Name-brand 'emotional shopping' at discount West End boutique defies the economy
by Emily Bartlett Hines
Cultural critic Roland Barthes once wrote, of the ornamental cooking featured in glossy magazines, that its artifice distracts us from a fundamental truth: "The real problem is not to have the idea of sticking cherries into a partridge, it is to have the partridge, that is, to pay for it." The same illusion draws in those who love to shop. We're all too eager to see our browsing as a thrilling hunt for rare deals and psyche-defining creations. Marxist critique would have us remember that the real problem is not to have the good luck of finding the perfect shoe, it is to afford that shoe—that is, to pay your credit card bill.
Out in the field, this sort of detached perspective is almost impossible to maintain. All the more so if you visit West Nashville's UAL (United Amalgamated Liquidators), a discount store that promises designer merchandise at 70 to 90 percent off. Under such circumstances, the possibility of rescuing an overlooked gem from obscurity seems all too real. UAL's owner, Melody Cohen, understands this is an impulse that a bad economy can't kill: "The fashionista has to have that fix."
The store opened about a year ago, in a West End shopping center that's also home to Apple Market, a Chinese takeout place and a bicycle repair shop. From the outside, one might not expect much in the way of couture. Inside, the décor is just as unprepossessing: white walls, fluorescent lights, a tan floor speckled with the remains of some industrial trauma. And so the first-time visitor is surprised to encounter, prominently displayed, a vintage Christian Dior fur coat for $1,899. Its original asking price is unknown, but other pricey items are deeply discounted: notably, a Duro Olowu cocktail dress whose original tag of $9,075 was apparently justified by the inclusion of "vintage" silk—it's now $1,361.99. Similar items by Dolce & Gabbana, Oscar de la Renta, Chloé and Prada sell for three figures.
If that's too rich for your blood, the store's stock extends downward from Dior through lesser-known designers, all the way down to $9.99 Bella James T-shirts. Like all four UAL branches, this one is fed through a system of "backroom deals" with full-price retailers. Cohen started the business in Hattiesburg, Miss., after she "went broke" in fashion during the 1970s recession years. While the store gets some stock from failing businesses, they do most of these deals with stores (Bergdorf, Barneys, Neiman, as well as about 150 small boutiques) that take cash in exchange for items that haven't sold after a certain period.
As Cohen explains it, these clothes aren't necessarily rejects; rather, shops don't want to alienate returning customers who might see sales on pieces they've already bought at full price. But some eccentric items do turn up. Among UAL's weirder offerings are a shimmering embroidered blue bustier that ends at the waist, by Peter Soronen, marked down from $1,045 to $83.99; and a black Akris maxiskirt, its modesty somewhat compromised by the fact that it's constructed entirely of fringed goat leather. Its tag is crossed and re-crossed by a palimpsest of descending prices, stopping (for now) in the low hundreds.
Few of these items will remain homeless. As sales assistant Stephanie Smith points out, "after so many discounts," eBay sellers will come in and take what's left. But before that happens, each piece has a chance to inspire true love from the store's diverse clientele, ranging from impoverished students to wealthy Green Hills moms. Fairview musician Jim Beckwith said his shopping habits have changed thanks to the bad economy: "Only if I have to have it will I even consider buying." Nevertheless, he was encouraged by the low price (about $70) of a jaunty mink hat, and his girlfriend encouraged him to go for it.
Some shoppers don't fit the model of the typical recessionista. Sarah Parker, who stopped in to pick out some T-shirts, says she "spent more this year than before," having just opened her own boutique (East Nashville's Hue). Also browsing casually were Cassidy Feasby and Sarah Lederach, a young couple who said they're more likely to shop at Goodwill or "occasionally [pull] things off the street." They were unmoved by the store's bargains.
In tense times, small pleasures can seem more important than ever. "I just lost my job," said Jana Wheeler, a sharply dressed blonde. "I shouldn't be shopping at all." And yet the first-time visitor approached the checkout counter with a silky patterned blouse by Morrissey and a pink sparkly translucent shrug ($9.99 each). "I'm emotional shopping right now," she explained.
The Marxists were wrong about one thing: Demystifying the market does nothing to diminish the commodity's allure. Proof of this lies in the fact that those most prone to overspending are store employees themselves. According to Stephanie Smith, the only cure is to remember "there's more stuff coming in tomorrow, so there could be something better."
UAL, 2918 West End Ave. Phone: 340-9999
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