The Coolest Shop in Wolverhampton

Huckleberry’s has got to be the coolest shop in Wolverhampton. I’ve never been in: I’m not a mod and I’ve never been interested in paying the sorts of prices they charge for any clothes. It just strikes me as a cool shop, unlike the majority of Wolverhampton City Centre.

For a start, it is not (so far as I can tell) part of a chain. Chain-stores have their uses: in a strange town, the familiar logos tell you exactly what you’ll find in there. This is a dreadfully consumerist perspective, dreadful in the sense that being a consumer is a dreadful thing to be, but dreadful also in the sense that it isn’t the perspective that the stores’ owners want. Large stores don’t make their money out of the casually disorientated: they make it out of the addict who returns time after time. The logo is the drug. In a world of interchangeable products, logos work with store layout and even the instore playlist to create a sense of familiarity that satiates the addiction.

Huckleberry’s doesn’t rely on the casual customer either. A small shop on a side-street, it’s too out of the way to attract passing trade. It’s also too expensive – certainly in Wolverhampton – for anything other than the niche customer. Its biggest problem, however, is also its coolest feature: stood outside the shop is a Lambretta. The scooter is not for sale; no scooter is for sale; I don’t even know that the scooter works. Is this the most brilliant advertising ploy ever?

The shop is the ultimate lifestyle shop. Many retailers aspire to this. The logos that draw addicts in and create the sense of reassurance also create an impression of a particular lifestyle. This is really obvious in the case of furniture stores, quite obvious in the case of clothes stores and much less obvious in the case of supermarkets. As customers with vague ideas of who we are, we shop in the stores that fit the vague idea of who we would like to be.

The experience is generally fleeting. We all have our favourite clothes store, our backup clothes store, the clothes store that makes us feel uncomfortable and the clothes store we wouldn’t be seen dead in. Ultimately, it has no effect on our lives. These stores sell more-or-less the same products and very few people live for the next trip to Next.

The modshop is different. It is difficult to imagine the casual mod: being a mod involves a commitment to stylish (and expensive) dress that can’t really be picked up and put down. With the clothes comes a collection of music and leisure pursuits. The Lambretta is outside the shop because everyone who shops there, or might shop there, either owns or covets a similar model. The shop is the coolest in Wolverhampton because it doesn’t need to flaunt itself: everyone who needs to know about it will know about it. I am with those who don’t need to know about it. I have never taken enough interest in my appearance to be a mod. I will never buy anything from Huckleberry’s; I will probably never even step through the door; but every time I pass the shop I will feel a draught of envy. I am not that cool and never will be.