Category — Popular Culture

Among other things, the late Vidal Sassoon “transformed hairdressing into fashion street theater,” reports Stephen Miller in the Wall Street Journal (5/10/12). His “bustling storefronts” featured “big windows” that let passersby witness the fashion revolution happening inside. Until Vidal came along, “women’s hair styles involved perms and sets, processing with bleach, curlers, bulbous dryers and hair spray.” Vidal instead envisioned “short, geometric cuts — quickly realized and set with hand-held dryers.” It was a vision he credited to Bauhaus architecture, according to Bruce Weber in a New York Times obituary (5/10/12).

“When I looked at the architecture, the structure of buildings that were going up worldwide, you saw a whole different look, and shape,” he once said. “My sense was that hairdressing definitely needed to be changing … To me, hair meant geometry, angles. Cutting uneven shapes, as long as it suited that face and that bone structure.” His “breakthrough came in 1963 when he cut the long hair of Hong Kong-born actress Nancy Kwan into a bob with sharp face-framing points.” Later, he created “a sensation” when Roman Polanski paid him $5,000 to cut Mia Farrow‘s hair incredibly short, as featured in Rosemary’s Baby. In the film she exclaims, “It’s Vidal Sassoon! It’s very in!”

Vidal went on to create a line of hair-care products that reached $100 million in sales annually, and his ad campaign made famous his tagline, “If you don’t look good, we don’t look good.” He later sold the company to Richardson Vicks and it is now owned by Procter & Gamble. “This was somebody who changed our industry entirely, not just from the point of view of cutting hair but actually turning it into a business,” says John Barrett, who keeps his own salon at Bergdorf Goodman. “He was one of the first who had a product line bought out by a major corporation.” Vidal Sassoon died earlier this week at age 84, in Los Angeles.

The idea for “The Price is Right” came to the late Bob Stewart “while standing in front of a store window in Manhattan in 1955,” reports Dennis Hevesi in the New York Times (5/7/12). His fellow window shoppers were guessing at how much the furniture in the window cost and the idea just “popped into his head.” At least that’s one version of the story. According to Stephen Miller in The Wall Street Journal (5/8/12), Bob “got the idea for ‘The Price is Right’ while watching a storekeeper in New York, who attracted a crowd by selling souvenirs through an auction instead of using set prices.”

Either way, the show became a hit when it aired in 1956 and “is still on the air for an hour each weekday on CBS,” notes Dennis. Contestants try to “guess the price of an item — a boat, a refrigerator, the cost of house cleaning for a year. The contestant who comes closest without exceeding the actual price won.” Bob got the idea for another hit game show, “To Tell The Truth,” after walking into a crowded elevator and wondering about the occupations of his fellow travelers. The resulting game involved “three people, all claiming to be the same person, trying to befuddle a panel of four celebrities.”

Bob’s other big hits included “Password” and “The $10,000 Pyramid,” originally starring Dick Clark. Bob explained that all his shows were essentially about communication. “Once you cause somebody at home to talk to the set aloud, even by himself or herself, then you’ve got a good game show, he once said. “You want them to say, ‘It’s number 2! It’s number 2! It’s number 2!’ before the moment of truth comes out.” Or, as he confided to the Washington Post in 1978: “By the time they find out that what they are watching is crap, they’ve already watched it.” Bob Stewart was 91 when he died last week in Los Angeles.

“Since the rise of middle-class prosperity after World War II, cars have been an extraordinary window into the country’s culture and mood,” writes Paul Ingrassia in a Wall Street Journal excerpt from his book, Engines of Change (4/20/12). That window opened in a big way, of course, with the 1950s appearance of tail fins, which were both inspired by fighter planes as well as “powerful totems of America’s peacetime bounty.” The fin-wars escalated between General Motors and Chrysler, peaking with the 1959 Cadillacs, which “had the tallest tail-fins ever appended to a vehicle that didn’t fly.”

Fins became progressively smaller after that, “and disappeared entirely by 1965. By then, extravagance in car design had spawned a backlash. Volkswagen was selling some 150,000 Beetles a year in the US by the mid-1960s,” and became an icon of “the 1960s counterculture.” Another icon of a different sort — the Ford Mustang — “debuted in April 1964, just as America’s first Baby Boomers were coming of age. The car caused a sensation, even though it was built on the chassis of the dull and dowdy Ford Falcon.” Seymour Marshak, Ford’s marketing chief at the time, compared the Mustang’s lines to those of a woman.

The 1970s saw the introduction of the AMC Gremlin, which was “designed on the back of a Northwest Airlines airsickness bag and launched on April Fools’ Day, 1970″ … and was perhaps was a metaphor for the ensuing decade. The 1980s gave rise to yet another Baby Boomer icon, “the revolutionary Chrysler minivan,” which “quickly became the preferred vehicles of ‘soccer moms,’ who were becoming a formidable force in America’s political landscape.” The minivan led to SUVs as well as renewed interest in pickup trucks,which are political icons in their own right, most recently in Scott Brown’s 2010 campaign to fill the late Ted Kennedy’s Senate seat (link).

