I grew up one town over from Cambridge, Mass., and all my life I went to school less than a mile from that most famous of Cambridge institutions, Harvard University. As such, I spent many a Friday afternoon and Saturday night hanging out in Harvard Square, the little shopping district adjacent to campus. The Square, as it is known to all those lucky enough to have graced its sidewalks as more than one-time tourists, has historically been a place of cultural independence, a national chain store-less beacon for non-mainstream youth. But that all changed about 15 years ago.
From the Gap to HMV to Chile's, the Harvard Square I grew up with looks identical to any mall in America, dominated by major corporations and almost devoid of the independent charm for which it was once known. And about four years ago, the cherry was placed on the top of this brand-name sundae: a big Abercrombie and Fitch store in the middle of The Square.
Now, I realize that this description sounds pretty cynical, but I assure you its not. The transformation of The Square paralleled the transformation of national pop culture; stores and products that were in high demand flowed in, and those that no one wanted closed down. There's nothing wrong with that, in fact, as a typical trend-following teenager, I shopped regularly at all the "cool" stores in The Square, just like almost every other preppy high school and college kid in Cambridge. We were a major market force, and The Square suited our needs perfectly. It was capitalism at its finest.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago, when I went back to Boston for Yom Kippur. While I was home I went into The Square only to find that Abercrombie had been boarded up, out of business. I was shocked. How could the Abercrombie in The Square go out of business? It was such a perfectly natural place for one of their locations, surrounded by thousands of the preppiest college kids of all.
But then I remembered an article I had seen in The New York Times over the summer. The article said that Abercrombie wasn't doing well, and many of its stores were closing. In fact, the company is altering its entire sales strategy, moving its price point even higher (like to 120 bucks for a pair of jeans) in order to try to find traction in a new market. Basically, people aren't really shopping at Abercrombie any more. It's no longer cool.
It isn't just Abercrombie in and of itself that is no longer cool, it's the entire culture that Abercrombie represents. That culture, which has basically defined our generation, is one of WASPy preppiness: polo shirts, sweaters and pleated skirts. It's dominated by SAT prep, after-school activities, and the U.S. News and World Report College Rankings. Its music is without lyrical social criticism or hard edges. It requires no nerve to listen to.
And that's why the last Dispatch concert, which occurred in Boston this summer, ties into the closing of Abercrombie in Harvard Square. Dispatch was the ultimate zenith of prep school/ivy league college music. It is melodic and simple, but with just enough trendy world influences to keep it from seeming stale. The lyrics, even in the sad songs, feel happy. Dispatch songs don't tackle any issues of discrimination or other social ills. It is a band for well-off white kids, the musical equivalent of overpriced Abercrombie cargo shorts.
But now its gone. The band broke up this summer. Of course, the music is still popular and kids still listen to their albums, but as The Beatles profound influence on pop culture diminished when John Lennon died, the Dispatch effect is fading fast. Now, bands like Dashboard Confessional and Taking Back Sunday (harsher, angrier teen music) get slots on the Spiderman 2 soundtrack, and Dave Matthews is nowhere to be found.
The irony is that even the band's last hurrah was a watershed moment for the very prep school culture that was waving goodbye with the closing lines of "The General." More than 100,000 high school and college aged kids, almost exclusively white, gathered at the Hatchshell, along the banks of the Charles river, to see the show. The crowd overflowed the open air concert venue and spilled out onto one of the major arteries in Boston. Yet despite this enormous gathering, there were no major problems- no rioting, no fights, no protests. The worst injuries were heat strokes and a few cuts and bruises from bottles thrown at a crowdsurfing kid wearing a Yankees' jersey (who is stupid enough to do that in Boston?).
The college prep culture of the 1990s and early 2000s was born of privilege, of living in a time of bull markets and relative world peace. As that time fades into history, pop culture will change along with everything else. I don't pretend to know what comes next, but I do know this: it won't be symbolized by cargo pockets or Flying Horses.
