Any woman who has shopped for pants lately knows that classic jeans are falling apart — literally. Frayed hems, roughed-up knees and gaping holes abound in denim departments everywhere. I’ve been tussling with this trend for a while, and a recent shopping breakthrough taught me a few things about branding, and a little about myself.
I’ll turn 48 this year, and while my bikini days are long past, I’m still no matron. When it comes to clothes I’m reasonably current and creative, with a huge frugal streak. So I’ve long enjoyed shopping in stores where I skew a little more “mature” than the target demo. I’m happy browsing H&M or Target, or maybe the juniors section at a good department store. Why not? I like the challenge, and even take a little pride in finding pieces that work for me in unexpected (and economical) places.
But jeans, I have to admit, had become a problem. Going to the office in ripped pants just seemed silly. And finding intact denim — at least in my usual shopping haunts — was about as likely as scoring a comfortable high heel. I realized that if I wanted jeans without fraying and shredding and all that nonsense, I was going to have to seek them out in a full-priced, grownup store. Donning extra lipstick for confidence, I headed to the section of Nordstrom I’d previously reserved exclusively for job interview clothes. (Read: not my real life.)
This is a good moment to tell you how I feel about Nordstrom. I love them. I love them as a marketer, and as a regular lady who buys stuff. I admire and trust their superb service. I appreciate that their stores are fancy enough to make me feel stylish, but laid-back enough to put me at ease. I love the artful restraint of their copywriting, the simplicity of their graphic design, and the fresh, contemporary beauty of their models in every size and shape and color. I love the hot cocoa in their little cafe. While not historically a Nordstrom power shopper (see frugal streak), I am, profoundly, a Nordstrom fan.
I strolled among the racks, fondling fine fibers and warming to my task. Soothing music and expansive, jewel-toned displays tickled my imagination, and soon I was lost in fantasies of dressing every day in silk blouses and actual trousers that require belts. Aimless perusing gave way to earnest shopping when I reached the section that had me targeted as precisely as if there were a bullseye painted on my purse. There I discovered beautiful, comfortable clothes that cost more than I’m used to, but not more than I could choose to spend. Styles that are reasonably youthful, but proportioned for a grown woman’s body. Items expressive enough to feel unique, but not too weird to actually wear. I was home.
So what did I end up buying? Here’s the punchline: a perfectly splendid pair of lightly shredded jeans. I know, I know. I had come in seeking to escape the distressed denim trend, not fall for it. But somehow, everything looked different in the tastefully twinkly light of the Nordstrom ladies’ shop. I found my pair nestled nonchalantly among the cashmere-blend cardis and flowy tops, a perfect hue of just-right blue. As I ran my fingers over the stretchy, velvety-soft fabric, the delicately frayed patches seemed to whisper come on in, you belong here. I paid full price and wore them to the office the next day without a second thought.
Context is everything. And branding, at its root, is a way of creating context. The impressions and experiences that surround a well-articulated brand story are more than “marketing messages.” They represent an entire (if imaginary) world, complete with themes and characters, culture, currency and values. The best branding invites its audience in, not just to a delightful purchase or even a meaningful series of experiences, but to a different, better, more alluring way of imagining our lives. It says to us, come on in, you belong here.
Did buying ripped jeans at Nordstrom revolutionize my world view? No. I understand the difference between living a rich, full, meaningful life and shopping at a nice store. But it did affect me on a level more significant than surface fashion. That day I experienced a subtle shift in self-perception, a minor liberation from a getting-older hangup I’d never even realized was there. That shopping excursion felt great; fun and empowering and creative and worry-free. And on reflection, it was just what I needed. At this particular moment, late in my fifth decade, a little quality time at Nordstrom helped me realize that maybe I’m outgrowing more than just last season’s pants, and maybe that’s terrific.
My decision to buy was sparked by good storytelling in the broadest possible definition of that word. And stories, even ones that are made up for the express purpose of separating women like me from their money, are powerful indeed. The story I heard that day might have been a fairy tale invented by a crack team of marketers and creatives. But as I slip into my just-rough-enough new denim, my pleasure and satisfaction are absolutely real.
