Fifteen Minutes: Shopping with Prof. Schor

Two steps into Harvard Square's Abercrombie & Fitch, Senior Lecturer on Women's Studies Juliet B. Schor scatters ultra-attractive salespeople, jolts browsing customers, and cuts through the shabby chic appeal of the square's newest merchant, when she yells over the blaring pop music: "I hate this store!"

And thus begins a shopping spree with the Harvard University's sharpest critic of consumerism.

Author of New York Times best seller The Overspent American, Schor is known to most undergraduates as the spirited professor of "Shop 'Til You Drop: Gender and Class in Consumer Society" a.k.a., Women's Studies 132. In that class, Schor argues that shopping has been trivialized in this country mainly because of a gender breakdown in which people associate consumption with females and production with males. Contending that the acts of purchasing and shopping are actually a very important component of American society, Schor then critiques the adverse affects of consumerism. For 10 years Schor has analyzed the relationship between marketing techniques and consumer behavior, with attention to environmental damage and the homogenization of culture.

From lecture hall to checkout counter, Schor puts these theories to the test in some of Harvard Square's most conspicuous establishments. Dishing the dirt on Abercrombie & Fitch, Pacific Sunwear, and the newly renovated Harvard Coop, Schor deconstructs hidden advertising tricks, rants about the shrinking fashion cycle and issues advice on how to avoid impulse buying.

ABERCROMBIE & FITCH

As the echo of Schor's booming verdict gets gradually absorbed into A&F-emblazoned fabrics, bystanders resume their browsing/modeling, keeping one eyebrow raised at the tall, skinny, wildly gesticulating woman. White walls, enormous photographs of rippled, wrestling boys, and a deafening beat envelop Schor as she launches into her critique.

"These kinds of stores are all the same. The music isn't usually this loud," she says, straining to be heard over the thumping speakers, "but they all use similar techniques."

Reaching down to pick up a pink merino wool sweater ($59.50), she breaks it down: "Number one is Touch. Studies show that if you touch something you're more likely to buy it. So all of these table displays let you touch the clothes." She caresses the sweater. It's awful soft.

"Number two is what's around the counter." Rushing around the corner to the checkout, she motions at the barrage of colognes, lotions and beauty products. "You come in for a sweater, but they assault you with all these other things. It's all about creating impulse purchasing."

Next to us, a girl examining a bottle of "Original Abercrombie & Fitch fragrance for women" ($32.50) nervously replaces it on the shelf and scampers for cover near the large brown leather chairs in front of the dressing rooms.

Consolidating numbers three through infinity in the remainder of her tirade, or perhaps just losing count, Schor ignores the concerned whisperings of the salespeople and goes on to explain how modern clothing stores capitalize on and perpetuate a shrinking fashion cycle. As wardrobes expand, she says, the fashion cycle shrinks.

"We don't wear out our clothes. We wear them until the fashion's gone. Then we give them to Goodwill who sends them to Africa or Latin America or wherever, where they undermine local production." Crammed between a table overflowing with professionally worn-in long-sleeved T-shirts, and a rack of cargo pants, Schor declares: "We are drowning in clothes in America."

As two teenage girls walk around the far side of the store, trying to avoid her on their way to the dressing room, Schor's gaze pans and fixates on something in the distance. "Oh, this is very clever of them."

We follow her quickly back to the entrance, and just as the salespeople's sigh of relief becomes almost audible, she turns around abruptly to face the rest of the store and explains: "Whenever you enter a store, you instinctively go to the right. I don't know why, I didn't realize it myself until I read it somewhere. But for some reason people always go right."

In Abercrombie & Fitch, the right side of the first room opens up into the second room of the store. Motioning to the left, where a few racks of jackets end at a wall, Schor says, "There's no point in putting anything valuable over to the left--whereas, when you turn right they've forced you to go further into the store."

We go right, tracing the path we took earlier, and end up back near the checkout counter and the same ultra-attractive salespeople looking decidedly unenthused about our return. "Research shows that the further into a store you go, the more likely you are to buy something. And as you can see this setup very cleverly forces you to go further into the store, and therefore increases your chances of buying something."

Following this wavelength of deconstructing the layout of the store, Schor backtracks to the place she first stopped when we came in, and explains "the decompression zone."

This space between cargo pants and sweaters begins to take on a whole new meaning as Schor elaborates: "The decompression zone is the spot where everybody stops to orient themselves. You shouldn't put anything important or expensive there, because people ignore everything immediately around them when they're orienting themselves to the store on the whole."

Before this new knowledge of the decompression zone has fully decompressed--for several eavesdropping customers--we are safely out of the zone, and onto the catalogues stacked in front of the checkout counter.

Furiously flipping through the massive catalogue, more of a book than a magazine, Schor frowns and again yells over the music. "How many pages is this!?"

The salespeople, now a little more worried about this impassioned intruder, do not offer an answer from their huddle in the back.

So Schor answers herself. "Three hundred pages or something. What a waste of paper! And this comes out quarterly!"

Flipping back to the front, Schor points out the warning label on the cover. Outlined in fluorescent yellow, it reads: "Due to mature content, parental consent suggested for readers under 18." The warning reflects the suggestiveness of the half-clothed models, and perhaps refers in large part to one photo of a topless girl. Above the label on the cover, an Abercrombie-outfitted, buff young man stares through thick black-rimmed glasses, looking decidedly misunderstood sipping from a mug advertising a budget travel agency. The reader is left to his or her own devices to assume that, after spending hundreds of dollars on his sweatshirt and vest, the poor young man was forced to cut a few corners while backpacking through Europe.

