Creative writing. This article first appeared in issue 15 of Umbrella Magazine.
The evolution of the Argos catalogue, from 1973–2013.
High-street mainstay Argos is 43 years old this year. Umbrella's Matthew Reynolds leafs through the laminated pages of its history
Rummaging around a car boot sale a couple of years ago I happened across a mint condition Argos catalogue from Spring/Summer 1973. The first ever edition.
I wish I could say this was one of those Antiques Roadshow anecdotes where I go on to sell a purchase of a few pence for thousands of pounds at auction, but that’s not the case.
Although there is a brisk (ish) trade in vintage catalogues online they rarely command high prices. Rather, their value is cultural. An essential socio-historic artefact recording the hopes, dreams and shopping lists of a nation, if you will.
Okay, I’m using deliberate exaggeration for effect, but there’s a grain of truth in it. For the past 40 or so years the bi-annual Argos catalogue has been an inscrutably accurate barometer of exactly what we want to spend our hard-earned on, from the latest electronic gadgets to this year’s must-have kid’s toy. If it hadn’t got it at least part right, then it wouldn’t still be with us today.
As for the ‘dreams’ there’s always been an element of aspiration to the catalogue. The products arranged in ascending price order suggest the possibility of a lifestyle different to (and often a lot better than) our own. What child in 1993 didn’t secretly covet the Sony D111 Discman Personal Compact Disc Player (RRP £159.99) but had to settle for the Alba CP45 Personal Stereo Cassette Player (RRP £6.99) instead? Exactly.
It’s easy to mock Argos – and many do. From Bill Bailey to Michael McIntyre, the store has been the butt of many jokes, often with (snobbish) reference to the people who shop and work there.
But credit where credit’s due (no pun intended). Not everywhere can be Habitat, nor should it be. And if I suddenly decide I can’t live without a drying rack, or a mop, or a nine-carat gold sovereign ring then Argos will be my first port of call. The mild inconvenience of a five minute wait at collection point B made bearable by their sensible pricing policy.
Inevitably, the internet has had an effect on the store. Although Argos was arguably Amazon before Amazon, the ‘point and click’ shopping experience they prefigured is now more preferable to many than a headache-inducing trip to the high street.
Their response has been to streamline and update; 700 or so stores have been provided with iPads to replace the endless laminated book-pages and stubby blue biros. Printed catalogues are still available of course, distributed to an estimated 18 million UK households via the latest in picking-one-up-off-a-palette-outside-the-shop technology.
A colleague tells me of a fool-proof way to keep his kids quiet on a long journey: “Give them an Argos catalogue each, and a pen. Ask them to work their way through the book, circling items on each page that they’d like for themselves, and items they’d like to send as gifts to friends and family. Instant silence, guaranteed.”
So back to the boot sale. “How much do you want for this?” I ask, gesturing towards the slim burgundy volume as casually as I can. “Twenty quid to you, mate,” comes the reply. My heart sinks a little. It’s not the twenty pence I’d hoped for, but my curiosity has got the better of me.
Later on, while leafing through the remarkably well preserved pages of Sodastreams, teasmaids and hilariously naff couples in matching bathrobes I resolve to track down each of the spring/summer editions from ten year intervals. The year is 2013 so the first one is easy. 1983 isn’t hard to find online, and 1993 soon follows. 2003 remains elusive for months – maybe it’s just too soon for it to be considered a listings-worthy artefact on eBay?
Eventually though (and to the absolute horror of my better half) I am the proud owner of five catalogues that represent the most detailed, comprehensive – and often bizarre – record of 40 years of British spending habits.
Over the next few pages we examine the highs and lows of each edition, from Elizabeth Duke jewellery at the front to the bikes at the back. Expect to exclaim “Oh my God, my Nan had that!” at least once.
1973 – Super 8 cameras and a frogman suit.
1983 – His-and-hers leisurewear and Space Invaders on the Atari.
1993 – Head bags and a bazooka for your Super Nintendo.
2003 – George Foreman grills and a MiniDisc player.
2013 – Apple tablets and powders for muscle growth.
Argos in numbers.
So what have we learned? Certainly, our shopping habits have changed over the last four decades. From the rise and fall of leather luggage sets to the inexplicable popularity of the Big Mouth Billy Bass singing fish, Argos has grown steadily throughout – updating its well-thumbed catalogues to accommodate our shifting tastes.
The stores have been modernised, updated to include iPads, self-service checkouts and eBay ‘click and collect’ stations. Yet still, the home catalogue survives. Face it, you’d miss it if it was gone. There’s something reassuringly familiar about the nostalgia-inducing images of domestic flotsam and jetsom that fill the pages.
It's also bigger now than it ever has been (because we want more choice and we like to buy more stuff). Some things don’t cost as much as they used to (a 24” Sony widescreen TV would set you back a hefty £649.99 in 1993), yet proportionally the amount of ‘Home & Furniture’ items in the catalogue today is virtually the same as what it was back in 1973. It seems that, in the world of Argos at least, the more things change, the more they stay the same.