Michael Gravel Edmonton Writer

A Bean Man

Despite the fact that I spent this past Xmas on my back in an ICU ward, I did receive some cool gifts. Highlights included a bunch of books of poetry, some cool fiction, and some much-needed clothing. Great stuff to be sure, but the highlight of my very modest Xmas haul was a Polartec fleece and a tartan shirt from the mythical L.L. Bean. For those unfamiliar with L.L. Bean, they’re kinda like a less expensive Eddie Bauer crossed with MEC – an American institution that has been around for nearly a century. Bean have a few stores in the eastern US, but the thrust of their business is their mail-order catalog. My wife and I have been getting it delivered to our house for the past year or so. We look forward to it more than our monthly delivery of The Walrus.

Which brings me to the point of this article. The Walrus makes me feel stupid and lightweight because I can never finish an issue. On the other hand, the L.L. Bean catalog plunges me into near-irredeemable weakness. It makes me feel less. Less of a man. Less experienced. An unfulfilled shameful dresser. When reading the Bean catalog, I am a sniveling gnat. Filled with fit-looking and moneyed New Englanders, the Bean catalog is purpose-built to create feelings of guilt and inadequacy in the reader. This is nothing new of course. All advertising does this. The beguiling thing about the L.L. Bean catalog is that they do it so goddam well and convincingly. I don’t get those feelings when I thumb through the Sears catalog. I go out of my way to not look like a Sears model. I have a terrifying and shameful confession: I don’t mind being duped by L.L. Bean. It’s an idyllic and false lifestyle they’re selling, I know, but I am convinced that a pair of Kennebunk Chinos (Heritage Khaki color) will straighten me out and make me more honest. My wife will fawn over me and walk laughing in the rain if we only owned the Storm Chaser rain gear (Bright Yellow color). As an avowed anti-consumerist, I am appalled by these thoughts. Is L.L. Bean relevant in Canada? More accurately, Western Canada? Can’t one buy equivalent products here for the same price or less? Is it necessary to order French Blue Button-Down Oxford Cloth dress shirts from Bean when Mark’s Work Wearhouse sells an equivalent and they’re just around the corner?

The answer? Yes. Wholeheartedly, YES. When you buy Bean, you buy the dream. You buy the possibility of walking on a Vermont dock on a sunny Sunday afternoon wearing Sperry Top Siders. You buy the idea that an elegant, mature, fit woman who wears polo shirts will one day be your companion. You buy great skin, invincibility, and a good stock portfolio. Same thing all around. Ikea, Timmy’s, McDonald’s. They don’t sell products. They sell ideas. One sells a dream, one sells consistency, and one sells convenience. Lifestyle advertising typically makes me grow a big rubbery one. L.L. Bean does it so well that I get duped every time. I fire up their website and fill up my shopping cart. Visa at the ready. Just before I hit “buy now”, I ask myself if I really need this shit, these chinos, these “can’t shrink ‘em” tees, these tartan flannel shirts. Do I? Fuck no, but I wouldn’t mind piloting a lobster boat off the coast of Cape Cod, my wife’s weathered and beautiful face beside me.

Entry #69 · February 6, 2008 in