“Los calcetines del nene son para niñas.”
So, as I stumbled into Baby Gap and seized the opportunity to secure my 11-month-old’s manliness, I remembered why I don’t usually Gap. Because every freaking thing in there charges at least $24.99 for you to advertise for, um, The Gap.
I felt like a sellout. Like I was in the gift shop of a country star’s theme park or a major political convention. Like I’ve got to get the heck out of this Gappy place full of Gappy stuff or my Hurricane will be sporting something primary colored that says “My mom went to the Gap and all I got was this lousy Gap T-shirt.”
I mean, who do these Gap executives think we are? A bunch of Gap lemmings who’ll gladly dish out dollars without question or royalties to promote their Gap agenda? After all, we’re not just being bought, we’re buying! Well, no thank you. I, for one, am not a weak, mindless puppet just waiting to jump on the next train to….oh…wait…
Not in the Baby Gap,
but across many well-folded piles
in the attached Regular People Gap…
I moved in closer. And next thing I knew, I was two inches away from the in-store, point-of-purchase signage. I wanted to lick the lifesize Piven-shops-at-the-Gap-you-should-too poster, but thankfully the Misophobia kicked in. So I surveyed the Ari Gold Gap offering. And I knew, I knew!, that right then and there, I needed to buy my husband whatever shirts he, I mean, they were selling. It’s what had to happen. It was simply the right thing to do.