A new documentary looks at a decades-old debate over the true meaning of Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 film, The Shining, reports Robert Ito in the New York Times (1/29/12). Room 237, by director Rodney Ascher, interviews “professors and historians, fanboys and artists, many of whom have posted their theories online.” Two of the most popular theories are that the film is about the holocaust and that it is about genocide of the American Indian. A third theory has it that the film is a confession about Kubrick’s alleged role in faking the moon landing.

One theorist, who subscribes to the holocaust interpretation, notes the film’s “many references … to 1942,” the year the holocaust began. It appears as the number on a shirt and is the number of times Shelley Duval swings a bat at Jack Nicholson. At another point, “Summer of ’42” plays on the television. An American Indian genocide theorist meanwhile points to the Indian chief logo on cans of baking powder, as well as a scene where Nicholson “hurls a tennis ball repeatedly against an Indian wall hanging.”

The moon-landing-hoax angle meanwhile is premised on the idea that Kubrick helped NASA fake it, and the Shining is his confession. Evidence includes the "hexagonal design" on a hotel carpet, said to be patterned after an "aerial view of the Apollo launching pad." Rodney Ascher thinks the Shining continues to fascinate because "it is a compelling work of art that acts as a kind of mirror, especially for thoughtful people, who see aspects of themselves that are among the most precious things they have experienced." The two-hour film’s name, by the way — Room 237 — "is a reference to a haunted room" in the hotel in which The Shining is set.

Susan Orlean spent "nearly a decade of her life" writing a book about Rin Tin Tin, reports the Economist (2/4/12). Susan decided to write the book, RinTin Tin: The Life and the Legend, after coming across a reference to the famous German Shepherd and being "startled by the strength of her reaction." She was instantly transported to her 1950s childhood and television memories of "The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin." Her father had recently died and her son had just been born and "she found herself stirred by the emotional permanence of Rin Tin Tin."

As a breed, German Shepherds "grew popular in the 1920s as soldiers returned from the front with stories of their loyalty and heroism in battle. Lee Duncan, a young American soldier stationed in France, could not believe his luck when he stumbled on a whimpering litter in an abandoned enemy kennel. An animal lover with a lonely soul, he saved the puppies and kept the two finest for himself, Rin Tin Tin and Nannette (named after two wartime good-luck charms)."

Driven more by a sense of the dog’s greatness than any material objective, Lee turned Rin Tin Tin into a silent-film star. Dogs and silent films were a good match — "unknowable but accessible, driven but egoless." Dogs were also becoming popular as pets at the time, evolving "from farm hands to hearth-warmers." When Rin Tin Tin died in 1932, "every national newspaper ran an obituary" and one radio announcer praised him as "a gentleman, a scholar, a hero, a cinema star … virtually everything we could wish to be."

Writer-director and comic-book geek Kevin Smith has bought himself a comic-book shop and is making a television show out of it, reports Dave Itzkoff in the New York Times (2/5/12). Kevin’s “filmmaking career took off with the 1994 release of Clerks,” which, like a later film, Mallrats, “mocked the anonymous and dehumanizing aspects of service-industry professionals.” Kevin says that Clerks cost just $27,575 to make, so when he was able to snag Comicology, a comic-book shop in Red Bank, NJ, for $30,000, he jumped on it.

Kevin figured that was only about $2,500 more than he had spent on Clerks and he could have his best comic-book-geek friend, Walt Flanagan run it. Ever since Clerks, “he began thinking of ways to pay back the friends who inspired his movies.” He re-named the store Jay and Silent Bob’s Secret Stash (after characters in his films), and turned it into a combination “mini-museum” of his film career, a hangout for regulars, “a place for staff members to record podcasts; and a site for poker games … it is also, occasionally, a place where business is transacted.”

Most recently, it has become the “subject of an AMC reality series, Comic Book Men, which, “at heart is a celebration of the deeply particular personalities involved when geeky merchandise changes hands.” As Kevin explains: “Both the purchaser and the seller are very interested in the item. If you go to a grocery store, whoever checks you out ain’t necessarily interested in the Cocoa Puffs.” Or as Walt Flanagan observes, “I don’t know if there’s many memories to be had of typing into a search engine, looking for this special book, as opposed to finding it in some hole-in-the-wall store you never were before.”

The iconic Chinese take-out container was designed by an American inventor in 1894, report Hilary Greenbaum and Dana Rubinstein in the New York Times (1/15/12). The inventor was Frederick Weeks Wilcox, who patented what he called a "paper pail," commonly referred to as the "oyster pail." His design consisted of "a single piece of paper, creased into segments and folded into a (more or less) leakproof container secured with a dainty wire on top."

