Renderings of Holt Renfrew’s Gatsby-inspired Valentine’s Day windows by Patricia Henderson
There’s a memorable scene in The Great Gatsby when, at one of Gatsby’s famous parties, a guest dubbed “Owl Eyes” is shocked to discover the mansion’s library is full of real books. “Absolutely real– have pages and everything. I thought they’d be a nice durable cardboard,” he exclaims. “This fella’s a regular Belasco. It’s a triumph. What thoroughness! What realism! Knew when to stop, too– didn’t cut the pages. But what do you want? What do you expect?”
Although the books may be more “real” than simple cardboard props, Gatsby’s library is nothing more than a decorative attempt at association with real knowledge and taste. At best, it’s aspirational– more likely, it’s an empty-headed attempt at early personal branding. How little times have changed.
In advance of the summer 2013 release of another Great Gatsby remake, this time starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Tobey Maguire, and Carey Mulligan, the fashion world has predictably latched onto everything Gatsby. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic novel has inspired fashion spreads, style guides, Henri Bendel’s holiday windows, and society shindigs that use precariously selective quotes from the book on their promo flyers. New York City’s Plaza Hotel unveiled a Great Gatsby Christmas tree, roped in 660 feet of garland and designed by Academy Award winner Catherine Martin. Holt Renfrew will show off “Love, Holts windows, inspired by the romance of The Gatsby era” just in time for Valentine’s Day. It’s safe to say the powers that be in high fashion and society have made a trend out of Gatsby.
If only they didn’t have it so embarrassingly wrong.
Did anyone bother to read the book before deciding to be ‘inspired’ by it? Or do they, too, collect books with uncut pages and unbroken spines? The Great Gatsby, awash in all the splendor and superficial glam of the 1920s, is ultimately a satire that condemns the upper class, rampant consumerism, and society’s fixation with material goods and wealth beyond all else. Fitzgerald doesn’t celebrate those who live in excess; he makes fun of them. He paints those who’ve made capitalism their bitch as vulgar, selfish bullies with scarce a valuable thought in their brains. The sorts who think borrowing a tux for one’s wedding is the worst possible thing a person could do. If the book were published today, it might very well be titled Shit Rich People Say.
High-end storefronts are shining beacons of everything Fitzgerald attacks; to earnestly decorate them in the spirit of the roaring ‘20s and call it ‘Gatsby’ is unbearably ironic. To do so in the name of soulless holidays corrupted by a shopping ethos gone wild borders on tragic.
Gatsby‘s narrator observes that The American Dream, once about the pursuit of happiness, has soured into the pursuit of opulence. Today, a holiday supposedly about the pursuit of love has devolved into the pursuit of diamonds and chocolate.
This often conveniently overlooked theme is, in part, is why the novel has never seen a successful film adaptation. Gatsby‘s satirical portrait of high-society and consumerist culture isn’t easily translated via Hollywood blockbusters that cost outrageous amounts of money– and hope to rake in even more. That the 2013 version will screen in 3-D is either brilliantly tongue-in-cheek, or sufficient reason to give up all hope.
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Sabrina Maddeaux is Toronto Standard’s managing editor. Follow her on Twitter at @sabrinamaddeaux.
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