I want to start this post by saying that I’ve never seen the show “Fixer-Upper.” Not once.
So, no— I didn’t go to see this branded wonderland in Waco, Texas out of some kind of fandom for Joanna and Chip Gaines, the insufferable, unavoidable HGTV-hosts-turned-super-couple-brand.
I went to Waco to see the city-inside-a-city of “The Magnolia Silos” because I was curious to see a popular cultural phenomenon in-action. And I’ve always been interested in brands— and Chip and Joanna Gaines are not just any old brand, they are a $750 million dollar brand (!!!).
People flock— and I mean FLOCK— to Waco to see the Magnolia Silos. Tourism to Waco increased 165% after the Silos opened in 2016, and property values went from $18 per square foot to $300 per square foot as regular people moved there in droves, ostensibly inspired to live the ‘dream’ of the life the couple portrayed on the show. Today, ’Waco’ is still one of the top five searches on home websites.
If I was planning to see America in the van, what better way to do that than to see a true American phenomenon— reality-TV-stars-turned-mega-celebrities is kinda culturally, sadly: what we do best here in the States.
When I arrived, I was hungry. I passed by several cute diners in Waco on my way toward the Silos, feeling bad for eschewing real local businesses for the branded Magnolia eatery— but this is exactly what tourists likely do all the time, and when in Rome…
Turned out, the queue to get into Magnolia Kitchen was 1 hour and 15 minutes long…. on a Friday at 10 AM. YIKES.
In my commitment to the bit, I decided to wait it out, and browsed some of the terribly boring merchandise at the attached store (MAGNOLIA branded WATER?!). This was going to be a long day.
Once they called my name, I was pretty ravenous. And here’s where I’ll admit something nice about the Gaines’ operation: the food at Magnolia Kitchen was tremendously well-seasoned and well-executed. I feel like a dupe saying this, but I’d count it in the top fifty or so of breakfast meals I’ve had on the road in the past two years. The housemade pimento, specifically, was peppery and deep in flavor, and was delightful on the just-flaky-just-moist-enough biscuit.
I generally hate breakfast potatoes (hash browns 4-eva), because breakfast potatoes are generally mealy and bland. But these potatoes were so well-seasoned (and NOT too salty) that I didn’t even end up missing the hot sauce I had asked for (but never came). (It’s clear no patron of the Silos ever asks for hot sauce, as the request confounded the staff).
Looking around, it was hard to remember that these celebrities were designers– as the interior of the restaurant struck me as utterly banal. Sure, it was nice enough– black and white and simple– but was it a kind of interior genius I had never seen before? Hardly. And yet.
I assessed the rest of the restaurant crowd as the HGTV-watching type: lots of long sweaters, knee-high boots, and floppy hats. It was March, but it could have been autumn, as it was clearly Autumn Girl Season at the Silos every day.
I began to realize if Instagram and Pinterest birthed a baby, it would be exactly this.
I paid the bill, which was actually a reasonable price— and headed over to the main attraction: two, 120-foot tall refurbished silos, and the 5.3 acres below them which contain Magnolia’s main retail stores.
Yep. There’s over 5 acres of retail therapy at “The Silos.”
I stopped at the Magnolia Bakery and… waited in another line (sensing a theme?), this time for a cupcake. I got the vanilla with buttercream, to try the simplest thing. It was disgustingly named “Shiplap” after the wall decor that made Joanna famous.
And yet again, I’m sad to report that it was f*cking delicious. The icing wasn’t too sweet, a common trap of cupcakes— and the buttercream was perfectly-creamy but not heavy.
I overheard a woman ask one of the employees, breathlessly:
“Do THEY ever come here?” (Ostensibly, meaning the Gaines’).
“Not really. Though her mother comes fairly often, they don’t come much, and when they do— I hear they wear disguises.”
“Oh” (disappointed lady).
Employees of the shops around the silos said this was one of the most common questions they got asked— that, and where the Gaines’ lived. I don’t know which is the creepier question, though probably the latter.
The resident-employees were also clear about the damage the Gaines’ had done: their property taxes had increased — looking it up later, taxes have gone up between 10%-40% A YEAR since the “Gaines Effect” has taken hold. That’s a real bummer for locals, who reported being thrilled to be gainfully employed, but also had to spend way more to afford daily life.
All for that coveted selfie.
I drifted into one of the main retail spaces (there were many), I was struck by a pretty consistent portrayal (of a kinda idea) of ‘farmhouse chic’. Refined far, far too much to actually be called “rustic,” these commercially-clean home furnishings had a ‘Boho-chic’ vibe.
