I saw the news in my email first thing one recent Friday morning: "Imelda's will be closing after nearly 29 years in business."
"Oh no!" I said out loud, my heart sinking. Imelda's is—soon to be was—a shoe store on Hawthorne Boulevard in Portland, down the street from our house. I could think of at least a half dozen pairs of shoes I'd purchased there over the past five years, plus my beloved Glerups house shoes. Just that week on our way back from the movies, I had pointed out in the window display a pair of black motorcycle boots I coveted.
And yet I also felt a little conflicted about feeling sad about the closure of a retail store. Everything about shopping is so fraught, tied up in the ethics of consumption and the climate consequences of buying stuff we don't need. But you've gotta wear shoes, right? So they might as well be cute and purchased locally. I love that I’m able to buy most things I need within walking distance of home. Until now, that included shoes. It's probably twisted logic, but it always felt more virtuous to buy new shoes from a local business than a massive online retailer.
Once the news was out, I knew the good stuff would go fast. So that afternoon, I stopped by Imelda's in search of bargains. I spoke with the owner, who said she was closing mostly because it was time for a change in her life. She did consider selling the business, but people weren't willing to pay what she needed from the transaction. Mostly, she said, it was just time in her life to do something else.
I get it. Nonetheless, Imelda's closure concerned me. Yes, cities change—and should evolve—but I worried that the loss of longtime businesses was a warning sign, perhaps of the delayed effects of the pandemic or additional evidence of an economic downturn. I'd kept a close eye on everything on the street in recent years, using it as my personal economic indicator. To my relief, few businesses or restaurants closed during the pandemic, and if they did, new ones replaced them right away. Until Imelda's announcement, there were only two empty storefronts of note on the whole drag. One was a former Starbucks, which wasn't much of a loss on a street with four independent coffee shops within a half mile. All the secondhand stores continue to thrive, too, thanks to the Gen Z obsession with thrifting.
It's often said that there is no ethical consumption under capitalism. I don't have any easy answers here, other than to note that to exist as a human is to consume resources. It's inescapable. But small, local and independent do mean something in the face of larger systems.
And yes, of course I snapped up the motorcycle boots—the last ones in my size. A splurge, but on clearance.
Love,
Erika
THE NEWS
All the links…
Poetry workshop. I recently posted on Instagram about attending a writing workshop with Jen Pastiloff in South Dakota eight years ago, while on a book research trip in North Dakota and Minnesota. (The above photo is from that trip.) Jen’s workshops are magical—I just took another online this weekend. As I said in the post, you’ll emerge from her workshops a braver writer. If that sounds intriguing, she has an online poetry workshop coming up on Dec. 17 with Ross Gay. If the price seems intimidating, reach out to Jen, who is very generous with scholarships.
’Tis the Season: What 80s Mall Movies Tell Us About an Enduring Site of American Tension Portland writer Sara Bernstein on how the mall movie shaped shopping culture.
Why is everyone a professional gift guide writer now? More on the ethics of consumption.
Kids Don’t Want Cash Anymore–They Want ‘Robux’ Hmmm. Is this true?
What is it this time? Portland author Lydia Kiesling writes about the implosion of America’s childcare infrastructure. (I love Lydia’s novel The Golden State, and she has a new one coming out this summer about oil. Also: she’ll be in conversation with me at Powell’s on Jan. 17, the day Windfall is released!)
Swooning over this review of Windfall in Sierra Magazine. “At times a rollicking road-trip adventure with scenes of classic muckraking, punctuated by meetings with oil tycoons, grumpy county clerks, and the occasional 11th-hour dinner at a gas station, the book has Bolstad sleuthing out Anna’s origin story while struggling to come to terms with its implications for the children she still hopes to have even as the climate crisis unfolds.”
“I Practiced Yoga in Wide-Legged Pants—And It Was a Revelation” Just in time for the holidays, a perfect yoga pants link! (For newcomers: links to stories about yoga pants are a standing feature of the Windfall Dispatch.)
I share your feelings! My hometown of Ojai in Southern CA, where I lived from toddlerhood through college, has a family-run department store called Rains in the middle of its shopping arcade. It's a true general store where you can buy a nice dress or boys' socks, living room decor, and an essential piece of hardware. There's an older lady who still works there who remembers when my big sister worked there in the early 90s. Ojai has changed and become overpriced and boutique-oriented over the decades, and each time I return, I think, "thank God Rains is still there!"
I was so glad to read that you got the boots! I hadn’t heard they were closing. :( The end of an era for Portland. I remember their original tiny shop down the street & across from Buffalo Exchange, circa 1998? For a time they had a Pearl District location near my office, which I frequented, perhaps too often. But, I still have many of the items I purchased there = quality & classic - including a pair of Frye motorcycle boots ;)