Tungate Ink

Stranger in a familiar land

A new advertising campaign for Great Britain has popped up in the streets and métro stations of Paris. It must be effective, because it actually makes me feel homesick. Or maybe I’ve just been away too long: 12 years this summer.

I remember having a conversation with a taxi driver shortly after I arrived here. We were motoring along the quais, one of the most beautiful drives in the world. The Eiffel Tower was shimmering, the Conciergerie looked mysterious under a sickle moon, a boat strung with lights wafted down the Seine. I must have made some comment about how lovely it all was. The driver said to me: “You may not believe it, but one day, all of this, you’ll be used to it. You’ll take it for granted.”

He was wrong. I don’t Paris for granted; I find it as wonderful as I did when I first arrived. But I am used to it – I’m not a tourist any more. I’m alert to the city’s darker sides, the reality behind the façade. That hasn’t stopped me appreciating the city. But the advertising campaign for the UK (no doubt created in the run-up to the Olympics) has made me realise something. When I left it, England represented the familiar and the boring, full of constraints and conventions. Now, home is elsewhere. And suddenly, visiting the UK looks very attractive. I can approach it like a tourist. I no longer take my own birthplace for granted.

A version of this article originally appeared in Stratégies magazine. 

Behind the Apple

When I was asked to write something about Steve Jobs, I was at a loss. What could I say that had not already been said? In the end, I opted for a solution that Jobs himself might have appreciated – I went online. In fact, I asked my Facebook friends for suggestions.

Some of the ideas seemed too familiar: technology as a fashion statement; the future of Apple without Jobs, etc. One quotation was particularly apt: “Bill Gates made us more productive, Steve Jobs made us more playful.” (Thank you, Mairi.) But another comment was more cryptic. My friend Melanie wrote: “Behind every great man…”

What did she mean? The conventional phrase, of course, is “Behind every great man is a great woman”. Mrs Steve Jobs is Laurene Powell, a former investment banker now involved in several non-profit projects, including College Track, which helps kids from low-income homes get a decent education. Powell was no doubt a source of inspiration to her husband.

But perhaps that’s not what Melanie meant. Back in 1996, when Steve Jobs returned to Apple, its reputation was in tatters and it had no new products on the table. Jobs knew that Apple’s role would be to deliver beautiful creative tools using technology. But it took Lee Clow of TBWA to sum up this vision in two words: Think Different. The rest is history. Behind every marketing genius is an advertising agency.

A version of this article originally appeared in Stratégies magazine.

 

Culture vultures

I greeted the launch of David Lynch’s new Club Silencio in rue Montmartre with some suspicion. Not only because I’m one of the few people who think Lynch is overrated (seriously, have you tried sitting through Dune?) but also because the club is likely to attract hipsters.

Hipsters have become one of the blights of 21^st century urban living. You all know their sartorial codes by now: the boys have tattoos and beards; often teamed with spectacles. The girls shun the beards but keep the tattoos and spectacles. In Paris, both sexes tend to smoke a lot. The carrying of scooter helmets is another localised phenomenon. And wherever they are, they wear fake vintage clothing and skinny jeans.

Perhaps the most irritating thing about hipsters is that they claim to be creative and original, when in fact they display a singular lack of imagination. Their narrow list of references typically includes Andy Warhol, Basquiat, Charles Bukowski, Jack Kerouac, Brett Easton Ellis (hipsters like pithy writers because they secretly don’t enjoy reading), The Velvet Underground and obscure indie rock. You can often find them at the Palais de Tokyo, ignoring the art during vernissages. They adoooore New York, particularly Williamsburg. They pretend to be cool and democratic, when in fact they are insecure and snobbish (by the way, you must pay €780 a year to become a member of Silencio). You’ll find a satirical look at them on the blog The Unknown Hipster.

Maybe it's an age thing, but hipsters make me feel grouchy and intolerant. Or is it because I see too much of myself in them? Am I painfully aware that a little nudge would take me over to the Dark Side?

One thing I'm certain of, however: culture is not a shopping list.