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	<front>
		<journal-meta>
			<journal-id journal-id-type="publisher-id">rbh</journal-id>
			<journal-title-group>
				<journal-title>Revista Brasileira de História</journal-title>
				<abbrev-journal-title abbrev-type="publisher">Rev. Bras. Hist.</abbrev-journal-title>
			</journal-title-group>
			<issn pub-type="ppub">0102-0188</issn>
			<issn pub-type="epub">1806-9347</issn>
			<publisher>
				<publisher-name>Associação Nacional de História - ANPUH</publisher-name>
			</publisher>
		</journal-meta>
		<article-meta>
			<article-id pub-id-type="publisher-id">00012</article-id>
			<article-id pub-id-type="doi">10.1590/1806-93472017v37n75-11</article-id>
			<article-id pub-id-type="other">05102</article-id>
			<article-categories>
				<subj-group subj-group-type="heading">
					<subject>Articles</subject>
				</subj-group>
			</article-categories>
			<title-group>
				<article-title>Garotas de loja, história social e teoria social</article-title>
			</title-group>
			<contrib-group>
				<contrib contrib-type="author">
					<name>
						<surname>Cox</surname>
						<given-names>Pamela</given-names>
					</name>
					<xref ref-type="aff" rid="aff1">*</xref>
				</contrib>
			</contrib-group>
				<aff id="aff1">
					<label>*</label>
					<institution content-type="original"> Department of Sociology, University of Essex. Colchester, Essex, UK. pamcox@essex.ac.uk </institution>
					<institution content-type="normalized">University of Essex</institution>
					<institution content-type="orgdiv1">Department of Sociology</institution>
					<institution content-type="orgname">University of Essex</institution>
					<addr-line>
						<named-content content-type="city">Colchester</named-content>
						<named-content content-type="state">Essex</named-content>
					</addr-line>
					<country country="GB">United Kingdom</country>
					<email>pamcox@essex.ac.uk</email>
				</aff>
			<pub-date pub-type="epub">
				<day>16</day>
				<month>08</month>
				<year>2017</year>
			</pub-date>
			<volume>37</volume>
			<issue>75</issue>
			<fpage>243</fpage>
			<lpage>271</lpage>
			<history>
				<date date-type="received">
					<day>12</day>
					<month>06</month>
					<year>2017</year>
				</date>
				<date date-type="accepted">
					<day>19</day>
					<month>06</month>
					<year>2017</year>
				</date>
			</history>
			<permissions>
				<license license-type="open-access" xlink:href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/" xml:lang="pt">
					<license-p>Este é um artigo publicado em acesso aberto sob uma licença Creative Commons</license-p>
				</license>
			</permissions>
			<abstract>
				<title>RESUMO</title>
				<p>Os trabalhadores de loja, na maioria mulheres, constituíram uma proporção significativa da força de trabalho da Grã-Bretanha desde a década de 1850, mas ainda sabemos relativamente pouco sobre sua história. Este artigo argumenta que houve uma negligência sistemática em relação a um dos maiores segmentos do emprego feminino por parte dos historiadores, e investiga por que isso aconteceu. Sugere que essa negligência esteja ligada a enfoques do trabalho que negligenciaram o setor de serviços como um todo, bem como a um contínuo mal-estar com as transformações da vida social da sociedade de consumo. Um elemento dessa transformação foi o surgimento de novas formas de trabalho estético, emocional e sexualizado. Certos tipos de “garotas de loja” as incorporaram de forma impressionante. Como resultado, tornaram-se ícones duradouros de consumo de massa, simultaneamente descartados como dublês culturais passivos ou punidos como poderosos agentes de destruição cultural. O artigo entrelaça a história social cotidiana das trabalhadoras de loja com representações inconstantes da “garota de loja”, das paródias do café-concerto vitoriano, mediante a teoria social modernista, ao bizarro ataque à bomba da butique Biba em Londres pela Brigada Angry, no Dia do Trabalho, em 1971. Conclui que os historiadores progressistas têm muito a ganhar ao recuperar essas trabalhadoras e a economia de serviços que elas ajudaram a criar.</p>
			</abstract>
			<kwd-group xml:lang="pt">
				<title>Palavras-chave:</title>
				<kwd>garotas de loja</kwd>
				<kwd>cultura do consumo</kwd>
				<kwd>modernidade</kwd>
			</kwd-group>
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				<equation-count count="0"/>
				<ref-count count="99"/>
				<page-count count="29"/>
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	</front>
	<body>
		<sec>
			<title>HISTORICIZANDO AS LOJAS E OS TRABALHADORES DE LOJA</title>
			<p>Em 1900, cerca de 250 mil mulheres britânicas trabalhavam em lojas. Em meados da década de 1960, esse número havia aumentado para mais de um milhão, ou quase um quinto da força de trabalho feminina. Hoje, o varejo é um dos maiores segmentos de emprego do setor privado, reunindo 2,7 milhões de trabalhadores, dois terços dos quais mulheres. Eles atendem clientes entre os quais aqueles que dedicam mais horas por semana às compras do que a qualquer outra atividade fora do trabalho.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn2"><sup>2</sup></xref> Dada a sua centralidade em nossa vida diária, é muito surpreendente que os historiadores tenham prestado tão pouca atenção aos trabalhadores de loja. O que poderia explicar essa negligência?</p>
			<p>Isso é parcialmente explicado pela representação de uma falsa separação entre os “dois mundos”, o da produção e o do consumo. O trabalho de loja tem lutado para ser definido como “trabalho real” porque foi, e continua a ser, realizado em espaços associados ao consumo e não à produção. As lojas eram de alguma forma distintas das oficinas, confecções, moinhos, fábricas e fazendas onde os trabalhadores “reais” cumpriam sua jornada de trabalho. Elas eram os lugares onde os bens que muitos desses trabalhadores “reais” produziam eram “meramente” exibidos e vendidos. Essa separação tem sido muito criticada pelos historiadores da cultura do consumo em geral e do varejo em particular, que há muito argumentaram que a loja é o lugar onde esses “dois mundos” se encontram (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B63">Miller, 1998</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B64">Miller et al., 1998</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B80">Shaw, 2010</xref>).</p>
			<p>Outro motivo da negligência é que, a partir de meados do século XIX, o trabalho em loja começou a ser feminizado. No início do século XX, seus trabalhadores eram predominantemente jovens mulheres que trabalhavam em tempo integral e deixavam o emprego quando se casavam. Após a Segunda Guerra Mundial, um número cada vez maior de mulheres casadas assumiu ou voltou a trabalhar em regime de tempo parcial, muitas delas como mães trabalhadoras. Com algumas exceções importantes, a maioria permaneceu concentrada nas fileiras mais baixas do varejo, remunerada com salários muito menores do que os de seus equivalentes masculinos, relativamente poucas eram sindicalizadas e muitas valorizavam sua flexibilidade.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn3"><sup>3</sup></xref> Até recentemente, elas foram consideradas de pouco interesse - para os historiadores do trabalho (que se concentravam em áreas mais “produtivas” ou organizadas do mercado de trabalho), para os historiadores econômicos (que ignoravam o setor de serviços em geral), para os historiadores da cultura do consumidor (que se concentravam nos clientes) ou para as historiadoras feministas que trabalham com todas essas categorias.</p>
			<p>Uma terceira razão para a negligência, no entanto, pode estar na atitude ambígua da academia progressista em relação ao crescimento da sociedade de consumo e do setor de serviços subjacente. Uma das características definidoras de uma sociedade de consumo é que a sua vida social é essencialmente organizada em torno do consumo e não da produção. Acompanhar a ascensão da sociedade de consumo é rastrear a história muitas vezes desconfortável de como e por que viemos a nos definir cada vez menos por onde trabalhamos e mais e mais pelo que compramos. Significa também, portanto, acompanhar a ascensão da <italic>marketização</italic> e da mercantilização da vida social. Diante disso, pode ser difícil encontrar formas de escrever a história do crescimento do setor de serviços e de seus trabalhadores que tanto fizeram para moldar as culturas do consumo.</p>
			<p>As 250 mil mulheres que trabalhavam no varejo britânico em 1900 faziam parte daquele que era o maior setor de serviços do mundo - uma área de atividade econômica extensa e extremamente variada e que empregava mais de um terço de todos os trabalhadores do país. Ele abrangia muitas ocupações. O varejo, a distribuição, o transporte e a construção estavam entre as maiores, seguidas pelos serviços domésticos, serviços de atendimento e serviços financeiros, como bancos e seguros. Em 1950, quase a metade da população trabalhadora concentrava-se no setor de serviços; hoje esse percentual é superior a três quartos.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn4"><sup>4</sup></xref> Embora existam estudos específicos sobre o desenvolvimento de alguns dos seus componentes-chave, incluindo todas as ocupações listadas acima, é extremamente surpreendente que não existam histórias abrangentes sobre a economia de serviços ou as vidas, valores e aspirações daqueles que a construíram.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn5"><sup>5</sup></xref>
			</p>
			<p>Este artigo não pode responder a esse enorme desafio. Ele se inspira, contudo, pelo desejo de entender melhor a hostilidade duradoura e com forte marca de gênero que um aspecto particular da economia de serviços gerou: o trabalho estético e emocional das “garotas de loja”. Baseia-se em pesquisas realizadas para uma recente série de TV da BBC, <italic>Shopgirls</italic>, que acompanhou a mudança de perfil, experiências e representações desse grupo de 1850 até hoje.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn6"><sup>6</sup></xref>
			</p>
			<p>Trabalhos sobre cultura do consumo, operações de varejo e as próprias compras experimentaram um grande crescimento nas últimas décadas.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn7"><sup>7</sup></xref> Algumas dessas pesquisas abordaram o recrutamento, o treinamento e as experiências dos trabalhadores de loja em períodos específicos ou em especialidades específicas de varejo. Winstanley, por exemplo, oferece um valioso relato da expansão da força de trabalho empregada no varejo ao longo do século XIX. Hosgood dá uma visão pouco comum sobre as condições de vida e trabalho de vendedores, principalmente do sexo masculino, no mesmo período. Histórias de empresários individuais e lojas específicas frequentemente discorrem sobre a vida dos trabalhadores, mas raramente oferecem uma análise sistemática deles.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn8"><sup>8</sup></xref>
			</p>
			<p>Um valioso material adicional é encontrado em histórias recentes e antigas sobre o trabalho feminino, gênero que, segundo conclusão de uma obra recente, durante muito tempo se concentrou no trabalho fabril (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B20">Cowman; Jackson, 2005</xref>, especialmente p.10). O estudo inspirador de Todd sobre mulheres jovens do século XX mostra que, em 1951, 12% delas eram empregadas como vendedoras, a maioria em locais extremamente segregados por gênero. Todd também procura ampliar as discussões tradicionais sobre as culturas de trabalho feminino pela inclusão de narrativas selecionadas de vendedoras. Um estudo muito anterior, feito por Holcombe sobre o mercado de trabalho vitoriano, oferece uma visão pouco usual do ingresso de mulheres de classe média no trabalho de loja. É significativo, contudo, que o pequeno número de estudos centrados mais diretamente em trabalhadoras foi produzido por especialistas em literatura e em teoria da cultura.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn9"><sup>9</sup></xref> O livro esclarecedor de Sanders sobre as garotas de loja de Londres na era vitoriana e eduardiana e o texto de Driscoll sobre “a vida da garota de loja” têm como ponto de partida as representações culturais, embora Sanders vá além disso, detalhando as jornadas de trabalho mais cotidianas de mulheres mais comuns no segmento do varejo (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">Sanders, 2006</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B27">Driscoll, 2010</xref>).</p>
			<p>Fora da academia, as histórias populares de lojas e trabalho de loja encontraram recentemente um espaço próprio, em parte graças ao sucesso das séries de TV do período, <italic>Mr. Selfridge</italic> (ITV, 2013) e <italic>The Paradise</italic> (BBC One, 2012).<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn10"><sup>10</sup></xref> O meu próprio livro, escrito em coautoria para subsidiar a série de TV da BBC <italic>Shopgirls</italic>, pretende fazer uma ponte entre essas abordagens acadêmicas e populares (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">Cox; Hobley, 2014</xref>). A obra oferece uma ampla visão a respeito das mudanças na natureza do trabalho em loja desde a década de 1850 até o presente e abre novas questões para pesquisa, algumas das quais abordadas neste artigo. Por que certos tipos de mulheres que trabalham em loja, aquelas tipificadas como “garotas de loja”, são consideradas como ícones inquietantes do capitalismo de <italic>commodities</italic>? Até que ponto isso pode ser explicado em termos de uma reação recorrente às novas formas de trabalho estético, emocional e sexualizado que elas encarnavam? O que os historiadores progressistas poderiam ganhar ao recuperar essas trabalhadoras e a economia de serviços que elas ajudaram a criar?</p>
		</sec>
		<sec>
			<title>O SURGIMENTO DA “GAROTA DE LOJA”</title>
			<p>O termo “garota de loja” (<italic>shop girl</italic>) começou a ser usado na Grã-Bretanha e na América do Norte no início do século XIX. Era um novo termo para descrever um novo tipo de trabalhador. Outros descritores mais formais estavam em uso. Os jornais de meados do século, por exemplo, exibiam anúncios de “respeitáveis vendedoras femininas” ou “mulheres de vendas” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">Cox; Hobley, 2014</xref>, p.3-4). No entanto, “garota de loja” se firmou na imaginação popular e literária. Cresceu junto a outro novo termo: “garota trabalhadora” (<italic>working girl</italic>), que surgiu na gíria de Nova York para descrever os milhares de jovens mulheres da classe trabalhadora que entraram no mercado de trabalho assalariado naquela época - e, possivelmente, <italic>pela primeira vez</italic> em números tão expressivos na história mundial (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B5">Allen, 1995</xref>). No entanto, a “garota trabalhadora” teve duas acepções desde o início, com suas conotações em torno da venda, troca ou promessa de serviços sexuais. Essas conotações permaneceriam ligadas a certos tipos de trabalhadoras de loja por décadas.</p>
			<p>As mulheres, é claro, começaram a trabalhar em mercados e lojas muito antes disso. No entanto, a expansão acelerada dos negócios de varejo desde o início do século XIX acarretou uma expansão igualmente acelerada dessa força de trabalho e sobretudo dependeu dela. A maioria estava envolvida no trabalho desde os primeiros anos da adolescência até os vinte e tantos anos, o período entre a saída da escola (caso tivessem frequentado a escola formal) e o casamento. A maioria era da classe trabalhadora e muitas vezes optava pelo trabalho de loja em detrimento do serviço doméstico, do trabalho de fábrica, atividades mal remuneradas e em péssimas condições, ou do trabalho agrícola. Uma minoria era formada por mulheres jovens, donas de casa de classe média baixa, que queriam, ou simplesmente precisavam, trabalhar para se sustentar ou a suas famílias. Para ambos os grupos, o trabalho em loja fornecia uma resposta à chamada “questão feminina”, revelada pelo censo inglês de 1851 e destacada pela primeira onda de feministas: que as mulheres simplesmente eram mais numerosas do que os homens, o que significava que não podiam depender dos futuros maridos para seu sustento financeiro.</p>
			<p>A economista política Harriet Martineau calculou que “mais de 2 milhões [de mulheres] são independentes em suas atividades, [e] se autossustentam, como os homens” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B59">Martineau, 1859</xref>, p.330). Sua pesquisa foi um dos catalisadores da criação da Sociedade para a Promoção do Emprego de Mulheres pelo Grupo Langham Place, em 1859. A Sociedade encarava o trabalho em loja como uma forma de trabalho desejável, respeitável e leve, extremamente adequado para mulheres jovens. Como um de seus panfletos diz: “Por que os homens barbudos devem ser empregados para vender fitas, rendas, luvas, lençóis e mais uma dúzia de outras ninharias que podem ser encontradas em uma loja de tecidos ou em um armarinho?” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B8">Association for Promoting..., 1859</xref>).</p>
