By ALEX KUCZYSNSKI
IN a brand-crazy world - one in which every piece of clothing, every large appliance, every electronic device bears the symbol of some commercial entity - there is no spot more loaded with branding potential than the adolescent foot.
Observe the sneakers of American teenagers. You will not see a shoe, plain and simple. You will see the muscular Puma cat, the voluptuous Nike swoosh, the three bold Adidas stripes. Sneakers are religious and political talismans to young Americans: they confer respect upon the wearer and testify that he or she belongs to a certain community. Sneakers are heady stuff, and the stakes are high.
So I was excited to learn that Adidas, the world's second-largest sportswear manufacturer, was opening a sleek new emporium on Broadway at the entryway to the SoHo shopping district. New York City had long been dominated by Niketown, a towering cathedral of athletic wear on 57th Street, but I had grown tired of Nike and its pretensions, sitting there on the same block as Tiffany and Chanel.
As a brand, Adidas stimulates a sophisticated palate with its evocations of sports heroes (remember Jimmy Connors, delirious with victory, fists pumped upward, in his Stan Smith Adidas?) and its legacy of 1970's sneakers. Even if Nike is the undisputed heavyweight champion, Adidas is, simply put, more old-school cool. While Nike was gobbling up market share in the 1980's like a deranged Pac-Man, Adidas was celebrated in Run-D.M.C.'s rap hit "My Adidas," in which Run waxed lyrical on the power of his favorite sneaks. There is always a pair of Adidas Superstars in my closet.
The way I saw it, Adidas would come to New York and do battle with Niketown, an upstart, downtown Jedi force toppling the complacent Death Star. But after two visits in the store's first nine days of operation, I am reluctantly forced to report that it is not yet up to the challenge.
First, there is a physical issue: the building makes a big promise. Sheathed in semitransparent glass and six stories high, scaled by glass elevators, it suggests several floors of Adidas products. Alas, upon entering, I found that Adidas occupies just two floors connected by mere escalators. At 29,500 square feet, it is large but no challenge to Niketown's staggering 66,520 square feet.
Minimalist in design, the store and its elements are black and white, relieved by the occasional whimsy: racks modeled after weight-lifting bars; wall hooks you might find in a gym. But the overall feeling is spare. And the minimalist ethos continued when they put out the clothes: there is simply not enough on display. There is no sense of sumptuous variety and endless choice and so no consequent desire to run through the aisles giddily piling your arms high with tracksuits.
Then there is the problem of sex. Athletic clothing is not always readily identifiable as women's or men's. A clerk told me that he had already advised several male customers that they were walking into the changing room with women's apparel.
"And they were like, 'Uh, yeah, I know,' but I knew they didn't know," he said. "They were protecting their masculinity, like."
A clerk at the front of the store instructed me that women's clothes are "generally on the left" and men's clothes are "generally on the right." I found Stella McCartney's workout wear, a collection of beribboned tank tops and slouchy terry coverups on the left, then wandered through women's basketball and women's golf (generally a poorly served area, but here the few clothes were chic and functional) and found myself in women's tennis. I was indulging in the kind of pleasant reverie that can accompany a shopping experience - I would invite John McEnroe to play tennis and wear this cute white and gray Adidas outfit; he would remark on the strength of my new 110-mile-an-hour serve - when I ran smack into a rack of boxy nylon jerseys and enormous baggy shorts that suggested sweating teenage boys. Ick.
So much for "generally" on the left.
My friend Todd, a dancer and trainer, was so puzzled about where to find men's clothes that he simply left, failing even to explore the second floor. There, three stripes of lights illuminate the central space. Unfortunately, rather than conferring a witty sense of sportif design, the lights, beamed through white plastic, give a slightly industrial cast to the place. I was grateful, however, to find several vintage styles of Adidas, as well as the Mi Adidas boutique, where you can order custom-made sneakers. For those who can afford them - they are upward of $160 - they are an attractive solution to the ceaseless cloning process that is American fashion.
Throughout the store, shoes are displayed with their sport, rather than in one single department, which in this case is a mistake. Consumers don't buy running shoes for running, or basketball shoes for basketball. They buy them because they see all the available sneakers lined up on the wall under some very loose categories and pick the coolest ones. The way the Adidas are displayed - a pair or two here, a pair there - dilutes your sense of being dazzled by the array. You want to be able to eat them up with your eyes. Here, you're tantalized, but starving.
The new Adidas outpost is billed as a "performance" store, as opposed to an Adidas "original" store, meaning that it carries the brand's high-tech gear - like the Adidas 1 running shoe, which incorporates a sensor, microprocessor and motor into each shoe - and more avant-garde sportswear like Ms. McCartney's. I had hoped to be dazzled. Prayed to be dazzled. With a little tinkering, like more merchandise and better direction for the shopper, perhaps this outpost will prevail in the future. May the force be with them.
610 Broadway (Houston Street); New York
(212) 529-0081
ATMOSPHERE Stark and spare.
SERVICE Enthusiastic.
KEY LOOKS Tracksuits. Basketball shoes. Refreshingly chic women's golf clothing.
PRICES Similar to most sportswear companies: $65 for Adidas Superstars (35 years old this year); men's basketball sneakers, $100; velour men's tracksuits $125; the Adidas 1 running shoe, $250.
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