Citing the label, and the look, Schor exclaims exasperatedly. "They're trying to make preppy hip!"

Continuing to thumb through images of teens looking rugged and rebellious in their button-downs, she points out the prevalence of non-fashion related articles, arguing that their inclusion is also a product of marketing. "They know that they're marketing to young people skeptical of consumerism, so they put in articles to try and hook them." Stopping on a particularly alternative-looking Abercrombie lad opposite an article skeptical of corporate greed, Schor shakes her head, "They're capitalizing on the notion of counter-culture from the 60's, when in fact they're as dominant culture as you can get."

Saving herself the six bucks, Schor replaces the catalogue in its stack, and makes her way back to the entrance. Passing back through the decompression zone, and navigating around the table displays, we escape through the front doors and end up back in the hustle of the square.

Asked if she would ever buy anything from Abercrombie, Schor replies: "I wouldn't have thought twice about it, until I saw the catalogue. And now I probably wouldn't."

"Also, I wouldn't wear something with that prominent of a label. I try not to be a human billboard."

In general, Schor says she considers the advertising tactics and environmental policies of stores before buying their products. "I like stores who use organic cotton or less destructive fibers like wool or hemp or linen." Citing "Home and Planet" as a store that passes her test, she then addresses Patagonia, as an environmentally friendly store. She goes back and forth on her judgment:

"Patagonia is interesting. Of course it has a trendy dimension to it-it does have all the labels, and it has a catalogue with some of the features I was talking about. But it's not as in-your-face as some of these stores. Patagonia uses their catalogue to get good environmental information out to consumers. But their stuff is expensive. But it's more expensive to buy organic cotton and environmentally friendly fabrics. . . It's complicated."

PACIFIC SUNWEAR

Recovering from the first faceoff (Schor: 1, consumer culture: 0) the hype-buster targets her next victim. Just as our ears begin to readjust to the relatively soft hum of Harvard Square, we open the door to Pacific Sunwear, where the music is not quite as loud as its prep school-as-lifestyle neighbor-but could still sustain a pretty hopping nightclub.

Stepping into the darker, more cluttered store, Schor's voice again booms over the tunes: "Oh, this looks even worse."

The young sales attendant takes cover behind the tech vests and windpants.

"Is this a chain?" Schor inquires.

We don't know.

She repeats her question to the tech vests and windpants, "Is this store a chain?"

We learn from a somewhat confused but helpful sales attendant that there are 250 stores across the country; they are usually in malls; and that this store is only one of two freestanding stores-the other is in Manhattan.

Not budging from her position at the front of the store, Schor launches this critique much more succinctly, mainly enumerating the ways in which Abercrombie & Fitch suckers consumers more effectively.

"They got a bad deal," she says, motioning to the right, which ends abruptly with a wall. "They should have had the door on the left." We don't move very much around this store. Clumps of hangars seem to be closing in on us, and there's no real place to move.

On our way out, Schor says, "I can't shop in a place like this. I'm here a few minutes and I have to leave."

Waiting for the light to change, Schor talks about shopping online. While she's never done it herself, she has formulated some opinions. "It has certain benefits. For instance, for people who don't have a lot of time, or for a person who wants to comparison shop for a bargain. It saves driving to the mall, which is a definite environmental benefit."

Through with the pros, Schor moves on to the cons: "It is certainly seductive and even addictive, so I worry about it. Also we know the effect of credit cards in encouraging impulse purchasing, which is obviously the only form of payment possible on the Internet."

THE COOP

As we step onto the cobblestones, Schor sets her sights on the newly renovated Harvard Coop. Bought out by Barnes & Noble, the Coop is now officially part of one of the largest chain book stores in the country.

As we walk in, we can't turn to the right. Or left. But we do get sucked into a tunnel of table displays. Schor points out how similar the sales style is between the books here and the Abercrombie emblazoned T-shirts across the street. "What Barnes & Noble has done here is part of a shift from hand-selling a book as a unique commodity to selling books like they're selling anything -- Godiva, chocolates, calendars. . . anything!"

Pointing to the way the books are on display, not only on tables, but also on the ends of the aisles and next to the counters, she says, "They want to catch your eye. It's all about creating impulse purchasing."

Walking up and down the packed aisles, Schor further laments how marketing and consumerism has even taken over the creative side of book selling. Not just affecting the way the books are displayed, marketing influences how they are made. "The covers are all designed by marketing. Even the content is decided partly based on marketing."

Motioning to an array of titles nearby, she says, "Book publishing is just selling another product."

As this last depressing declaration floats up to the swarms of shoppers on the upper levels, Schor passes under the arch and returns outside to the real world. The score: 3 to 0.

Reflecting on the spree, Schor offers some advice on how to protect against the impulse buying advertisers crave. "You have to recognize what these stores are trying to do to you. The more I've studied this, the less vulnerable I am and the more turned off I am by the tricks."

For the uninitiated, Schor offer some quick tips on how to shop.

The most important: "Go in with a list." If you go into a store with something in mind, you're more protected against their advertising ploys.

But if you are going in to browse, Schor warns, "Be on guard against impulse purchasing. If you see something you like, think about it and come back later; don't purchase on the spot."

Once you have these things in mind, and you make yourself aware of what marketing is trying to do to you, Schor says, "It's really just a question of shopping discipline."

When we ask, if there's anything from this trip she might think about, and go back and buy, she grins and replies, "Not a thing."