Thursday, May 15, 2008
We're buying schlock because we want to remember. But the more we stock up on canned memorabilia, the faster we'll forget.
Sep 7, 2002 | In America, we grieve by buying stuff. Shopping soothes us, reassures us that we're coping, that we're moving on. Less than a month after Sept. 11, the "America: Open for Business" campaign was born, calling upon citizens to seek revenge and healing through retail. One year later, despite our diminished purchasing power, there is more succor for sale, this time through products aimed at reconciling the avalanche of emotions we experienced after last fall's tragedy.
Suddenly a dizzying range of merchandise is available to commemorate the tragedy, from full-color photography books to NYPD policeman dolls to crystal replicas of the twin towers. Sifting through the consumer fallout from 9/11 can incite the kind of cultural vertigo heretofore only achieved by spending several hours in a Graceland giftshop. The same sad images adorn every mug, ashtray, T-shirt and figurine imaginable, each the reflection of a nation that embraces and commodifies tragedy. By trivializing the tragic, we reduce its proportions enough to put it behind us.
Are the creators of these products giving voice to the pain we share, or are they exploiting that pain by shamelessly cashing in on tragic circumstances? In a country as commercially saturated as ours, maybe we're past the point of caring either way. We're soaking in it. The more important question may be, could any event have an impact dramatic enough to bestride our culture's ability to swallow it whole, only to excrete beach towels and bumper stickers a few months later?
Sept. 11 was supposed to be that big event, the one that would remain immune to our culture's chirpy, reductive forces once and for all. We watched the towers collapse on live TV, and felt ourselves a part of the tragedy. We would not let the hungry demon of pop culture near this one, no matter how loudly it whined and drooled over the commercial potential of human suffering -- American human suffering -- on such a large scale.
This was the horror to end all whores. There would be no tasteless jokes, no chipper, digitally rendered news logos spinning toward us declaring "A Nation Mourns" or "Avenging the Dead," no pseudo-serious lifestyle stories about fashion in the wake of Sept. 11. Of course, the cheesy slogans and news logos began after only a few days -- TV news has all the self-restraint of a hyperactive 3-year-old. But for weeks, even the most blatant huckster was hesitant to push his wares on a country in pain. There were supportive messages: American flags, I heart NY T-shirts, but nothing too expensive or weird, just the sort of rah-rah merchandise you'd find at Astro games and cheerleading camps. We were in pain. We wanted to help. Selling stuff -- and buying it -- was beside the point.
But without stuff, how would we heal? How would we signal to ourselves that the coast was clear, that life could get back to normal? Thus, one year later, the grace period for good taste has officially expired, and the stores are brimming with 9/11 merchandise. While the heartfelt homemade memorials to victims might've made you swallow back tears, the commercial artifacts of this tragedy will make you swallow back something else entirely.
From twin towers commemorative pins to "Gone But Not Forgotten" sweatshirts, businesses are scrambling to give you a purchasable outlet for your pain. Who would've thought a year ago these two buildings, buildings that many claimed scarred an otherwise classic skyline with their blocky modern outline, would be replicated on everything from pendants to porcelain plates? Even more remarkable, perhaps, is that just five years after the Abner Louima brutality case, kids would cherish a doll dressed up as an NYPD cop.
And here we are, a part of the problem, digesting the unbearably sad and spitting it out as a rant to read over your coffee break. Still, is it possible to navigate the mountain of bizarre products related to Sept. 11, to gaze at the cultural digestive process in action, without an occasional derisive snort? These aren't just commemorative pins, mind you. Instead it seems that there's a 9/11 product to match every target demographic: Love kids? Then you'll want to pick up "The Day Our World Changed: Children's Art of 9-11." Art buff? Maybe you'd like a $440 replica of the New York skyline. Self-help enthusiast? Perhaps you'd like to browse "The Sept. 11 Syndrome: Seven Steps to Getting a Grip in Uncertain Times." Prefer to tackle your emotions by purchasing a painted commemorative plate instead? You've got it.
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