30.03.06
Sitting on a crowded bus yesterday, I spotted the most beautiful woman amongst the crowd. Huge dark eyes, the most delicate lips, and lavish brunette hair; if I was single I'd have been attempting some sort of breezy, nonchalant come-on (or thinking about it at the very least). As it is, I am very much not single, so I just sat back and admired her from afar. Some people, astonishingly, need exert no effort in radiating beauty, they just are. A faint pout of the lips, a flick of the head, a twitch of the nose… suddenly the bus pulls into a stop and the deck clears, leaving only her in full view. Disaster. She's wearing Pumas, the all-time most rubbish sneaker brand money can buy. The brand that says you'd like to be cool, you'd like to adventurous but you've not the confidence or the nouse or the balls to see it through. Think Puma, think bed-wetting James Blunt, think Saturday nights at Pizza Express, think Friends DVD box set. The woman's spellbinding beauty evaporates and, deflated, I turn to the window to stare at something less boring instead.

Destroying my emblems of status is only part of the journey towards a brand-free existence. No less daunting or unsettling is my coming to terms with the way I judge those around me. I wonder, how many personal relationships of mine are built on these shaky foundations? More to the point, how many meaningful encounters have I denied myself on the basis of branded footwear of all things? The scenario on the bus is just ridiculous. She might possibly have been the most engaging, stimulating, loveable person I'd never met. Saying that, I'd lay money on her owning at least one James Blunt CD.

Brands displayed 30/03.06: Reebok, Nike, Helmut Lang, Swatch (vintage), Nudie Jeans, Blackberry, Louis Vuitton, Co-Operative Bank.

Brands consumed: Volvic, Evian, Coca Cola, Marlborough Lights, ECM, MGM, Verbatim, Apple.

28.03.06
I can't decide between the Blackberry and The Adidas, so they'll both be offered up as sacrificial lambs for the slaughter, sometime next week when I can get hold of a video camera to document the ritual. As the date grows nearer, I am sure my anxiety over the imminent loss will build, but for now I am quite looking forward to seeing them burn; the first steps to a new wholesome life (whatever that is).

The Blackberry is a particularly odious device. So entranced are owners by it's useability (meaning something actually works and is useful, compared to the majority of rubbish on sale which doesn’t and isn’t) that the brand has been culted. Blackberry owners adopt specific language and behaviour because (a) we are emotionally attached to the product and brand (b) we seek to bond with other owners so we can express this attachment. Like Hoovers and Sellotape before them, Blackberries are referred to by the brand not the product. There are even fan sites dedicated to swapping stories and advice on how these things can keep you working better for longer. I got sucked into the cult, firmly believing there were mobile users, and then there were Blackberry users. If the distinct ringtone of another Blackberry were to go off in a public space, I would look to see who was the owner was, for what exact reason I cannot be sure. To see if he looks like me? To walk up to the stranger and congratulate him on being a member of the club? Here, let me buy you a drink for buying the same mobile smart phone with unique patented pushbutton email capability as me. Can we be friends?

When two strangers acknowledge each other over mutual ownership of a brand, are they reinforcing their status, or are they actually seeking to make friendship? Are we so anxious about our social position that we must reinforce it at every opportunity, or are we privately so bewildered and lonely that these badges allow us to make real connections with one another? One thing is for sure, the majority of Blackberry owners are of the reptilian Donald Trump/ Alan Sugar variety, and while I'd like to present myself as a go getting 'man who can', I have no desire to discuss first quarter capital growth on preferred stocks with overly ambitious men in loud suits.

Bring on the fire.

Brands displayed 28/03.06: Adidas, Levis, YSL, Louis Vuitton, Blackberry, Apple, Orange, Asiacs, Saucony.

Brands consumed: Evian, Extra, Google, Amazon, GNC.

23.03.06
My publishers have suggested that I burn one branded thing of high emotional value, ahead of the real day in August. I get the feeling they're calling my bluff, testing my metal to see if all these high-principled promises I'm making will actually come to anything. Though they say it’s a good way to start the book, I get the feeling it is in fact a down-payment of trust. I agreed without blinking an eyelid; it all has to go sometime, so why not now?

Well, that was three days ago, and there's no sign of any mini bonfires blazing round the Boorman household as yet. Actually, they have called my bluff. I've justified the relative inaction on me having to decide which items I value the most, but of course I know exactly what these things are; destroying any one of them is just too terrible to contemplate. Perhaps if I write them down, it will help me to make the awful decision.



Louis Vuitton Dahlmer Check Shoulder Bag
One of the first luxury items I bought myself back in 1999, when I first had some money in my pocket. Spending four hundred pound on this bag was a symbolic act financial freedom after leaving home. Everyone I know thought it was a crass gesture, but I'm sure this was really jealousy, and that made me flaunt it all the more.



Adidas 'Adistar Runner' Trainers
Not a particularly rare pair of trainers, but these were given to me when I first met the brand managers at Adidas UK some years ago. I seem to walk taller in them whenever I put them on. They are scotch guarded and delicately cleaned after every use.



Blackberry
I have a love/ hate relationship with this thing. The constant connection to email, text and phone has enslaved me to 24 hour working days. But there's no mistaking the effect it has on people when you pull it out of your pocket. It makes me look and feel confident, dynamic, adult. It means, quite literally, that I mean business.

The Significant Other
There's no doubt about it, I probably wouldn't have gone for the first drink with the wife to be, had she not been working for a very important contemporary art gallery. Now I'm not the kind of person that only keeps friends with people in important or flashy jobs (some of my best friends are IT consultants) but if I'm honest with myself, it was a factor in the initial attraction. I think she knows this too.