The color palate was muted, even a bit boring. Beige and white and beige and white and beige and white were very popular. But the thing that struck me was how the brand name was pasted on everything– roughly as-subtle-as-a- baseball-bat-to-the-head on each piece.
“MAGNOLIA”… “Magnolia”…. “M A G N O L I A!!”— this was not a brand that wanted bystanders to have to guess where, in fact, the owner purchased this throw pillow or tumbler.
IT WAS MAG-f*cking-NOLIA, d*mnit.
This was the most literal merchandise I’d ever seen, but hell, here we were.
Several men around me were clearly questioning their life choices, shuffling behind their girlfriends and wives, looking like prisoners of war. They were not doing a great job of ‘faking it’— only the ‘Instagram Boyfriends’ tended to look happier. Look at this poor wretch.
That said, I suppose I shouldn’t feel too badly about the misery of men— perhaps it was deserved for all the times their women bought a jersey, or went on a fishing trip, and did a way better job of faking enthusiasm for whatever their men found interesting. And likely did it with huge smiles on their faces, compared to the downward cast of these ‘bring-along’ guys.
I spoke to a woman in line who had driven 12 hours to come to Waco for her love of the show and the Gaines.’ She was with her husband, who she explained, had elected to wait in the car. She mentioned that her friend told her, “Next time, come with your friends instead of your husband, and you’ll have more fun.”
Real.
I was getting thirsty, and sought out one of the trailers scattered about with food and drink. Seeing “The Alabama Sweet Tea Company” truck, I took a gander. Sure enough, they had an unsweet iced tea called “The Yankee”— and served it in a giant Mason jar.
It was literally the most delicious cup of iced tea I ever tasted. And I drink iced tea nearly every day.
D*AMN, Magnolia. While the merchandise was overpriced dreck, the food and drink had proved to be really spot-on, every step of the way.
Wandering out onto the grounds, I was confronted with… more stores! And an open ‘lawn’ that was literally astroturf– and if that doesn’t contain symbolism, I don’t know what does. People were milling about, waiting for food trucks and presumably resting between shops.
I found the ‘man store’— a space called “No. 16” (because that was Chip’s baseball jersey number in high school: atta way to tell everyone that’s when you peaked, Chip). The lazy “guy merchandise” inside was just terrible— leather ash trays with inane ‘Chipisms’ stamped into them. I had no doubt that thousands of men would get this “gift” for Christmas.
The books that both Gaines’ had written were everywhere— and while Joanna looked pristine and beautiful in each photo— the hilarious contrast between the preparation levels required of men and women were on-display in the cover photo for “Capital Gaines.”
Chip’s photo on the front was so terrible, that I remember thinking if Joanna ever looked so disheveled in a photo, it would spell the end of her career.
As I walked around, I saw that for some reason, Magnolia had decided to plant 36,000 tulips around the area— why? Who knows? Perhaps that was the reason that DOGS WERE NOT ALLOWED ON THE GRASS at the Silos. Please note: this grass was astroturf, and still– no dogs allowed.
Look at this picture of Mac voicing his displeasure. Let me remind you, this boy was entirely on-leash, he just wasn’t allowed to touch grass.
While walking around, I accidentally let Mac set one paw onto the grass — and I was immediately reprimanded by a huge security guard. In fact, several security guards foisted themselves on us to enforce the ban on dogs on the… and I’ll say it again… GRASS (astroturf).
There were 3 of them within a few moments— reiterating the policy of the place. I wish I was exaggerating. Texas men through and through, they were firm but considered themselves kind. They invaded my space and Mac’s for the slightest of infractions.
And this interaction kinda said it all about the fake paradise that Magnolia created with The Silos. There was even a ‘baseball field’ that mostly sat empty, unused and sad— more of a symbol representing a homey kind of place than a real gathering space.
With banal truisms posted like “we believe in home” and “everyone has a story worth telling”– it seemed like this experience was almost trying to convey nothing at all.
The entire place was so polished that it was devoid of any real humanity. Nothing messy, nothing so unkempt as to be real (well, except for this recall notice for one of the Magnolia products, which I guess by law they had to post). Oops.
Of The Silos, a female writer from Buzzfeed said “it’s difficult to shake the feeling, walking from shop to shop, of being haunted by the physical manifestation of a targeted Instagram ad.”
Never has a statement been more accurate.
If you want to see a true mecca of American branding, check out The Silos. If you want to keep your sanity, then just remember– I visited this hell so you didn’t have to.
Posted by Sun
