of Consumer Affairs' assessment of the Gap production policy if you like.)

When it is time for propaganda, the Gap is stealthy. Its marketers cast a giddy array of life-style flavors (swing, soul, go-go, country, rock) onto a single look that is perfectly conventional. But that's its essential appeal. When you wear Gap khakis, you really are just wearing pants. The very basic lines free you from the burden of fashion AND social anxiety. Its overall style is savvy, if you can forgive the occasional ugly zipper or insanely proportioned skirt. It simultaneously serves the hip and the conservative, the modern and the nostalgic, even if it takes a little marketing spin to complete the illusion.

This does not make Gap an assault force for aesthetic degeneration. No one can make you bland without your permission. There is a place in the world for unconventional clothing, for artisan design and individuality if you choose. But I still think everyone can appreciate a good long-sleeved t-shirt in one of four classic colors.

My Gap is not a selfish Gap. It gave the world Banana Republic and Old Navy, too.

And finally, as you can see, you can always fall back on irony. Match the relentless minimalism with your own sophomoric existentialism. What is the Gap? Are we in it or divided by it? What part of our humanity manifests itself in the search for the ideal black shirt? Is Baby Gap the purest place on earth, the collision of the womb with shrunken versions of adult casual wear? The gratuitous hammer loop as a cultural watershed. Go ahead and pretend you're smarter than the Gap. This is probably what marketers expect you (that is, your demographic profile) to do anyway.

— Megan Christensen (mmc3e4 at mizzou dot edu)