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Friday, the black

Look familiar?

The last three years, I’ve delighted in posting some kind of anti-Black Friday screed in this space on the day following Thanksgiving. Actually, last year saw me repeat the post from the year before. After all, the story never changes, and it’s such a tempting target for ridicule. Traffic helicopters deployed on parking lot watch duty, local reporters braving the madding crowds before the sun rises, and the grave speculation on what it will mean for the national economy - which provides the rationalization for this shopping porn “coverage.” It all blurs together: so many dollars potentially spent, so many discounts made available by desperate retailers, so very few days before Christmas. Joyous Noel, Cyber Monday, hurry, hurry. The story is always the same.

And it’s here that I had planned to say that “one’s attitude toward that story, however, is another matter.” This was to be the thesis of this year’s Black Friday post, a relaxed, sanguine acceptance of this fetish we’ve built around consumption. The problem with that thesis is that it’s unfounded. In writing the initial paragraph, I found submerged antipathies welling up within me, antagonisms breaking the surface. The truth is, I am just as repulsed by the cult of Black Friday as I’ve ever been. Goddamn this mindless shopping zombieism, this worship of acquisition, and the soulless socioeconomic forces that drive us.

And here I was afraid that I had grown soft and accepting. How pleasant to find otherwise.

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