Disclaimer: All of the brands and characters (Tommy Hilfiger, the Nesquik Bunny, etc.) are not my property. No Logo belongs to Naomi Klein, as do the chapter names and the ideas involved.
A/N: This is a very crazy "short" story I wrote for an English reading journal in response to Naomi Klein's non-fiction book, No Logo. Seriously, I can't believe I actually handed it in to my teacher. He's going to think I'm a nutcase. Anyway, if that hasn't put you off, here's the deal: You don't need to have read No Logo for this to make sense. Hell, it doesn't even make sense on its own. The chapters here line up with the chapters in the book, but they're so loosely related that it doesn't matter. I'm counting on about... oh, 0% of you having read No Logo, so I wouldn't have posted this if understanding it were completely dependent on having read the book. Anyway, enjoy. And don't say I didn't warn you about the undisguised lunacy.
The Labelled Age:
The Saga of the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger
and those intent on his destruction
The following takes place fifty-two years beyond this day and age, when the world is no longer in the hands of humanity; when life itself has been extinguished by the concept of branding, which has grown to such an extent that living beings have become nothing more than walking, talking brands. It is a time when no person and no inanimate object exists that has not conformed to the very shape of the world's largest names.
This time has come to be known as the Labelled Age.
But there are few left to experience it. The word 'brainwashed' has taken on an utterly different meaning after all that branding has done to the world. Only the creators of this new world still have the minds to which they are rightfully entitled – the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger (some may have known him simply as "Tommy" at one time), Master Ronald McDonald, the somewhat pathetic Nesquik Bunny, Connie the Shoemaker,and many more. These masterminds took up residence long ago in a highly protected lair in an exceptionally secret location. 'Hilfiger's Lair,' this impenetrable base has been (oh so originally) named, though by who, it is impossible to tell.
Fear not, my friends, for there is still hope, however minimal it may be. A small assembly of resistors still lives in the sewers of North America, struggling to live the unbranded life... There is little they can do to fight the onslaught of swoosh-sporting zombies in the outside world. Recently, however, the band of survivors has acquired an omen of sorts – a little black instruction book left to them as a series of warnings and clues many years ago by a mysterious Naomi Klein...
INTRODUCTION: A WEB OF BRANDS
It was only two weeks ago that Mrs Klein's magic book fell from the ceiling. Well, that was more of an estimate, seeing as we had no way of measuring time from down in the sewers. It was a cruel world out there. Straying from our safe haven would have been very dangerous indeed – we'd already lost two of our friends to Lord Hilfiger's wrath, and we didn't intend to decrease our numbers any further.
I sat on a dilapidated rock in a corner, flipping through the first pages of the book. Two of my companions, Keith and Karen, were arguing nearby.
"I'm tired of livin' in this filthy place!" Despite three years of isolation, Karen's Texan accent was still thick.
"You know we've got no choice!"
"Don't we? We don't gotta lose our brains if we go up there. If we just tried talkin' civilly to the Masters..."
"The Masters? What is with you, Karen? And besides, there's no such thing as civil where Hilfiger is concerned. The minute we set foot on branded ground when they're looking, they'll gas us or something. And that's it. Poof. How many times have we gone through this?"
Karen practically growled. "Too many. All of yous aren't seein' the truth! We go out there every fortnight without trouble for food 'n' things. I don't like livin' with them stinkin' rats! I need a shower and some proper clothes!" Her voice was growing irritatingly whiny.
Our oldest resident, Dweezil, stepped in. "All you need is a swift kick in the pants, young lady! I'll have none of your nonsense about talking to Hilfiger."
Karen let out a high-pitched "Humph!" and stalked over to a makeshift bench (fashioned from who knows what – it's hard to know what you're dealing with when you live in a barely-lit sewage system) to sit down next to dark-haired Bella.
Dweezil stalked off into the shadows, using his flimsy walking stick for support.
Keith turned his sapphire eyes on me. "How's the deciphering going, Clover?"
My name, of course, had been a gift from my brand-obsessed parents, who had succumbed along with one of the earliest waves of followers. Keith and Marshall, another of our friends, had found me in hiding, and brought me to their hideout. I was fifteen then, and I'd been here ever since. It had to have been at least four years.
I turned the open book toward Keith so that he could see. "I'm still not sure what she's getting at here. 'A Web of Brands'? Does that make any sense to you?"
Keith leaned in a little, squinting at the words under the dull light filtered through the overhead sewer grate.
"Wow, is that really what the world used to be like? Lakes, warehouses, smokestacks..." He shook his head in astonishment.
The words in this book were, in fact, unfamiliar to all of us. Mrs Klein's world was very different to our own in every possible way – the sense of community (no Starbucks involved), the natural sights, the not-quite-converted education system, the real people... It seemed to me, from reading the first parts of her book, that she didn't realise just how lucky she and her generation actually were. But even then, the Labelled Age was well on its way, and she seemed to be fully aware of that fact. With observations so ahead of her time, some might call Mrs Klein a seer, even.
