Our Sunglasses
I am currently studying ~full-time for interviews with my dream firm right now so I unfortunately have to make this piece short. The prose was written stylistically as if I was talking to other people but also to myself; this is the main way my internal dialogue presents itself.
A few days ago, I took the train to get to the Starbucks Roastery on the corner of Michigan and Erie in Chicago. There’s no special reason I go there during the slow weekdays that comprise the weird limbo-like period between my internships and my school’s incredibly late start date (September 28th, WTF!); I just like their fast wi-fi and the ambience.
This was a ritual I used to undergo almost daily during the limbo periods that capped off my summers over the past three years. Something was different about this time though.
Have you ever taken a walk down Michigan Avenue in Chicago? I guess it’s analogous to Fifth Avenue in New York City or Newbury Street in Boston. It’s a glitzy street with glamorous, gilded storefronts. Each store has bold signage –like the plumes of a peacock – proclaiming their infamous brands right above their entrances. Perhaps the most striking example of this is the building that belongs to Burberry. Black stripes line the building’s facade at 45 and 135 degree angles, intersecting with each other to form diamonds and squares. It did not generate a good impression on me. Here on this street where traditional Chicago Art-Deco architecture lined the block was this new-age monument to the monstrosity of indulgent consumption. When I first looked at that building, I felt as if I was gazing upon Barad-Dur.
However, the most striking juxtapositions to be found on that street are not the Burberry building and its surrounding neighbors, but among the throng of people filling the sidewalk below.
Walking out of the burberry store are sunglass-crowned faces. Their eyes – windows to their soul – are covered by curtains; The only aspects revealed: ageless, well-cared-for skin, beautiful jewelry, flawless upscale in-season clothing. And those big bags: giant paper or cloth bags with emblazoned designs that carry a product which the market rates as equivalent to the monthly wage of an infantryman, a nurse, or a construction worker.
Except for driving or for dealing with glare, I always wondered why people wore sunglasses, especially expensive ones. I know that they’re a status symbol: have you ever met a rich dude without aviators? But have you ever tried wearing sunglasses? They mess up your vision! You can’t see anything! – I’m personally more of a squinter! – It absolutely ruins your ability to focus on others’ faces, and it especially ruins your peripheral vision…
Perhaps that is why those walking out of the Burberry store wear them, for in the corner of their unflinching gaze lie the other primary inhabitants of the street.
Their gaze is always downward, I’ve noticed that. The people who have been left behind: migrants struggling to survive, disabled veterans, drug addicts, those out of luck in this economy, and the mentally ill; they all share Michigan avenue. Cracked skin, dry lips, ragged clothes: their windows are open, and when you look in all you see is pain.
Wretched pain, for when you: A young man–the first in his family to go to college, privileged with a full scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the world, raised by a father unable to graduate high school due to civil war–walks in between those leaving the burberry store and those straddling the curb, your uncovered eyes and your midwestern sensibilities compel you instinctively to look at other people’s eyes and smile. Yet when you look into the eyes of those on the curb, you can’t.
You can’t because you’re seeing what is happening with uncovered eyes and a frown quickly presents itself on your face. You want to cry. You get angry at the contrast, available for anyone to see. Your feelings stick with you over and over until you actually start crying and your utility function’s output from consumption collapses.
These are the feelings I have whenever I walk down Michigan Avenue. I’ve done it for the past 8 years of my life: both in my limbo periods and occasionally on the walk to the train station from my high school (located nearby).
I am not a Communist, I do not hate the wealthy, and I love America. I’m probably one of the most patriotic people you will ever meet. I study Economics at the University of Chicago: I love the free market!
The moral test of government is how that government treats those who are in the dawn of life, the children; those who are in the twilight of life, the elderly; those who are in the shadows of life, the sick, the needy and the handicapped. - Hubert Humphrey
None of these are incompatible with our way of life; Indeed, during the peak of western civilization, these were part of our priorities. We’ve lost ourselves: we need to get back on track.
Maybe a good first step: tossing our sunglasses.