After confirming my second cataract surgery had restored my vision to near 20/20 (not including my enhanced anti-racism optics), my wife announced she would gift me a pair of brand-name sunglasses.
‘Nope,’ my immediate response was, trying not to sound ungrateful.
“Those glasses may be on sale for $89, but wearing someone’s brand name won’t improve my vision. It’s a waste of money that could be used for…”
Before I could finish my sentence–in which I would provide a logical and beneficial alternative use for the $90–she made a 180 degree, tossed her hands up in the air in disdain, and muttered one of those five-syllable words reserved for Black men who ‘look a gifted horse in the mouth—or butt.’
And even though her back was to me, I could visualize the look on her face, which was probably the same expression Eve provided when Adam told her she needed a support bra.
For the record, I wasn’t being ungrateful but instead consistent.
I am not now, nor have I ever been caught up in the ‘materialistic exploitation machination.’
In fact, I think the socioeconomic brainwashing of two generations of Black folks who see their worth through material goods has done irrefutable harm to our tribe.
It has further depleted the household budgets of the poor, served as a conduit for low self-imaging, and prompted our youth to see themselves through foggy prisms that equate self-worth through jewelry, tennis shoes, and cosmetic accessories.
Air Jordans don’t make you jump higher, gold necklaces don’t cover your ugliness, and ‘Lousy’ Vuitton or ‘Gotcha’ Guccis don’t make you ‘top shelf’ or more attractive to ‘THOTs’ or ‘Neckbones.’
As I noted, the name on the side of the ridiculously expensive (at least to me) sunglasses won’t enable me to see any better than the generic frames provided by the Veterans Administration opthimologist.
Moreover, I don’t evaluate my worth based on someone else’s name.
As for the disingenuous belief among the naïve and gullible that brand names make you more relevant— hip, in touch, or ‘rich—well, I evolved past that stage when I had to buy my own candy from my paper route.
Thousands of young African Americans have been killed (and continue to be) over brand-name tennis shoes. Several mothers faced gas shutoffs and evictions because they spent their limited ‘income’ on ‘tagged’ clothing for their children.
In fact, I recall one sister borrowing from relatives to keep her heat on in the dead of winter because she paid $150 for a pair of Nikes for a kindergartener (who didn’t know the alphabet, but probably knew what color pull-up matched his outfit).
Think of how many books she could have purchased or how much of a down payment she could have made for a computer. Those wasted dollars could have gone for music lessons or been a down-payment toward a computer, music lessons, or, God forbid, a winter coat.
But then again, maybe my priorities are messed up.
While other cultures sacrifice to ensure their children a brighter future, set aside loose change for college funds and a percentage of their income toward books or bus fare to the museum, many, if not most, Black Americans are more interested in what covers their child’s head instead of what goes in it.
They are more interested in how Jovita Lashasha and Hennessy Holmes look going to school instead of what she or he learns while there.
I admit to owning a couple expensive brand-name items. But save for a rare few exceptions, they were gifts.
And not to sound like a Scrooge, most of my suits were tailor-made by a traveling Indian who appeared in Milwaukee three times a year. The cost wasn’t extreme, and the quality was such that I could wear any half dozen. Today, 20 years later, I doubt if I could fit in them.
I subscribe to the quality vs. quantity paradigm, not only for tailored suits—which carry my name—but also for dress shoes.
Accessories are a different matter.
Last week, I quizzed salesmen at two popular department stores about the absence of non-brand name t-shirts.
All I wanted was a pack of colored T’s, and I found it disappointing that I was offered only brand names of similar quality but a 25% markup.
On the positive side, I got in my 5,000 steps looking for an item as elusive as an 18-year-old virgin.
To those who think I’m being self-righteous, my mother introduced the premise I just enunciated.
Money was tight back in the day, as she explained the difference between ego and ignorant, want versus need.
If you can check off the other boxes that will ensure you take care of the now and set aside for the future—emergencies and children—then go for it, she advised. But do so with the confidence that you will be weighed by your integrity, self-confidence, and intelligence, not by what you wear.
She also explained the difference between being ‘po and being poor.
If my 20th-century freshmen argument isn’t enough to sway you, let me take you to graduate school:
Most folks don’t realize when they buy overpriced brand-name products, they are, in essence, paying more to promote merchandise that will enrich someone other than themselves.
It’s an advertising scheme, no less sinister than using Black athletes to promote menthol cigarettes in Black communities.
Why do you think Nike puts its name and logo in bold type on the front of its overpriced t-shirts, shorts, and shoes?
They don’t advertise in the Black Media because they don’t have to; you provide their advertising and don’t get paid a dime.
A couple weeks ago, I explained how a similar scenario is used by auto dealers. You pay for the car; they get free advertising through the permanent sticker on ‘your’ vehicle.
The last time I was in the auto buying process (actually my wife), I ‘demanded’ they either take off the sticker or give us a discount. They did.
My generic arguments alone won’t persuade most of you, particularly those brainwashed into thinking your image, personality, or acceptance is determined by a logo.
Logic hasn’t always worked with my children.
When my youngest two boys were in their early teens, I would take them to the shoe store just before the fall semester started.
Since they attended Messmer and wore uniforms, shoes were their outlet to express their individuality and style.
Once at the store, I would give both an equal amount (over $100), explaining they could buy one pair of brand-name tennis shoes or two of lesser-knowns but better quality.
To my surprise, they displayed their critical thinking skills in purchasing one pair of expensive brand-name shoes and two cheaper pair.
They would then alternate until they earned enough to replicate the procedure.
Since both were on the school’s basketball teams, they were also required to purchase specific brand names.
I thought I made a permanent imprint, but I learned the ‘sad’ truth when my oldest son brought his three pears to the house wearing a pair of shoes that cost more than my sports jacket (bought on sale).
It seemed at the time that my lesson had fallen short.
That is until a year later when my bonus daughter revealed my son had reached a compromise: he found an online site where he could sell off his son’s brand name (i.e., expensive) shoes and then use those funds to purchase new attire.
I assume that’s a partial victory, akin to covering up a Nike logo with my column’s caricature
For the record, I won’t charge you if you decide to use it.
Hotep.