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I have vivid memory of an incident from my early teen years.  At the time, The Gap was all the rage.  All the rich kids had stylish Gap clothes — cool t-shirts, colored denim button-ups, and especially their trademark jeans.  I wasn’t a poor kid by any means, but having liberal Bobo parents, they were more interested in spending on trips to Europe, meals in Chinatown, and books (lots and lots of books) than in buying their kid some status signifying clothes.  For a birthday or when we happened across an outlet store (truly a place of shame for a teen), I might get a little something from The Gap.  But that was it; certainly not something you should get used to.

At about that time, a Swiss friend of my parents — a tall and athletic, charming and sardonic fellow named Jean-Francois — visited us for a couple of weeks.   During his visit, he was determined to see an American-style enclosed mall, a phenomenon that had yet to arrive in Europe.  So, one night, much to Jean-Francois’ delight, we visited one of the larger malls America has to offer.  The image from that visit that really sticks with me is J-F buying seven (!) pairs of Gap jeans, repeating, “It is unbelievable how inexpensive!”  The idea that what was to me an extravagant item could be purchased with such abandon led me to believe for sometime that your average western European was wealthy beyond imagination.

The following summer, we visited Jean-Francois in Geneva and he made a bit of a show of telling us how the jeans had worn out too quickly.  Disposable, he called them.

This story illustrates a dramatic difference between Americans and Europeans.  Americans have a vastly different approach to the accumulation of commodities.  As Ritzer (following Weber) notes, we place a tremendous emphasis on quantity over quality.  While Europeans have begun to adopt our habits in recent years (with the Brits leading the charge), traditionally, they favor quality over quantity.

As an example, let’s look at the case of t-shirts.  I estimate that I own in the ballpark of thirty t-shirts of various types (e.g., old soccer league tees, undershirts, colorful summer t-shirts).  I don’t think that this makes me very abnormal among Americans.  By contrast, most European friends of mine own no more than
five t-shirts, each costing vastly more than my entire collection.  While I have a lot of t-shirts, they have next to no value.  Whereas I acquire t-shirts like Swiffer sheets attract dust and chuck them when they inevitably rip in the armpit, t-shirts sold in Europe cost far more, but are “built to last”.

It is often said that Americans have a disposable culture, but rarely is it acknowledged that underlying the quality of the item and our behavior in purchasing a shit-ton of these items is a fundamental difference in values from our European neighbors.  Americans value having a lot of stuff and getting a bargain on it above all else.  Europe — at least for now — approaches commodities in a more functional manner, hoping to buy something once and have it last.

In the inaugural edition of america for europeans, we celebrate tomorrow’s political showdown in the Keystone State (and the possible end of this nightmarishly annoying Democratic primary process) by focusing on a political issue.

One unusual trait of contemporary Americans is a reluctance to discuss their political beliefs. In Europe and Latin America, discussion of political issues and open support for political parties is common and even celebrated. I have never met an old, drunken Englishman in a pub with any reluctance to tell why he’s Labour. Or an Italian not eager to have an hours long debate about politics. Or a Mexican who wouldn’t put her family’s experience in terms of political economy.

For Americans (particular white ones, I suppose), talking about politics is rude. People who do discuss politics in public are seen as crass (think Michael Moore or Ann Coulter). When I volunteered for the Kerry 04 campaign, I would call people and just ask them if we had their support or not. Many, if not most people told me that they didn’t like to talk about politics. “It’s personal,” they’d tell me. Some went as far as to say that it was rude of me to ask. Dave Chappelle makes a similar point in For What It’s Worth, noting that white people are all too eager to describe personal sexual exploits, but shy away from political discussion. The other day, I was chatting with a relative stranger, when he cautiously said, “Well, I don’t know what your politics are, but I kind of like Barack Obama …” He paused, waiting for me to confirm that I, too, heart B-rock. So assured, he went on to positively gush about Obama.

Beyond the relatively simple question of who someone’s voting for in a given election (which could come down to a matter of personality), discussing actual political issues is virtually forbidden unless one is certain that s/he is in like-minded company. Nation readers chat about politics together, avoiding such a conversation with the National Review subscriber down the hall. An essential part of the mythology of American holidays (particularly Christmas and Thanksgiving) is the classic dinner table fight between the snot-nosed, liberal college kid and the right-wing uncle or father.

I suspect it boils down to the capitalist, individualist culture. Unlike our founding fathers or Europeans, who see democracies as providing an excellent open forum for debating what our societies should be like, Americans view politics through a consumer lens, seeing Kerry and Bush like the choice between Tide or Ivory Snow (as Arundhati Roy once said).