Barcelona's is the story of a city with a strong commercial character. Throughout its history, its development has revolved around the guilds that, even today, give names to some of its most emblematic streets: Mirallers, Argenteria, Creu dels Molers, Sombrerers, Vidrieria, and a very long etcetera that attests to the importance of commerce in this Mediterranean capital that has been, and continues to be, a port of entry and exit for countless goods.
In this sense, and despite those who defend (we defend) a human, social, romantic, and/or cultural vision of the place where we live, when, in the prelude to the Olympic boom, the city's leaders christened it "the best shop in the world" they were not entirely wrong. Or, at least, according to Barcelona's history, with that slogan they captured a part of what has been its essence.
When, in the mid-19th century, department stores burst onto the urban maps of the Western world, as a symptom of the mass consumption phenomenon that arose from the industrialization process that was changing the physiognomy of the global economy, Barcelona did not lag behind.
The expansion of the city, in full growth phase beyond its walls, concentrated its commercial area on La Rambla, taking over from Paseo Colón as the city's commercial artery. And, in 1878, El Siglo, Barcelona's first department store, opened its doors, changing everything in the customs and habits of citizens with more purchasing power and the possibility of buying goods, until recently exclusive to a few wealthy elites.
Sentimental memory of shopping
"The change experienced in Barcelona, I would say, was probably very similar to what other medium-sized European cities experienced, which lived looking at Paris and London and perhaps envying the great variety of offerings of all kinds, cultural and commercial, that existed in them. I am sure that, at first, those department stores were fascinating for those who walked through them, almost as much as a museum," reasons writer Mercedes Cebrián, author of Estimada clientela (Siruela), a volume –half historical essay, half sentimental memoir, all of it immense affection– that celebrates and traces the experience of going shopping with a mix of flowery anecdotes, precise historical facts, and the best literary costumbrismo seasoned with memories and reflections based "on the importance that certain stores and brands have or have had in our sentimental memory."
It's impossible, for example, not to think of all that "Quien ahorra compra en SEPU" meant for generations of Barcelonans, regarding the mythical store on La Rambla whose name was an acronym for Sociedad Española de Precios Únicos (Spanish Society of Unique Prices) and which we could consider as the first chain of department stores in the country, during its nearly seventy years of existence.
Pilgrimages to Almacenes Capitol, Galerías Preciados, Sears, or the almighty El Corte Inglés, that "department store with a green and black logo" whose end the writer does not want to imagine: "It knows how to reinvent itself and, even if it has to get rid of some establishments, it is adapting to online shopping and other store formats." That is, it is adapting to a new consumption paradigm, "which is already here" and which is more impersonal. A dynamic whose first victims are, in any case and invariably, those autochthonous businesses that give cities a unique and untransferable character, that are part of their emotional and economic history.
The pattern change is already underway
"The new era of consumption has already begun ---states, categorically, Mercedes Cebrián–. And not only because of e-commerce, although this is the main driver of that change: also because opening a store and spending ten hours a day in it is no longer an option for almost anyone. Family businesses are closing, among other reasons, because the owners' children and grandchildren do not want to continue taking care of their parents' or grandparents' neighborhood corsetry, haberdashery, or stationery store. And that must also be understood, even if it pains us."
But it is not always like that. In many cases, the generational handover is impossible due to not being able to afford extremely high rental costs for premises. In this case, what can a city do to prevent this advance and protect its historic businesses? "It seems obvious that the first measure involves understanding that these businesses are historical and cultural heritage. If that is not understood, the need to protect them will not arise. The second measure has to do, obviously, with controlling the rents of these establishments so that it is not only franchises that can pay the current high prices," reasons the author of Estimada clientela, who witnesses the progressive decline of that experience, once magical and essentially social, of going shopping.
And hence the need that took hold of her, one summer day in 2020 in the Benetton store in Piazza Fontana in Rome, to write a book that defended those rituals with which generations of people have consumed and, at the same time, perhaps without realizing it, have grown, have become cultured, and have cemented some of their values.