			<p>Os comerciantes interessados em expandir seus negócios durante o <italic>boom</italic> econômico britânico de meados do século XIX estavam dispostos a concordar - em parte porque poderiam pagar muito menos para meninas e mulheres do que para meninos e homens e, em parte, porque muitos deles estavam ansiosos para atrair mais clientes mulheres. A maioria das trabalhadoras da primeira geração era empregada em empresas familiares pequenas mas em expansão, como vendedoras de lojas de cortinas, docerias, cooperativas - e mais tarde mercearias -, atendendo a uma base de clientes em grande parte proveniente da classe trabalhadora, cujos salários, em aumento lento mas constante, sustentavam uma crescente demanda por serviços de todos os tipos. Uma minoria mais sofisticada trabalhava em lojas de mais prestígio, especializadas em chapéus, roupas masculinas, guloseimas, artigos da moda e de luxo, ou nas grandes lojas de departamentos que começaram a aparecer em cidades médias e grandes da Europa e dos Estados Unidos nas décadas de 1860 e 1870. Era essa minoria de vendedoras, vestidas geralmente com elegantes trajes de seda preta (ou um substituto mais barato), com colar e punhos de renda branca, que veio a encarnar a marca “garota de loja”.</p>
		</sec>
		<sec>
			<title>GAROTAS DE LOJA, ESTILO E SERVIÇO: TRABALHO ESTÉTICO E TRABALHO EMOCIONAL</title>
			<p>Se aceitarmos a visão penetrante de Pettinger de que “os serviços tornam a cultura do consumo possível”, precisaremos entender como as vendedoras de loja passavam seu dia de trabalho (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B73">Pettinger, 2011</xref>, p.223). Essa é uma pergunta desafiadora a ser respondida, porque seus empregadores - as empresas familiares, principalmente as pequenas, que constituíram a base do setor privado vitoriano - deixaram relativamente poucos registros. Aqueles que sobrevivem estão espalhados em arquivos pessoais, privados e empresariais. A regulamentação estatal e a inspeção dos negócios de varejo eram mínimas, mesmo no início do século XX, o que significa que os arquivos legais contêm relativamente pouco material sobre a vida cotidiana por detrás do balcão. Os tardios inquéritos e campanhas parlamentares da era vitoriana para reduzir o horário de trabalho e melhorar as suas condições produziram algumas informações úteis, mas seus registros devem ser lidos com cautela, porque geralmente estavam a cargo de pessoas que queriam regulamentar as mulheres fora do trabalho assalariado. Ainda assim, não deixam de oferecer uma visão interna das condições de trabalho e de vida.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn11"><sup>11</sup></xref> A partir da década de 1890, novos sindicatos criados por empregados de lojas começaram a documentar a vida cotidiana de seus trabalhadores, e alguns jornais publicaram denúncias sobre donos de lojas sem escrúpulos.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn12"><sup>12</sup></xref> As autobiografias escritas por ex-empregados e, mais comumente, por comerciantes, fornecem mais detalhes valiosos, embora a maioria tenha sido escrita por homens (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B1">Ablett, 1876</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B19">Copeman, 1946</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B43">Hoffman, 1949</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B11">Bondfield, 1948</xref>).</p>
			<p>A visão que emerge dessas fontes é que o trabalho do dia a dia era muito variado. Poderia envolver tudo, desde a seleção, ordenação, compra, descarga e arrumação do estoque, assistência a clientes, envolvimento ou alteração de suas compras, envio de contas e cobrança, ou mesmo a limpeza da loja e tarefas domésticas em dormitórios e alojamentos de pessoal. Nas lojas pequenas, as ajudantes podiam estar envolvidas em muitas dessas tarefas. Em lojas maiores, onde a divisão de trabalho era mais complexa, era mais provável que elas desempenhassem funções especializadas. Lojas de departamento - como a Bainbridge, em Newcastle; a Kendal, Milne e Faulkner, em Manchester; a Harrods e a Whiteley, em Londres - tinham, cada uma, mais de mil funcionários por volta da virada para o século XX, organizados segundo hierarquias rigorosas. Contudo, as jornadas de trabalho eram normalmente longas para o pessoal de todos os setores. Antes e mesmo depois das tentativas dos parlamentares de regulamentar o horário de trabalho na década de 1880, muitos empregados trabalhavam até 17 horas por dia, passando a maior parte dessas horas em pé, aliviados apenas por breves intervalos para comerem alguma coisa. Os milhares de trabalhadores que “viviam” nas lojas - em acomodações geralmente de propriedade de seu empregador - deveriam estar disponíveis 24 horas por dia para tarefas adicionais, conforme a necessidade. O alojamento e a alimentação eram deduzidos do salário, assim como os custos de seus uniformes de trabalho, e as multas eram frequentes, causadas, por exemplo, por dano ao estoque, desperdício de alimentos ou o não fechamento de uma venda. “Ficar em pé sorrindo” pode parecer fácil, mas o trabalho de loja era pesado.</p>
			<p>O “ficar em pé sorrindo” era um artifício. Tratava-se de um comportamento voltado para estimular os clientes a aprimorar sua experiência de compra, encorajando-os a gastar mais. Sinalizava um estilo de serviço ao cliente que era novo no varejo e que se desenvolveu ao lado da formalização do serviço doméstico de meados da era vitoriana. Assim como os empregados deveriam estar prontos para atender, a qualquer momento, qualquer necessidade pessoal, os vendedores das lojas deveriam se manter - literalmente - prontos a atender às demandas de seus clientes. Esses novos padrões de atendimento ao cliente baseavam-se em novas formas de trabalho de gênero: trabalho emocional e trabalho estético. Esses dois conceitos conectados têm sido utilizados de forma muito proveitosa pelos sociólogos para analisar estilos de trabalho nas atividades de serviços e cuidados contemporâneos, mas ainda não foram adotados por historiadores do trabalho.</p>
			<p>O trabalho emocional, tal como definido por Hochschild em seu estudo pioneiro das comissárias de bordo, refere-se a técnicas de gerenciamento da emoção por parte dos trabalhadores como parte integrante de um processo de trabalho particular. É realizado sempre que uma ocupação “exige que alguém induza ou suprima sentimentos para sustentar o semblante externo que produz o estado mental apropriado nos outros” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B42">Hochschild, 1983</xref>, p.7). No caso do trabalho nas lojas elegantes do século XIX, formas particulares de expressão emocional eram encorajadas pelos empregadores - uma delicada combinação de servilismo e autoridade, capacidade de oferecer simpatia e conselhos, lisonjas e opiniões honestas. Para Hochschild, o desenvolvimento do trabalho emocional orientado por organizações sinalizou o surgimento da “comercialização do sentimento humano” e, com ele, o surgimento do “coração gerenciado”. Também está intimamente ligado ao surgimento de novas formas de “trabalho estético” que se refere à gestão dos aspectos físicos, do estilo, da apresentação e da aparência pessoal dos trabalhadores e da exigência de que eles incorporem certas atitudes e capacidades. O estudo de Pettinger sobre vendedoras nos dias de hoje define acertadamente o trabalho estético como “um investimento de habilidade, conhecimento, tempo, dinheiro e energia na realização da feminilidade” e explora o importante papel que isso desempenha atualmente no varejo de moda. Uma parcela (mas não o total) desse investimento busca claramente sexualizar trabalhadoras e locais de trabalho, como observado por Cockburn, Adkins e outros (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B72">Pettinger, 2005</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B17">Cockburn, 1991</xref>, p.149-150; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B2">Adkins, 1992</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B3">2002</xref>).</p>
			<p>A maioria das análises do trabalho emocional, estético e sexualizado se concentra nas mudanças econômicas que tiveram lugar no fim do século XX e na crescente proeminência do setor de serviços. No entanto, ambos os conceitos estão claramente abertos a uma investigação histórica mais ampla. A história do varejo oferece um rico ponto de partida. Na verdade, muitos estudos históricos existentes analisaram os mundos sensuais e espetaculares da loja de departamentos - embora mais frequentemente da perspectiva do consumidor e de seus desejos, e não na dos trabalhadores e do papel ativo que desempenharam na configuração desses desejos (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B74">Rappaport, 2001</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B92">Walkowitz, 1992</xref>). Uma importante exceção aqui é a discussão de Rendall sobre os primeiros dias da Elite Burlington Arcade, indiscutivelmente o primeiro <italic>shopping</italic> comercial da Grã-Bretanha. Quando foi inaugurado em Piccadilly na década de 1820, seus proprietários anunciaram abertamente que “beldades profissionais” iriam atender em suas lojas de luxo (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B75">Rendall, 1996</xref>). Da mesma forma, o estudo de Sanders sobre as garotas de loja de Londres do final do século XIX mostra como mulheres jovens foram recrutadas por sua aparência e comportamento e foram “treinadas” para avaliar em segundos os estilos de vida e as necessidades dos clientes (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">Sanders, 2006</xref>). No início do século XX, esse treinamento tornou-se profissionalizado e rotinizado em muitas lojas maiores, conforme descrito em histórias de lojas específicas, como a Selfridge’s, a Marks and Spencer e a John Lewis (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B97">Woodhead, 2007</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B98">Worth, 2007</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B22">Cox, 2010</xref>). Embora nenhuma delas utilize a linguagem do trabalho estético e emocional, essas histórias estão trabalhando claramente com conceitos comparáveis.</p>
			<p>Como já esboçado, de modo algum todas as trabalhadoras mulheres foram formalmente convocadas a usar essas habilidades específicas. Além disso, essas habilidades também eram comumente empregadas por alguns vendedores homens (principalmente aqueles que trabalhavam em lojas de roupas masculinas e em lojas de departamento), como destacado por Mort e Nixon (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B68">Mort, 1999</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B70">Nixon, 1996</xref>). Quero sugerir aqui, no entanto, que a realização do trabalho estético e emocional por parte de certos tipos de jovens empregadas de loja era um dos principais motivos pelos quais se tornaram objetos <italic>particulares</italic> de uma atenção pública profundamente ambígua. A aparência e a conduta dessas primeiras “garotas de loja” as separaram de outras trabalhadoras e dos trabalhadores masculinos das lojas. Elas atraíram uma torrente de observações críticas, e geralmente lascivas, de comentaristas, artistas, jornalistas e teóricos sociais das eras vitoriana e eduardiana, e também de gerações posteriores.</p>
			<p>Um desenho publicado em 1842 na <italic>Illustrated London News</italic> mostra dois cavalheiros de cartola observando duas jovens modistas, sem que ninguém “censure sua audácia”. A captura do “olhar insistente para as garotas da loja”, a cena e sua dinâmica - um olhar externo voltado para mulheres jovens e atraentes trabalhando atrás de uma vitrine - tornaram-se uma representação cultural duradoura. Ela foi muitas vezes recapturada pelo impressionismo francês. O quadro de Tissot <italic>A moça da loja</italic>, parte da sua série “Mulheres de Paris”, produzida entre 1883 e 1885, apresenta a imagem de uma jovem vendedora vista por um cliente masculino. Com seu jeito de “vida moderna casualmente apreendida”, a tela ecoou temas pintados por Degas, Manet e Renoir - todos eles atraídos pelo “comércio erotizado” da vida de loja.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn13"><sup>13</sup></xref> A imagem de Tissot foi exibida em Londres em 1886 com uma intrigante introdução no catálogo:</p>
			<disp-quote>
				<p>nossa jovem senhora, com seu sorriso envolvente, está mantendo a porta aberta até que seu cliente retire a pilha de compras de suas mãos e as passe para a carruagem. Ela sabe o que faz e aprendeu que a primeira lição de todas é ser educada, cativante e agradável. A questão não é se ela quer dizer o que ela diz, ou muito do que ela parece expressar: basta que ela tenha um sorriso e uma resposta apropriada para todos.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn14"><sup>14</sup></xref>
				</p>
			</disp-quote>
			<p>O fascínio pela moça atrás da vitrine continuou em meados do século XX, muito depois de a figura da jovem trabalhadora ter se tornado familiar na paisagem econômica. As butiques da moda na década de 1960 procuraram romper com diferentes limites sociais de diferentes maneiras - como será discutido a seguir -, e também criaram uma nova visão dessa imagem antiga. Particularmente impressionante é uma fotografia de John Downing de uma jovem modelo posando com uma peça de <italic>lingerie</italic> na vitrine da butique de Henry Moss em Carnaby Street, em 1966.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn15"><sup>15</sup></xref> Da Burlington Arcade na década de 1820 às butiques da década de 1960, a “garota de loja” sexualizou a cultura da mercadoria e foi participante destacada daquilo que Nava chamou de “cosmopolitismo visceral” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B69">Nava, 2007</xref>).</p>
			<p>O desejo sexual - muitas vezes frustrado - domina muitos comentários sobre a “garota de loja”. O jornalista e funcionário público Arthur Munby, que buscava a companhia de muitas trabalhadoras em suas caminhadas predatórias na Londres de meados da era vitoriana, foi seduzido pelas vendedoras das lojas, com seus “rostos agradáveis e seus corpos esguios e bem proporcionados”. Ele oferece um relato completo de sua conversa noturna no Hyde Park, no verão de 1861, com uma jovem, Eliza Close. Ele achou o seu vestido de seda preta e o capuz verde e branco “de bom gosto ... mas além da sua classe”. Ela era “uma empregada de loja” procurando disfarçar suas origens de filha de agricultor. Seus “vícios de linguagem a colocavam a meio caminho entre a reserva digna e a meticulosidade de uma senhora, e a franqueza sincera e a vulgaridade grosseira de uma criada”.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn16"><sup>16</sup></xref> O jornalista Henry Mayhew realizou entrevistas similares com “vendedoras de loja” como parte de seu projeto para o catálogo <italic>London Work and London Poor</italic>, sugerindo que muitas também trabalhavam no comércio sexual de alta classe, notadamente aquelas empregadas na Burlington Arcade.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn17"><sup>17</sup></xref> O escritor erótico “Walter” documentou - ou pelo menos fantasiou - seus próprios encontros sexuais com vendedoras em seu texto de 1880, <italic>My Secret Life</italic>.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn18"><sup>18</sup></xref> O cartunista da revista satírica <italic>Punch</italic>, Linley Sambourne, tirou às escondidas fotografias de “garotas de loja vestidas na moda” enquanto caminhavam para o trabalho.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn19"><sup>19</sup></xref>
			</p>
			<p>Na virada do século, as histórias sobre essas mulheres idealizadas apareciam com frequência nas revistas populares: os títulos dessas histórias, publicadas na revista <italic>Forget-Me-Not</italic>, eram bem reveladores: “As aventuras de uma vendedora”, “A bela garota de loja”, “Uma pequena escrava branca”, “A chance de casamento da garota de loja” e “Como as garotas de loja conseguem maridos ricos”.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn20"><sup>20</sup></xref> Teatros e salas de espetáculos dramatizavam regularmente essas histórias no palco, muitas vezes com guarda-roupa fornecido pelas próprias lojas de departamentos. A comédia musical <italic>The Shop Girl</italic> (1895) tornou-se um dos <italic>shows</italic> mais bem-sucedidos do Gaiety Theatre, apresentado por vários anos no West End antes de se transferir para a Broadway. Ela conta a história de Bessie Brent, uma inocente vendedora, cuja moral é colocada em xeque pelas várias tentações da vida de loja. Em <italic>The Girl from Kay’s</italic> (1902), um coro de garotas da loja repetia que elas eram “boas, boas jovenzinhas”, mas que seriam “impertinentes, quando chegassem aos 40 [anos]”.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn21"><sup>21</sup></xref> Como Sanders argumenta, as personagens em todas essas histórias caminham numa corda bamba entre a elevação moral no casamento e a queda moral na prostituição. As histórias em si seguem uma narrativa romanceada, conduzida pelo cumprimento adiado do desejo e pela busca indescritível da satisfação na nova cultura do consumo (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">Sanders, 2006</xref>, p.5).</p>
			<p>Essas manifestações culturais sinalizam até que ponto - e com que velocidade - a “garota de loja” se tornou um poderoso símbolo do capitalismo de <italic>commodities</italic>. Ela era um novo tipo de trabalhador, que não confeccionava a enorme variedade de produtos em exibição nas lojas, mas que poderia usar seu poder de persuasão, astúcia e flerte para fazer os clientes deixarem de ser econômicos e os comprassem. Ela incorporou um novo tipo de classe social, carregado de estigmas: uma “empregada do comércio varejista”, membro da classe trabalhadora, entrando em uma nova classe média baixa ou pequena burguesia. Simultaneamente, ela também era um novo tipo de consumidor de mercado de massa, que usava seus modestos salários para comprar o que podia para si mesma - e quando seus modestos recursos acabavam, estava, de acordo com o estereótipo, mais do que disposta a flertar com qualquer homem disposto a cuidar dela. Ele, por sua vez, poderia esperar ser pago mediante favores sexuais ou casamento. Quem na verdade sabia o que a vendedora falsamente modesta, em seu vestido de seda preta, estava realmente vendendo? Quem poderia confiar nela ou respeitá-la?</p>
