Under the façade of raising $1 million for charity, Neiman Marcus and Target have teamed up to bring you more stuff you don’t need this holiday season. That’s one million dollars jointly—not each. And the charity the money is going to none other but the Council of Fashion Designers of America. One million dollars is going to be an insignificant fraction of the revenue that will be generated by the fashion world’s most lucrative scheme by a long shot.
Lower price points. That is what consumers always say they want. And when it comes to high fashion, the request usually falls on deaf ears. Enter Target. Target has been the vanguard for the high-end, low price venture. Teaming up with Proenza Schouler, Rodarte, Thakoon, Zac Posen, et al.—Target has been raking it in.
Initially I was excited for these releases. They were not heavily advertised, and it was as simple as going to Target and picking out what you wanted. Now if you want to get your hands on anything, you have to be at Target first thing in the morning and rush into the store with hordes of crazy shoppers.
At the heart of the matter, these so-called collaborations endorse status symbols and glorify fashion philistinism. The primary target of these collections is people who admire not the craftsmanship or beauty of high fashion, but the name written on the tag. How can I make such a scathing judgment? Upon seeing these products in person, if you are not deterred from purchasing them by their horrendous quality, you must have an ulterior motive. I’ve worked at a fashion house before, and I have seen the time that goes into designing each item. The attention to detail is unbelievable, and I came to understand why designers price things as they do. Fashion is art, and you get what you pay for.
This is not to say everyone who buys the “real”, full-price items appreciates their craftsmanship and design. The entire concept of nouveau-riche, West Egg buying power revolves around the idea that ostentatious spending undermines the merits of the objects. What the collaborations do is promote, actively and unabashedly, status symbols. Designers cash in on slapping their name on some shoddily constructed product, knowing full well that collaborating will not cheapen their brand because it is a one-time deal. Only truly large fashion houses can afford to invest in lower lines without their higher-end lines taking a hit.
I appreciate the resourcefulness of the collaboration concept from an economic standpoint. The partnership is a stroke of marketing genius. What I don’t appreciate is that it undermines fashion. It undermines authenticity and adds fuel to the fire in the ceaseless attack on American consumption. Why is it that some forty years ago, when consumerism wasn’t yet at its ever-growing height, Richard Pynchon referred to paying as the “primal American act”?
On to the sale itself—if you’re considering the metallic Marc Jacobs pouches, I’ll let you in on a secret. Marc Jacobs has his own line of cheaply constructed gift items. The catch? You can only buy them in store. Next time you find yourself in SoHo on Bleecker, go to the “special items” store (preview the items online). You will find tote bags, key chains, tee shirts, condoms—every item imaginable stamped with the minimalist Marc Jacobs label. Holiday gifts for your materialistic friends, perhaps.
Why am I so hostile towards collaborations? I was a victim. I was a willing consumer of Tucker for Target. Tucker designs beautiful, roughly three hundred-dollar blouses, which are sold at Barney’s and other high-end boutiques. I couldn’t have been more pleased when they announced their collaboration. At this point, the Target collaborations were fairly low key (they would grow out of control by the time Missoni for Target was announced–the Target website was crashed for days). I had no trouble showing up sometime during the week of the release and finding a few blouses in my size. I wore one of them twice, at best. Why? Not because I’m a snob. They were poorly made. The polyester was uncomfortable and what I bought the shirt for was its beauty—not its label. The true Tucker blouses fall gorgeously, and the quality is undeniable. These ersatz versions were unflattering and ultimately worthless.
If you must shop this collection, I have some tips. Don’t buy the clothing items. You will be disappointed. Stick to gift items that the designer does not typically release. The rag and bone shot glasses are fairly cute and are designed with the ethos of the rest of their collection—rugged but charming. Or the Rodarte wrapping paper, which I will concede—I’m tempted.
If you’ve made it to the end of this article without checking out the NM/Target collaboration, you have a fighting chance. I’d say there’s nothing wrong with buying cheap alternatives to the real thing, but I’d be lying. There is something wrong with buying what are essentially legalized fakes. While a handbag from a collaboration collection may not be $2,500, it is still $50 and poorly constructed. The designer is still making a fortune considering vastly lowered manufacturing costs. What I lament is the loss of integrity of the designers whose labels are built on the idea of quality and scarcity.