Glendale/Whitefish Bay: Snapshots: Bayshore

I've always been struck by the weird apartheid of post-renovation Bayshore.  The North wing, as you walk towards Sears, is kind of one like one of those interactive museum exhibits where you're walking backwards through time, except instead you're walking down the socioeconomic ladder.  I mean, you almost expect them to have a little button you can press on the wall to hear the voiceover--perhaps in front of the place where women have their nails garishly done or the one with the Scarface drawings.  "You are now 90 days behind on your bills," a voice would smoothly intone.  "Creditors are calling day and night (sound of phone ringing)."

What a shame.  Sears used to mean solid, middle-class consumer prudence.  And solid, prudent middle-class folks used to shop there before they got hooked on hyperconsumption crack.  In fact, as a little kid, I was so solid that my Mom brought me there for Husky+ jeans.  (And, alas, while wearing them, I didn't always say no to crack.)  

I'm not sure exactly why, but today, Sears' Bayshore location now seems to have that air of poorer-than-poor about it.  I'm a little mystified by this--I mean, you can have low-end retail without that air (Tarzhay anyone?)  Today's retail world, especially when it comes to soft goods, is so much about selling a narrative. Who in their right mind would buy the Sears narrative?

Just to be there feels poor.  I usually end up going there two or three times a year to buy a winter coat or something, and on two recent occasions, the line has been held up because a customer's payment method failed. My heart always goes out to them, and I wish I could just say that I would pick up their tab.  The opposite of this phenomenon would be Trader Joe's, which, ironically, offers the best value proposition of any retailer I can think of--and is frequented almost exclusively by upper-middle class consumers.