Hip to be Square

Last weekend, twittering throngs of customers huddled outside the new Pinkberry in Harvard Square to get a taste of the celebrity fro-yo that has made a name for itself all across America. While there is certainly nothing wrong with successful franchises occupying long-empty real estate, the fact remains that the arrival of Pinkberry and the slated arrival of the new duplex Starbucks threaten to change the face of Harvard Square. We regret to see the eclectic institutions that for generations have defined Harvard Square as a niche within Boston being slowly supplanted by replicable franchises that break down the character of the Square.

Understanding that the need for cheap goods often crowds out local charm is the first mental obstacle to surmount; the closing of Bob Slate spoke to a student demand for less expensive goods, as much as it saddened us to see the closing of a bona fide legend. Yet, chain stores selling goods similar in type and price to those available at independent stores offer no distinguishable advantage over local stores. What’s more, being chains allows these stores to open earlier and close later because of the extent of their resources, which is certainly dangerous to the business and survival of our beloved local haunts.

As Mo Lotman, author of “Harvard Square: An Illustrated History,” writes of Cafe Pamplona, "[its] uniqueness stems not from screaming individuality, but from the no-frills, bare-bones atmosphere it offers. The monochromatic cave provided a blank canvas and invited patrons to fill it with colorful conversation or profound gazes into infinity.” Spaces such as Pamplona thus characterize the Square by creating environments in which the history of the locale blends with the personable elements of creativity and interaction. However much they may try to bend at the edges of the institutional framework that spawned them in order to blend in with their surroundings, franchises simply cannot engender the same genuine founts of individuality, and they never will.

While Harvard as an institution may not change its façade, the Square is a physical representation of the historical continuity that defines this community. Somewhat ironically, the owners of Pinkberry have even noted the Square’s unique energy and charm, calling their new location both “historic and important.” In their apparent eagerness to join the “fun,” however, they may not quite understand the impact of their own arrival. By the same token, however much a place like J. P. Licks has attempted or succeeded at fostering some sort of cultural osmosis within the Square, many locals are still frustrated when they pass the boarded-up windows of what once was Herrell’s. After all, these small businesses are not merely age-old relics inflated with a sense of their own virtue; they, like Berryline and Flour, are perhaps the best examples that the Harvard student has of taking one’s talents and using them to benefit local communities in an innovative way.

Ultimately, however, these changes are the fault of nothing but a generational shift. Despite the common misperception, there is no “master puppeteer” running Harvard Square, and individual landlords rent to the highest bidder. The Square is thus a literal reflection of the people who walk through it at any given historical moment. In that sense, what does it say about us if we let our unique traditions fall by the wayside in favor of institutions that we could find anywhere else? Due to the rapid and natural turnover of the student body, within a decade, Harvard students will not remember or regret the loss of exceptional establishments such as populate the Square now but are currently in danger. It is important, therefore, for those who feel incensed by unnecessary change to take a stand against these changes to the Square while they still can. Now, more than ever, we encourage our community members to support their favorite local businesses in an effort to slow the seemingly inevitable wave of excessive commercialization.

This is not to say that we don’t recognize the inevitability of change. As Lotman has written: "Change is inevitable in all things, and yet we often cling to the past as if we had not already learned that lesson a hundred times.”  While most change may indeed be inevitable, changes that cheapen the distinctive charm of a cultural landmark are not. What developers respond to is demand, and it is up to the residents of the neighborhood to determine when—if ever—their environment should change.