I was doing some field research on Carnaby Street yesterday, the Mecca for mid-market brands' flagship stores. Well, I call it research; I was basically browsing over things that I can no longer buy. Ball/ thigh/ calf hugging jeans, Coco The Clown colour sneakers, Seventies satin running shorts with the 'challenging' split up the side of the leg. I might be sounding cynical, but normally I would have snapped it all up. I used to be mates with a lot of the store managers around here (having spent my way into their hearts), but now my friendship buying power has evaporated and I'm not greeted with such enthusiasm.



Anyhow, I digress. In every shop I visited along the street, I began to notice this one couple and child browsing ahead of me; they were the nuclear branded family. She: resplendent in adidas Stan Smiths, Puma crop trousers and a Chanel bag. He: keeping it real in a Bathing Ape polo, Maharishi shorts and some old school Nike ninja sandals. The boy: head to toe Nike and a Beckham c. 2002 hairdo. All laden down with bags from Footlocker, Diesel, and Vans. It seemed perfectly natural to them to while away the day, spending money on each other, topping up their self-esteem with nice stuff. Why not, they've probably earned it. The boy looked sweet too.

This was all I wanted when I was a child… to have all the same branded stuff that the kids in the playground had. Even better, to have cool limited edition branded stuff from up town that no one in the playground had, but all would want. And for my Dad to take me up to London and get me all of this stuff? Boy, life would've been sweet.



As I delve deeper into my past with my therapist, I am discovering that one of the roots of my brand obsession stems from being denied these branded things when I was a small boy. The arguments we had over Diadora trainers and Lyle & Scott pullovers…. I would have been so much happier had I been like the boy in the picture here. Or would I? The deal back in 1981 was that my mates and I wanted to wear stuff that our parents didn't understand (add music and the Young Ones to that list also). The struggle to get these things was half of the fun. This boy here looks exactly like his Dad. At home do they listen to the same Dizzie Rascal CD's together? Watch the same risky after hours comedy show? Or have posters of the same heroes on their bedroom walls? No this is all wrong. If my parents had been branded up to the max, I would surely have gone the other way.

Some questions…

1. When did it become cool for kids to wear the same gear and listen to the same music as their parents?

2. Has youth culture become so commodified that people of any age can understand the codes and symbols of the young? Or are people simply refusing to grow up, thereby creating an aging youth?

3. What happened to the little store on Carnaby Street that sold posters of Linda Lusardi, Zippo lighters and joke plastic dog poo? There's a Boots there now.