September 30, 2005 - 12:27 p.m.
Amazingly and improbably,
I have gleaned some insight into my near-sickening optimism
from the lululemon athletica flyer.
when you purchase a bit of happiness, aka athletic apparel, from the overpriced, but well-meaning yoga-touting propagandists, the marketers of healthy lifestyle and possitive energy issue their customers a piece of paper full of chipper quotables,
"Your outlook on life is a direct reflection of how much you like yourself"
True enough. So, where do they get off charging 79$ before tax, for a pair of hyped-up spandex pants, and why, oh why, do I feel like my ass actually looks better in them, than in the cheaper counterpart?
Because branding and lifestyle marketing have infiltrated my brain and perhaps, I feel better shelling out money who, on the surface, seems aware of the fact that they're ripping me off, in exchange for extra incentives like a chance at "liking myself" AND my ass, which I was previously at odds with. Furthermore, their zen-chi-downward-dog-ness elevates them spiritually, making them less ecologically and socially bankrupt than Pepsi, Disney, Ford or Gucci. They are selling me an opportunity to be young, happy, healthy and more successful, teaching me, in a backwards way, about myself (and my succeptibility to good marketing).
My attitude DOES reflect how I feel about myself. I LOVE myself. I just forget sometimes, and need to be reminded every so often that if hundred dollar pants make me feel closer to my inner whatever, and distract me from all the ugly, unco-ordinated, stressful realities of life, then please just take my credit card and get me the pants, and, while you're at it, get me the matching yoga mat, yoga mat carrier, headband, socks, underwear, sportsbra, top, waterbottle and the outfit for my purse-dog, I'll take one in each colour.
Just have them shipped to Starbucks, where you'll find me channeling
enlightenment, as I sip my Venti-Soy-Chai-Latte with a Double-Short-Espresso on the side, reading the latest from Oprah's book club.
