So I'm watching TV, and another one of those Gap commercials comes on, where someone (or a group of someones) of arguable fame and debatable musical talent flushes as much of their integrity as possible in under thirty seconds. Steven Tyler and Joe Perry weren't really an issue, as far as I'm concerned; they've been around for a hell of a long time, and I don't think they really had that much ground to lose over the last few decades anyway. I was just personally disappointed by the appearance of (oh God, what's that band's name again? I've got their album, but I can't remember what they're called, and I suppose most of America will recognize them as "those girls from the Gap commercial" as much as anything). The Gap wins another point for face-time.
I think the real hair up my ass is that the whole point of the current run of Gap commercials is straight-up brainwashing. I mean, granted, the whole point of commercials in general is to hammer some profitable idea into the head of viewers, but, gosh darnit, the Gap is just trying to grapple onto a little too much psyche for comfort. Sure, let Miller try and dictate my beer preferences, let Nike try and get my feet into their shoes, let Crest invade my mouth. These particular fronts don't bother me much; I need to wear shoes, I need to brush my teeth, and though I for one am not fond of fermented wheat, I am going to drink some sort of liquid. I do not, however, feel any need to buy clothes for any purpose other than physical, and, at some basic level, emotional comfort; I could give a shit who wears what, what's hot and what's not. I like to sit around in a white T-shirt, a flannel shirt and jeans, and occasionally scratch myself. I don't want to think about my clothes very often.
The Gap doesn't simply ask for your beer favor, or your dental habits. The Gap wants your style. The Gap is reaching out and trying to grab America by the fashion-conscious balls. The Gap is squeezing, and screaming "Hey! You! Poor, pathetic, unhip American! You will solve your problems with social interaction and all things related simply by adopting our culturally impervious clothing and flaunting it! It's so easy!" And the Gap is screaming in a Sam Kinnesson sort of voice, except it's not really Sam Kinnesson's voice, no, it's a slightly smoothed-out, prettied-up, de-personalized Sam Kinnesson without the actual edge and personality that differentiated Sam from being just another unfunny-two-bit-lousy-comic-whose-entire-idiom-is-screaming sort of comic.
The Gap is glad that Sam is dead. Not because of some inherent Corporate Sadism, or hatred of comics (especially comics willing to testify to the ease of adopting the Gap Style), but because Sam got attention and Sam wasn't Gap. He didn't have The Style. He wasn't taking it easy enough. Sam screamed his lungs out, and that's just the sort of thing that does not go well with a nice pair of khaki slacks and a cardigan.
The Gap is Hitler. America is the biggest group of Polands ever to grace history. The Gap, though, is a newer, smarter furor; Hitler bothered to invade, to actually move his forces over the ground and into Polish territory, but the Gap would have us march ourselves right into the wermacht by our own volition. "Fall into the Gap," sings the Gapstapo cheerfully. Hitler just didn't have enough vision. "Fall into the oppression of an insane and terribly powerful man with what is, in retrospect, an incredibly silly mustache," he should have sung.