How Gap is trying to get its cool back| Business News

The archives at Gap Inc’s headquarters in San Francisco are a record of past glory. Campaign shots from the 1990s, taken by star photographers like Annie Leibovitz, show models such as Naomi Campbell and actresses like Demi Moore in the Gap uniform of worn jeans and plain shirts. Lately the retailer has been trying to get some of that cool back. A campaign last year starring Katseye, a Gen-Z girl group, was more music video than ad; young teens soon began copying the moves on TikTok, a short-video app.

This marketing blitz is central to the turnaround engineered by Richard Dickson, who took over as chief executive three years ago. He inherited a mess. Gap—which also owns Old Navy (cut-price), Banana Republic (premium) and Athleta (athleisure)—is one of America’s largest clothing companies. But as fast-fashion labels such as H&M and Zara grew and e-commerce took off, it became known for fusty stores and uninspiring designs. Sales and profits cratered. Shoppers wondered: why go to Gap?

Mr Dickson seems to have given them an answer. This month Gap reported its eighth consecutive quarter of growth in same-store sales. Its share price is up by over 125% since he took the helm. Mr Dickson was previously the second-in-charge at Mattel, a toymaker, where he oversaw the hit “Barbie” film and helped revive the brand. He is applying the same formula at Gap. Brands are stories, declares the boss—who, with long curly hair and a string of beads peeking through his shirt, looks like the type of man who could start a cult. “Somewhere along the way”, he says, “the company lost its storytelling and became a retailer that sold stuff.”

Gap’s story begins in 1960s San Francisco, when Don and Doris Fisher (whose family still own a big stake in the business) opened a store selling Levi’s jeans and records. Under Mickey Drexler, who took over as chief executive in 1995, the retailer went global and added new brands. Its market capitalisation peaked at $67bn in 1999—almost eight times its value today.

From there, it spiralled into irrelevance. Ill-fitting khakis and uninspiring button-downs piled up on discount racks at outlet stores. When a Gap distribution centre burned down in 2016, one analyst called it a blessing in disguise: the stock needed to be cleared somehow. Between Mr Drexler’s departure in 2002 and Mr Dickson’s arrival, Gap cycled through six chief executives.

Mr Dickson’s plan for Gap involves more than splashy marketing. He has been fixing up its property portfolio, continuing to close some shops but refurbishing others. Footfall at its remaining stores has risen in five of the past six months, according to Placer.ai, a data provider.

Online shoppers—who now account for 40% of sales, up from 30% before the pandemic—are better served, too. One of Mr Dickson’s first acts was to strip the brands’ homepages of discount banners and pop-ups. (”There’s promotion that’s gamification,” he says, “and then there’s promotion that’s desperate.”) AI is being used to manage inventory and speed up delivery. Thanks to automation, some 80% of products now move through Gap warehouses without touching human hands.

Those products have become more appealing, too. Gap’s average selling price (the amount paid after discounts) has ticked up, suggesting shoppers are no longer simply hunting for bargains. The company has also sped up production, allowing it to quickly jump on fads (like super-baggy “balloon” jeans). Rather than ordering stock nine months in advance of a season, it now buys fabric early while delaying decisions on dyeing and cutting. At Gap’s namesake label, collaborations with hip labels like Cult Gaia and Dôen have lured in well-heeled customers. It hasn’t hurt that youngsters have become obsessed with throwback 1990s fashion and swung from wearing leggings to jeans.

The turnaround is far from complete. Gap remains nowhere near as cool as it was in its 1990s heyday. Old Navy faces stiff competition from discounters like Nordstrom Rack. Athleta is struggling most. It never reached the scale of Lululemon, a rival, which was founded in the same year but makes eight times its sales. Both are now losing business to athleisure upstarts such as Vuori and Alo.

Still, there are plenty of opportunities for growth. Mr Dickson has his eyes on higher margin accessories and beauty. UBS, a bank, sees a Gap-shaped opening in the market for $25-$60 handbags—cheaper than Coach, pricier than H&M.

Then there is what Mr Dickson calls “fashiontainment”. Old Navy, which is popular with families, has struck deals with Marvel and Formula One that allow the retailer to sell t-shirts and hoodies emblazoned with their logos. But Mr Dickson has bigger plans in mind. What, exactly, remains nebulous. In January he hired a chief entertainment officer from Paramount, a movie-maker, and announced the opening of an office on Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles. For a retailer recovering from a decades-long slump, that could mean reinvention—or distraction.