A TED Talk presented by Richard St. John:
My mom emailed me a link to this video nine days ago, along with the cryptic proclamation: “I like the one about crap.”
CRITICISM. REJECTION. ASSHOLES. PRESSURE.
A brief summary of the young creative professional’s existence …
I often feel the fervent need – a compulsion, perhaps – to pour out several hundred words and then abandon them, convincing myself that stepping away from the draft for a few days will lead to greater clarity. Days turn to months, and I currently have 27 draft posts sitting in digital purgatory, gathering pixelated dust from as far back as July 2012.
In hopes of revitalizing my perspective on the brain fart known as Kunjulam, I’m giving some of those musings a second chance. Here’s a piece I began working on Sept. 17, 2012.
The word “inspire” is losing its meaning, and there are two major entities that we can credit this problem to:
1. The superstore home goods industry
Before there was “keep calm and carry on,” there was “live, laugh, love” and “dream, imagine, inspire, create” and its derivatives. Plastering any of these on your wall, writing them in the “about” section of your social profile, or, worst, getting them tattooed on your wrist is the equivalent of wearing a sign around your neck proclaiming that you lack the ability to form your own opinions about what is “cool.” I said it. Refined taste may be something you lack.
If you dream, truly dream, whittling away hours in a land of possibility and myriad outcomes; if you create, building something of your own, fostering a ripple effect of brainstorming amongst your inner circle – then perhaps you do inspire. And you don’t need trite, manufactured sayings to remind you of your ability to do so.
Rather, you find true models in those who became architects of their own dreams, regardless of how you encountered them. Those who did so with calloused hands, wrung-out paychecks and seemingly endless founts of motivation. We often refer to these perpetually bleary-eyed people as “hustlers” and, believe it or not, not all of them exist on the internet.
So if you want the dorm furniture set from Ethan Allen and the decor from Pottery Barn, original stickers and how dare I suggest you peruse the local consignment store for like-new items, gosh, other people use those things and who knows how dirty they are? Pin to your “cute quotes” and “I wish I was crafty” boards on Pinterest … It’s “I wish I were crafty,” idiot. Reading “Tuesdays With Morrie” and “Eat, Pray, Love” wondering why you can’t just pick up and travel to Greece or something, and wouldn’t it be great to just fall in love? Aren’t cake pops just the neatest little things? Zumba? Bows?
This is your fault. And, I might add, this blog is not for you.
2. Bloggers
Take a quick look at the about pages of individuals who maintain visual arts-oriented blogs with only images and no insight, interior designers who offer Pinterest Pick Sundays or something similar, and “personal style gurus” who need to tell the world about their recent outing to a trendy little coffee shop, where they decided to wear these “studded wedges TO DIE FOR, just because” – go on, I’ll wait. Nine out of 10 say something along the lines of, “I created [this blog] as a way to document the things I love and inspire others through my [keen eye for design/unique sense of style/love for all things chevron and monogrammed [shoot me!]/stuff that you like if you’re into J.Crew bubble necklaces and red velvet everything … ”
Describing oneself or ones brand as inspirational just doesn’t make sense most of the time, because so many curators (really, that’s what they are) are merely sharing, as opposed to offering reflection on the article’s value. Doing so encourages others to take action and develop their own association to the work. It enables discourse.
Show me history, tell me a story, make me uncomfortable. Act. Make me react.
We must, we must, we must assess and process. It’s as simple as replacing the auto-imported caption on something you’re about to pin with a hashtag or statement of your own. Admittedly, I don’t do this all the time. But the more I consume on the internet, read, retweet, share, bookmark and rip out to stuff in my datebook and tape to the wall when I get home, the more I realize that I must.
Let’s examine Merriam-Webster’s definition of the word inspire:
Lately, I’ve been pondering the notion of experts and authorities in the mediated world (mediated as in influenced by the media). Finding truly amazing sources of information is a daily effort: I’m on the NPR diet, several servings of news and culture a day keep the ignorance at bay. I slash tired blog URLs from my bookmarks list every couple weeks and add new resources as I find them. I scan the nearly 2,000 people and organizations I follow on Twitter every few hours. A good deal of the content overlaps, and I certainly have my favorite providers, but it is interesting to see how each one spins the same story.
Remember that scene in “The Devil Wears Prada” where Meryl Streep’s character rips Anne Hathaway’s a new one for making a flippant remark about two shades of blue looking basically the same? She drops some knowledge, telling her:
Andy Sachs: No. No, no. Nothing’s … You know, it’s just that both those belts look exactly the same to me. You know, I’m still learning about all this stuff and, uh …
Miranda Priestly: ‘This … stuff’? Oh. OK. I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select … I don’t know … that lumpy blue sweater, for instance because you’re trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don’t know is that that sweater is not just blue, it’s not turquoise. It’s not lapis. It’s actually cerulean. And you’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves Saint Laurent … wasn’t it who showed cerulean military jackets? I think we need a jacket here. And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of eight different designers. And then it, uh, filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you’re wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room from a pile of stuff.
