I am a Consumer Whore

When considering a purchase for something as personal as clothing, there is a pervasive concern that a wrong selection will make you look like "that guy." For any given combination of lifestyle and age group, there are always those on the left side of the box-and-whisker graph that wear their clothes too tight, their brands too loud, their style too forced, and their scene too cliche. I don't give a damn how I look, and these are important considerations for even me.

So when I decided that I was done giving money to stores that wanted me to pretend to be a surfer/skater/Californian/softcore actor, I was appalled at how undesirable it was for people to pretend to be me. Car guy's aren't exactly lady killers; most of us eat a lot of ramen and can easily get locked in a 30 minute conversation about the best way to use a multimeter. Also, a lot of us are fat, being as many car guys don't actually participate in the sports that they prepare their cars (but not themselves) to compete in.

I get it. It's not a lifestyle that marketers are apt to sell to emo tweens and thirty-something moms.

So when I'm specifically marketed to by larger companies like DC Shoes, and to some degree smaller companies like Enthusiast Apparel, their messaging scores a critical hit. Buying their products puts me into a special predicament. Purchasing motorsport-themed apparel simply because a marketer fed that ravenously hungry part of my sense of self makes me feel a little like I'm being manipulated. I refuse to fall for marketing tactics that would try to badger me into thinking that I wasn't serious about my passion for motorsport unless I bought their product. Piloti's got that witch's brew down to a science—drivers the world over are also douchebags that buy Piloti products simply for self-gratification.

The issue becomes hard to ignore when DC begins branding a shoe that is directed toward me. This is a company that I already choose for shoes, as I can get behind a co-founder who uses his success to fund a racing career and regularly chronicles himself doing awesome things behind the wheel of a car that the proles can afford. In the beginning, I was sure that I did not want them. I put them on par with Piloti shoes, sure to be the must-have item for every ricer doing flybys in America's residential neighborhoods. I felt pretty much the same about the tees put up by Enthusiast Apparel. Granted, EA is on twitter and shows signs of having an awful addiction to vintage euro saloons, which I consider a mark of authenticity.

I buckled.

I decided that instead of scorning people who make things and tell me that I'd probably like them, that maybe I should appreciate that these people are speaking to me, or someone like me, and listen to their pitch in earnest. Another possibility is that I've decided that I'm no better than that guy with the souped up Integra next door.

I love the shoes, the colors are loud, but fun. They are ultra comfortable, they clean easy, and the heel seems to be holding up well to the clutchwork I've done in the past three weeks. I couldn't be more thrilled with the enthusiast apparel shirts—they have a long fit that hides my ass cleavage, and the fabric feels like a really soft ring spun cotton (I'm too lazy to take this shirt of and check the tag). A month turn around time seemed a little nuts for screen printed t-shirts, but I'm sure I'll have forgotten that little snag by the time I'm hungry for a few more tees.

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