Zero History

He held the door for her.
“Welcome,” said a small Japanese man with round gold-framed glasses. There was no
one else in the shop.
“We’ll be in back,” said Bigend, leading Hollis past him.
“Of course. I’ll see that you aren’t disturbed.”
Hollis smiled at the man, nodded. He bowed to her. He wore a tweed hacking jacket
with sleeves made partially of waxed cotton.
The back office in Tanky & Tojo was tidier, less shabby than she expected spaces like
this to be. There was no evidence of employees attempting to alleviate boredom, no stabs
at humor, no wistful pockets of nonwork affect. The walls were freshly painted gray.
Cheap white shelving was piled with plastic-wrapped stock, shoe boxes, books of fabric
samples.
“Milgrim and Sleight were in South Carolina,” said Bigend, seating himself behind the
small white Ikea desk. One of its corners, facing her, was chipped, revealing some core
material that resembled compacted granola. She sat on a very Eighties-looking vanity
stool, pale violet velour, bulbous, possibly the last survivor of some previous business
here. “Sleight had arranged for us to have a look at a garment prototype. We’d picked up
interesting industry buzz about it, though when we got the photos and tracings, really, we
couldn’t see why. Our best analyst thinks it’s not a tactical design. Something for mall
ninjas.”
“For what?”
“The new Mitty demographic.”
“I’m lost.”
“Young men who dress to feel they’ll be mistaken for having special capability. A
species of cosplay, really. Endemic. Lots of boys are playing soldier now. The men who
run the world aren’t, and neither are the boys most effectively bent on running it next. Or
the ones who’re actually having to be soldiers, of course. But many of the rest have gone
gear-queer, to one extent or another.”
“ ‘Gear-queer’?”
Bigend’s teeth showed. “We had a team of cultural anthropologists interview American
soldiers returning from Iraq. That’s where we first heard it. It’s not wholly derogatory,
mind you. There are actual professionals who genuinely require these things—some of
them, anyway. Though they generally seem to be far less fascinated with them. But it’s
that fascination that interests us, of course.”
“It is?”
“It’s an obsession with the idea not just of the right stuff, but of the special stuff.
Equipment fetishism. The costume and semiotics of achingly elite police and military
units. Intense desire to possess same, of course, and in turn to be associated with that
world. With its competence, its cocksure exclusivity.”
“Sounds like fashion, to me.”