Blinded by the tat
I found myself in London’s “up and coming” Balham the other day. Which, of course, means it’s a slumland with po-faced eating experiences. A prime example of this would be the newly arrived “Italeria” which offers the nauseating strapline: “Artistically Italian”. Makes me want to chew my own hand off and hurl the bloodied limb through their expansive windows.
Wandering along, I got sucked into one of those shops that specialises in selling crap. Novelty lights, Elvis mugs and plastic Hello Kitty wallets are all on offer within the cramped confines of the over-stocked store. I find these places alarmingly appealing. And judging by the countless other females all wandering zombie-like around the cases of tat, I’m not alone on this one. Maybe it’s the sheer volume of glossy plastic goodies, with images of Hollywood’s golden age and just the right number of Swarovski crystals littered about the place, that makes these trinkets seem like objets d’art. All together there, under the twinkling glow of complementary lighting, they look like items that could make your life that little bit more fulfilled. And when you buy them, they’re so beautifully wrapped in tissue paper and little baglet, that they feel mighty special.
Of course, once you get them home to view them in the cold light of day, the hazy, diamante-studded veil is lifted and you see your goods for what they are: cheap Chinese-made crap poorly masked with a painted Marilyn Monroe transfer.
What makes us hanker after these over-priced knicknacks just because they’ve got an ironic knitting pattern ironed onto the front of them? It’s as if the tinkling bell as you open the door administers an instant lobotomy, leaving you unable to have a rational response to instant bonsai kits, Betty Boop watches and heart-shaped frying pans. And just because those iconic film still birthday cards can’t be bought in Clintons, it doesn’t make them any less naff and irrelevant. And yet, armed with this knowledge, I still feel myself being slowly overcome by the Ayurvedic scented candles, fuzzy scatter cushions and pointless wood puzzles. I spend fortunes on gifts for people which, once wrapped, are revealed in all their worthless glory. Too many times I’ve only just resisted stooping to “accidentally” leaving the price tag on. But I’m getting better. I’m learning my lesson and becoming more immune to the fairy lit items laid before me.
I left with a game of “Spuddle” and a Yellow Submarine card. Which is an achievement of sorts. Small steps, eh, small steps.
Wandering along, I got sucked into one of those shops that specialises in selling crap. Novelty lights, Elvis mugs and plastic Hello Kitty wallets are all on offer within the cramped confines of the over-stocked store. I find these places alarmingly appealing. And judging by the countless other females all wandering zombie-like around the cases of tat, I’m not alone on this one. Maybe it’s the sheer volume of glossy plastic goodies, with images of Hollywood’s golden age and just the right number of Swarovski crystals littered about the place, that makes these trinkets seem like objets d’art. All together there, under the twinkling glow of complementary lighting, they look like items that could make your life that little bit more fulfilled. And when you buy them, they’re so beautifully wrapped in tissue paper and little baglet, that they feel mighty special.
Of course, once you get them home to view them in the cold light of day, the hazy, diamante-studded veil is lifted and you see your goods for what they are: cheap Chinese-made crap poorly masked with a painted Marilyn Monroe transfer.
What makes us hanker after these over-priced knicknacks just because they’ve got an ironic knitting pattern ironed onto the front of them? It’s as if the tinkling bell as you open the door administers an instant lobotomy, leaving you unable to have a rational response to instant bonsai kits, Betty Boop watches and heart-shaped frying pans. And just because those iconic film still birthday cards can’t be bought in Clintons, it doesn’t make them any less naff and irrelevant. And yet, armed with this knowledge, I still feel myself being slowly overcome by the Ayurvedic scented candles, fuzzy scatter cushions and pointless wood puzzles. I spend fortunes on gifts for people which, once wrapped, are revealed in all their worthless glory. Too many times I’ve only just resisted stooping to “accidentally” leaving the price tag on. But I’m getting better. I’m learning my lesson and becoming more immune to the fairy lit items laid before me.
I left with a game of “Spuddle” and a Yellow Submarine card. Which is an achievement of sorts. Small steps, eh, small steps.
posted by Shinykatie at 6:14 pm
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