Anthropologists and other social scientists have analyzed and parsed the various stages in life, which I will define broadly here as infancy/early childhood, adolescence/young adulthood, middle age, and old age. I would maintain that there is yet another yardstick by which to measure life’s chapters, and that is the Target rule. Yes, Target, that tempting emporium of all things needed to maintain your home and family life. Full disclosure: I am not receiving any compensation from the company defined by the big red bulls-eye to endorse their store.
It’s just that when we left California 18 years ago, one of things I missed most was Target. It still had not made its way to the east coast, and I pined for the happy adventures in the aisles I shared with Katie and Molly, then only 4 and 1. To this day, I can walk in intending to buy one item and then somehow walk out with an entire shopping cart full of stuff.
Life stages as defined by the Target experience start with diapers and plush animals, baby rattles, and developmental toys that you never knew you needed to stimulate your baby’s brain. Strollers, high chairs, yup, we got ’em all there back in the day. The kids themselves go through that toy and candy phase when Target seems like a magical place full of happy sights and smells and, if mom is in the right mood, happy purchases. With Katie and Molly the store reminds me of all things pink and purple, whether it was dresses or nail polish; for Will, it was the weekly mission to find the latest Power Ranger paraphernalia.
After the kids morph out of that stage, it’s on to the second, which is focused on the health and beauty aisles. There are the temptingly scented shampoos that have flavors more appropriate to put in your mouth than on your hair –– coconut dream, papaya revelation, mango delight. There are conditioners that promise to give you sleek, shiny, and manageable yet touchable bounce, and glosses and gels that promise beauty in a bottle. For Will, it’s Old Spice and Axe — the days of hunting down the must-have action figure, Nerf footballs, and sponge-tipped arrows and bullets are now long gone.
The next stage is where I am right now. In my 20s, if you had told me that one day I would find joy in perusing the household gadget and cleanser aisles, I would have said that you were crazy. And now I find delight at discovering new, fresh, clean laundry scents, or a spray bottle that can disinfect your kitchen and make it squeaky clean at the same time. I love the smell of Bounce dryer sheets and Downy fabric softener, and I like exploring the cute designs on kitchen towels.
Gadgets are a whole ’nother story. Ice cream scoops, melon ballers, lemon zesters, garlic presses — they all seem so fun and fascinating. I survey them, squeeze and turn, and then into the cart they go. There is a rarely a gadget I don’t like or can’t imagine a use for though the reality is that most of them end up sitting in the kitchen catchall drawer.
The last stage of life as defined by the aisles of Target are the ones stocked with vitamins and health aids, and I have to confess, I have found myself crossing over to the other side a little more than I would like. In fact, the other day I was standing behind a man in the checkout lane when I noticed he had six boxes of little red pills.
Being yes, a wee bit nosy, I read the label — they were for restless legs. So I asked the man if they worked.
I don’t have RLS — restless leg syndrome — but I know someone who does. So after getting this man’s ringing endorsement — and finding out the pills were on sale — I had him direct me to the aisle where he found them. And there I ended up remaining for the next 20 minutes or so, reading labels for all sorts of vitamins and supplements, creams and ointments. This one promised to ward off joint pain (my knees still feel a bit creaky after climbing the Great Wall a few weeks ago!); another promised to keep my hair healthy and my scalp full (I don’t want to start losing my hair — it was never that thick to begin with!); I wondered if I needed to start taking vitamins like Centrum-Silver (specially formulated for the over-50 crowd!); or if I should be popping calcium pills (women my age start losing bone density; I don’t want to experience the onset of osteoporosis!).
My conclusion is that stores like Target have something for people of all ages, and like the eras that demarcate the life cycles of the dinosaurs, or the rings of a redwood, the aisles mark off life stages in ways that are readily identifiable. Having made the foray into what is the final life stage, I am awash with nostalgia for the earlier days when the aisles symbolized a certain tedium — there’s the Barney tape we were looking for (yes, it was VHS back in the days when Katie and Molly sang “I Love You” ad infinitum with the big purple dinosaur) and there’s the light saber Will was determined to have (didn’t he almost poke his friend’s eye out with the other one?).
I think Target should establish another life stage aisle. It should have all sorts of fun libations and easy chairs, and it should be a place where the person I’m going to be in the not-too-distant future should love to go hang out and schmooze with other like-minded folk. That’s my idea of the ideal shopping experience. Hey, store execs, are you listening?
