I went into niketown yesterday to return an mp3 player that had broken. I expected to duck in and duck out, but I had to wait a bit for the manager to make sure it was all right. I felt a little odd in the place -- I was wearing my dumb sneakers and don't really exercise or follow sports, plus my sister works in the anti-sweatshop movement. The store is brand-heavy, with swooshes cleverly worked into the handrails and floor grout. The atrium was high and boxy, with white enameled pillars, translucent plastic partitions and brushed aluminum railings. The escalators pass several graphics extended into bas relief, full of basketball players and samples of high-tech materials. The whole space is highly compartmentalised, with several "stores" dedicated to specific sports and shoe lines. Niketown was a factory for selling Nike. It rose up seven stories in that narrow and awkward space, surrounded by billboard-sized photos of atheletes. Sculptures near the door moved shoe boxes between floors. Banks of TV monitors played nike commercials overhead, and every ten minutes a lengthy interview played on a screen above everyone's heads. Escapist marketing doesn't have to be palm trees and tropical beaches.