			<p>Muitas cientistas sociais feministas esboçaram expressões de hostilidade cultural em relação às jovens da classe trabalhadora, uma hostilidade muitas vezes inseparável da sua sexualidade.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn22"><sup>22</sup></xref> Seus estudos se concentram no final do século XX e tendem a focar em mulheres jovens como consumidoras e não como trabalhadoras. Um dos meus argumentos aqui é que essa hostilidade surgiu muito mais cedo e muitas vezes voltou-se contra jovens trabalhadoras. A “garota de loja” era um alvo frequente. Como Driscoll observa, ela se situava, a partir do fim do século XIX, na “interseção da arte e do cotidiano”.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn23"><sup>23</sup></xref> Escalada como personagem central em inúmeras histórias sobre “superação pessoal” e “fuga” da banalidade da vida cotidiana, a busca da garota trabalhadora comum pelo extraordinário foi “o ponto de partida de musicais, comédias, dramas e suspenses”, bem como um ícone da cultura visual, da ilustração de jornal à galeria de arte (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B27">Driscoll, 2010</xref>, p.105). Ela combinou elementos dos tipos específicos de subjetividades de gênero “tão frequentemente desenhados pelos teóricos clássicos da modernidade para captar as novas relações sociais e as descontinuidades do novo urbanismo” (ibidem). Parafraseando Felski, ela era “em parte uma consumidora voraz, em parte uma esteta feminizada, em parte uma prostituta” (ibidem, citando <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B29">Felski, 1995</xref>).</p>
		</sec>
		<sec>
			<title>JOVENZINHAS DE LOJA E O CULTO DA DISTRAÇÃO</title>
			<p>A “garota de loja” continuou sendo uma peça central do comentário modernista na cultura do consumo no século XX. Como Huyssen observa, “a inscrição do feminino na noção de cultura de massa”, que havia começado no século XIX, “não renunciou à sua posse” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B49">Huyssen, 1986</xref>). Em vez disso, pode-se considerar que assumiu uma faceta mais sombria, explicitada quer pelos que defenderam o crescimento da cultura do consumo quer pelos que não o fizeram.</p>
			<p>Em 1912, o escritor e jornalista Gilbert Keith (G. K.) Chesterton meteu-se em uma briga pública com a Selfridge’s por meio de sua coluna no <italic>Daily News</italic>. Nacionalista e conservador em questões sociais, ele criticou o tamanho da nova loja de Oxford Street, inaugurada em 1909, e os métodos de negócios emocionalmente manipuladores de seu “impetuoso” proprietário americano. Esses “horríveis e intermináveis entrepostos” não só ameaçavam os meios de subsistência dos que considerava comerciantes tradicionais, mas também os valores culturais tradicionais. Significativamente, Chesterton dirigiu à equipe feminina da Selfridge um ataque particular, reclamando que elas eram “mal treinadas” e indistinguíveis dos inúmeros manequins sem cabeça da loja. Em suas próprias palavras, bastante perturbadoras: “Quando você olha para o manequim de vestido, acha que alguma vendedora teve a cabeça cortada; quando você olha para a garota real, sente-se inclinado a fazer o mesmo com ela”.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn24"><sup>24</sup></xref> Essa fantasia de decapitação surgiu em representações anteriores da “vendedora de loja-como-manequim”, principalmente nos capítulos iniciais da novela de Émile <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B99">Zola de 1883</xref>, <italic>O paraíso das damas</italic>, que retrata uma das primeiras lojas de departamentos de Paris como máquina que fabrica um desejo implacável, mas irrealizável.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn25"><sup>25</sup></xref>
			</p>
			<p>A escrita de Zola, assim como a arte impressionista, inspirou um novo e influente pensamento sobre a transformação da vida urbana cotidiana por meio da cultura de massa. Essa transformação estava no centro daquilo que Charles Baudelaire tinha sido, sem dúvida, o primeiro a definir como “modernidade”, uma forma de viver moldada pela experiência passageira e sensual. A influência de Baudelaire seria significativamente ampliada pelo Projeto Arcadas de Walter Benjamin, uma colagem de escritos sobre as vistas, os sons, as ruas e as lojas do Paris do século XIX.</p>
			<p>O legado do Projeto Arcadas perpassa a teoria social do século XX e as percepções da crescente economia de serviços. Isso fica fortemente evidenciado no trabalho de Siegfried Kraucauer, editor do <italic>Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung</italic> e um dos colaboradores de Benjamin. Kraucauer era um observador incansável da vida urbana cotidiana na República de Weimar. Como Baudelaire e Benjamin, ele comemorou as novas relações sociais criadas pela cultura do consumo, mas se manifestou de forma extremamente crítica em relação aos trabalhadores do setor de serviços que lhes serviu de suporte. Seu ensaio de 1927, “As jovenzinhas de loja vão ao cinema”, é um caso exemplar. Na sua opinião, as garotas de loja eram representantes sofisticadas de uma nova força de trabalho racionalizada e assalariada, a qual desafiava os velhos códigos sociais que protegiam as habilidades profissionais e as tradicionais associações de trabalhadores alemães. A nova força de trabalho foi desqualificada, dividida, hierarquizada e conduzida a uma busca autocentrada de bens materiais e vantagens competitivas. Seus gostos - junto aos das empregadas de escritório, datilógrafas e funcionárias - sustentaram o surgimento do que ele chamou de Culto da Distração - o cinema, a sala de dança e a ficção barata da nova indústria da cultura de massa.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn26"><sup>26</sup></xref>
			</p>
			<p>Kracauer estava entusiasmado com o potencial social do filme como meio de expressar desejos reprimidos, mas, como Moore argumenta, não encontrou “nenhum desses potenciais nas mulheres que forma[vam] uma grande parte da audiência”, uma audiência que “não conseguiu” entender a complexidade “do formato” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B67">Moore, 2001</xref>, p.43). Para Benner, isso reflete “um preconceito tão antigo quanto a análise da própria cultura de massa - que seu consumo é uma atividade passiva, tornando-se fraco, feminino e ‘pequeno’” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B10">Benner, 2012</xref>, p.161-162). Todavia, Kracauer não deixou de encarar essas “jovenzinhas de loja” como ativas predadoras sexuais. Em outro ensaio, ele descreve as “[garotas] assalariadas boêmias que vieram para a grande cidade em busca de aventura” como “cometas que passam pelo mundo dos empregados assalariados”, concluindo que “mesmo o melhor astrônomo não pode determinar se elas vão acabar na rua ou na cama nupcial.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn27"><sup>27</sup></xref>
			</p>
			<p>Esse dualismo continuaria a caracterizar conceitualizações posteriores da cultura de mercadoria de massa. Os trabalhos de Benjamin e Kracauer encontraram nova expressão na teoria crítica de Theodor Adorno e na Escola de Frankfurt, em sua tentativa de expor as estruturas culturais (na sua opinião, negligenciadas por Marx) que eles acreditavam legitimar-se pelo capitalismo maduro. A concepção da teoria crítica das relações de classe marcadas pelo gênero e pelas formas de cultura popular que estas apoiavam têm sido muito discutidas por estudiosos feministas.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn28"><sup>28</sup></xref> Como Modleski colocou 30 anos atrás, “a necessidade de uma crítica feminista se torna óbvia em todos os níveis do debate” porque “nossos modos de pensar e sentir sobre a cultura de massa estão intrincadamente ligados a noções do feminino”.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn29"><sup>29</sup></xref> Meu argumento aqui é que os trabalhadores das indústrias de serviços que apoiam a cultura de massa precisam ser uma parte mais consistente dessa crítica importante e ainda tão necessária. Para Adorno, era a “garota de loja” - mais uma vez - que representava a “mulher comum” da cultura cotidiana. Em ensaio de 1941, ele assim escreve sobre “a pobre garota de loja que obtém gratificação por meio da identificação com [a estrela de cinema] Ginger Rogers, que, com suas lindas pernas e caráter imaculado, se casa com o chefe”.</p>
			<p>Essa aparente gratificação assume uma forma particular que exige discussão mais aprofundada. Na opinião de Adorno, o prazer da garota de loja em assistir a Ginger Rogers não adveio do fato de ela acreditar que também poderia encontrar a felicidade, mas, ao contrário, da percepção de que ela não “fazia parte da felicidade”:</p>
			<disp-quote>
				<p>Hollywood e Tin Pan Alley podem ser fábricas de sonhos, mas eles não apenas fornecem satisfação de desejos categóricos para a garota atrás do balcão. Ela não se identifica imediatamente com o casamento de Ginger Rogers. O que ocorre pode ser expresso da seguinte forma: quando as pessoas que assistem a um filme sentimental ou ouvem uma música sentimental se tornam conscientes da possibilidade irresistível de felicidade, elas se atrevem a confessar o que toda a ordem da vida contemporânea geralmente as proíbe de admitir, isto é, que elas realmente não fazem parte da felicidade. (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4">Adorno, 1941</xref>)</p>
			</disp-quote>
			<p>Adorno prossegue, fazendo uma afirmação específica sobre o tipo de libertação enganosa que uma garota de loja e outras como ela poderiam esperar:</p>
			<disp-quote>
				<p>O que se supõe ser a realização do desejo é apenas a <italic>libertação limitada</italic> que ocorre mediante a percepção de que, finalmente, não é preciso negar-se a felicidade de saber que alguém é infeliz e que poderia ser feliz. A experiência da garota de loja está relacionada à da velha que chora nas cerimônias de casamento dos outros, tornando-se felizmente ciente da miséria de sua própria vida. (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4">Adorno, 1941</xref>, grifo meu)</p>
			</disp-quote>
			<p>A sensação de “libertação limitada” da garota de loja é engendrada pelo reconhecimento de sua própria miséria e da resultante “liberação momentânea dada à compreensão de que não se atingiu a realização” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4">Adorno, 1941</xref>). Em outras palavras, ela é alienada e alienante, vítima e agente da ruptura social mais ampla, produzida pela cultura do consumo de massa.</p>
		</sec>
		<sec>
			<title>A PEQUENA IRMÃ, A SOCIEDADE DO ESPETÁCULO E O ATENTADO À BIBA</title>
			<p>O trabalho de Adorno e da Escola de Frankfurt é um divisor de águas aqui. Por um lado, representa o ponto culminante de um século de comentários críticos anteriores sobre a ascensão do capitalismo de <italic>commodities</italic>. Por outro lado, desencadeou críticas novas e ainda mais incisivas sobre como esse capitalismo, agora maduro, estava exercendo formas cada vez mais sutis de exploração e alienação. Mais uma vez, no entanto, a figura da trabalhadora de serviços estéticos se destaca nos escritos de teóricos sociais radicais que queriam empurrar esse pensamento para novos limites.</p>
			<p>Guy Debord e seus seguidores estavam entre os mais destacados desses pensadores do pós-guerra. O livro mais conhecido de Debord, <italic>A sociedade do espetáculo</italic>, foi uma das inspirações para os protestos de Paris em 1968. Seu argumento era simples: as relações entre as pessoas na sociedade moderna ficaram distorcidas pela cultura do consumo. Elas estavam sendo hipnotizadas pela busca do dinheiro e de coisas que poderiam comprar até o ponto em que a vida social não dizia mais respeito a “viver”, e sim apenas a “ter”, não mais a “fazer”, e sim a “assistir”. Para Debord, tudo isso era uma ilusão perigosa, “um espetáculo” gerado pela cultura do consumo de massa - por meio de suas lojas, revistas, anúncios e filmes -, que prometia estilos de vida idealizados que nunca poderiam ser verdadeiramente alcançados e que eram, em alguns casos, vazios (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B26">Debord, 1995</xref>). Como Adorno, ele via a alienação resultante não apenas como “uma vaga insatisfação” com a vida moderna, mas sim como “um antagonismo entre a humanidade e as forças que a própria humanidade criou” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B51">Jappe; Nicholson-Smith, 1999</xref>, p.102). Esse antagonismo resultou em uma “transformação da economia de meio para fim”, por um processo que evitava “qualquer tipo de controle consciente” e que sufocou a independência e a criatividade individuais (ibidem, p.102).</p>
			<p>Wark afirma que Debord e seus seguidores identificaram dois tipos de espetáculos na sociedade pós-guerra: “o concentrado e o difuso” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B93">Wark, 2011</xref>, p.1116). O “espetáculo concentrado” foi encontrado em Estados fascistas, stalinistas ou maoístas e é coerente com um “culto à personalidade” ao estilo do Grande Irmão orwelliano. Na época em que Debord estava escrevendo, tais cultos de personalidade política ainda eram fortes em muitos Estados do leste e do sul da Europa e em muitas partes da Ásia. Em contraste, o “espetáculo difuso” estava em ascensão no Ocidente capitalista e democrático, incorporado às suas economias de consumo e indústrias culturais - e, eu diria, ao trabalho estético que sustentava ambos. O espetáculo difuso tinha mais a ver com a Pequena Irmã do que com o Grande Irmão. Parafraseando Raoul Vaneigem, um dos colaboradores de Debord, Wark escreve que “toda a ordem social espetacular ancorava-se na luta pela qual ela era um dublê de corpo”:</p>
			<disp-quote>
				<p>A Pequena Irmã está te observando. Ela olha para você dos <italic>outdoors</italic>, das revistas, das telas grandes e pequenas. Atrás da produção de sua imagem não está nenhum ditador em particular nem seus seguidores nervosos, mas um pequeno exército de estilistas, cabeleireiros, fotógrafos e, claro, modelos. (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B94">Wark, 2013</xref>, p.xxx, nota 11)</p>
			</disp-quote>
			<p>Como o espetáculo e o poder sutil da Pequena Irmã podem ser desafiados? Para Debord e Vaneigem, apenas mediante um novo tipo de intervenção: o situacionismo. Uma vez que o ato passivo de consumir formava espectadores passivos de suas próprias vidas, a única maneira de enfrentar o poder do espetáculo e da mercadoria era perturbá-lo criando “situações” que revelavam sua verdadeira natureza. O situacionismo como uma forma anárquica de ação direta buscava a reinvenção da vida cotidiana por atos cotidianos de ruptura ou <italic>détournement</italic> que levariam as pessoas para fora de suas formas habituais de pensar e a abrir os olhos para os limites da “libertação limitada”. Sua mensagem simples certamente inspirou as lutas de libertação que começaram nas ruas de Paris em 1968. No entanto, ela também perpetuou visões profundamente depreciativas das “Pequenas Irmãs” da vida real. Uma intervenção de inspiração situacional destaca-se nesse contexto.</p>
			<p>Em 1º de maio de 1971, o Dia do Trabalho, a Brigada Angry - um pequeno grupo de jovens ativistas anarquistas britânicos - colocou uma bomba no porão da Biba, uma das lojas mais conhecidas de Londres. As histórias do grupo são conflitantes, mas todas concordam amplamente em que seus membros foram, de diversos modos, inspirados em Debord, nos acontecimentos de 1968, nos movimentos de direitos civis dos Estados Unidos, nas campanhas de libertação das mulheres e nos grupos extremistas antifascistas, notadamente o Baader-Meinhof, na Alemanha Ocidental, e o Grupo Primeiro de Maio, que se opunha ao regime franquista na Espanha.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn30"><sup>30</sup></xref> Ao longo dos meses anteriores, eles haviam colocado outros artefatos em escritórios e casas de funcionários públicos, políticos, juízes e outros, em suas palavras, “porcos importantes”.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn31"><sup>31</sup></xref> Seu ataque à Biba foi fora do comum. O grupo apresentou suas razões para isso em um comunicado emitido pouco depois, que colocava em foco as vendedoras da Biba e tudo o que eles acreditavam que elas representavam:</p>
			<disp-quote>
				<p>Todas as vendedoras nas boutiques intermitentes existem para vestir as mesmas roupas e usar a mesma maquiagem... Na moda como em tudo mais, o capitalismo só pode retroceder - eles não têm para onde ir, eles estão mortos. A vida é tão chata que não há nada a fazer, exceto gastar todos os nossos salários na última saia ou na última camisa.</p>
			</disp-quote>
			<p>E continuando:</p>
			<disp-quote>
				<p>Irmãos e Irmãs, quais são seus verdadeiros desejos? Sentar-se na farmácia, parecendo distante, ausente, entediado, tomando um café sem gosto? Ou talvez EXPLODI-LA ou INCENDIÁ-LA. A única coisa que vocês podem fazer com estas modernas senzalas - chamadas butiques - é DESTRUÍ-LAS.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn32"><sup>32</sup></xref>
