Pique n' yer interest 

Move over whoosh

Those of you who flip though the Pique’s classifieds every week hoping to see something else other than the buckets at Cows under the Free Stuff heading, should know the news by now.

Lululemon is coming to town. If you don’t know what Lululemon is I’d say there isn’t much hope for you.

You’d be wrong to guess that it’s a new girlie punk band playing at Garf’s this week or a tangy new shooter on the shooter wheel. It’s not a new flavour of ice cream at the above-mentioned ice cream shop or an exotic dancer coming to the Boot ballet.

Lululemon is only the trendiest name in yoga wear.

So move over Nike, make room Champion and don’t get so cocky Whoosh. There’s a new brand in town and it’s coming to one of the most brand-conscious places on earth.

We in Whistler are walking billboards, giant advertisements, with logos on our toques, gloves, jackets, pants, goggles. We’re branded right down to our underwear.

So you can be sure that Whistler will love Lululemon just as it loves all the others brands, from The North Face to Descente and the dozens more in between, clamouring for their fair market share.

We can’t help it. Brands make us feel good and safe and just like everyone else.

They are status symbols helping us define who we are.

The first time I remember being conscious of brands was when I was about eight years old. We were at the cottage – a place where brands didn’t exist… until my cousins came to visit.

One day we were all on the dock having a cannonball competition when all of a sudden they started pointing at my dad’s shirt in hysterics. With peals of laughter they announced that the man playing polo on the horse was upside down. In other words, dad was wearing a cheap Ralph Lauren knock-off.

I remember being vaguely mortified of this average blue T-shirt even at eight years old. It was a fake. Somehow dad was totally uncool. That was a defining moment in my young life. Boom! I was now brand conscious. Strangely, it never affected my dad in the same way. He remains as clueless about brands (unless you’re talking the difference between a Jag and a Tercel) as ever before. Dad never saw that guy on the horse so it didn’t really matter if he was upside down or right side up. To him it was just a clean blue T-shirt.

Later on in my teenage years my brand loyalties extended far and wide from clothes to food and even electronics.

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