I don't get out to play basketball much anymore, but I always find it amusing that whenever I do get a chance to play, no matter where I am in the country, the people that show up to the court always seem to be the same. There's the tall dude who exclusively shoots threes and makes maybe one out of every ten. There's the tiny dude who exclusively shoots threes and makes literally all of them. There's the guy who desperately wants to dunk so he tries every 30 seconds just to see if maybe just maybe his vertical changed in the last minute. And then there's vibe guy who is clearly trash but he's funny so people keep him around.
But my favorite by far is gear guy. Boy, do I love gear guy. This is the dude who shows up to the gym with his brand new KDs, jet black Nike shooting sleeve, padded compression\ pants, chest protector...and then he sucks. Well he doesn't suck. He's just fine. But it's a level of fine that makes you think, "I thought you'd be better considering you're wearing the GDP of Mongolia on your body."
I don't get scared of gear guy anymore. Anyone who was having trouble with their shot and determined the solution was going to DICK's Sporting Goods and buying a shooting sleeve rather than going to the gym and working on their shot is just someone I don't fear on the court. I find that people who overload on gear for a certain activity are often either a) trying to convince the world and themselves that what they are doing is really complicated and impressive when it's just not or b) so determined to make that activity a hallmark of their identity that they crave physical proof of this commitment. Anyone that can actually kick my butt on the court knows they can do it in torn up tennis shoes and a faded "Prom Night 2016" t-shirt.
I love hiking and camping. I love being outdoors. I love finding new ways to immerse myself in nature. But every time I walk into an "outdoors store" like REI, I get a weird feeling in my stomach. REI feels like a brand catering to gear guys.
The whole ethos of camping and hiking and being outdoors is a yearn for simplicity. It's a step away from consumerism and into something that feels more authentic and less transactional. It's using what you have in clever ways and acknowledging how much you can accomplish with a good pair of shoes and jeans. And to me, the voice of REI has always said, "Let me instead sell you a bunch of really overpriced specialty gear for every single menial task you might come across in the great outdoors." It all just feels antithetical to the mission its serving.
The coolest outdoors people I know shop at Walmart, not REI.
That's not to say I'm against better tools. I love my little camping grill. I have no shame in pulling out a fire starter at any campsite. But I don't like anything that makes the activity of hiking and camping feel like it requires a certain honed level of expertise or intense packing list. I thankfully went on enough low-budget roadtrips with my dad growing up to know how easy it is to live out of your trunk, but if I were a lifelong urbanite itching to go on my first camping trip, REI would feel pretty unapproachable. It doesn't make camping seem even close to as simple as it is, and that's doing a disservice to anyone who would really enjoy it if only they didn't feel boxed out from trying it because they can't drop $170 on a four-season premium sleeping bag.
For a brand catering to those seeking a simpler life, REI makes the outdoors look pretty complicated, and that's disappointing.
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