Consumer Philosophy by Tar-zhay

By ALEX KUCZYNSKI

WHEN Siddhartha Gautama, the young man who later became known as Buddha, attained enlightenment, he saw the path to fulfillment: keep earthly belongings to a minimum. Stuff - material possessions, goodies, thingamajigs - was spiritual dead weight.

So I wonder what Buddha would make of the Target store in Mount Kisco, N.Y., which opened in the spring.

On a recent visit, I counted no fewer than 10 Buddha items for sale. In the home furnishings section, a bust of Buddha was $17.99. I also found a framed sketch of Buddha; a Buddha T-shirt; a Buddha candleholder; a Buddha that looked as if it might have been a bar of soap; and a fake stone relief in a shadowbox frame in which Buddha, with a goofy smile on his face, looked just like Homer Simpson. D'om!

Buddha, of course, is an appropriate symbol for Target's path to consumer enlightenment. I doubt you will find a Buddha anything at Wal-Mart, Kmart or Sears. But a crucial part of Target's success is that it makes an effort to attract not just consumers who, by financial necessity, shop at discount superstores, but also those members of the middle- and upper-income brackets who view discount shopping as a socioeconomic field trip.

These are the people who pronounce the name of the store Tar-ZHAY, and one of their mascots is the very representation of faddish faux-bohemian kitsch, Mr. Buddha himself.

To get these upscale shoppers into the store to acquire earthly goods, Target has to convince them there is something inside worth acquiring and worthy of placement in their homes as discount objet: a Michael Graves teapot, for example, or a cashmere sweater by Isaac Mizrahi (coming to Target stores this fall).

The chain's advertising and marketing campaigns are always of the moment. Sometimes it sponsors temporary boutiques in fashionable locations. One year it opened a summer store in the Hamptons; another time it docked a "holiday boat" at Chelsea Piers in Manhattan. The company has also developed relationships with of-the-moment artists, sponsoring an installation at Rockefeller Center by the artist Takashi Murakami, who has collaborated with Louis Vuitton.

Target is the third largest discount retailer in the United States, after Wal-Mart and Costco, and its "class to mass" strategy has prompted changes at other discounters. Kmart has arrangements with the WB and E! Entertainment Television, in which network stars wear Kmart clothes. In 2002, Wal-Mart introduced George, an inexpensive designer clothing line it acquired in 1999. But the line has, thus far, failed to transform Wal-Mart's image as the dowdy cousin of the discount bunch.

Sure, Target's image is more sophisticated than Wal-Mart's. But two things seriously bug me about the chain.

First, the affiliation with designers like Mr. Graves and Mr. Mizrahi strikes me as a bit of lip service. They certainly add a hip note to the store's advertising campaigns, but at the Mount Kisco store, one of 1,351 nationwide, there was not much Graves merchandise on display. I couldn't find a teapot, but I did find an ergonomic paper shredder in the Graves half-aisle beneath a picture of a woman who looked like the actress Felicity Huffman and the words "I like to coordinate my keyboard with my toaster."

These are dark days for the middle classes if such ambitious, obsessive coordinating is actually taking place.

The Mizrahi clothes are well intentioned, but a cardigan sweater for $22.99 in an acrylic-nylon blend is shapeless and itchy. I did find an attractive faux-crocodile Mizrahi clutch purse for $16.99, but later the same day I found it on the Target Web site for $11.89. Why bother buying it in the store?

A spokeswoman for Target said that prices are not always consistent. She could not specify why there seemed to be a lack of Michael Graves merchandise but suggested that the store could have been transitioning between products.

The second thing that bothers me is the disconnect when mixing highbrow and lowbrow culture. At the front of the Mount Kisco store is a Starbucks, where shoppers can pause for a Mint Mocha Chip Frappuccino for $4.90 (for the venti), without tax. Three aisles into the store they can buy a pair of children's sneakers for $3.74. In what other country on the planet would you find a store that sells a cup of coffee for more than a pair of children's shoes?

This is the problem of the class-and-mass approach: There will always be rich people, and there will always be poor people, and they can happily mingle in economic anonymity in the aisles of Target. But at the end of the day you'll be able to tell one from the other by who is sitting at the Starbucks counter drinking a $5 latte.

There is, however, a lot to like about Target. Many shoppers frequent stores whose corporate policies they admire, and though Target has not entirely avoided the kind of labor squabbles that have dogged Wal-Mart in recent years, it is better known for its contributions to civic and cultural causes. And it does keep bringing in new ideas and designs. At Mount Kisco, I found California Closets, Liz Lange maternity clothes, Eddie Bauer travel gear and a great line of casual clothing by Mossimo. I liked some of the Mizrahi home pieces - a table lamp in the shape of a ship's light for $34.99, for instance.

In October, Target plans to introduce a "vintage modern" home furniture collection in collaboration with Aero Studios. Its in-store pharmacies now offer a design for prescription bottles that is meant to make taking drugs safer by identifying the right pills to take. And you have to admire a store that prompted Wal-Mart to start stocking 400-thread-count cotton sheets.

I piled my shopping cart high with earthly possessions. The dressing rooms were clean and bright, although service-free. (The bathroom was by far the cleanest one I have visited in any store, anywhere.)

I skipped the Buddha tea lights but burdened myself with many other items: a large mirror to hang on a guest bedroom wall and six other smaller ones for around the house; a leather lamp; a silk lampshade; two pairs of hiking shorts, a pair of Mossimo camouflage pants and three pairs of underwear for my stepson; seven pairs of underwear and a pair of Hello Kitty flip-flops for my stepdaughter; Mossimo blue jeans for me; 20 sturdy wooden hangers; a box of Ritz Bitz cheese crackers, half of which I ate in the parking lot and the rest of which I threw into the garbage before I could eat any more; a copy of People magazine; a bottle of water.

The bill was $234.42.