"At the moment of deciding to write it, in the midst of the pandemic, I was already governed by an apocalyptic feeling about the possible disappearance of the lifestyle and many places that that situation could take away. Many stores had closed permanently and the panorama during confinement was truly terrifying: I suppose we all remember empty streets, transited only by Glovo or Amazon delivery drivers," the author recalls.
But what solutions are there so that, at least, cities do not lose all their autochthonous businesses to make way for impersonal flagships, soulless shopping centers, and a myriad of commercial premises with a For Lease sign? Cebrián is clear that there are no universal formulas here. "Unfortunately, reality is always very complex, therefore, no forceful answers can be given." Each case is a world in itself. Each place requires solutions, sometimes extremely creative.
Shopping arcades, in danger of extinction?
One of the scenarios that has completely changed in Barcelona, going from years of splendor to being almost anecdotal, is that of shopping arcades. The most famous was La Avenida de la Luz, the underground arcade that, from 1940 to 1990, was located under Plaça de Catalunya and that, little by little, declined until succumbing on the eve of the Olympics.
In 2017, the dying Maldà arcades re-emerged from dusty nothingness to bring together a succession of stores based on youth culture: clothing for cosplays, board games, fantasy, horror, and young adult literature books, steam punk clothing, sweets. Manga, Harry Potter, Willy Wonka. A singular resurgence and a struggle, by the different operators, to keep their businesses afloat and, with it, continue to imbue the Maldà with its own personality.
"Shopping arcades might be able to resist in places with extreme climates, for the sake of sheltering from the elements, be it cold or heat. I have a lot of affection for them, but my heart sinks when I see them so empty," laments the writer, who, speaking of the Maldà, brings up the Buenos Aires Galerías Pacífico, "which have recently reopened and under whose dome there are murals by the Argentine painter Antonio Berni and other artists. "Anyway, my impression is that today arcades are a relic, something that remains there with an almost museological value… although in Japan they are in very good health. And here we idolize everything Japanese," she adds with a timid glimmer of hope.
"Apparently dying customs like bulk buying have also resurfaced," she highlights. And she pauses for a few seconds before adding: "Although I don't know if this isn't more of a passing fad…".
The value of experiences
Among those businesses that have succumbed to the merciless passage of time and markets, Mercedes Cebrián remembers with special nostalgia her visits to Vinçon, the defunct interior design emporium founded in 1929 by Hugo Vinçon and Enrique Levi, which closed its doors in 2015: "It's been a long time since a store surprised me, and Vinçon did manage to generate astonishment in many aspects: for the strange gadgets it sold, for the design of its bags, and for the arrangement of products in the store. I still miss it. And on top of that, it was next to La Pedrera… what more could you ask for?". Today, at number 96 Passeig de Gràcia where the store was located, there is a Massimo Dutti. Another one.
However, not all pleasure has to be conjugated in the past tense and, for her, the city continues to offer beautiful corners where she can continue to satisfy her taste for shopping. "I'm thrilled that the electric train and model shop, Casa Palau, is still there, although for the moment I'm not a potential customer of that business. And, when I come to Barcelona, I really like to always stop by Servei Estació. I'm sure to leave with something, whether it's a brightly colored electrical tape or a pack of Blu-Tack," the writer continues.
But it's not just about going to stores and buying "things" that are more or less useful or beautiful. It's the ritual behind it. All the human element at play in each transaction. Something that younger people, already digital natives, already accustomed to socializing remotely, may be missing out on. "I want to ask those born in this century to value interaction with salespeople: it might be lost forever and it's something unique, to receive that personalized attention and that experience and knowledge about the products they offer. So, if they go to a bicycle shop or a hardware store, for example, I ask them to appreciate the experience and make the most of it. Because you always learn something in stores," concludes the author of Estimada clientela.
This learning is still possible in a Barcelona that, as mentioned, much to the chagrin of some of us, if it is not 'la millor botiga del món', at least it is among the best.