On Nov. 8, the Lloyd Center got a shot in the arm. In the
space that was for years home to J.C. Penney, the new Sears
opened.
Think Sears
is still the stuffy department store that your mom dragged
you to for training bras and sturdy shoes while she picked
out beige semi-gloss and got new tires put on the station
wagon? You're living in another decade.
Since pulling itself off the fiscal dust heap and avoiding
bankruptcy in the early '90s, Sears has engaged in a sometimes
awkward plan of reinvention. The company that once offered
a catalog as wholesome as a Norman Rockwell tableau and
as complete as a deluxe Snap-On
toolbox has had to scramble to get sexier and even more
diversified.
The new Sears sells sweet, hipster-approved knock-offs
of a quality far better than the look-alike apparel found
at Target and K-Mart. Some separates even look as good as
DKNY designs. The difference, of course, is in price--and
range. The same A-line khaki shift hanging from some jaunty
mannequin also comes in a size 18. You won't find that at
the Gap.
It gets better: This Sears isn't situated in the labyrinthine
suburbs; it's just a few garden-hose-lengths from downtown.
During an early fall sale at Sears, I journeyed out to
the Clackamas location looking to score a video camera.
After strolling briefly through the appliance ("hard line")
rooms upstairs, I found myself drifting toward the clothes.
It was there, among shelves dense with Benetton sweaters,
that I realized how long it had been since I'd shopped Sears.
Though I regularly hit the local mall for Roebuck trousers--coveted
for their crisp-legged, navy practicality--throughout my
late teens, until that moment there was still a part of
me that associated the enduring, all-purpose chain with
ear-flapped hunting hats, personality-free socks and resolute
vacuums. Not anymore.
I didn't end up getting a camera that watershed day, but
instead found "soft line" glory in a charcoal-gray Benetton
V-neck. More than a few colleagues have expressed incredulity
upon discovering from whence the item came.
Anecdotes like these are bittersweet for Maureen Deal,
Wendy Cordon and Christopher Randall. This trio, store manager
and apparel managers respectively, have to battle the store's
staid image of yesteryear. When I recounted my recent success
with their company's clothes department, Deal and Cordon
smiled expansively, turning to nod at one another as if
to say, "Just as we suspected." Hooking lasses and lads
like me, after all, is part of the master plan. Now, the
two women bemoan, if only the rest of the world would realize
there's more to the country's largest department-store chain
than refrigerators.
Sears has been courting apparel recognition since 1992,
when they launched the winsome-sounding "Softer Side of
Sears" ad campaign. And they're not just courting the off-price
browsers or one-stop mom and dad shoppers, but also the
hordes of young buyers who normally bounce around stores
such as Abercrombie & Fitch. But while Deal ebulliently
relates that the average age of a Sears customer continues
to drop (she estimates that it's currently around 32), she
feels the store hasn't received proper credit for its updated
merchandise--let alone the tasteful floor displays.
Earlier this year, the company announced further plans
to revamp its image--most notably by slashing prices for
some apparel prices by up to 15 percent and introducing
new lines aimed at younger shoppers: Crossroads for her,
Fieldmaster for him. Then, last summer, Sears began carrying
Benetton, a line that had all but vanished from the domestic
retail realm but exudes excellence nonetheless.
Palpable pride and staunch competitiveness emanated from
Deal, Cordon and Randall as they showed me around the women's
clothing section. When I clumsily made a comparison to Meier
& Frank, Deal scoffed. "They're just junky," she snorted.
"We have a much higher standard than them."
In reverent tones, Cordon and Randall touted shimmery,
chiffon-textured, full-length skirts. At $40, Cordon told
me, the "Fantasy Skirt" is comparable to a piece Nordstrom
sells for almost twice as much. The garment is manufactured
through Sears' in-house Apostrophe label, a modest, young-adult
line meant to pry buyers away from Meier & Frank's Valerie
Stevens brand. Like many of Sears' clothes, it is available
in plus sizes.
In gaining apparel consciousness, the new Sears' staff
has been conditioned to match the customer with the label.
If, for instance, the fresh-faced shopper is slenderly hip,
it's Mainframe she wants. If she is a bit thicker, Sears
has a sister line called Mainframe For You. Liz Claiborne's
First Issue label, designed for Sears, offers more mature
variations--earnest cardigans and skirts with longer hemlines;
Crossroads, drawing on a textile arsenal stocked with spandex
and Lycra, is made for the fluted McBeal. The fitted, striped
T-shirts and twill cigarette pants emit the sleek, unfettered
aura of J.Crew. When discussing Crossroads, Deal, Cordon
and Randall whisper one word with solemnity: "Stretch."
"All the apparel lines are a high focus for us right now.
We're really trying to get that name-brand recognition thing,"
Deal declared as we toured the store a few days before opening.
Of the 300 or so Lloyd Sears employees, about 50 are committed
to the men's and women's wardrobe departments; of those,
only a few have previous Sears experience. The rest are
clean slates being etched in the new image.
"Ninety percent of our thing is customer service," Randall
said.
It seems the approach is taking. Checking out ahead of
me on that golden day I found the sweater was a couple who
could easily hold court at the Shanghai Tunnel on a Friday
night. Over one arm of his thrift-store leather coat, the
guy held a pair of Sears brand pants. His girlfriend marveled
at the ridiculously low sale price ($11), telling her man
he ought to get another pair or two. Considering for a moment,
the sturdily built slickster thought better of it: "I'll
just come back for more if I need to; Sears will always
be here."
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Willamette Week | originally
published November 23,
1999
|
