A Gap in the market

Picture: Gap Inc.

For most people living outside of the United States, the 4th of July “holiday” is one of those things they’ve heard about but have probably given very little attention to. Independence Day, to many non-Americans, is just a preposterous Hollywood romp about an alien invasion. To Americans, however, you diss it at your peril, especially if you’re British (you know, after the 1776 brouhaha, and all that…). Thankfully, the 4th of July hasn’t, like several American occasions - and I’m looking at you, Halloween - replicated itself here. But there’s no escaping the fact that pretty much most of our culture has, in one way, shape or form, been influenced by the United States over the last century or so.

 Of the top ten global brands in 2017, seven were US-based. It will not come as any surprise, either, as to who they were: Apple, on whose product this blog post has been written, published and promoted; Microsoft, whose software we make use of pervasively whether we know it or not; Google, without whom we’d know nothing; Facebook whom, without us, would know nothing about us; Coca-Cola who refresh us; and IBM, who largely led the charge of technology to begin with. 

Then there are our high streets: McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Subway and Domino’s are all present in mine, and you can add Burger King and Pizza Hut to that list in most other locales. And then we have the American coffee culture - romanticised in Seattle in the ’80s, made fashionable by Friends in the ’90s, and now in more or less every city and town centre you can find, ubiquitous by the branches of Starbucks and their European chain imitators. America is everywhere. Its technology might rely on components from China, but whether it’s posting nonsense on Twitter, or ordering an Uber, one way or another, we are now somewhat enslaved by the US (and Silicon Valley in particular).

When I visited America for the first time (as detailed in my recent post about UFOs), it was partly to satisfy the exposure to American culture that had been a part of most of my life up until that point. As a child, the item of clothing I most coveted was a denim jacket, because Colonel Steve Austin in The Six Million Dollar Man wore one. When I went out on my bike, I pretended to be Jon and Ponch from CHiPs. Z-Cars didn’t even get a look in. 

X marks the spot - Sun Studios
© Simon Poulter 2021

It would be a while before I’d come to appreciate the American DNA in the music I consumed. Little did I know or understand the blues roots of Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd, or what triggered Lennon, McCartney and Harrison to pick up guitars as teenagers. A trip, many years later, to Sun Studios in Memphis, and standing on the exact spot that Elvis Presley recorded That’s Alright Mama, brought it home to me: how so much of what I’d been consuming since first becoming musically aware, sprang out of that exact spot downstairs at 706 Union Avenue, Memphis, Tennessee, with two pieces of black tape marking it.

Such is the influence of American culture - projected through its domination of entertainment and the window on the US world that Hollywood, principally, has provided, that secretly we want to be American. Why else would we spend more than $73 billion last year on jeans, the utilitarian garment of leisure and, increasingly (thanks to Silicon Valley), the office, which began life as workwear for miners in the 1870s in - guess where? - the good ol’ US of A. 

From hoodies and baseball caps, tracky bottoms to trainers (oh, alright then, “sneakers”), we’ve allowed ourselves to be dressed by America. Its clothing is cheap and functional, and for a range of generations, ubiquity itself. Walk through any shopping centre and mentally note how much American fashion dominates: middle aged men in polo shirts, fortysomething mums in All Stars, even the backpacks carried by students. All of which calls into question why Gap has so spectacularly failed in prevailing in the UK and Ireland, this week announcing that it would close all 81 stores in the UK - 23 by the end of July and the remainder by the end of September. 

On that first trip to the US, in 1992, I was like a child in a sweetshop on discovering Gap for myself, and then finding branches everywhere I went. For very little money (even less when the exchange rate was more than two dollars to the pound), I stocked up on American casualwear staples like jeans, T-shirts and sweatshirts with logos. True, it would hardly get me profiled in GQ, but this was comfort food for the wardrobe. Over the next couple of decades, as my trips to the US became more frequent - both for leisure and for work - no visit would be complete without stocking up at Gap, especially as my weight fluctuated. Got thin? Throw out the XXLs and stock up at Gap! Piled on the pounds? There’s a size waiting just for you! Likewise with Gap’s sister brands, the even cheaper Old Navy, and the more upmarket Banana Republic.

Picture: Gap Inc.

When Gap opened up in the UK, it offered the same retail experience as its homeland, which meant that for those craving a bit of the America tasted on holidays to Florida, California or New York, you could replicate it here. The brightly lit, white-painted shops, the SoHo loft-style wooden flooring, the colourful arrays of smart-casual standards like chinos and button-down shirts, artfully but functionally arranged. The chain, which was founded in San Francisco in 1969 by Donald and Doris Fisher, proliferated outside its native America, eventually peaking at 3,800 shops worldwide. It, and its sub-brands, were an unmitigated success, driving fashion uniformity throughout the world. That, of course, was before COVID-19, and we all went online for our work-from-home all-day pyjama bottoms.

Gap’s disappearance from these shores will not be exclusive. The company is undergoing a strategic review of its own US operations, with nearly third of its retail base there being closed by 2024. Here, where its first UK shop opened in 1987, is blaming “market dynamics” on the retreat. In essence, its appeal has gradually eroded, as online retailers have provided alternative clothing ranges - some bordering on designer-level. Basically, it’s the same story that has afflicted other big retailers like Debenhams and Arcadia’s Top Shop, high street perennials, you’d think. 

Picture: Gap Inc.

Not everyone, however, is struggling. Just look at Primark, whose cheap-and-cheerful appeal was highlighted profusely back in April when the rules on ‘general’ retail outlets were eased, and queues for the chain were seen snaking round the block. Gap, on the other hand, isn’t disappearing for good in the UK: the company believes that its brand is strong enough for it to continue online. I’ve certainly found their webstore invaluable over the last year as lockdown coincided with my latest weightloss programme, requiring another eyewatering binge. 

My loyalty is, I’ll admit, the result of laziness, a lack of imagination and an unwillingness to part cash for anything more exotic. In other words, I’m in my ’50s. Summer’s here, and I need a pair of shorts. Gap has what I need, and I can’t be bothered with buying more or less the same thing from Marks & Spencer or Next, for pretty much the same price. Somehow, a pair of cargos from M&S are just not the same as a pair from Gap, where - when paired with a hoodie and a baseball cap - I can faithfully replicate that ‘American dad at barbecue’ look (which, if you ever attend an American barbecue on the 4th of July, will be exclusively attended by American dads in cargo shorts, hoodies and baseball caps).

Picture: Gap Inc.

That, though, is the key to Gap’s success - and its failure. It’s the shop you go to for classics, not to be on-trend. For unimaginative men like me, it’s where you shop to ensure you’re kitted out in the right uniform, the camouflage blend you into the background. That suits me just fine, and I’d expect the same story to be told by most of my peers. For women, on the other hand, the story might be different, and probably more detrimental to Gap’s fortunes. Women with a hankering for following fashion trends more faithfully have increasingly turned off Gap and found other, sharper places to buy their togs. 

Gap’s appeal - both from the clothing it stocked to the shops they sold it in - began to wain. Fashion writers commented on the quality of its lines dropping, and that, frankly, the stores’ Manhattan look becoming passé. On Sky News the other day, as Gap’s exit from British high streets was sinking in, one women commented that the chain had “stopped being relevant”. 

The comments were eerily similar to those which accompany the numerous schisms that Marks & Spencer has gone through, every time disappointing financial results are posted. Perhaps, in Gap’s case, people have stopped wanting to look so American...