It’s … that’s it. I want someone to slap me in the face with lessons like that every day. For young creative professionals, what we read, watch, see and discuss is as important as what we do. It’s imperative that we constantly explore information in live, print, digital and social sharing formats. And if you’re like me in that you’re still not entirely sure what you want to make a career of, you will serve yourself well to keep your list of sources wide open.
It is wonderful that online forums provide a totally democratic platform upon which everyone can disseminate their ideas and discuss those of others. But so many eager voices turn the whole conversation to white noise. To some degree, I think we need authority figures in the media. We need impassioned individuals to remind us of why we should care and to send us straight to the source. Why should I read five bloggers’ opinions when I could just play the damn album and decide if it reaches my own standard of classic? Conversely, why should I write about it after the fact? What can I say that hasn’t already been said?
The bottom line is, you can’t let someone else tell you what you should be inspired by. You can’t pick up a mass-produced poster, like you would pick up a carton of eggs, and say, “This really defines who I am.” You can’t follow someone else’s do-it-yourself instructions to a T and then pat yourself on the back for being creative.
Yes, you need fantastic examples to give you something to aspire to. But you must also have a vision of what you want for yourself.
(image via Society6)
Have I ever told you that I love Mariah Carey? I love Mariah Carey.
Don’t believe me? Look, I’m not even doing this on purpose:
If you take close look at the images in “We Remember … the Holocaust and Other Genocides” on my portfolio, you may notice my “Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel” Chrome theme. Yes, I acknowledge that was a poor choice. I’m not making light of it, I’m just saying it’s there and it’s inappropriate, and for that I’m sorry.
That makes me feel even worse to admit that I felt incredibly fortunate earlier this evening when the biggest decisions I had to make in the next 12 hours included gym v. mani/pedi v. movie v. drinks v. all of the above, and determining how much/little alcohol I could consume by myself without missing my flight to Chicago at 6:20 a.m.
As I write this, I’ve completed all of those tasks except for “movie.” The original plan was to go see “Spring Breakers” solo, which derailed post-gym-and-mani/pedi* into watching “The Hunger Games” on TV but then getting emotional when Rue died (sidenote: I’m losing my edge???) and instead deciding to oil my hair and pack for the weekend.
I drank a Brewery Ommegang Hennepin earlier. One bottle is 1 pt 9.4 fl. oz. and 7.7 percent boozy. The cork popped off like it was full of champagne. The flavor and texture, described on the bottle as “Hearty, rustic, golden ale. Hoppy and crisp,” basically felt like champagne. This was a surprisingly positive instance of choosing a new beer based on the design of the label. I often follow this approach with paperbacks at the public library, leaving the fate of my experience in the hands of a typographer/graphic designer, whose body of work I would be interested in seeing more of. Give them more visible credit, guys.
What is this post about again? Mariah Carey? So far all I’ve packed is a selection of makeup removing products, bracelets and various electronic chargers. Without further ado, song pick of the night:
Mariah Carey – “Stay the Night”
* Hello, wonderful gals at Bebe Nail & Spa in Bridgeville! Your attention to cuticle detail was phenomenal. I was so surprised that two nail techs were available to work on my manicure and pedicure at the same time. I arrived 45 minutes before the shop closed and didn’t have to wait at all. The owner even stayed a few extra minutes after she should have closed to make sure I got into my car safely. Trust I’ll be back!
The stories that my grandmother – who has lived in the U.S. for more than 20 years, but still bungles basic English – tells me never cease to be unexpected and absurd. This may become a recurring feature.
I’ve stopped at home for a few minutes to grab exactly three things: a fresh cup of coffee, my coin purse and a pair of sunglasses. I’m a traveling salesperson by day and these items are very necessary.
As I’m explaining this to Paati, the dog is fervently thumping her tail against the cabinets, puffing and sneezing with the anticipation of something edible getting spilled on the floor.
“Look, she wants coffee, too,” I report.
“Lassie used to drink half a cup of coffee every morning. She would not let ThaTha have until she have.” Paati isn’t looking at me, she’s watching oil bubble on the stovetop, but I know she’s smiling because talking about her dogs makes her proud, I think.
“You’re kidding!” I’m imagining her 50-some years younger, a well-mannered Doberman gazing up at her in place of our fuzzy golden retriever. How did you give it to her? Did you pour it in her bowl?”
“I had to!” Now we’re facing each other and Paati’s smile has grown into a grin. “She had to have it first or ThaTha couldn’t have it!”
I am incredulous.