First out of the running is the missus, obviously, that’s just ridiculous. I think I might be confusing monetary value with brand value re: the Vuitton bag (or is it just too valuable to burn?), so that’s out too. Its down to the Adidas and the Blackberry. For years I dreamt of meeting the guys at Adidas, and those trainers are symbolic of a lifelong affinity with that brand. Destroying the Blackberry and going back to a regular phone feels like leaving the army and becoming a useless civilian again. I need another day to think about this.

It has begun. Having secured a book deal, I am legally committed to carry this declaration through. I was briefly transformed from my usual low-key self to a new, cheerful me, whistling to myself and smiling at strangers in the street. So happy that I announced to my circle of friends (in the most understated, blasé way possible) the news about the deal. This project, the burning, the therapy, the transformation, is something I've been discussing to them for over a year, to which they all agreed was a good idea, for a book at least. But every message of congratulation has followed with at least one of the following remarks…

'You'll never see it through. You, of all people couldn't burn your beloved brands.'

'What are you going to wear instead, a sack cloth?'

'You can't live brand-free anyhow, it's impossible.'

'You're not going to burn all your stuff, surely? You're better off staging it and hiding some of the good stuff away.'

'Can I have your Helmut Lang jacket before you destroy it?'

These reactions remind me of the time I first publicly admitted to alcoholism. After checking into an alcohol advisory service, I announced to my 'mates' that I was an alkie, I'd begun the process of giving up and was counting on their support. To my surprise, I received an overwhelmingly hostile reaction, as if I was talking rubbish, as if I was letting the side down, as if I was somehow casting aspersions on their own habits. I eventually fell out with a few friends after they told me I'd never be able to give up. Eight years later, I'm bone dry, save for the two controlled bursts of fun on my birthday and Christmas. I'm not going to fall out with anyone over to his project, but it's interesting to see how people react. No one has really asked my why I'm burning the gear. I wonder what on earth my life is going to be like in a year's time.

Went to see 'Syriana' last night. Good bit of product placement for Blackberry in there, as almost every key player in the film is seen tapping into one of their handsets at some point. I was becoming tired with mine, the emails relentlessly intrude into my life around the clock. But after seeing the film, I again feel an affinity to the brand and the international statesmen that use it. Warmonger Dick Cheney has one apparently.

Also, someone told me that Helmut Lang has closed down. Bizarrely, I felt a faint sense of loss, like a distant friend had passed away. I used to laugh at people that bought his gear; it was big in the nineties, one of those understated brands that people who thought they had taste wore, paying fifty quid for a plain white T-shirt of his, with no label on the front to show for it. But I gradually came round and bought some lovely items, even travelling to the Manchester branch of Selfridges to buy a particular pair of trousers, the only store that stocked them. One jacket never fails to attract attention, and I enjoy telling people where it's from. I went into a bizarre sort of denial at the news, immediately logging on to the net to see if it was true. It indeed is true, and I feel mournful. How ridiculous.

One day this year, I am going to gather every branded possession of mine into a warehouse, douse them with petrol and burn the lot. Jacobson chairs, Christian Dior shirts, a Louis Vuitton bag, even the fancy Liebherr fridge; I'm too frightened to calculate the financial cost of this action, but I know it's a lot. Far more unsettling than the money is the emotional cost I'm going to suffer. You see, It's not simply a pile of expensive clothes and accessories going on the bonfire, Neil Boorman is being destroyed too.

Until recently, I thought I knew who Neil Boorman was. I felt sure how the outside world regarded me because I had spent a fair amount of time, engineering an image. Through experience, I found the best way to understand and articulate 'me' (that is to say my lifestyle, background, preferences and principles) were through the owning and displaying of things made by companies that are recognised as brands. Having these things around provided a source of comfort, a reassurance of my own self worth, and helped to project my identity to others around me. Every object in my possession carrying a distinct logo, and with it a sophisticated message communicating to those that cast their gaze my way. It is no accident that one brand appears next to another on my person, nothing is left to chance. My brand of cigarettes next to a brand of mobile phone next to a brand of wallet next to a brand of diary; a visual equation for onlookers, the sum of which is my branded personality.

Frustratingly, this attempt at branded self-identity has been accompanied with a numbed sense of dissatisfaction, starting as a dull tension during my teenage years, but now as I reach my thirties, a constant anxiety. I have surrounded myself with the best luxury I could afford, my collection of 'things' is near perfect. Attempting to cure myself, I have sought comfort and reassurance by buying yet more branded goods, treating myself 'because I'm worth it'. I now understand that this behaviour only made matters worse. For all the time and money I have devoted to collecting these brands, these symbols of self, I have absolutely no idea who I am. For every new material extension of my character, I become more distant from the person than I really am.

At the age of thirty, I have come to understand that these relationships, into which I pored so much energy, were a complete sham. I am beginning to wake from a long daydream. Semi conscious of my predicament, I have been sleepwalking though life, only occasionally waking to consider why, after devoting so much attention to these relationships, am I not as happy as I thought I'd be. With every considered purchase, I have attempted to make me more like me, assuming this would bring fulfilment to my life. With an encroaching sense of numbed dissatisfaction, the reality is only just becoming clear; with every new emblem of identity I add to my collection, I lose a piece of myself to the brands. They cannot reciprocate the love I give. They cannot transport me to the places I'm promised exist. I am not, nor will I ever be remotely similar to the people that appear in their ads. It is a lie, a lie I have believed in for too long.

This blog is part of my journey towards a brand-free life.