Where Have All The Indies Gone?
September 29, 2005 by David BlackmanI went to the rally to save Kepler's to pick up girls. I brought three books, a dying iPod, two pairs of headphones and a writing journal with me in a large messenger bag off which I'd pulled the Kenneth Cole tags, one thread at a time. I left my camera at home because I expected everyone else there would be taking pictures. I wore a tight green and orange T-shirt from a pretentious independent music store in Manhattan.
I could barely hear the speakers on stage explaining how they would negotiate with the company who owned the property to lower Kepler's rents, so he could stay in business for another 50 years. Perhaps there would be a membership club if -- and when -- Clark Kepler reopened his store. People told stories over and over again of a love for books and of a store with a helpful staff, a store that was a family destination, a mandate after Applewood Pizza, a store that you couldn't walk out of without buying a few books. They could have been describing a Barnes & Noble.
Officeworkers in the floors above Kepler's looked out in astonishment and amusement at the strange message of the event -- please, pwetty pweeze Mr. Tan Group, could you find it in your heart to lower poor ol' Mr. Kepler's rent? The demand was an absurd one. Clearly, the holding company could make more money, profit, buy-low-sell-high, benefit to investors if they raised the rent. They wouldn't have raised the rent if the space could not support it, and Kepler's could not support that space. When I could hear what the speakers were saying -- the mayors and city council members -- retired and current -- the owner of Cafe Baronne's -- they talked about how they'd lost so many Menlo Park landmarks in the past few years -- names of stores I didn't recognize -- but not this one! This was their stand against ... what? The basic forces and tenets of capitalism?
Being there by myself was lonely. There was no one there in my 18-25 demographic. Some people pushing 30, there after work, on their Treos and RAZRs, telling their friends it wasn't worth it to come down. The high schoolers were out in force. Knowing it would only take an hour, they were also on their cell phones, planning their next activity. One guy in black, a neo-goth with a guitar, was waiting for the hippie spirit to come out, at which point he'd lead a singalong. It never happened.
There weren't any girls my age to flirt with. I scanned the audience. Lots of burnt-out hippies, bleeding ponytails, some of whom were eying the three cops suspiciously, waiting for the fuzz to start trouble. Lots of seniors -- gray hair dominates the photographs. I guess hippies and senior citizens are starting to overlap. I can't reconcile my grandfather, members of Cream and the Chicago Seven all being eligible for discount movie tickets. There was a lesbian couple and lots of families with kids. The kids were raised the way I wish I had been -- with an early and naive belief in their parent's left-leaning causes. Saving the trees and the earth and Kepler's. Shopping at Whole Foods and eating organic salads. Preferring hiking vacations over trips to Disneyland. I wonder what these kids are like when they grow up. They held their homemade signs longer than most of the adults.
There was one girl with dyed-red highlights in her hair and a sign made with sharpie markers: "... but Neil Gaiman was coming." I smiled at her when she showed up, and nearly fell down as I awkwardly shuffled my feet while still wearing Rollerblades. She opened her mouth to reveal a smile of metal which made me notice her very-14-year-old friend. The lesbians were cute in that early-30s-drink-tea-listen-to-Aimee-Mann sort of way, but clearly outside of my dating pool. Two girls in black "I (heart) Kepler's" T-shirts with "Damn the Man, Save the empire" written on the back in red glitter pen. A line from a 1995 movie that epitomizes why kids care about saving independent stores -- so we can feel unique. Have our own shithole underdog overpriced privileged hangout home. A place to fall in love and feel better than everyone else. Cheers for 20-somethings. Central Perk for outcasts.
The best we can muster is a dated movie reference? False nostalgia will save us all in the end. When the chains have driven all the indies out of business, they'll start faking it, like a faux-indie label set up by a Big-5. They'll just give every outlet a different name and make the owners buy mismatched furniture from a central distributor in China and play records picked by the employees. We won't know whether to be outraged or overjoyed.
There was a moment of silence for the victims and refugees of Hurricane Katrina. A moment marred by the ladies in the back, the ones holding up the "Honk if you love Kepler's" signs, causing the torrent of traffic down El Camino Real to honk to show its support for a non-issue. No one wanted to see the store close. No local politician would dream of not paying lip service to the store. It's people wanting what they aren't willing to work for.
I have a confession to make -- prior to this rally, I'd never been to Kepler's. I shop for my books without loyalty, even at Amazon and Borders, both very big Republican supporters. I feel good when I shop at Barnes & Noble, a BuyBlue-endorsed retailer, even if it did drive Shakespeare & Co. out of business. Kepler's was far from campus, and the books I buy, no matter how obscure I think them, can almost always be found in any chain store I walk into, a thought that both comforts and annoys me.
Someone made the point that if an independent bookstore can't survive in Menlo Park, in the heart of Silicon Valley with all the dot-com millionaires, then indie stores are done for. Which makes me ask: Aren't these independent bookstores -- hell, maybe bookstores in general -- the providence of rich white kids? Indies definitely are, as higher prices necessitate a richer clientele. This is why everyone loves large chains -- they're cheaper and more consistent. It's a simple explanation that requires only the most rudimentary influence of the invisible hand. Are these rich white kids the ones who will think the big thoughts? The ones who will seed the changes that benefit everyone -- the civil rights crusaders who we so desperately need? Or are these the kids who will work corporate jobs, drink wine and enjoy the privilege of paying more for rice or books so they can feel better about their spending habits?
"Buy Local!" the politicians urged. Can we? Is there such a thing as a local clothing retailer anymore? Even local diners are a thing of the past in most places. I lived in a town this summer that was obviously less than 10 years old -- one indoor mall and too many strip malls to count, a Best Buy, a Chili's, four Starbucks, a P.F. Chang's, a Noah's Bagels, an entire development of McMansions. A Safeway and an Albertsons and a Trader Joe's were my options for food. While Trader Joe's may be warm-organic-fuzzy-hippie, it isn't buying local.
I don't know how we're going to break out of it. When the only college student attending a rally to save a local independent bookstore -- the one where Jerry Garcia met Phil Lesh! -- is a Jewish liberal who can't help thinking like a Republican econ major, the indies are done for.
David Blackman was a regular opinions columnist for The Daily while a freshman in 2002-2003. He is currently a senior majoring in Computer Science who is just as cynical now as he was back then. Send him your similarly-jaded theories about our generation at blackmad@stanford.edu.
David Blackman was a regular opinions columnist for The Daily while a freshman in 2002-2003. He is currently a senior majoring in Computer Science who is just as cynical now as he was back then. Send him your similarly-jaded theories about our generation at blackmad@stanford.edu.