				</p>
			</disp-quote>
			<p>A bomba causou danos extensos, mas sem lesões graves: a Brigada Angry fez uma advertência por telefone dando tempo para que a butique fosse evacuada. O incidente parecia atípico. O grupo nunca mais teve por alvo uma propriedade comercial ou pessoas comuns do público. O incidente raramente é referido em seus próprios escritos posteriores ou em de terceiros que os pesquisaram.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn33"><sup>33</sup></xref> No entanto, o ataque e, em particular, a sua justificativa parecem muito menos atípicos quando vistos na história de longa duração, conforme estabelecido neste artigo - de ataques retóricos periódicos, mas persistentes, a respeito do poder simbólico da “garota de loja”.</p>
			<p>Por que esses ataques retóricos são importantes? Eu argumentaria que eles importam porque demonstram uma hostilidade duradoura para com as jovens trabalhadoras na economia de serviços que, simultaneamente, as descarta como vítimas culturais passivas ou as castiga como poderosos agentes de destruição cultural, com as Jovenzinhas de Loja tornando-se a Pequena Irmã. Além disso, eu argumentaria que essa hostilidade pode ser lida, em parte, como uma reação às formas em evolução de trabalho estético e emocional extremamente calcadas no gênero. Em minha opinião, isso também ajuda a explicar por que as vidas das vendedoras de loja foram amplamente negligenciadas por historiadores que, embora possam não compartilhar essa hostilidade, têm, no entanto, encontrado dificuldades para delinear e dar valor a seu trabalho.</p>
		</sec>
		<sec>
			<title>RECUPERANDO A “GAROTA DA LOJA”</title>
			<p>A seção final deste artigo sugere como podemos começar a recuperar a história do trabalho em lojas. Eu já propus que uma maneira de fazer isso é pelo rastreamento de histórias mais longas de trabalho estético e emocional. Gostaria de terminar sugerindo três outras linhas de investigação. Inicialmente, ligando certos tipos de trabalhos de loja à inovação (contra)cultural. Em segundo lugar, conectando aspectos do trabalho de loja ao auge da “classe criativa”. E, em terceiro lugar, localizando a história do trabalho de loja dentro de uma história mais ampla da economia de serviços.</p>
			<p>A Biba nos oferece um dos muitos lugares possíveis para começar. Como uma empresa comercial que rompeu com as barreiras de classe, empurrou as fronteiras sexuais e celebrou uma criatividade nervosa, ela ajudou a forjar contraculturas próprias, embora não do tipo que possa ser reconhecido pela Brigada Angry ou seus antecessores intelectuais.</p>
			<p>A Biba foi criada como uma pequena boutique em uma rua nas imediações de Kensington, em 1964, pela imigrante polonesa Barbara Hulanicki, graduada em artes, e seu marido, Stephen Fitz-Simon, um executivo de publicidade. Descrita recentemente como “um parque temático dedicado à decadência elegantemente desperdiçada”, era um “paraíso escapista”.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn34"><sup>34</sup></xref> Em 1971, mudou-se para instalações maiores, que se estendiam por vários andares. As clientes vagavam entre penas de avestruz, espelhos manchados e palmeiras plantadas em vaso para experimentar botas de camurça, chapéus flexíveis e <italic>shorts</italic> bem curtos. Ao fazê-lo, estavam redesenhando mais do que apenas a si próprias. Elas eram atendidas por vendedoras recrutadas porque se adequavam ao papel, podiam experimentar a roupa ou colocar as clientes à vontade, fossem elas debutantes do Chelsea ou viajantes de Essex. A “Biba girl” tinha uma estética distinta, descrita por Hulanicki como “ombros quadrados e bem achatados ... rosto oval ... e pálpebras pesadas com longos cílios espetados” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B89">Turner, 2007</xref>, p.11). Elas podiam “parecer doces”, mas eram “extremamente duras”. Faziam o que sentiam no momento. As meninas da Biba não “viviam” ali, como tinham feito gerações de vendedoras em lojas de departamentos e outras lojas. Em vez disso, alugavam e dividiam apartamentos e conjugados e, novamente de acordo com Hulanicki, “não tinham mãe esperando por elas para ver se chegavam em casa com o vestido amassado” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B48">Hulanicki, 1983</xref>, p.77). Seja qual for o tipo de libertação que isso representava, era mais do que a “libertação limitada”.</p>
			<p>O mundo inebriante de butiques como a Biba parecia ser um mundo restrito. No entanto, sua influência econômica, social e cultural foi de grande alcance, como muitos observaram (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B32">Fogg, 2003</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B35">Gilbert, 2006</xref>). O bem conhecido argumento de Rappaport de que as consumidoras “fizeram” o fim de século do West End pode ser ampliado: as butiques londrinas dos anos 1950 e 1960, muitas delas criadas e formadas por mulheres jovens, “responderam” por boa parte da cultura jovem do pós-guerra. A moda de butique foi rapidamente transmitida para além de Londres e de outras grandes cidades por meio de revistas femininas, encomendas por correspondência e pela emulação rápida da produção em massa. Para dar apenas um exemplo, o “visual Chelsea” (semelhante ao “olhar Biba” descrito acima) foi desenvolvido na Kings Road por Mary Quant e outros, mas foi rapidamente vendido para um mercado de massa faminto por meio de uma nova cadeia de lojas, a Chelsea Girl, inaugurada em 1965 (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">Cox; Hobley, 2014</xref>, p.213-214). Uma maneira de recuperar a história do trabalho de loja é, portanto, vinculá-la mais substancialmente à história mais ampla da cultura de consumo juvenil do pós-guerra e à inovação (contra)cultural que ela, por sua vez, ajudou a inspirar.</p>
			<p>Vistos dessa perspectiva, certos tipos de trabalhos de loja talvez pudessem ser definidos como uma “ocupação criativa” - conduzido por “um etos criativo” e, além disso, muitas vezes dependente do trabalho estético e emocional. Se seguirmos o argumento recente e muito discutido de Richard Florida, isso significa que as “garotas de loja” do pós-guerra - seja trabalhando em Biba seja em uma cadeia de lojas como a Chelsea Girl - poderiam ser vistas como parte da “classe criativa” da Grã-Bretanha e, enquanto tal, como economicamente indispensáveis (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B31">Florida, 2002</xref>). Outra maneira de recuperar a história do trabalho de loja pode ser, então, localizá-lo dentro de uma história mais ampla do surgimento da “classe criativa”. Tal história precisaria desafiar uma base central da caracterização que Richard Florida faz da “classe criativa” como “aqueles empregados em ocupações criativas cujo valor de mercado aumentou rapidamente a partir do final do século XX” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B36">Glaeser, 2005</xref>). Isso ocorre porque, apesar de suas importantes contribuições econômicas e culturais, o valor de mercado dos trabalhadores de loja caiu drasticamente ao longo do século XX. Uma pesquisa sobre ganhos realizada pelo Departamento de Emprego em 1968 mostrou que o cargo de vendedor(a) era “um dos mais mal pagos na Grã-Bretanha”, tanto para homens como para mulheres. Um estudo calculou que “apenas os jardineiros, os trabalhadores agrícolas e os trabalhadores da área de alimentação em geral, os garçons e os empregados de bar ganhavam menos do que os vendedores, e apenas as auxiliares de cozinha, as cabeleireiras e as garçonetes ganhavam menos do que as vendedoras” (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B76">Robinson; Wallace, 1974</xref>, p.39).</p>
			<p>O salário, as condições, o <italic>status</italic>, as esperanças e os sonhos de trabalhadores do setor de serviços como esses ainda aguardam seu historiador. Escrever sua história - e a economia de serviços em geral - não é tarefa fácil. Alguns já advertiram contra a tentativa. Glynn e Booth, por exemplo, argumentam que as “principais diferenças entre os seus componentes” significam que “generalizações sobre o setor de serviços tendem a não ter sentido”. No entanto, não contestam a “importância agregada” do setor, enfatizando que ele abrangeu “dois terços dos ativos fixos” e empregou “mais da metade da força de trabalho [britânica] em meados do século XX (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B37">Glynn; Booth, 1996</xref>, p.81). Esse fato, por si só surpreendente, significa que os historiadores - e cientistas sociais - simplesmente precisam ser mais criativos para encontrar maneiras de captar a história da expansão da economia de serviços. Uma história mais abrangente dos trabalhadores de loja, suas aspirações e redes contribuiria significativamente para esse esforço e também lidaria com um fosso profundo na história das mulheres. Escrever essa história, no entanto, pode significar enfrentar nosso próprio desconforto coletivo e duradouro com a figura das “jovenzinhas de loja”, e com a sociedade de consumo que elas ajudaram a criar.</p>
		</sec>
	</body>
	<back>
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		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn69">
				<label>69</label>
				<p>Tradução: Sergio Lamarão</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn1">
				<label>1</label>
				<p>Prof. Pamela Cox, PhD, University of Cambridge, 1997. A pesquisa básica foi apoiada pelo Conselho de Pesquisa Econômica e Social do Reino Unido (UK’s Economic and Social Research Council).</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn2">
				<label>2</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, p.1 e p.216; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B90">UK Commission…, 2014</xref>. Ver Tabela 4.2 Mulheres – Categorias Ocupacionais.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn3">
				<label>3</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, p.1-30, p.216. Sobre o trabalho no varejo em tempo parcial, ver: ROBINSON; WALLACE, 1974. Sobre padrões de sindicalização feminina no varejo, ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B91">USDAW, s.d.</xref>
				</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn4">
				<label>4</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B9">BATTILANI, 2010</xref>. ‘Tabela 1 – Emprego no Setor de Serviços como um percentual do emprego total, anos 1900, 1950, 1971, 1998, 2007, mostra que a participação da força de trabalho britânica empregada no setor de serviços era de 39% em 1900, 47% em 1950 e 77% em 2007. A tabela é retirada de <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B28">FEINSTEIN, 1999</xref> e <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B71">OECD, 2008</xref>. O balanço de Feinstein sobre as mudanças no emprego civil mostra que (p.53) em 1900, 1,6 milhão (10% da mão de obra civil britânica total de 16,7 milhões) trabalhavam na agricultura, 8,5 milhões (51%) na indústria e 6,5 milhões (39%) em serviços. Em 1950, 1,2 milhão (5% da mão de obra civil total de 22,2 milhões) trabalhavam na agricultura, 10,9 milhões (49%) na indústria e 10 milhões (46%) em serviços.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn5">
				<label>5</label>
				<p>Ver, por exemplo, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B18">COLLINS; BAKER, 2003</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B78">SAVAGE; BARKER, 2012</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B7">ANDERSON, 1988</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B30">FINE, 1995</xref>. Surpreendentemente, não há referências à “economia de serviços“ e apenas uma ao “setor de serviços“ nas 695 páginas de <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B87">TRENTMANN, 2012</xref>. Para um dos raros estudos sobre o gênero dos setores de serviços, ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B56">KWOLEK-FOLLAND; WALSH, 2007</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn6">
				<label>6</label>
				<p><italic>Shopgirls: The True Story of Life Behind the Counter</italic>, série em três episódios produzida para a BBC TWO, 2014. http://www.bbc.co.uk/mediacentre/proginfo/2014/25/shopgirls.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn7">
				<label>7</label>
				<p>Ver, por exemplo, TRENTMANN, 2000; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B41">HILTON; DAUNTON, 2001</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B40">HILTON, 2003</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B23">CROSSICK; HAUPT, 1984</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B64">MILLER et al., 1998</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B57">LANCASTER, 1995</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B38">GURNEY, 1996</xref>. Ver também artigos e publicações de membros do Centro da História do Varejo e da Distribuição [Centre for the History of Retailing and Distribution – CHORD].</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn8">
				<label>8</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B96">WINSTANLEY, 1983</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B46">HOSGOOD, 1989</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B45">1999</xref>. Para exemplos de histórias individuais de lojas e empresários, ver: <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B44">HONEYCOMBE, 1984</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B24">DALE, 1995</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B84">STRATMANN, 2004</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B33">FOSTER, 1973</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B25">DAVIES, 1983</xref>. Para uma lista mais longa, ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, bibliografia.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn9">
				<label>9</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B86">TODD, 2005</xref>, p.25, 47-49. As memórias de Todd incluem, por exemplo, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B85">THEW, 1985</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn10">
				<label>10</label>
				<p>Ver, por exemplo, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B79">SEYMOUR, 2014</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn11">
				<label>11</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, p.42-50, sobre testemunhos e outras evidências reunidas por ativistas e comitês parlamentares antes da aprovação da Lei de Regulamentação do Horário das Lojas [Shop Hours Regulation Act], de 1886, que limitou a jornada de trabalho de crianças e aprendizes a 74 horas semanais.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn12">
				<label>12</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, p.93-102, sobre a criação da União Nacional Associada de Auxiliares de Lojas, Armazéns e Escritórios em 1898 e em artigos de denúncia publicados por sua revista <italic>The Shop Assistant</italic> e pelo <italic>Daily Chronicle</italic> na década de 1890.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn13">
				<label>13</label>
				<p><italic>Illustrated London News</italic>, 1842, ilustração “Olhar insistente para as meninas da loja“ (agradeço a Rohan McWilliam por compartilhá-la comigo). <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B16">CLAYSON, 2003</xref>, p.124-126.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn14">
				<label>14</label>
				<p>Ibidem, p.124. A exposição ocorreu na galeria Arthur Tooth.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn15">
				<label>15</label>
				<p>Getty Images, 160650607. Uma modelo tomando parte em uma ousada sessão de fotos na vitrine de uma nova butique Henry Moss em Carnaby Street, Londres, 11 maio 1966. Crédito: John Downing.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn16">
				<label>16</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B47">HUDSON, 1972</xref>, verbetes para 2 jun. 1861 e 22 fev. 1862.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn17">
				<label>17</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B60">MAYHEW, 1862</xref>, capítulo sobre “Exclusivos, ou aqueles que vivem em casas e apartamentos particulares”.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn18">
				<label>18</label>
				<p>Sobre <italic>My Secret Life</italic>, de Walter, ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B52">KEARNEY, 1982</xref>, p.127. Agradeço a Guy Woolnough essa referência.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn19">
				<label>19</label>
				<p>Ver uma das suas fotografias em <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, p.62. “Vendedora vestida na moda“. Cortesia reproduzida de 18 Stafford Terrace, Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea [Casa da família Sambourne, atualmente um museu].</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn20">
				<label>20</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, p.82-83. Ver também <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">SANDERS, 2006</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn21">
				<label>21</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, p.64-65, 89. Ver também <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">SANDERS, 2006</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn22">
				<label>22</label>
				<p>Ver, em particular, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B81">SKEGGS, 1997</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B62">McROBBIE, 1991</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B58">LEES, 1993</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn23">