It really was quite ingenious: "The supportive folds on the outside, fastened with that same wire, created a flat interior surface over which food could slide smoothly onto a plate." It became known as the "oyster pail" because it was based, apparently on an existing design for "a wooden receptacle with a locked cover used in transporting raw oysters." The rendering of a red pagoda "and a stylized ‘Thank you’ on top" wasn’t added until the 1970s.

That design touch was added by a graphic designer whose identity is unknown, but who was employed by a "company now known as Fold-Pak." The irony, of course, is this: "The structure has come to represent the idea of Eastern cuisine in Western society even though the packaging is not used for food containment in Chinese cutlure," notes Scott Chapps, a package designer. The design has changed little over the years, although it is now offered in microwave-safe and environmentally friendly models.

The designer of the most iconic coffee cup of all time had "no formal training in art," reports Margalit Fox in a New York Times remembrance of the late Leslie Buck (4/29/10). Born Laszlo Buch, Leslie was a survivor of Auschwitz and Buchenwald who came to America, changed his name, and designed "the Anthora, the cardboard cup of Grecian design that has held New Yorkers’ coffee securely for nearly half a century."

As every New Yorker knows, the Anthora is blue "with a white meander ringing the top and bottom." On each side is "a drawing of a Greek vase known as an amphora." Leslie’s accent was responsible for altering that to "anthora." The design is also emblazoned "with three steaming golden coffee cups" and, of course, the famous motto: "We Are Happy To Serve You." Leslie never earned royalties for his design, but did well on sales commissions on it.

He came up with the idea while working for the Sherri Cup Company, as part of its plan "to crack New York’s hot-cup market." Leslie figured that since many of the city’s diners were owned by Greeks, they should try "a Classical cup in the colors of the Greek Flag." At its peak in 1994, Sherri "sold 500 million of the cups" but by 2005 the company had been sold to Solo and was down to 200 million." Today, "Solo no longer carries the Anthora as a stock item, making it only on request."

The existence of the Higgs boson could have cultural, if not practical, applications, suggests Matt Ridley in the Wall Street Journal (12/19/11). But before either can happen, we need to have at least some understanding of what Higgs boson is. Unlike other scientific discoveries, Higgs boson doesn’t lend itself to shorthand understanding the way black holes, genes, or vaccination do. Nor does it readily translate into metaphor, in the manner of light year, Darwinian or DNA. That’s probably because Higgs boson has to do with "the mysterious manifestation of the field that causes matter to have mass." Indeed.

In hopes of connecting this abstract concept to the real world, William Waldegrave, a British science minister, in 1993 challenged an assembly of scientists to explain on a single page what Higgs boson is and why we should care. Hundreds attempted, and five (link) were picked as winners, among them David Miller, who used Margaret Thatcher entering a room of supporters as a metaphor. The supporters are uniformly distributed until Lady Thatcher enters, at which point they "cluster around her," stopping her progress.

"Once moving, she is harder to stop, and once stopped, she is harder to get moving again," David wrote. He also compared the situation to "a rumor spreading through the party, causing a wave of local clustering." Matt says the only point here may be knowledge itself, but also notes that satellite navigation wouldn’t work without the theory of general relativity, which otherwise might seem esoteric. From a cultural standpoint, he suggests that "the way a bureaucracy impedes, delays and weighs down a simple course of action could henceforth be described as Higgsian," and those who impede progress be rebuked, as in "Don’t be such a Higgs boson!" Could be just what we need in 2012 …

Small-run, handmade magazines — zines — are making a comeback as an antidote to internet overload, reports Jenna Wortham in the New York Times (10/23/11). "People are drawn to the experiences of creating and collecting these physical objects," says Karen Gisonny, a librarian who has been "collecting and cataloging periodicals for the last 25 years." She says the last ten years has seen "a flowering of print." Some zine publishers say it’s simply about the satisfaction of creating a tangible product.

"In 2011, it feels like a rare pleasure to hold up a bunch of pieces of paper that are bound together and read them, instead of reading off a screen," says a blogger known only as David, who says he’s printing 500 copies of his creation, The World’s First Perfect Zine. It will feature "a collection of art and prose by people who make a living as musicians or writers." Barbara Frankie Ryan, 19, says she’s been creating zines since she was 15, and recently "curated an exhibition of zines" at Tatty Devine, a London boutique.

For her, creating zines not only provides an outlet for "her drawings and innermost musings on popular culture and romantic crushes," but affords a certain privacy that online publishing can’t match. She compares making a zine to making a scarf for a friend. "I like the idea that I’ve only made 40 copies, and only 40 people will see it," she says. "It’s really easy to reveal a lot about yourself, and so this is a way of getting control back, and I find that quite comforting." Zines actually date back to the 1930s. They originally were known as fanzines and focused on science fiction.