“Most dogs don’t like taking shower,” she continues, “they don’t like to go in. ThaTha will say, ‘Lassie, get in shower,’ and she go.”
“Stop, no way she could do that.” Now we’re cracking up.
“She is so smart! When someone come visit, maybe they scared of her, don’t like her. He want her to go away. He say, ‘Lassie, go away from here,’ and she go lay down in his room!”
“No!” I haven’t stopped laughing. “You’re not serious!” Doubled over. “I have to go write this down!”
Guys, I really missed the boat on this one.
A “Harlem Shake” video popped up on my Facebook newsfeed a week or so ago. While I watched it and found it mildly entertaining, I didn’t realize that it had already grown warts and broken out into a crusty, full-on meme. So naturally, when I saw ”Harlem Reacts to ‘Harlem Shake’ Videos” I felt compelled share this piece of pop v. hip-hop culture:
So many great things are said!
“They look like they just smoked some dust.”
“This would just be another vehicle for America to take off on and make money on.”
“If you’re not from Harlem, don’t do anything that’s associated with it.”
“And don’t try to be someone you not, basically. Stick to your roots.”
“Shit is corny!”
I “know” (scare quotes because after watching this, I don’t think I really know) what the real Harlem Shake is supposed to look like because I knew these two girls in middle school who would always set it off in gym class. That, or the C-Walk. It was all cool as hell.
This “Harlem Shake” thing is the boiling-painfully-under-the-surface pimple on my chin that I will keep coating with thin layers of prescription strength dapsone gel until it goes away overnight. I just … really hate that this is a thing demanding my attention in the social mediasphere.
Have our attention spans completely dissolved? This is how to go viral on YouTube these days: quick cuts, EDM. That’s it. Seriously, that has to be it. It works for Dom Mazzetti. I enjoy Dom Mazzetti.
Watch this:
What did you think of it? I’m actually curious, because I couldn’t watch the whole video. That’s 4 minutes and 9 seconds that I could spend doing a number of other important things. What if this were happening in the morning? It’s good that it didn’t because I would be irate if I wasted even a minute watching this when I could have been packing a lunch more substantial than, say, a handful of pasta without sauce.
And then my next thought is, “ohhhh I bet my electro/house friends have already been listening to Baauer for months, so it’s not really that cool if I start listening to him now.” Meanwhile, I’m writing all of this down instead of watching “Soylent Green,” which I rented on Amazon around this time last night but proceeded to pass out and not watch.
No, I really need to watch this movie and not live blog my research into the Harlem Shake – I only have it for another 24 hours. Here are some links to articles about this phenomenon that I plan to read later:
“A Hip-Hop Moment, but Is It Authentic? Macklemore’s ‘Thrift Shop’ and Baauer’s ‘Harlem Shake’” – New York Times, Feb. 19, 2013
“Meet Baauer, the Man Behind the Harlem Shake” – The Daily Beast, Feb. 17, 2013
“Baauer’s ‘Harlem Shake’: Gentrification Goes Viral: Trap-rave track games system, exploits Internet goodwill, blows up, grates nerves, inspires Azealia Banks” – SPIN, Feb. 19, 2013:
Baauer’s “Harlem Shake,” that squeaky, wubby trap-dance instrumental that has, over the past few weeks, gone full-on viral thanks to endless videos of people dancing to the song, is a moderately interesting slab of post-drop dubstep or EDM. But the Harlem Shake is already a dance. A once-popular and very loaded dance, at that. A few decades old, it rose to the mainstream in 2001 thanks to Harlem rapper G. Dep (“Let’s Get It” and “Special Delivery”) and later on, in a slightly mutated form, as the Chicken Noodle Soup via DJ Webstar’s 2006 song of the same name. And the actual Harlem Shake — a joyful, free-for-all rhythmic vibration of one’s body — is quite different from the meme dancing found in these “Harlem Shake” videos, which is just kind of people wilding out in front of a camera. …
… In short, every time someone throws up a video featuring Baauer’s “Harlem Shake,” the owners of the song, Mad Decent, can remove that video, or if they want, monetize it. So, they have a monetary stake in these videos they are encouraging people to produce. Not that it matters too much, because only the illusion of an “organic” campaign matters here (and it’s all about gaming the system, anyway), but this is a very 2013 cash-out version of going viral. …
… The gentrification of the song is important, even if it just seems like more “SMH white people” craziness. … the web success of Baauer’s “Harlem Shake” does illustrate how having the right resources can Google-bomb something else out of existence. Try searching “Harlem Shake,” even with a telling, early 2000s-related second term and the result will be overwhelmingly skewed towards Baauer. Even “original Harlem Shake” yields videos from the early days of this campaign.
Duuuuude. The internet is about to break itself. Count it. We’re going to discuss this later.