				<label>23</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B27">DRISCOLL, 2010</xref>, p.105. Para uma visão histórica mais ampla, ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B61">MAYNES; SOLAND; BENNINGHAUS, 2005</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn24">
				<label>24</label>
				<p><italic>The Daily News</italic>, “A grande loja“, 27 jan. 1912. Ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B69">NAVA, 2007</xref>, p.41-54 para uma discussão mais pormenorizada desse episódio.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn25">
				<label>25</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B99">ZOLA, 1883</xref>; ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B39">HENNESSY, 2008</xref>, p.696-706.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn26">
				<label>26</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B54">KRACAUER, 1995</xref>, p.291-306, 323-330. Ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B6">ALLEN, 2007</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B34">FRISBY, 1986</xref>. Ver também <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">SANDERS, 2006</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn27">
				<label>27</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B55">KRACAUER, 1998</xref>, p.73 (cit. em <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B10">BENNER, 2012</xref>, p.161-162). Ver também <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B82">SMITH, 2008</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn28">
				<label>28</label>
				<p>Para uma introdução, ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B83">STRANATI, 1995</xref>. Para um balanço mais pormenorizado, ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B13">BROWN et al., 2006</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn29">
				<label>29</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B65">MODLESKI, 1986a</xref>, p.38. Ver também <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B66">MODLESKI, 1986b</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn30">
				<label>30</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B94">WARK, 2013</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B95">WHITE, 1993</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B15">CHRISTIANSEN, 2011</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B12">BROWN, 2013</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn31">
				<label>31</label>
				<p>Ver <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B14">CARR, 1975</xref>. Um desses incidentes anteriores incluiu a tentativa do grupo de perturbar o concurso Miss Mundo de 1970, detonando uma pequena bomba em um furgão de transmissão da BBC, fora do Royal Albert Hall. Seu envolvimento só seria revelado mais tarde.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn32">
				<label>32</label>
				<p>Citado em <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B15">CHRISTIANSEN, 2011</xref>, p.53.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn33">
				<label>33</label>
				<p>Em 18 meses, oito supostos membros do grupo foram levados a julgamento. Quatro seriam posteriormente acusados de ter tramado as explosões e cumpririam longas penas na prisão.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn34">
				<label>34</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B88">TURNER, 2009</xref>. Ver também <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B89">TURNER, 2007</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
	</back>
	<!--<sub-article article-type="translation" id="s1" xml:lang="en">
		<front-stub>
			<article-categories>
				<subj-group subj-group-type="heading">
					<subject>Articles</subject>
				</subj-group>
			</article-categories>
			<title-group>
				<article-title>Shop Girls, Social History and Social Theory</article-title>
			</title-group>
			<contrib-group>
				<contrib contrib-type="author">
					<name>
						<surname>Cox</surname>
						<given-names>Pamela</given-names>
					</name>
					<xref ref-type="aff" rid="aff2">*</xref>
				</contrib>
			</contrib-group>
				<aff id="aff2">
					<label>*</label>
					<institution content-type="original"> Department of Sociology, University of Essex. Colchester, Essex, UK. pamcox@essex.ac.uk </institution>
				</aff>
			<abstract>
				<title>ABSTRACT</title>
				<p>Shop workers, most of them women, have made up a significant proportion of Britain’s labour force since the 1850s but we still know relatively little about their history. This article argues that there has been a systematic neglect of one of the largest sectors of female employment by historians and investigates why this might be. It suggests that this neglect is connected to framings of work that have overlooked the service sector as a whole as well as to a continuing unease with the consumer society’s transformation of social life. One element of that transformation was the rise of new forms of aesthetic, emotional and sexualised labour. Certain kinds of ‘shop girls’ embodied these in spectacular fashion. As a result, they became enduring icons of mass consumption, simultaneously dismissed as passive cultural dupes or punished as powerful agents of cultural destruction. This article interweaves the social history of everyday shop workers with shifting representations of the ‘shop girl’, from Victorian music hall parodies, through modernist social theory, to the bizarre bombing of the Biba boutique in London by the Angry Brigade on May Day 1971. It concludes that progressive historians have much to gain by reclaiming these workers and the service economy that they helped create.</p>
			</abstract>
			<kwd-group xml:lang="en">
				<title>Keywords:</title>
				<kwd>shopgirls</kwd>
				<kwd>consumer culture</kwd>
				<kwd>modernity</kwd>
			</kwd-group>
		</front-stub>
		<body>
			<sec>
				<title>HISTORICISING SHOPS AND SHOP WORKERS</title>
				<p>In 1900, a quarter of a million British women worked in shops. By the mid-1960s, that number had risen to over a million, or nearly one fifth of the female workforce. Today, retail is one of the largest segments of private sector employment with 2.7 million workers - two thirds of them women. They serve customers who, between them, devote more hours each week to shopping than to any other single activity outside work.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn36"><sup>36</sup></xref> Given their centrality to our daily lives, it is very surprising that historians have paid such little attention to shop workers. What might explain that neglect?</p>
				<p>It is partly explained by the drawing of a false separation between the ‘two worlds’ of production and consumption. Shop work has struggled to be defined as ‘real work’ because it was, and continues to be, performed in spaces associated with consumption rather than production. Shops were somehow distinct from the workshops, sweatshops, mills, factories and farms where ‘real’ workers spent their working day. They were the places where the goods that many of these ‘real’ workers produced were ‘merely’ displayed and sold. This separation has been much critiqued by historians of consumer culture in general, and of retail in particular, who have long argued that the shop is the place where these ‘two worlds’ meet (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B63">Miller, 1998</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B64">Miller et al., 1998</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B80">Shaw, 2010</xref>). </p>
				<p>Another reason for its neglect is that, from the mid-nineteenth century on, shop work began to be feminised. By the early twentieth century, its workers were predominantly young women who worked full time and left their jobs on marriage. After the second world war, a fast-growing number of married women took up, or returned to, part-time shop work, many as working mothers. With some important exceptions, most remained concentrated in the lower ranks of retail, most were paid a lot less than their male counterparts, relatively few were unionised and many valued their flexibility.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn37"><sup>37</sup></xref> Until recently, they have been considered of little interest - to labour historians (who have focused on more clearly ‘productive’ or organised areas of the labour market), to economic historians (who have overlooked the service sector in general) to historians of consumer culture (who have focused on customers) or to feminist historians working across all these categories.</p>
				<p>A third reason for their neglect, however, may lie in progressive academia’s ambiguous attitude to the rise of consumer society and its underpinning service sector. One of the defining features of a consumer society is that its social life comes to be primarily organised around consumption rather than production. To track the rise of the consumer society is to track the often uncomfortable story of how and why we have come to define ourselves less and less by where we work and more and more by what we buy. It is also, therefore, to track the rise of the marketization and commodification of social life. Given this, it can be difficult to find ways to write the history of the rise of the service sector and that of its workers who did so much to shape consumer cultures.</p>
				<p>The quarter of a million women working in British retail in 1900 were part of what was then the world’s largest service sector - a sprawling and highly varied area of economic activity employing over a third of all British workers. It spanned many occupations. Retail, distribution, transport and building were among the largest, followed by domestic services, care services and financial services such as banking and insurance. By 1950, nearly half the working population worked in the service sector and today over three quarters do.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn38"><sup>38</sup></xref> While there are specific studies of the development of some its key components, including all of the occupations listed above,<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn39"><sup>39</sup></xref> it is extremely surprising that there are no comprehensive histories of the service economy or the lives, values and aspirations of those who built it. </p>
				<p>This article cannot rise to that huge challenge. It is inspired, however, by a desire to better understand the enduring and highly gendered hostility that one particular aspect of the service economy has generated: the aesthetic and emotional labour of ‘shop girls’. It draws on research conducted for a recent BBC TV series, <italic>Shopgirls</italic>, which tracked the changing profile, experiences and representations of this group from 1850 to the present.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn40"><sup>40</sup></xref>
				</p>
				<p>Work on consumer culture, shop keeping and shopping itself has flourished in recent decades.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn41"><sup>41</sup></xref> Some of this research has addressed the recruitment, training and experiences of shop workers within particular periods or particular retail specialisms. Winstanley, for example, offers a valuable account of the nineteenth century expansion of the retail workforce. Hosgood gives a rare insight into the living and working conditions of mainly male sales assistants in the same period. Histories of individual entrepreneurs and specific stores frequently feature workers’ lives but rarely offer a systematic analysis of these.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn42"><sup>42</sup></xref>
				</p>
				<p>Further valuable material is included within recent as well as older histories of women’s work - a genre which, as a recent collection concludes, has long concentrated on factory work (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B20">Cowman; Jackson, 2005</xref>, esp. p. 10). Todd’s illuminating study of early twentieth century young women workers shows that by 1951, 12 per cent of them were employed as shop assistants, most in firmly gender-segregated settings. Todd also seeks to expand traditional discussions of women’s work cultures through the inclusion of selected shop assistants’ narratives. A much earlier study by Holcombe on the Victorian labour market gives a rare insight into the entry of middle-class women into shop work. It is telling, however, that the small number of studies centering more directly on female shop workers have been produced by literary scholars and cultural theorists.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn43"><sup>43</sup></xref> Both Sanders’ perceptive book on London shop girls in the Victorian and Edwardian era and Driscoll’s piece on ‘the life of the shop girl’ take cultural representations as their starting point, although Sanders looks beyond this to detail the more everyday working lives of more ordinary women in retail (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">Sanders, 2006</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B27">Driscoll, 2010</xref>).</p>
				<p>Outside academia, popular histories of shops and shop work have found a recent niche partly due to the success of TV period dramas, <italic>Mr Selfridge</italic> (ITV, 2013), and <italic>The Paradise</italic> (BBC One, 2012).<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn44"><sup>44</sup></xref> My own co-authored book, written to accompany the BBC TV <italic>Shopgirls</italic> series, sets out to bridge the gap between these academic and popular approaches (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">Cox; Hobley, 2014</xref>). It offers a long view of the changing nature of shop work from the 1850s to the present and opens up new research questions - some of which are taken up by this article. Why were certain kinds of women shop workers, those typified as ‘shop girls’, held up as troubling icons of commodity capitalism? How far might this be explained in terms of a recurring backlash against the new forms of aesthetic, emotional and sexualised labour that they embodied? What might progressive historians gain by reclaiming these workers and the service economy that they helped to create?</p>
			</sec>
			<sec>
				<title>THE RISE OF THE ‘SHOP GIRL’</title>
				<p>The term ‘shop girl’ began to be used in Britain and north America in the early nineteenth century. It was a new term to describe a new kind of worker. Other more formal descriptors were in use: for example, mid-century newspapers carried advertisements for ‘respectable female shop assistants’ or ‘saleswomen’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">Cox; Hobley, 2014</xref>, pp. 3-4). However, ‘shop girl’ stuck in the popular and literary imagination. It grew up alongside another new term: ‘working girl’. This emerged in New York slang to describe the thousands of young working class women entering the waged labour market at that time - and arguably for the <italic>first</italic> 
 <italic>time</italic> in such numbers in world history (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B5">Allen, 1995</xref>). However, ‘working girl’ had a double-edge from the start, with its connotations around the selling, bartering or promise of sexual services. These connotations would stay with certain kinds of shop workers for decades. </p>
				<p>Women had, of course, worked in markets and shops long before this. However, the dramatic expansion of the retail trades from the early and mid-nineteenth century led to, and was largely predicated upon, a similar dramatic expansion of this labour force. Most were engaged in the work from their early teens to their late twenties, the period between leaving school (if they had attended formal school at all) and marriage. The majority were working class and had often opted for shop work over domestic service, factory work, the sweated trades or agricultural labour. A minority were young women from lower middle class homes who either wanted, or simply needed, to work to support themselves or their families. For both groups, shop work provided an answer to the so-called ‘Woman Question’ revealed by the 1851 English census and highlighted by first-wave feminists: that women simply outnumbered men in the population which meant that they could not depend upon future husbands for their financial support. Political economist Harriet Martineau calculated that ‘more than two million [women] are independent in their industry, [and] self-supporting, like men.’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B59">Martineau, 1859</xref>, p. 330). Her research was one of the catalysts for the setting up of the Society for Promoting the Employment of Women by the Langham Place Group in 1859. The Society seized on shop work as a desirable, respectable and light form of work eminently suitable for young women. As one of their pamphlets put it, ‘Why should bearded men be employed to sell ribbon, lace, gloves, neckerchiefs, and the other dozen other trifles to be found in a silkmercer’s or haberdasher’s shop?’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B8">Association for Promoting…, 1859</xref>).</p>
