Still Cranky

This morning, I walked past a sign
in front of the Lululemon yoga apparel        store in downtown San Francisco. 
The sign said, "Do one thing a day that scares you." 

Really?  Just one thing?

My day is already chocked full of
things that scare me; from answering my phone to opening my cable bill or
watching promos for "Keeping Up With the Kardashians".  I
don't need to do more scary things; I've already met my daily quota –
and then some (and if I want to do something truly scary, all I have to do is
try on a pair of those Lululemon low-waisted stretch yoga pants.             That could
traumatize me for weeks).

But what really scares me
is this kind of precious, oh-so-self-conscious marketing parading as something
else.  The harder companies try to appear "authentic", the more
phony-baloney they seem – and the more manipulated     I feel.  
I don't shop at Lululemon. 
Horror of horrors, I don't even do yoga.      But I do know that Lululemon is
a wildly successful brand with a cult-like following (known as
"Luluheads").  Their founder, Chip Wilson, has a reputation for
being a marketing genius.

Well, Chip, you certainly got my
attention with that sign of yours.  I'm sure it was meant to prompt some
long overdue introspection – and send me running into your store to buy a
$100 hoodie.  Instead, it immediately set off my bullshit detector. 
I wanted to run as far away from Lululand as I could get.

Frankly, I resent having a retailer
that sells overpriced yoga pants and sports bras doling out unsolicited advice
on how to find enlightenment and improve self-esteem (you really want to boost
my self-esteem?  Try raising the waistlines on those damned pants).

But I get it: what that sign was
really saying was:  Lululemon is an authentic, unique brand…we don't
sell clothing…we sell self-improvement, personal empowerment and
one-size-fits-all spirituality.  Oh, and we're also just so darned
irreverant and playful!

What I didn't realize was that the
cheeky advice on the store sign is only the tip of the Lululemon
self-improvement iceberg. When I checked their website, I discovered an entire
Lululemon "Manifesto".  For sheer wacky-ness,
the Manifesto is the motherload – a splendid mishmash of the practical and the
downright wierd.   Some of the items are clearly
related to yoga, health and exercise:

"Sweat once a day to
regenerate your skin."

"Breathe deeply and appreciate
the moment."

"Stress is related to 99%
of all illness." 

"Drink FRESH water
and as much water as you can."

Those seem harmless enough. 
After all, if you sell yoga clothes,  it makes perfect sense to espouse
tips about health, exercise and stress-reduction.     
  
But the Lulunuts don't stop there. 
Because then the Manifesto veers off into a bizarre mix of cutesy,
philosophical and utterly random gems such as:

 "Dance, sing, floss
and travel."  

 "Communication is
COMPLICATED.  We are all raised in a different family with slightly
different definitions of every word."

"Listen, listen, listen,
and then ask strategic questions." 

They've also included some
helpful retirement planning advice:  "Don't trust that an
old age pension will be sufficient."

There's this radical notion (inspired, no doubt, by a fortune cookie or Suze Ormon): "Friends are more important
than money."

And this lulu of an insight: "Nature wants us to be mediocre
because we have a greater chance to survive and reproduce.  Mediocre is as close
to the bottom as it is to the top, and will give you a lousy life."

Yogis tell us to "live in the
question".  After reading the Lulu Manifesto, my only question is:
"WTF?!?" 
I guess what I'm supposed to think
is, "Those wonderful, selfless people at Lululemon aren't even interested
in money.  They care about me and share my values. 
Wow.  That's so cool."   Instead, all I can think
about is how this cagey company managed to earn a cool $350 million last year
by yuppi-fying yoga wear and serving it up with some quasi-New Age hogwash.

For all I know, maybe the Luluheads
embrace this BS with the same devotion they have for the Lulu Groove Crop
Pants ($86) and the Push Ur Limits Tank ($52).  Or, maybe
they just enjoy the clothes and the cachet.

As for me, I have a sudden need to
breathe deeply and chant very quietly, "Spare me.  Spare me. 
Spare me."

But hey, at least I did one scary
thing today:  I took a closer look into the dark soul of Lululemon.  Be
afraid.  Be very afraid.