I was in middle school when a do-good product first caught my eye in the form of an unforgettable neon yellow wristband embossed with the word, LIVESTRONG. I remember desiring to acquire the wristband everyone seemed to be wearing, a longing sensation that I again felt in high school when the blank backs of my friends’ canvas shoes were replaced by the word, TOMS. So when the desire to consume returned to me this past December after watching a Kickstarter video for Flint and Tinder’s Bluelace Project, I decided to question my temptation to purchase yet another consumer good, this time a premium American-made shoelace that claimed itself both “strong enough to pull a 13,000-pound truck… [and] strong enough to pull us all together.”
Flint and Tinder CEO Jake Bronstein begins the Kickstarter video by attributing the perilous state of American manufacturing to a reason he’s obtained from surveying retailers across the country. According to Bronstein, these retailers all say the same thing: “Their customers simply aren’t interested in premium domestically produced products.”
The Bluelace project attempts to redress the complaints of these American retailers by selling a premium quality, American-manufactured, high-density, triple-braided, waxed, cotton shoelace. The Kickstarter video emphasizes that Bluelace is a wearable way to support American manufacturing that sends a message to retailers that if they start stocking the right domestically produced products, their customers will give them a chance. After fundraising more than $150,000 in 30 days from 11,749 backers this past December, it almost appeared as though Flint and Tinder had successfully accomplished its goal of creating a yellow ribbon for American manufacturing.
But as I considered the merits of purchasing my own pair of stamped aluminum, bullet-tipped shoelaces, my desire to buy became gradually replaced with an annoyance at the Bluelace project and its lofty promises.
“It’s time to start a revolution one foot at a time,” the project video forcefully concludes, echoing the type of TOMS shoes rhetoric that insists the full possibility of “ring[ing] in the New Year” with their “glitzy Glitter Classics,” while simultaneously “resolv[ing] to help a child in need.” Such language not only convinces us that we need to buy something to live satisfactorily, but goes further to insist that other people, from American manufactures to children without shoes, need us to purchase a product to ensure the fulfillment of their lives as well.
The trouble with the Bluelace project and its counterpart social businesses is that these organizations seem and feel dedicated to social movements—but predicate the entirety of their movements on acts of consumption. These organizations tell us it is possible to start a revolution in the world if we can come to terms with the prices of socially conscious merchandise. Encouraging a sort of conspicuous consumption, ideas like the Bluelace Project falsely presume that money and status—as opposed to people and action—generate social change.
Suppose a third-party American manufacturer, believing in the symbolic value and moral worth of the Bluelace idea, began producing its own blue shoelaces at a price that competed against Flint and Tinder’s. Would Flint and Tinder support this competitor American company that shared its desire to start a revolution? It is difficult believe it would, especially if the competitor company diverted profits away from Flint and Tinder. No business desires competitor products. The whole point of viral videos, such as Flint and Tinder’s, is to occupy a niche market that assures them a guaranteed source of income.
Consumer-oriented revolutions fueled by social businesses lack the more legitimate intentions found in social and political advances like the Indian Independence movement. Mahatma Gandhi encouraged the Indian people to support their nation and its domestic industries by boycotting British products, and in the process of doing so was able to unite a people through providing an avenue to action that any Indian citizen pursue for their country. Alternatively, the Bluelace Project falls desperately short of its own ideals through its prioritizing profits ahead of any real revolutions in American manufacturing, and in its inaccessibility to those who cannot afford to purchase a pair of luxury shoelaces.
Our commitment to solving the economic and social inequities of our time must extend beyond the occasional purchase or petition—especially if we want to see real change. To sequester change-making capacities to only those who can afford to purchase consumer products is not just anti-democratic, it is antithetical to our actual capacity for real revolution. Real revolution starts with people caring about something greater than themselves enough to dedicate more than just money to a cause. Real revolution cannot be another fleeting entrepreneurial attempt to define our character through our consumption.
