Daum: Is Urban Outfitters waving the bloody shirt?
It was the hand-me-down from hell: a Kent State University sweatshirt, faded, hole-filled and splattered with red dye -- or was that blood? -- offered online by Urban Outfitters for $129.
Everyone who ranted about the Kent State shirt on social media last week only made that strategy more effective.
A scandal ensued, and not because of the price. Kent State was the site of a massacre in 1970, when the National Guard shot 13 students, killing four, in the wake of campus political protests (not all victims were protesting). News of the sweatshirt made its way to Twitter, at which point BuzzFeed got a screen grab of the listing and sent it on its viral way.
When the commentariat wasn't dreaming up analogously tasteless items or bashing Urban Outfitters for exploiting a national tragedy in the pursuit of revenue and hipster cred, it was demanding answers: Who designed this shirt? How did it wend its way though the company's various channels? Was this a cynical marketing ploy or just the result of some clueless young executive thinking that a faded Kent State sweatshirt with red splotches on it represented nothing more than a cool look?
Considering the widespread indignation, it's surprising that more people didn't notice the shirt was a single, used item, not mass produced with stains and holes. It had probably been floating around for years until an Urban Outfitters buyer spotted it. It was sold on the company's "urban renewal" site, essentially an online flea market.
Amid the controversy, the company said the red splotches were "discoloration from the original shade of the shirt."
Urban Outfitters has a history of selling items that cause publicity-generating opprobrium. And if that really is a deliberate strategy, you have to admit it's pretty effective. Everyone who ranted about the shirt on social media only made the strategy more effective.
In the end, I suspect the outrage isn't about this particular sweatshirt but about clothing attitudes in general -- or at least one of those attitudes, which essentially says, "When I get dressed, I respect my freedom of expression more than I respect those around me."
I'm not singling out any one fashion trend. I'm talking about sartorial choices that draw attention to the wearer while essentially saying everyone else might as well be invisible. I'm talking about men with their pants hanging practically to their knees and women wearing sweatpants with "kiss my" written on the backside. I'm talking about airline passengers who wear T-shirts bearing curse words and then make a stink when they are asked to cover up the shirt. I'm talking about baby onesies that say, "I'm proof that my mom puts out." (I didn't make that up.)
Our forefathers fought for our freedom to dress as atrociously as we can get away with. But the effect of this messaging is that the line between expressing oneself and provoking others has become blurred. Worse, provoking others is no longer considered rude, but commonplace. All day, every day, we are provoked -- by clickbait news headlines, by racy billboards, by trashy attire for all ages. And since most of the time we're powerless to do anything about it, we wage battles where we can, even if it's over an old college sweatshirt someone noticed online.
Given the battle waged over it last week, that Kent State shirt must be even more worn and full of holes now. I bet it's worth $229.
Meghan Daum is a columnist for Los Angeles Times.
