In the City, There's Change to Spare

San Francisco's Hayes Valley neighborhood has undergone a dramatic transformation in the past 10 years. Back when I was in college, a couple of my friends rented an apartment on Fell Street, where the 101 freeway exited directly into a residential area. It was loud. Take-a-shot-of-whiskey-and-bury-your-head-in-a-pillow-loud. And it was cheap.
If they'd stayed in that apartment, they would now have a manicured, family-friendly park in their front yard. They'd have ready access to a fenced-off beer garden, artisan coffee, and ice cream made with liquid nitrogen. And, depending on their cash flow, they could shop for local, sustainably-made clothing to their heart's content.
I took a walk to Hayes Valley a couple of weeks ago to scope out Amour Vert's new flagship store. It's gorgeous: lots of light, a succulent wall installation, and posters explaining the company's sustainable manufacturing processes. Very cool.
I wandered around and discovered several new additions to the shopping district - heritage, made in the USA, and otherwise sustainable brands like Marine Layer, Alternative Apparel, Steven Alan, and so on. But the store that really struck my fancy was a small boutique that recently relocated from a side street to the Hayes St. main drag. As I browsed through the shop's reclaimed clothing, vintage jewelry, and other charming odds and ends, I started chatting with the store clerk. I remarked on how the neighborhood has become a bit of a mecca for locally-made clothing, and he replied,
"Yeah, I guess people are willing to pay for it..."
His tone was hard to read, but I sensed more than a hint of judgement. And it certainly wouldn't be unwarranted; it's got to be strange to watch your clientele change so dramatically over the years. To see people throwing down hundreds of dollars on bamboo sunglasses and vintage turquoise necklaces like it's no big thing. To know that this all exists just two blocks away from low-income housing.
Heck, it's been hard to watch my own neighborhood change. I've only been in the Mission for seven years and certainly don't hold any claim to it, but I did grow to love it the way it was when I moved in. You know, when there was only one artisan coffee shop. When you could still be a teacher or a barista or an artist and actually afford to rent a studio apartment.
It was hard to watch our next store neighbor get evicted after 20 years in our building so the owners could charge six times the rent to someone else. It's also hard not to eat out every night, or get distracted by all the delightful, quirky, expensive things beckoning from boutique windows. And it's especially hard not to walk away from Hayes or Valencia Street these days without feeling a little icky. Even if (especially if) I'm walking away with a pretty new dress.
There's the flippant voice in my head that says, "Shut up, Jacqui. Enjoy it. You earned it. You're allowed to be happy."
Then there's the voice of my 10th grade English teacher, who responded to one of my reflective essays (which basically read like a late-nineties, suburban version of this one) with:
"If you're 'happy,' you're not paying attention."

Strange to think that he was probably my age at the time.
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This was supposed to be a nice little fluff piece on how great it is that you can by locally made stuff in San Francisco. But that store clerks' comment still stings. And I'm glad it does.

In the midst of change, we need the voice of our subversive high school English teacher - and the voices of activists, graffiti artists, and cranky store clerks - reminding us that nothing is simple. That being "happy" in the midst of others' suffering isn't really possible, and that we're all responsible for each other. So to all those noisy San Francisco radicals: keep yelling, marching, defacing public sidewalks, and demanding action from our elected officials. And to all those cranky store clerks: keep making snide remarks. We need it, or we're all going to walk away from this feeling a little icky.