				<p>Shopkeepers keen to expand their businesses in the mid-nineteenth century British economic boom were prone to agree - partly because they could pay girls and women much less than boys and men and partly because many were eager to attract more women customers. The majority of first generation female shop workers were employed in small but expanding family businesses as assistants to drapers, confectioners, co-ops - and later grocers - serving a largely working class customer base whose slowly rising wages underpinned the rising demand for services of all kinds. A more high profile minority, however, worked in more high profile stores specializing in millinery, haberdashery, confectionary, fancy and luxury goods or in the vast department stores which began to appear in large towns and cities across Europe and America from the 1860s and 70s on. It was this minority, typically dressed in smart black silk (or a cheaper substitute) with white lace collar and cuffs, that came to embody the ‘shop girl’ brand. </p>
			</sec>
			<sec>
				<title>SHOP GIRLS, STYLE AND SERVICE: AESTHETIC LABOUR AND EMOTIONAL LABOUR</title>
				<p>If we accept Pettinger’s insightful view that ‘service work makes a consumer culture possible’, then we need to understand how shop workers spent their working day (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B73">Pettinger, 2011</xref>, p. 223). This is challenging question to answer because their employers - the mainly small family businesses that were the bedrock of the Victorian private sector - left relatively few records. Those that survive are scattered in personal, private and business archives. State regulation and inspection of the retail trades was minimal, even in the early twentieth century, which means that statutory archives contain relatively little material on day-to-day life behind the counter. Late Victorian parliamentary enquiries and campaigns to reduce working hours and improve conditions yield some useful insights but their records must be read with caution because they were often lead by those who wanted to regulate women out of waged labour altogether. However, they do offer an inside view of working and living conditions.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn45"><sup>45</sup></xref> From the 1890s on, new trade unions set up by shop assistants began to document the everyday lives of their workers and some newspapers ran whistleblowing stories on unscrupulous store owners.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn46"><sup>46</sup></xref> Autobiographies written by one-time shop workers and, more commonly, shopkeepers, provide further valuable detail although most tend to be written by men (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B1">Ablett, 1876</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B19">Copeman, 1946</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B43">Hoffman, 1949</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B11">Bondfield, 1948</xref>).</p>
				<p>The view that emerges from these sources is that day-to-day shop work was very varied. It could involve everything from selecting, ordering, buying, unloading and arranging stock, to advising customers, wrapping or altering their purchases, sending out accounts and cashing up, or even cleaning the store and doing domestic chores in staff dormitories and lodgings. In small stores, assistants might be involved in many of these tasks. In larger stores with more complex divisions of labour, they were more likely to have a specialist role. Department stores like Bainbridge’s in Newcastle; Kendal, Milne and Faulkner in Manchester; and Harrods or Whiteley’s in London each had over 1,000 staff by the turn of the nineteenth century organised into strict hierarchies. Staff across the sector, however, typically worked very long hours. Prior to, and even after, parliamentary attempts to regulate trading hours in the 1880s, many worked up to 17 hours per day, spending most of those hours on their feet relieved by short meal breaks. The thousands that ‘lived in’ - in accommodation usually owned by their employer - were expected to be available around the clock for additional duties as required. Their bed and board was deducted from their wages, along with the costs of their working clothes and any fines incurred for, for example, damaging stock, wasting food or failing to close a sale. ‘Standing and smiling’ might look easy but shop work was demanding.</p>
				<p>The ‘standing and smiling’ was an artifice. It was a performance enacted for the benefit of customers to enhance their shopping experience and encourage them to spend more. It signalled a style of customer service that was new to retail and which developed alongside the formalisation of mid-Victorian domestic service. Just as servants should be ready to meet any personal need at any time, so shop workers should stand - quite literally - ready to meet their customers’ demands. These new standards of customer service were predicated upon new forms of gendered labour: emotional labour and aesthetic labour. These two connected concepts have been very profitably used by sociologists to analyse work styles in the contemporary service and care industries but they have yet to be widely adopted by historians of work.</p>
				<p>Emotional labour, as defined by Hochschild in her pioneering study of flight attendants, refers to techniques of emotion management on the part of workers as an integral part of a particular labour process. It is undertaken whenever a job ‘requires one to induce or suppress feelings in order to sustain the outward countenance that produces the proper state of mind in others’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B42">Hochschild, 1983</xref>, p. 7). In the case of nineteenth century high-end shop work, particular forms of emotional expression were encouraged by employers - a delicate combination of servility and authority, an ability to offer sympathy and advice, flattery and honest opinion. For Hochschild, the development of organisationally-directed emotional labour signalled the rise of the ‘commercialisation of human feeling’ and, with it, the emergence of the ‘managed heart’. It is also closely connected to the rise of new forms of ‘aesthetic labour’ which refers to the management of workers’ physical looks, style, personal presentation and appearance and the requirement that they embody certain attitudes and capacities. Pettinger’s study of contemporary female sales assistants usefully defines aesthetic labour as ‘an investment of skill, knowledge, time, money and energy into performing femininity’ and explores the huge part this plays in fashion retail today. Some (but not all) of that investment clearly seeks to sexualise workers and workplaces, as noted by Cockburn, Adkins and others (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B72">Pettinger, 2005</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B17">Cockburn, 1991</xref>, pp. 149-150; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B2">Adkins, 1992</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B3">2002</xref>).</p>
				<p>Most analyses of emotional, aesthetic and sexualised labour focus on late twentieth century economic shifts and the increasing prominence of the service sector. However, both concepts are clearly open to broader historical deployment. The history of retail offers a rich starting point. Indeed, many existing historical studies have analysed the sensual, spectacular worlds of the department store - albeit most frequently from the perspective of the consumer and their desires, rather than that of the store workers and the active part they played in shaping those desires (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B74">Rappaport, 2001</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B92">Walkowitz, 1992</xref>). An important exception here is Rendall’s discussion of the early days of the elite Burlington Arcade, arguably Britain’s first covered shopping mall. When it was opened off Piccadilly in the 1820s, its owners openly advertised for ‘professional beauties’ to serve in its luxury outlets (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B75">Rendall, 1996</xref>). Similarly, Sanders’ study of late nineteenth century London shop girls shows how young women were recruited for their looks and demeanour and ‘trained’ how to judge customers’ moods and needs within seconds (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">Sanders, 2006</xref>). By the early twentieth century, such training had become professionalised and routinised within many larger stores, as outlined in specific store histories of, for example, Selfridge’s, Marks and Spencer and John Lewis (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B97">Woodhead, 2007</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B98">Worth, 2007</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B22">Cox, 2010</xref>). While none of these histories use the language of aesthetic and emotional labour, they are clearly working with comparable concepts. </p>
				<p>As already outlined, by no means all female shop workers were formally called upon to use these specific skills. In addition, these skills were also commonly employed by some male sales assistants (notably those working in menswear and department stores) as highlighted by Mort and Nixon (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B68">Mort, 1999</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B70">Nixon, 1996</xref>). I want to suggest here, however, that the undertaking of aesthetic and emotional labour by certain types of young women shop workers was one of the primary reasons why they became <italic>particular</italic> objects of deeply ambiguous public attention. The appearance and demeanour of these early ‘shop girls’ marked them out from other women workers and from male shop workers. It drew continuous critical, and generally salacious, observation from Victorian and Edwardian - as well as later generations - of commentators, artists, journalists and social theorists.</p>
				<p>An 1842 cartoon in the <italic>Illustrated London News</italic> shows two top-hatted gentlemen, with no-one to ‘chastise their audacity’, watching two young milliners. Captioned ‘ogling the shop girls’, the scene and its dynamic - an external gaze turned upon attractive young women working behind a glass window - became an enduring cultural representation. It was frequently recaptured in French impressionism. Tissot’s painting, <italic>The Young Lady of the Shop</italic>, completed as part of his ‘Women of Paris’ series between 1883 and 1885, presents the image of a young haberdasher as viewed by a male customer. With its air of ‘casually glimpsed modern life’, it echoed themes depicted by Degas, Manet and Renoir - all of whom were drawn to the ‘eroticized commerce’ of shop life.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn47"><sup>47</sup></xref> Tissot’s image was exhibited in London in 1886 with an intriguing catalogue entry:</p>
				<disp-quote>
					<p>our young lady with her engaging smile is holding open the door til her customer takes the pile of purchases from her hand and passes to the carriage. She knows her business and had learned that the first lesson of all, that her duty is to be polite, winning and pleasant. Whether she means what she says, or much of what her looks express, is not the question: enough if she has a smile and appropriate answer for everybody.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn48"><sup>48</sup></xref>
					</p>
				</disp-quote>
				<p>Fascination with the girl behind the glass continued into the mid-twentieth century, long after the figure of the young working woman had become a very familiar one in the economic landscape. Fashion boutiques in the 1960s looked to break different social boundaries in different ways - as will be discussed below - yet they, too, engineered a new take on this old image. A particularly striking one is a photograph by John Downing of a young woman modelling lingerie in the window of the Henry Moss boutique on Carnaby Street in 1966.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn49"><sup>49</sup></xref> From the Burlington Arcade in the 1820s to the boutiques of the 1960s, the ‘shop girl’ sexualised commodity culture and was a prominent player in what Nava has termed ‘visceral cosmopolitanism’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B69">Nava, 2007</xref>).</p>
				<p>Sexual desire - often frustrated - dominates much commentary on the ‘shop girl’. Diarist and civil servant Arthur Munby, who sought out the company of many working women in his predatory walks around mid-Victorian London, was beguiled by shop workers with their ‘fair faces and tall good figures’. He gives a full account of his summer evening conversation in Hyde Park in 1861 with one young woman, Eliza Close. He found her black silk gown and green and white bonnet ‘tasteful…but beyond her class’. She was ‘a counter-jumper’ seeking to disguise her origins as a farmer’s daughter. Her ‘habits of speech [came] midway between the dignified reserve and fastidiousness of a lady and the honest bluntness and crude vulgarity of a servant’.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn50"><sup>50</sup></xref> Journalist Henry Mayhew conducted similar interviews with ‘shop girls’ as part his project to catalogue <italic>London Labour and the London Poor</italic>, intimating that many also worked in the high class sex trade, notably those employed in the Burlington Arcade.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn51"><sup>51</sup></xref> Erotic writer ‘Walter’ documented - or at least fantasised about - his own sexual encounters with shop girls in his 1880s text, <italic>My Secret Life</italic>.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn52"><sup>52</sup></xref><italic>Punch</italic> cartoonist Linley Sambourne took surreptitious photographs of ‘fashionably dressed shop girls’ as they walked to and from work.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn53"><sup>53</sup></xref>
				</p>
				<p>By the turn of the century, stories about these idealised women frequently appeared in popular magazines: features in <italic>Forget-Me-Not</italic> magazine were typical: ‘The Adventures of a Shop Girl’, ‘That Pretty Shop Girl’, ‘A Little White Slave’, ‘The Shopgirl’s Chance of Marriage’, and ‘How Shop Girls Win Rich Husbands’.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn54"><sup>54</sup></xref> Theatres and music halls regularly dramatized such stories for the stage, often with costumes provided by department stores themselves. The musical comedy <italic>The Shop Girl</italic> (1895) became one of the Gaiety Theatre’s most successful shows, running for several years in the West End before transferring to Broadway. It told the story of Bessie Brent, an innocent sales assistant whose morals are put the test by the various temptations of shop life. In <italic>The Girl from Kay’s</italic> (1902) a shop girl chorus sang of being ‘goody, goody little girls’ who nonetheless were going to be ‘naughty, til we’re getting on for forty’.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn55"><sup>55</sup></xref> As Sanders argues, the characters in all these stories walk a tightrope between moral elevation into marriage or moral fall into prostitution. The stories themselves follow a romance narrative driven by the deferred fulfilment of desire and the elusive quest for satisfaction in the new consumer culture (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">Sanders, 2006</xref>, p. 5).</p>
				<p>These cultural outpourings signal the extent to which - and the speed with which - the ‘shop girl’ became a powerful symbol of commodity capitalism. She was a new kind of worker: she did not make the huge range of goods on display in the shops but she could use persuasion, guile and flirtation to make customers throw off thrift and buy them. She embodied a new kind of stigma-laden social class: a working class ‘counter-jumper’, weedling her way into a new lower middle class or petit bourgeoisie. Simultaneously, she was also a new kind of mass market consumer: she used her own modest wages to buy whatever she could for herself - and when her own meagre means ran out, she was, according to the stereotype, more than willing to flirt with any man willing to treat her. He, in turn, could expect to be repaid in sexual favours or marriage. Who really knew what the demure assistant in the black silk dress was really selling? Who could ever trust or respect her?</p>
				<p>Many feminist social scientists have traced expressions of cultural hostility towards young working class women, a hostility often inseparable from their sexuality.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn56"><sup>56</sup></xref> Their studies focus on the late twentieth century and tend to focus on young women as consumers rather than workers. One of my arguments here is that this hostility surfaced much earlier and was often directed to young women workers. The ‘shop girl’ was a frequent target. As Driscoll observes, she sat at the ‘intersection of art and the everyday’ from the late nineteenth century on.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn57"><sup>57</sup></xref> Cast as the central character in countless stories about ‘personal transformation’ and ‘escape’ from the banality of everyday life, the ordinary working girl’s quest for the extraordinary was ‘the staple of musicals, comedies, drama and suspense’ as well as an icon of visual culture from the newspaper cartoon to the art gallery (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B27">Driscoll, 2010</xref>, p. 105). She combined elements of the specific types of gendered subjectivities ‘so frequently drawn upon by classic theorists of modernity to capture the new social relations and fault lines of the new urbanism’ (ibid.). To paraphrase Felski, she was ‘part voracious consumer, part feminized aesthete, part prostitute’ (ibid., citing <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B29">Felski, 1995</xref>).</p>