The first step Hilfiger and his clan took was to join forces with all the big brands out there, creating an even more indestructible force. At this stage branding was already becoming so powerful that the product was no longer a necessity for their images – more of an add-on, really. Hilfiger himself stopped making products altogether in the late 2030s. He and the others already had the world at their feet – what more could they possibly ask for? From there they continued to manipulate the minds of humans, building their confidence in brands ever higher, controlling them like robots from their top secret location. The brainless 'humans' that were left after all that time, evidently, didn't even care about the meanings of brands, and the brands themselves, it seemed, had reached the limit of their extraordinariness. There was nothing left for Hilfiger and his posse to do on Earth. Rumour had it he was searching the universe for other life forms on which to unleash his wrath. I sympathised tremendously for those poor souls.
Over the years of Hilfiger's toying with life on our planet, many changes were made. Every living being was required to add a "Mc" to their first and last names, resulting in many unoriginal "McJohn McSmiths" and a few pitiable "McMac"s among others. Then came the Window Pane Revolution, as they called it (they never did come up with any original names, but I supposed there were few left to be awed by creativity, anyway), when every window on every building was painted – one panel yellow, one green, one red and one blue. Not too much later, it became law for every apple in the supermarket to have a bit taken out of it before sale, mimicking the Apple logo. How did we know all this? Brand FM, of course. Another highly original name.
To ensure that the brainwashing process was infallible, Hilfiger and co. took over the schools, too. From preschool to their university graduation (and beyond), children were learning of nothing but brands, brands and more brands. It was no wonder they couldn't break free of the cycle when they were introduced to it so dreadfully early.
I snapped back to the present. Keith took the book from me and turned over a few pages. His eyes scanned them thoughtfully.
It was then that Dweezil came out of his hiding spot, eyes closed, arms outstretched. Oh, great – he was in one of his trances again.
"One, three, four..." he chanted drunkenly, "one, three, four..."
"Oh, shut up, you ol' bat." Karen had lost every ounce of patience she might once have possessed. "You sound like one of the creeps on that old TV show – Lost, or whatever." Several others groaned at the mention of the seemingly never-ending series from the early 2000s.
"Hey, I liked that show!" shouted Marshall, defensive. I had to admit, I agreed with him to some extent; it had been pretty epic. And there were barely any brands to speak of on that island. What more could you ask for?
Dweezil staggered into a rocky wall and crumpled to the ground.
"Somebody get his medication," Keith instructed. Bella hurried to one of our makeshift shelves and pulled out a syringe. With a little help from Marshall in the form of restraint, she managed to calm Dweezil down.
"What was that all about?" Marshall asked, standing up.
"I don't know," I answered, shaking my head. "Just one of his usual episodes, I guess."
Suddenly, there was a scratching sound from above our heads.
"RUN!" Karen shrieked.
"NO! Stay where you are!" Keith's voice was commanding. "Everybody get down. It's HILFIGER!"
We all crouched into the sodden ground, holding our breaths and fearing the worst.
Could Hilfiger really have found us? Keith and Marshall had specially chosen this "prime" location for its utter brandlessness – after all, what could be more generic than an underground sewage system? Hilfiger was only able to keep tabs on all things branded – there was absolutely no way he could find us here. Or was there?
Then, a ball of fur fell from the ceiling.
We all braced ourselves, waiting for it to morph into the shape of the evil Nesquik Bunny or suddenly explode before our very eyes, but nothing happened.
Marshall was the first to move. "Aw, look! It's a cute little kitty cat!" He trudged over to the thing – looking at it now, I could see it really was a cat – and scooped it up in his arms. "I'll bet it's lost. Can we keep it? Please, Keith? Aw, you're such a cute kit-hey! OW! Stop it! That HURTS!" Just as suddenly as the thing had fallen into our hideout, it started scratching Marshall from head to toe, suddenly intent on ripping his clothing and flesh to smithereens. Marshall howled in pain as the creature attacked him, but made no move in self defense.
"Really, Marshall," Keith shook his head in disapproval, stepped forward, and ripped the beast off of Marshall's face in one easy movement. The cat leapt gracefully onto the ground, where it stalked a few paces away before turning to face us all. Its body went into a series of spasms; it looked like it might be choking on something.
"What's it doing?" Bella wondered.
"Filthy mongrel!" Karen spat.
The cat coughed up a hairball, which rolled across the ground to end up at our feet.
"See?" Marshall said, blood oozing from several wounds on his face. "I told you it was harmless. Poor kitty just had a hairball!" He started toward the 'kitty' again.
"Hold it, Marshall," I said, putting a hand out to stop him. "Look."
