Weekly Topic: Expectations

This is a Trouville, not a Speedy, but, authentic Louis Vuitton, (photo lifted from the web.)

This is the Dooney & Bourke Bumble Bee bucket bag, (photo lifted from the web.)

Last Saturday, Rob and I decided to ride the light rail, called MAX, to downtown. We had a specific purpose, to find a wedding present for his high school friend who is getting married at the end of the week. We decided to go to the Portland Saturday Market, with the expectation of finding something handmade and heartfelt.

While walking through the park to the MAX station, we encountered a kiosk, really more of a tent, filled with eager petition signature gatherers. Here in Oregon, we are very fortunate in that we have the initiative process, so pretty much any person or group can move their agenda to the voters. These wannabe ballot measures are sometimes extreme, sometimes confusing, and very prolific. I used to always sign petitions, thinking that it is a good system, one that others don't have, and one that should be supported. Over the last few years, though, my opinion has changed dramatically.

Currently, petition signature gatherers are usually paid, and as a result, many are more aggressive than the worst panhandlers. This concept of money for signatures, means that oftentimes, the collector's only real interest is in doing a job, not supporting a cause in which he or she believes. A few days prior, Rob and I were 'back talked' when we declined to sign the same petition that was in the kiosk that day in the park.

The sign at the kiosk, written on a dry erase board, read: "Help Increase Teachers Salars!" Of course, I laughed when I read it. I hope that it wasn't written by a teacher! But, I don't know. We didn't stop to endorse the petition that time, either. Thankfully we weren't harassed. I have the expectation that I can walk through the park without being hounded to sign something. I also have the expectation that I can ride the train without be hounded to sign something, but, that expectation is seemingly unreasonable, because the train is one place where signature gatherers know that they have a captive audience. Sometimes they ask once on their way up the train, and because they don't really care about the issue or who they've talked to, will ask again on their way back down the train.

When we arrived at the Saturday Market, the first thing that we found was happiness. Yes, it is for sale, and quite reasonably so, here in Portland, at least. Rob and I were charmed by the man who makes happiness gourds, filled with sacred grains of sand, so the fellow claimed. He talked about how his grandfather taught him this tradition, and how the sand comes from a special river bed. My expectation was that the entire gourd would be packed with the mystical sand, however, his brochure states that there are really only 5 grains of sacred sand; that's all one needs for happiness, I guess. Can you imagine counting out five grains of sand? This probably does stretch his sand supply, making it last a lot longer. Nevertheless, we loved the 'sediment' and decided that a happiness gourd would make an excellent wedding present.

After walking through the market another time or two, making sure that we had admired everything at least twice, we decided to board the MAX and head for home. I was thinking somewhat about that teacher's salary, or salars, petition, reminding myself to check into the issue. I'm assuming that teachers are probably not paid commensurate to the importance of their jobs.

Rob and I ended up standing on the train, right beside three, seated, teenagers, two girls and a boy. Judging by their heavy use of cosmetics, the girls looked all of 15, at the oldest. I immediately noticed the handbag of one of the girls, a very cute Dooney and Bourke bumble bee bucket bag. At first I thought that it might be a knock off, because I had looked at that purse myself, but, passed it by because of the $150 price tag. Then I noticed her friend's handbag, a Louis Vuitton; I think that it was a Speedy 30. I studied the LV bag (discretely, of course) and came to think that it was authentic.

Ironically, the MAX, loaded with a motley assortment of Portlanders, stops right at the LV boutique here in downtown. The girl with the LV bag, watched as the train passed the widow display, then squealed to her friend, "That's my bag!" as she clutched her treasure tightly. The boy, who, I am assuming was the boyfriend of the D&B girl, asked her why she needed that, and how much it cost.

$900.

The boy turned to his girlfriend and asked, "How much was yours?"
She shook her head and told him, "Not that much. Her's is expensive."

He looked at them both, shook his head and muttered, "I don't get it." (News flash, he never will.)

The girl with the D&B bag, began talking about how well they get treated when they go shopping, now that they have those purses, especially the LV handbag. The girl with the LV bag said that she will not go to the mall, or any store, without taking her LV handbag, because she gets treated so much better. Sales clerks are falling all over themselves to help her. The boy sat quietly. I think that he was attracted to Miss D&B, not for her intelligence or kind heart, but, rather the fact that 75% of her breasts were exposed by her designer spaghetti strap top.

In fact, both girls were wearing expensive clothing: shabby tops and faded, nearly threadbare, frayed jeans. It costs a lot to look poor, these days. But, for these teenagers, the expectation is that they maintain a look. I was thinking about how early kids learn that appearance means more than content, how sales clerks reason that someone who will spend $900 on a handbag will probably spend even more on whatever the clerk is selling, and treat them like little princesses, which in turn raises the expectations of these children that preferential treatment will continue, so much so, that it becomes their reality.

For my own amusement, and now yours, I went to a website called MeasuringWorth.com, which allows a person to convert 2005 (the latest year available) dollars into dollars from another year. I wanted to see how much the D&B bumble bee and LV Speedy 30 would have cost me when I was 15.

The answer? $45 and $279.31 respectively.

I clearly remember the handbag that I had at age 15. It was natural colored macrame, with hoop handles; my friends all said that it looked like an old lady's knitting bag. And it did. It also only cost me around $5: One-ninth of the bumble bee bag, one-one fifty-fifth of the LV Speedy in 1977 dollars.

I have no expectations that I will ever spend a king's ransom on a handbag. Currently, the most expensive 'purse' that I own is a black leather tote, which doubles as a portfolio; it cost me $60, on sale. No one ever fawns over me when I carry it, nor do I have the expectation that they will.

What are we teaching our kids? Is it that they must have something with an exclusive logo in order to be recognized, to be treated with the respect that they, as human beings, deserve?
Are we training young women to believe that their only value is in their beauty and fashion sense, that nothing else matters? And, really where does one go from carrying a $900 handbag at 15? What does she have to look forward to? Will she just have to keep choosing more and more expensive accessories? What are her expectations for the future?

Then there are those school teachers, college educated professionals, with the expectations that they will be fairly compensated for the work that they do and the good that they contribute to society. How weird would it be to have a student who carries a handbag which represents a week of gross pay?

As a society we, rightfully, have the expectation that children will learn the "three R's" in school, and hopefully, someone, preferably their parents, along the way will teach them values, and the discretion to determine what is truly important in life. I worry that some young women are missing the message, that reading and comprehending anything other than "LV" and "DB" is beyond them, that their knowledge of designer code will be their ticket to success. Or, more correctly, that knowing the code will lead to their expectations of success.

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