			</sec>
			<sec>
				<title>LITTLE SHOPGIRLS AND THE CULT OF DISTRACTION</title>
				<p>The ‘shop girl’ remained central to modernist commentary on consumer culture into the twentieth century. As Huyssen observes, ‘the inscription of the feminine on the notion of mass culture’ which had begun in the nineteenth century, ‘did not relinquish its hold’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B49">Huyssen, 1986</xref>). Instead, it arguably took on a darker edge, whether penned by those who embraced the rise of consumer culture or those who did not.</p>
				<p>In 1912, author and journalist Gilbert Keith (GK) Chesterton picked a public fight with Selfridge’s in his regular <italic>Daily News</italic> column. As a socially conservative patriot, he railed against the scale of the new Oxford Street store which had opened in 1909 and the emotionally manipulative business methods of its ‘brash’ American proprietor. These ‘awful interminable emporia’ not only threatened the livelihoods of what he regarded as traditional shopkeepers but also traditional cultural values. Significantly, Chesterton singled out Selfridge’s female staff for particular attack, complaining that they were ‘poorly trained’ and indistinguishable from the store’s countless headless mannequins. In his own rather disturbing words, ‘When you look at the dress-model you think that some shop-girl has had her head cut off; when you look back at the real shop-girl you feel inclined to do the same to her.’<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn58"><sup>58</sup></xref> This decapitation fantasy had surfaced in earlier representations of ‘shopgirl-as-mannequin’, notably in the opening chapters of Emile <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B99">Zola’s 1883</xref> novel <bold>Au Bonheur des Dames</bold> (The Ladies’ Paradise) which portrays one of Paris’ first department stores as a machine manufacturing relentless but unrealisable desire.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn59"><sup>59</sup></xref>
				</p>
				<p>Zola’s writing, along with Impressionist art, inspired powerful new thinking about the transformation of everyday urban life through mass culture. That transformation lay at the heart of what Charles Baudelaire had been arguably the first to define as ‘modernity’ - a way of living shaped by fleeting and sensual experience. Baudelaire’s influence would be greatly extended by Walter Benjamin’s <italic>Arcades Project</italic>, a collage of writings on the sights, sounds, streets and shops of nineteenth century Paris.</p>
				<p>The legacy of the <italic>Arcades Project</italic> ripples through twentieth century social theory and perceptions of the rising service economy. This is powerfully evidenced in the work of Siegfried Kraucauer, editor of the <italic>Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung</italic>, and one of Benjamin’s collaborators. Kraucauer was a prolific observer of everyday urban life in the Weimar Republic. Like Baudelaire and Benjamin, he celebrated the new social relations created by consumer culture but could be highly critical of the service workers who underpinned it. His 1927 essay, ‘The Little Shopgirls Go to the Cinema’, is a sharp case in point. In his view, shop girls were high profile representatives of a new rationalized, salaried workforce that challenged the old social codes protecting the professional skills and associations of traditional German workers. The new workforce was deskilled, divided, hierarchized and driven by a self-centred quest for material goods and competitive advantage. Along with office girls, typists and clerks, their tastes supported the rise of what he famously termed the Cult of Distraction - the cinema, the dance hall and cheap fiction of the new mass culture industry.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn60"><sup>60</sup></xref>
				</p>
				<p>Kracauer was excited by the social potential of film as a means of expressing repressed desires but, as Moore argues, found ‘none of that potential in the women who form[ed] a large part of the audience’, an audience that ‘fail[ed] to grasp the complexity’ of the format’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B67">Moore, 2001</xref>, p. 43). For Benner, this reflects ‘a prejudice as old as the analysis of mass culture itself - that its consumption is a passive activity, rendering one weak, feminine, and “small”’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B10">Benner, 2012</xref>, pp. 161-162). However, Kracauer simultaneously saw these ‘Little Shop girls’ as larger than life sexual predators. In another essay he describes the ‘salaried-bohemian [girls] who come to the big city in search of adventure’ as ‘roam[ing] like comets through the world of salaried employees’, concluding that ‘even the best astronomer cannot determine whether they will end up in the street or in the marriage bed.’<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn61"><sup>61</sup></xref>
				</p>
				<p>This dualism would continue to characterise later conceptualisations of mass commodity culture. The work of Benjamin and Kracauer found new expression in the critical theory of Theodor Adorno and the Frankfurt School and its drive to expose the cultural structures (overlooked by Marx, in their view) that they believed legitimated mature capitalism. Critical theory’s imagining of gendered class relations, and the forms of popular culture these supported, has been much discussed by feminist scholars.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn62"><sup>62</sup></xref> As Modleski put it thirty years ago, ‘the need for a feminist critique becomes obvious at every level of the debate’ because ‘our ways of thinking and feeling about mass culture are so intricately bound up with notions of the feminine.’<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn63"><sup>63</sup></xref> My argument here is that the workers within the service industries supporting mass culture need to be a more consistent part of that important and still much-needed critique. For Adorno, it was - once again - the ‘shop girl’ who stood as everyday culture’s ‘everywoman’. In a 1941 essay, he writes of, ‘…the poor shop girl who derives gratification by identification with [film star] Ginger Rogers, who with her beautiful legs and unsullied character, marries the boss.’</p>
				<p>This apparent gratification takes a particular form that demands further discussion. In Adorno’s view, the shop girl’s pleasure in watching Ginger Rogers came not from the fact that she believes that she, too, could find happiness but, on the contrary, from the realisation that she had ‘no part in happiness’:</p>
				<disp-quote>
					<p>Hollywood and Tin Pan Alley may be dream factories. But they do not merely supply categorical wish fulfillment for the girl behind the counter. She does not immediately identify herself with Ginger Rogers marrying. What does occur may be expressed as follows: when the audience at a sentimental film or sentimental music become aware of the overwhelming possibility of happiness, they dare to confess to themselves what the whole order of contemporary life ordinarily forbids them to admit, namely, that they actually have no part in happiness.’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4">Adorno, 1941</xref>)</p>
				</disp-quote>
				<p>Adorno goes on to make a specific claim about the kind of deceptive liberation that a shop girl, and others like her, could expect: </p>
				<disp-quote>
					<p>What is supposed to be wish fulfillment is only the <italic>scant liberation</italic> that occurs with the realization that at last one need not deny oneself the happiness of knowing that one is unhappy and that one could be happy. The experience of the shop girl is related to that of the old woman who weeps at the wedding services of others, blissfully becoming aware of the wretchedness of her own life. (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4">Adorno, 1941</xref>, my emphasis)</p>
				</disp-quote>
				<p>The shop girl’s sense of ‘scant liberation’ is created by her recognition of her own wretchedness and the resulting ‘temporary release given to the awareness that one has missed fulfilment’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4">Adorno, 1941</xref>). In other words, she is both alienated and alienating: both victim and agent of the wider social dislocation engendered by mass consumer culture. </p>
			</sec>
			<sec>
				<title>LITTLE SISTER, THE SOCIETY OF THE SPECTACLE AND THE BIBA BOMBING </title>
				<p>The work of Adorno and the Frankfurt School is a turning point here. On the one hand, it represents the culmination of a century of earlier critical commentary on the rise of commodity capitalism. On the other, it triggered new and even stronger critiques of how this now mature capitalism was exerting ever more subtle forms of exploitation and alienation. Once again, however, the figure of the aesthetic service worker looms large in the writings of radical social theorists who wanted to push this thinking to new limits. </p>
				<p>Guy Debord and his adherents were among the most prominent of these post-war thinkers. Debord’s most well-known book, <italic>The Society of the Spectacle</italic>, was one of the inspirations for the Paris protests of 1968. His argument was simple: people’s relationships with each other in modern society had become badly distorted by consumer culture. They were being mesmerized by the pursuit of money and the things they could buy to the point where social life was no longer about ‘living’ but only about ‘having’, not about ‘doing’ but ‘watching’. For Debord, all this was a dangerous illusion, ‘a spectacle’ generated by mass commodity culture - through its shops, magazines, adverts and films - promising idealized lifestyles that could never be truly attained and which were, in case, empty (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B26">Debord, 1995</xref>). Like Adorno, he saw the resulting alienation not simply as ‘some vague dissatisfaction’ with modern life but rather as ‘an antagonism between humanity and forces that humanity has itself created’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B51">Jappe; Nicholson-Smith, 1999</xref>, p. 102). This antagonism had resulted in a ‘transformation of the economy from a means into an end’ via a process that ‘[eludes] any kind of conscious control’ and which stifled individual independence and creativity (ibid., p. 102). </p>
				<p>Wark argues that Debord and his followers identified two kinds of spectacle in post-war society: ‘the concentrated and the diffuse’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B93">Wark, 2011</xref>, p. 1116). The ‘concentrated spectacle’ was found in fascist, Stalinist or Maoist states and cohered around an Orwellian Big Brother-style ‘cult of personality’. At the time that Debord was writing, such political personality cults were still strong in many states in eastern and southern Europe and many parts of Asia. By contrast, the ‘diffuse spectacle’ was on the rise in the capitalist, democratic West, embedded in their consumer economies and cultural industries - and, I would argue, in the aesthetic labour that underpinned both. The diffuse spectacle cohered around Little Sister, rather than Big Brother. Paraphrasing Raoul Vaneigem, one of Debord’s collaborators, Wark writes the ‘whole spectacular social order rested on the struggle for which she was a body double’:</p>
				<disp-quote>
					<p>Little Sister is watching you. She stares out at you from billboards, magazines, screens large and small. Behind the production of her image is not some quirky dictator and his nervous minions, but a small army of stylist, hairdressers, photographers and, of course, models. (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B94">Wark, 2013</xref>, p. xxx, note 11)</p>
				</disp-quote>
				<p>How could the spectacle and the subtle power of Little Sister be challenged? For Debord and Vaneigem, only through a new kind of intervention: situationism. Since the passive act of consuming made people passive spectators of their own lives, the only way to confront the power of both spectacle and commodity was to disrupt it by creating ‘situations’ that revealed their true nature. Situationism as an anarchic form of direct action sought the re-invention of everyday life through everyday acts of disruption or <italic>détournement</italic> that would jolt people out of their customary ways of thinking and open their eyes to the limits of ‘scant liberation’. Its simple message certainly inspired the liberation struggles that started on the streets of Paris in 1968. However, it also perpetuated deeply disparaging views of real life ‘Little Sisters’. One situationist-inspired intervention stands out in this context.</p>
				<p>On May Day 1971, the Angry Brigade - a small group of young British anarchist activists - planted a bomb in the basement of Biba - one of London’s best known shops. Histories of the group are conflicting but broadly agree that its members were variously inspired by Debord, the events of 1968, the US civil rights movements, women’s liberation campaigns and extreme anti-fascist groups, notably the Baader-Meinhof in Germany and the First of May Group opposing Franco’s regime in Spain.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn64"><sup>64</sup></xref> Over the previous months, they had planted other devices in the offices and homes of civil servants, politicians, judges and other, in their words, ‘high pigs’.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn65"><sup>65</sup></xref> Their attack on Biba was unusual. The group set out their rationale for it in a communiqué issued shortly afterwards. It singled out Biba’s shop assistants and everything they believed them to represent:</p>
				<disp-quote>
					<p>All the sales girls in the flash boutiques are made to dress the same and have the same make-up… In fashion as in everything else, capitalism can only go backwards - they’ve nowhere to go - they’re dead. Life is so boring there is nothing to do except spend all our wages on the latest skirt or shirt.</p>
				</disp-quote>
				<p>It continued:</p>
				<disp-quote>
					<p>Brothers and Sisters, what are your real desires? Sit in the drugstore, look distant, empty, bored, drinking some tasteless coffee? Or perhaps BLOW IT UP or BURN IT DOWN. The only thing you can do with these modern slave-houses - called boutiques - is WRECK THEM.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn66"><sup>66</sup></xref>
					</p>
				</disp-quote>
				<p>The bomb caused extensive damage but no serious injuries: the Angry Brigade had given a telephone warning giving those inside time to evacuate. The incident seemed anomalous. The group never again targeted a commercial property or ordinary members of the public. The incident is rarely referred to in their own further writings or those of others who have researched them.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn67"><sup>67</sup></xref> Yet, the attack - and in particular their justification for it - looks much less anomalous when viewed against the long history, as set out in this article - of periodic but sustained rhetorical attacks on the symbolic power of the ‘shop girl’.</p>
				<p>Why do these rhetorical attacks matter? I would argue that they matter because they demonstrate an enduring hostility to young women workers in the service economy that simultaneously dismisses them as passive cultural dupes or punishes as powerful agents of cultural destruction: the Little Shopgirls eliding with Little Sister. Further, I would argue that that this hostility can be read, in part, as a backlash against evolving forms of highly gendered aesthetic and emotional labour. In my view, this also helps to explain why the lives of shop workers have been broadly neglected by historians who may not share this hostility but who have, nevertheless, struggled to find ways of delineating and valuing their labour. </p>
			</sec>
			<sec>
				<title>RECLAIMING THE ‘SHOP GIRL’</title>
				<p>The final section of this article suggests how we might begin to reclaim the history of shop work. I have already proposed that one way of doing this is through tracing longer histories of aesthetic and emotional labour. I would like to end by suggesting three further lines of enquiry: first, linking certain kinds of shop work to (counter)cultural innovation; second, by connecting aspects of shop work to the rise of ‘the creative class’; and third, by locating the history of shop work within a wider history of the service economy.</p>
				<p>Biba offers us one of many possible places to start. As a commercial enterprise that broke class barriers, pushed sexual boundaries and celebrated an edgy creativity, it helped to forge counter-cultures of its own - albeit not of the kind likely to be acknowledged by the Angry Brigade or their intellectual antecedents.</p>
