Last night I had a dream. It wasn't the one I usually have, where I invent a gingivitis-combative candy bar with a toothpaste center, surrounded by rich, creamy nougat. Last night's dream offered me a glimpse of a very special place. A place with serene air, laced with scents of peace and harmony. My ears were caressed with music; sonorous melodies that could have emanated from a chorus of angels. The smiling faces around me teemed with a contagious enthusiasm that bathed my soul in divinity.

Was this vision actually a message, meant to warn me of the human race's grim fate, and urging me to form such a blissful retreat from today's cutthroat rat race called society? This, I cannot answer, but I can tell you one thing. As I stood in this dreamt utopia, my eyes were drawn towards a brightly lit sign. On it were three letters, and I spoke them carefully as they smoothly formed on my lips like a well cherished poem, "G-A-P."

Yes, a Gap store is a veritable haven for all wary souls alike. Nothing can allay the gnawing pains associated with fast-paced daily living as does the experience of circumscribing yourself with baby-blue walls of neatly folded denim. It is easy to become engrossed while staring at exquisite piles of jeans, always folded so perfectly, yet not too perfectly so as to seem mechanical and impersonal. When your curious fingers touch a pair, and you create a discontinuity in a streamlined row of denim, how quickly an attentive salesperson mends the tainted pile!

This painstaking attention to customer satisfaction is lived and breathed by all Gap employees. As you enter the store, you are promptly greeted with an ebullient acknowledgment such as, "Hi! Welcome to the Gap! That great shirt you're wearing would look extra-super with one of our new cable-knit sweaters!" Anywhere else on the planet, I would be compelled to reply with, "The cable-knit sweaters would look extra-super stuffed down your big mouth!" But in a Gap store, the powerful social forces that urge me to be cynical and sarcastic are absent. Instead, I willingly allow the salesperson to take me on a fashion journey; "Yes, show me the khakis! I want to touch the soft fleece! Take me to another dimension where the sky is sandblasted for my comfort and braided leather belts grow on trees!"

It's almost difficult to dislike the Gap entity, with its long tentacles emanating from its corporate center of being, expertly woven into our pop culture and beyond. Everything Gap puts forth is so deftly planned for us to see that it appears to have not been planned at all. It reeks of a purposeful simplicity that is oddly attractive.

On television, the Gap commercials, shot in oh so powerful black and white, contain people who seem normal and real -- almost. Meet the tall motorcycle man who sensitively protects his baby from the rain under the folds of his black leather jacket. Meet the pensive woman who regularly sits in her dress at the open air cafe, laughing with her unusually good-looking, well-dressed group of friends. How charming.

Gap ads in magazines and bus shelters similarly flaunt the Gap attitude. In a pocket-t, ultra-hip celebs flash a holier-than-thou pose. It's always someone with that certain je ne sais quoi, rather than a person you would ever know. Someone like Miles Davis or Winona Ryder tout the Gap ethic of individuality, rather than Don Knotts, or better yet, the obese next-door neighbor who never changes out of her coffee-stained nightgown.

And they say, "For every generation, there's a Gap." Sure, there's BabyGap and GapKids, but what about the other end of the spectrum? Shouldn't there be a SeniorGap or a GapGoldenYears? The nursing homes are loaded with potential customers -- who's going to cater to their need for a Gap?

Now, it's time for me to come clean. I am a Gap junkie. I have been a Gap sales associate for a few years, and yes, I have even subscribed to the parasitic sales approach. Now my selling methods are more laissez faire, but I am still a Gap devotee. Strangely enough, one of my most memorable events of last summer was when I met Mickey Drexler, Gap CEO. I fear my condition is incurable.

How is my lifestyle defensable? I take solace in the fact that I am aware of the Gap's brainwashing tactics. To understand the process, one must realize it is not just a product being peddled by Gap, but also a name and an image. I have not passively fallen prey to the system, I have voluntarily fallen prey. I embrace Gapness, and forgive it for its pretentions, because I see past them to the Gap essence -- quality clothing.

So the rosy atmosphere surrounding Gap stores is a bit contrived. So what? It's just a clothing store. Take Banana Republic for example, the safari clothing company owned by Gap Inc. There's a slim chance that I'll be elephant hunting in American suburbia anytime soon, but it's fun to dress the part.