I am well aware that things change and nothing stays the same, and I
like progression in fashion and design, and things that are good.
However, I can smell when something isn’t right in the fridge and in
the world.

When word got out about the John Varvatos
store going in the place where CBGB was, some were relieved. Even I,
for a moment, thought, Okay, at least it’s not another NYU dorm or a
McDonald's, and felt a wee sigh of relief.

I am aware this is not new news, but I hadn’t personally seen it with my own eyes until recently.

Before
the store opened the "art director" contacted me asking if I had any
old Lunachicks flyers or posters I’d like to "donate to the cause" of
the store opening and John really wanting to keep the spirit alive and
he’s such a big rock 'n' roll fan, you know he has Iggy Pop and Alice
Cooper in his campaigns, on and on. Awesome. But...

"Donate?" I
asked. "Just give away posters, which are never to be made again -- the
sweat and blood of my career -- to a multi-million-dollar corporation?
I don’t think so, it’s not like this is a charity," I said, "but if you
would like to purchase one, we can talk."

"Okay," he said, "no disrespect." So I photographed some posters and emailed them over and never heard from him.

So that’s the back-story.

The
other back-story is that I grew up going to shows there, starting at
age 13. When CBGB closed there was still graffiti in the bathroom that
I did back then.  Lunachicks played our third show ever at CBGB and
continued to play there for many years.

P.S.  I have donated to plenty of charities.

Months later, I went in with a friend just after going next door to what was the CBGB gallery, which is now the Morrison Hotel Gallery, which also could have been a lot worse. They had and have an amazing show of Bob Gruen’s
photos through the years, from John and Yoko to Ike and Tina to Kiss
and, of course, the punk era of early CBGB: the Plasmatics, Dead Boys,
Joan Jett, the Ramones, the Clash, the Sex Pistols, and on and on.
Bands that made punk music what it is and was and will be.

Next,
we went in to the John Varvatos store, and I instantly felt like
someone punched me in the stomach. There were vinyl records for sale in
the front, and pieces of the old walls under glass, with all their
layers and layers of flyers and graffiti. Yet it seemed stylized a bit.
I felt like I heard the spirits screaming, the angry echo of a band
going on yet the ghost of that howling, "This is wrong." Framed posters
of my peers' bands line the walls up to the high ceilings. JV Converse
sneakers sit on the table in the front. Black clothes on racks line the
walls; JV combat boots with studs on them are displayed to try on as
well; and tattooed male model boys are there to help you. What was the
bar is partially the check-out counter.

We continued walking
through, pretty astounded at the whole thing, when suddenly I realized
I was standing where the stage used to be. Where I grew up, where my
career in music began, where I was safe and where I felt invincible.
And now it’s all over. And you can buy an over-priced black piece of
clothing to prove it.

And this was this symbol to me of the real
end. Of the reality of homogenization and gentrification of NYC. Though
Kmart has been on 4th Avenue for a while now, it never pretended to be
anything, but Kmart.

I also know that the John Varvatos store
being there and preserving what was is better than a lot of things that
could be in that space, and in a way I am glad. What makes me sad is
what it represents: Someone who wasn’t there when it happened, taking
what was cool and real and turning it into their own profit.

I‘ve
heard John Varvatos is a really nice guy, and I believe it. Still, he
is profiting off of many people’s dried sweat and blood spattered on
the walls of his new store. I wonder if you can feel the noise when you
go in there. Please tell me your experience.

Theo Kogan is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Fashion & Design. Her THEOlogy column appears Tuesdays and Thursdays.