				<p>Biba was created as a small boutique in a Kensington back street in 1964 by Barbara Hulanicki, a Polish migrant and art school graduate, and her husband, Stephen Fitz-Simon, an advertising executive. Latterly described as ‘a theme park devoted to elegantly wasted decadence’, it was an ‘escapist paradise’.<xref ref-type="fn" rid="fn68"><sup>68</sup></xref> By 1971, it had moved to larger premises stretching over several floors. Customers would wander among ostrich feathers, mottled mirrors and potted palms to try out suede thigh boots, floppy hats and hot pants. In doing so, they were re-fashioning more than just themselves. They were served by sales assistants recruited because they looked the part, could model the clothes or put browsers at ease, whether they were debutantes from Chelsea or day-trippers from Essex. ‘ A ‘Biba girl’ had a distinctive aesthetic, described by Hulanicki as ‘square shouldered and quite flat-chested’ with an ‘oval face’ and eyelids ‘heavy with long spiky lashes’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B89">Turner, 2007</xref>, p. 11). They might ‘look sweet’ but they were ‘hard as nails.’ They ‘did what [they] felt like at that moment.’ Biba girls did not ‘live in’, as generations of female staff in department and other stores had done. Instead they rented and shared flats and bedsits and, according to Hulanicki again, ‘had no mother waiting for them to see if they came home with a crumpled dress’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B48">Hulanicki, 1983</xref>, p. 78). Whatever kind of liberation this was, it was more than ‘scant liberation’.</p>
				<p>The heady world of boutiques, like Biba, seemed to be a contained one. However, its economic, social and cultural influence was far-reaching, as many have observed (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B32">Fogg, 2003</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B35">Gilbert, 2006</xref>). Rappaport’s well known argument that women consumers ‘made’ the fin-de-siecle West End might be extended: London boutiques of the 1950s and 60s, many of them set up and staffed by young women, ‘made’ much of post-war youth culture. Boutique fashion was quickly transmitted beyond London and other large cities via girls’ magazines, mail order and rapid high street emulation. To give just one example, the ‘Chelsea look’ (akin to the ‘Biba look’ described above) had been developed on the Kings Road by Mary Quant and others but was quickly sold to a hungry mass market through a new high street chain, Chelsea Girl, opened in 1965 (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">Cox; Hobley, 2014</xref>, pp. 213-214). One way of reclaiming the history of shop work, then, is to link it more substantially to the broader history of post-war youth consumer culture and the (counter)cultural innovation that this, in turn, helped to inspire.</p>
				<p>Viewed from this perspective, certain kinds of shop work could arguably be defined as a ‘creative occupation’ - driven by ‘a creative ethos’, and, moreover, often dependent upon aesthetic and emotional labour. If we follow Florida’s recent and much-debated argument, this means that post-war ‘shop girls’ - whether working in Biba or in a Chelsea Girl chain store - could be seen as part of Britain’s ‘creative class’ and, as such, as economically indispensable (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B31">Florida, 2002</xref>). Another way of reclaiming the history of shop work, then, may be to locate it within a broader history of the rise of the ‘creative class’. Such a history would need to challenge a central plank of Florida’s characterisation of the ‘creative class’ as ‘those employed in creative occupations whose market value rose rapidly from the late twentieth century on’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B36">Glaeser, 2005</xref>). This is because - despite their important economic and cultural contributions - the market value of shop workers fell quite dramatically over the course of the twentieth century. An earnings survey conducted by the Department of Employment in 1968 showed that the job of sales assistant was ‘one of the lowest paid in Britain’. This was the case for both men and women workers, with one study calculating that ‘only gardeners, farmworkers and general catering workers, waiters and barmen earned less than salesmen, and only kitchenhands, hairdressers and barmaids earned less than saleswomen’ (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B76">Robinson; Wallace, 1974</xref>, p. 39).</p>
				<p>The pay, conditions, status, hopes and dreams of service sector workers like these still await their historian. Writing their history - and that of the wider service economy - is no easy task. Some have warned against attempting it: Glynn and Booth, for example, argue that the ‘major differences between its components’ mean that ‘[g]eneralisations about the service sector tend to be meaningless’. They do not dispute, however, the sector’s ‘aggregate importance’, stressing that it involved ‘two thirds of fixed assets’ and employed ‘more than half the [British] workforce’ by the mid-twentieth century (<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B37">Glynn; Booth, 1996</xref>, p. 81). This astounding fact alone means that historians - and social scientists - simply need to be more creative themselves in devising ways to capture the story of the rise of the service economy. A more expansive history of shop workers, their aspirations and networks would make a significant contribution to that effort and would also address a yawning gap in women’s history. Writing such a history, however, may mean facing up to our own collective and enduring unease with the figure of the ‘Little Shopgirl’ - and with the consumer society she helped to create.</p>
			</sec>
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		<back>
				<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn35">
				<label>35</label>
				<p>Prof Pamela Cox, PhD, University of Cambridge, 1997. The primary research was supported by the UK’s Economic and Social Research Council. </p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn36">
				<label>36</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, p. 1 and p. 216; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B90">UK Commission…, 2014</xref>. See Table 4.2 Females – Occupational Categories.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn37">
				<label>37</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, pp. 1-30, p. 216. On part-time retail work, see: ROBINSON; WALLACE, 1974. On patterns of female unionization in retail, see <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B91">USDAW, n.d.</xref>
				</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn38">
				<label>38</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B9">BATTILANI, 2010</xref>. ‘Table 1 – Employment in the Service Sector as a percentage of total employment, years 1900, 1950, 1971, 1998, 2007’ shows that the proportion of the British workforce employed in the service sector was 39% in 1900, 47% in 1950 and 77% in 2007. The table is sourced from <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B28">FEINSTEIN, 1999</xref> and <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B71">OECD, 2008</xref>. Feinstein’s summary of shifts in civilian employment shows that (p. 53) in 1900, 1.6 million (10% of total British civilian workforce of 16.7 million) worked in agriculture, 8.5 million (51%) in industry and 6.5 million (39%) in services. By 1950, 1.2 million (5% of a total civilian workforce of 22.2 million) worked in agriculture, 10.9 million (49%) in industry and 10 million (46%) in services.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn39">
				<label>39</label>
				<p>See for example <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B18">COLLINS; BAKER, 2003</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B78">SAVAGE; BARKER, 2012</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B7">ANDERSON, 1988</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B30">FINE, 1995</xref>. Notably, there are no references to the ‘service economy’ and just one to the ‘service sector’ across the 695 pages of <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B87">TRENTMANN, 2012</xref>. For a rare study of the gendering of service sectors, see <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B56">KWOLEK-FOLLAND; WALSH, 2007</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn40">
				<label>40</label>
				<p><italic>Shopgirls: The True Story of Life Behind the Counter</italic>, three part series produced by betty for BBC TWO, 2014. http://www.bbc.co.uk/mediacentre/proginfo/2014/25/shopgirls.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn41">
				<label>41</label>
				<p>See for example, TRENTMANN, 2000; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B41">HILTON; DAUNTON, 2001</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B40">HILTON, 2003</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B23">CROSSICK; HAUPT, 1984</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B64">MILLER et al., 1998</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B57">LANCASTER, 1995</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B38">GURNEY, 1996</xref>. See also papers and publications by members of the Centre for the History of Retailing and Distribution (CHORD).</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn42">
				<label>42</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B96">WINSTANLEY, 1983</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B46">HOSGOOD, 1989</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B45">1999</xref>. For examples of individual store and entrepreneur histories, see: <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B44">HONEYCOMBE, 1984</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B24">DALE, 1995</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B84">STRATMANN, 2004</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B33">FOSTER, 1973</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B25">DAVIES, 1983</xref>. For longer list, see <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, bibliography.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn43">
				<label>43</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B86">TODD, 2005</xref>, p. 25, pp. 47-49. Todd’s memoirs include, for example, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B85">THEW, 1985</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn44">
				<label>44</label>
				<p>See for example, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B79">SEYMOUR, 2014</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn45">
				<label>45</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, pp. 42-50, on testimony and other evidence gathered by campaigners and Parliamentary committees prior to the passing of the 1886 Shop Hours Regulation Act which limited the working hours of children and apprentices to 74 hours per week.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn46">
				<label>46</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, pp. 93-102, on the establishment of the National Amalgamated Union of Shop Assistants, Warehousemen and Clerks in 1898 and on whistleblowing articles published by its journal, <italic>The Shop Assistant,</italic> and the <italic>Daily Chronicle</italic> in the 1890s.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn47">
				<label>47</label>
				<p><italic>Illustrated London News</italic>, 1842, cartoon ‘Ogling the Shop Girls’ (I am grateful to Rohan McWilliam for sharing this with me). <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B16">CLAYSON, 2003</xref>, pp. 124-126.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn48">
				<label>48</label>
				<p>Ibid., p. 124. The exhibition took place at the Arthur Tooth gallery.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn49">
				<label>49</label>
				<p>Getty Images, 160650607. A model taking part in a risqué photoshoot in the window of a new Henry Moss boutique in Carnaby Street, London, 11 May 1966. Credit: John Downing.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn50">
				<label>50</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B47">HUDSON, 1972</xref>, entries for 2 June 1861 and 22 Feb 1862.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn51">
				<label>51</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B60">MAYHEW, 1862</xref>, chapter on ‘Seclusives, Or Those That Live in Private Houses and Apartments’.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn52">
				<label>52</label>
				<p>On Walter’s <italic>My Secret Life</italic>, see <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B52">KEARNEY, 1982</xref>, p. 127. I am grateful to Guy Woolnough for this reference.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn53">
				<label>53</label>
				<p>See one of his photographs in <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, p. 62. ‘Fashionably dressed shopgirl’. Reproduced courtesy of 18 Stafford Terrace, Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea [Sambourne family home, now a museum].</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn54">
				<label>54</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, pp. 82-83. See also <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">SANDERS, 2006</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn55">
				<label>55</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21">COX; HOBLEY, 2014</xref>, pp. 64-65, p. 89. See also <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">SANDERS, 2006</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn56">
				<label>56</label>
				<p>See, in particular, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B81">SKEGGS, 1997</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B62">McROBBIE, 1991</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B58">LEES, 1993</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn57">
				<label>57</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B27">DRISCOLL, 2010</xref>, p. 105. For a broader historical view, see <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B61">MAYNES; SOLAND; BENNINGHAUS, 2005</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn58">
				<label>58</label>
				<p><italic>The Daily News</italic>, ‘The Big Shop’, 27 Jan 1912. See <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B69">NAVA, 2007</xref>, pp. 41-54 for an extended discussion of this episode.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn59">
				<label>59</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B99">ZOLA, 1883</xref>; see <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B39">HENNESSY, 2008</xref>, pp. 696-706.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn60">
				<label>60</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B54">KRACAUER, 1995</xref>, pp. 291-306; pp. 323-330. See <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B6">ALLEN, 2007</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B34">FRISBY, 1986</xref>. See also <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B77">SANDERS, 2006</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn61">
				<label>61</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B55">KRACAUER, 1998</xref>, p.73 (cited in <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B10">BENNER, 2012</xref>, pp. 161-162). See also <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B82">SMITH, 2008</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn62">
				<label>62</label>
				<p>For introduction, see <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B83">STRANATI, 1995</xref>. For more advanced summary, see <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B13">BROWN et al., 2006</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn63">
				<label>63</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B65">MODLESKI, 1986a</xref>, p. 38. See also <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B66">MODLESKI, 1986b</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn64">
				<label>64</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B94">WARK, 2013</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B95">WHITE, 1993</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B15">CHRISTIANSEN, 2011</xref>; <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B12">BROWN, 2013</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn65">
				<label>65</label>
				<p>See <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B14">CARR, 1975</xref>. One of these earlier incidents had involved their attempt to disrupt the 1970 Miss World contest by detonating a small bomb in a BBC broadcast van outside the Royal Albert Hall, although their involvement in this only later came to light.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn66">
				<label>66</label>
				<p>Cited in <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B15">CHRISTIANSEN, 2011</xref>, p. 53.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn67">
				<label>67</label>
				<p>Within eighteen months, eight alleged members of the group had been placed on trial. Four would later be convicted of conspiring to cause explosions and would serve long prison sentences.</p>
			</fn>
		</fn-group>
		<fn-group>
			<fn fn-type="other" id="fn68">
				<label>68</label>
				<p>
					<xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B88">TURNER, 2009</xref>. See also <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B89">TURNER, 2007</xref>.</p>
			</fn>
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