18/04/06
Having read my blog, the press office of a brand, which I cannot mention, summoned me to their offices today. Actually, summoned is a strong word; I was invited over to explain exactly what I was up to with this book, was it for real, and had I completely lost my mind. I say summoned because the brand is pretty huge in size and influence, and I was too scared to say no. I felt uneasy walking into their press office, as if I were stepping into no man's land of this private war I have started; having publicly 'dropped out' from the 'system' (if such a system did exist, it would be me diligently flogging products in magazines via my news reports, a middle man between the producer and the consumer) with the announcement of this blog. The paranoia quickly subsided however at the sight of their new product lines, surrounded by promotional posters and brand memorabilia that had been lovingly collected over the years. Press offices are primarily places whereby journalists and store buyers browse upcoming product releases, but they also serve as free dispensaries for those of cultural importance to the brand (in this case rappers, style journalists and footballers), who frequently pass by to dash and grab as much gear as they can possibly carry home. I myself had often 'passed by' this office, on some flimsy excuse to procure free gear, and I felt myself reverting to former type, eyeing up the goods, visualising me owning them, and imagining how much happier I'd be for having them.

I was woken from the daydream (an impossibly beautiful and fashionable woman stopping me in the street to ask where I got my directional outfit from) by the brand managers I was meeting, who sat down and dived straight into conversation about the book in a cheerfully bemused 'what's all this about then' type of way. I gingerly gave them the schpiel… branded from birth…no sense of self…burning the lot… wholesome new life…. I felt like Catholic standing up in the middle of church to declare I was a becoming a Jew. It was clear they'd invited me in to size the impending situation up, but to my surprise, they were nodding in all the right places and laughing at some of the jokes. They made the usual critiques (burning everything is a waste, you'll never see it through, it's impossible anyhow and what's so wrong with brands in the first place)….all fairly mundane stuff. It wasn't until I recounted the 'Girl In Pumas On A Bus' story, and the subsequent fury that Puma UK registered on the blog, that the meeting livened up.

"You were absolutely right about that woman…" said one manager, "she wears Pumas because she thinks they're cool, and she's cool. You know, like most people, that Puma isn't cool and from looking at her shoes, you can tell she's not cool either. Those shoes saved you the effort of getting to know her and finding out, much later, that you weren't compatible. Think of all the time you would have wasted. That’s why you need brands."

I found it hard to disagree. The brand choices that we make simply reflect the people we are. What's the problem? I feel good surrounded by my brands, even better when they trump those of people around me. Perhaps this book idea is just a stupid waste of time.

The brand men were delighted with the negative publicity Puma were getting, and I wondered how they'd react if the boot had been on the other foot. Still, that's to be expected. Changing the subject, one of the managers asked if I wanted some free gear to take home with me. Clinging on to my new principles for dear life, I refused. Well, I had to if I wanted to walk out of there with any self-respect. Did they ask me as a test of metal? We all knew I was on the waver, it was written on my face.

Having discussed the book, our meeting quickly trailed off to an end. Not being a style journalist any longer, my use to them was now minimal, and this meeting felt like a friendly send off into obscurity. As I stumbled out onto the busy street lined with shops, happy people streaming in and out with bags of fresh consumer kill, I felt very, very low. My professional bridges are being burnt to the point of no return now. I look around me and everyone it seems is getting on quite happily with their branded lives; working hard to make money to spend on the things that make them happy. Clothes, cars, phones, food, everywhere I see brands, and people enjoying them as if there was nothing wrong at all. I don't want to be marginalised from the whole of society, disengaged from reality like some paranoid schizophrenic on the run from The Man. Perhaps this is all a big mistake.

I fly to the States tomorrow, to do some writing in the country. Quite what I'm going to write about now, I'm not so sure.