Creatures of Commerce
Creatures of Commerce is a direct response to the discordant nature of 2018. It’s a series of chimeras mashing up creatures, culture, and capitalism. And while I’ve never before been one to indulge my surrealist impulses (it somehow feels like a slippery slope to nihilism), reality is doing a good job of inspiring them these days anyway. Read more
A conversation with a friend in town from California revealed that she had spent a nippy morning in Central Park, searching in vain for a fleeting glimpse of the elusive Mandarin duck. Hailed as the “hot duck”, the Mandarin duck has become an overnight sensation, internet celebrity, and the subject of many memes. In a city in which 9/11 memorabilia is hawked at Ground Zero without so much as raising an eyebrow, it seems only fitting that this phenom be commemorated as weather appropriate, waterproof footwear.
At the risk of sounding like an aging technophobe, I find myself equal parts perplexed by and concerned about our need for external validation as perpetuated by social media. We’re not unlike houseplants: we need people to talk to us (comment), give us love (likes), and keep us company (followers). And like the plant that continually sheds and sprouts its leaves, all hope is not lost—there’s always the next post.
Cultural economies built around commercial goods—from Tulip mania during the Dutch Golden Age to the fetishism around contemporary products today — have long held a fascination for me, particularly those in which the fantacism far exceeds its intrinsic value.
Lobster, once considered the poor man’s protein, was abundantly fished and canned by European settlers reaching North American shores. But by WWII, fresh lobster had claimed its place among revered gastronomic delicacies. Rising ocean temperatures due to climate change have led to a recent lobster glut in the Northeast, lowering earnings for fishermen, but consumer prices remain high, much owing to our costly—and ironic—preference for purchasing them live.
Similarly, the simple, white tennis shoe abounds on the runway and the street alike, with none more iconic than Common Project’s Achilles, a $400 low-profile, leather shoe bearing a gilded serial code recognized by those in the know.