On my recent trip to the Bay Area, I poked my head into more than a few shops, looking for this, that and the other. Two stand out because they present such a paradoxical contrast. I speak of H&M — the IKEA of clothing, as I like to call it — and Theory, the ultra-minimalist high-fashion label. One offers oodles of clothing at shockingly low prices, while the other peddles a much smaller assortment with much heftier price tags. For a culture that usually equates wealth with the mythical concept of More, this seems weird.

For anyone not familiar with H&M, the fast-fashion label has its roots in Sweden. It made a name for itself largely by offering fashionable clothing at obscenely low prices. More recently, the company has co-opted everyone from Roberto Cavalli to Madonna to design everything from chic dresses to lurid velour jogging suits.

The principal H&M shop in San Francisco, located just a few blocks off Market on Powell, is a feast for the senses. Enormous video monitors cover the walls, flashing H&M propaganda at regular intervals. Loud, pulsing music gives the shop the air of a European discotheque. But, above all else, the store brims with clothing in every imaginable color, shape and size.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, entering the Theory store on über-fashionable Maiden Lane might be compared to entering a prison. Aside from floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street, the store's interior has no color whatsoever. The walls, the floor and the ceiling are all neutral gray concrete. Neither dark, nor light. Dull, neutral gray. Only the small army of smartly-dressed salespeople, the smattering of mostly monochrome clothing, and the conspicuous absence of dirt and dust offer any indication that Al Capone isn't lurking in a dark corner.

But how on earth did our society arrive at this point? Five hundred years ago, had I presented the average Genovese sailor with one store selling oodles of brightly colored clothing in every imaginable shape and size, and another peddling a sparse assortment of black pants and simple shirts, the average Genovese sailor would have insisted the former, not the latter, was the province of the well-to-do. Only the aristocracy could have afforded such abundance!

Yet here we are. I can only suppose that minimalism appeals to up-market shoppers precisely because more down-market shops, like H&M, have such exuberant wares on hand, in much the same way that utensil-free eating has become so popular in the nation's most exclusive restaurants. Not to say that makes much sense to me either.