Where I pointed, the cat's hairball was rapidly changing colour. Blue, red and white swirled incessantly for a few moments, and then the colours settled to form a familiar logo – that made famous by Pepito the Pepsi Prince.
"Oh no," Keith said in a tone of despair, "it's a tracking device."
"I'm done for!" Karen wailed, kneeling and clutching at Keith's sweatshirt. "My life is over!" Keith shook her off, and she fell to the ground, whimpering stupidly.
Like a true hero, Keith stepped forward and addressed the tiny device. "Tell us, Evil One, what brings you here?"
The spherical object split open, and a robotic voice came from within. "Greetings, scum. Your rebel base has been discovered by the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger. In forty-eight hours the Brand Force will begin the cleansing process on your soiled minds. However, the Masters have seen fit to give you one last trial. Be at Hilfiger's Lair before your time is up and Master Hilfiger may spare you. Goodbye."
The Pepsi logo shot up into the air, and the cat followed it, hissing and spitting as it was sucked up by some unseen force. When both were gone, it took us all a few moments to gather our bearings. Karen was still howling on the ground, muttering incoherently every few seconds about "shattered dreams" and "eternal doom." I couldn't help but think she was being just a bit of a drama queen...
"We've been discovered." Bella was staring at the ground with a blank expression on her face. "How could this happen?"
Marshall shrugged. Keith was staring at Marshall's backside in horror.
"MARSHALL..." Keith's tone was livid, threatening. Marshall whimpered and stepped backward.
"What'd I do now?"
"Let us see your back pocket, please."
Marshall turned hesitantly around, and we all gasped – there, on his pocket, was a very clear "Everlast" logo.
"Will somebody PLEASE tell me what is going on?" Marshall begged, holding his hands up as if in surrender.
"Logo," Bella said simply, and Marshall groaned.
"Dang it! I forgot to rip it off when we stole them from Wal-Mart."
"That would be how the trackers found us." Keith's tone was matter-of-fact.
We were all silent.
"So what do we do now?" I asked quietly.
Karen stood up. "We give in to Hilfiger, of course! It's our only hope!"
"Oh, get a grip!" Keith said, rolling his eyes.
"Stop being such a sissy," Marshall threw in. Karen glared at him, and he cowered away from her.
"One thing's for sure," Keith announced, raising a hand triumphantly, "we will not play into the hands of the enemy. We will find a way to save ourselves – and the rest of humanity – if it's the last thing we do. I can feel it, my companions – this is the day. It is time to conquer the mighty Brands."
Despite the cliché and lack of sense in his words, we all burst into an appreciative round of applause – all except for Karen. Oh, and Dweezil. Speaking of Dweezil...
"Oi, young scallywags!"
The harsh voice alerted us to his waking. He hobbled over to us, eyeing us with his one good eye.
"What is it, Dweezil?" I asked, holding a hand out to steady him. He shook it off.
"Glad to be seein' you're finally understandin' what needs to be done." He nodded gruffly, muttering to himself, then spoke up again. "Now if yeh just trust the magic numbers..."
"Please, Dweezil, none of your nonsense today." Keith was doubtful.
"Oh, you won' be sayin' that once I'm done with yeh!" Dweezil shook his cane in front of Keith's face, silencing the younger man. "Now, you've got to hear this from me. Tha' book that fell from the 'eavens, it holds them secrets."
"What secrets?" Marshall was awed already.
"Them secrets," Dweezil clarified with a wink. "The Web. It's an ancient story – dates back to the 1990s. That's what holds the Brands together – the Web. Almost like spiders – nah, exactly like spiders. Hilfiger an' his gang are the spiders that spun the Web, an' all them innocent humans are their prey. Yeh followin'?"
We all shook our heads dumbly, but Dweezil went on anyway.
"Glad ta hear it. Now, what yeh need to understand is this – people who's been livin' in isolation as long as we 'ave, they're different. We're the other spiders, the ones who grown immune to webs. We gots a sticky resistance on our feet, so we can't be bothered. Still gettin' it all?"
The response was, once again, negative.
"Super. So the key to it all is this... to defeat 'Ilfiger, we needs to break the Web. Take out the weakest link an' it breaks the 'ole cycle, yeh see. Yeh get where I'm goin'?"
Another no.
"Splendid. Then le'ss get to work."
A/N: See? Lunacy. Just... think of it more as a character study, and some of my credibility might be spared. Also, I'd like to point out that I ADORE Lost - so pay no attention to the part where some of the characters "groan at the mention of it". I was just... expressing popular opinion of the time. Also, forgive Dweezil his ramblings; I know they're hard to comprehend, but that's kind of the point. So anyway, reviews would be nice, but realistically, it's not like I'm going to get any - so you have absolutely no expectations to live up to. Thanks for reading!