The Quest for Authenticity in the Age of Plastic
As I looked into her eyes it became clear that something was missing from her life, there, somewhere inside her body, was an empty space that had been mined of all its authenticity. Years of advertising and mass produced plastic trinkets had taken its toll; she no longer understood what it meant to be genuine. Wal-Mart, McDonalds, Suburbia, and Reality Television have a way of emptying heads and refilling them with plastic, taking away our human zest for individualism, adventure and significance.
Did you see that Britney Spears shaved her head? The Osborne’s swear a lot. Did you see who got kicked off American Idol last night? Paris Hilton is in jail again. The Hummer H2 is a huge SUV. Scary Movie 3 is so funny. Do you like my new shoes? This band’s tour has been sponsored by Honda. Wal-Mart sells DVD players for under $20 dollars. I’m going to a 5-star resort in Cancun for week. Sorry, I drink Coke not Pepsi.
What has happened here? Have we so easily succumb to the trivial whispers of the plastic life? There is more than this; there is authenticity and real feelings and events. Authenticity is not something that can be entirely bought from superficial profit seekers. It must arise from within, from a community with real people and places to go. Yet, amongst the ruins of authentic living there is a rising resistance. Some of those among us are starting to understand what they are missing.
One of the clearest examples of this can be found on those who wear vintage clothing. It is a reaction, ever so slight. It is something that cannot be fabricated overseas in China. Even Starbucks, so highly contentious, has built its image based on the authentic cafes of Milan. People want to be creative; they want freedom from the cookie cutter suburbs and the grinding sameness of corporate franchises.
I found this interesting quote yesterday, I think it may be one of my favorites:
-Walt Whitman-
I think I could turn and live with animals, they’re so placid and self contain’d, I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the earth.
End Times
I cannot help but feel some global tragedy is looming over us. This is a popular belief these days; it seems that people have come to accept that something will happen sooner or later. There is a certain excitement about it, for we all know that heroes are born during tragedy, will I be a hero, or will I be a face in the mud?
-At the movies, Sartre-
“She took my hand and held it in hers without a word. I was flooded by bitter joy and I understand, without having to look at my watch that it was eleven o’clock. From that time on we began to feel the minutes passing. That time we were leaving each other for 3 months. At one moment they threw a completely blank image on the screen, the darkness lifted, and I saw that Anne was crying. Then, at midnight, she let go of my hand, after pressing it violently; I got up and left without a word. That was a good job.”
I remember words that my mother gave me when I was young. I had broken both my wrists and was in the hospital enduring grueling pain. She sat down beside me and calmly told me to always remember that, “This too, shall pass.” At the time I took comfort in those words, those which I have come to fear more than any other. Grab the hands of the ones you love, because we must never forget that this too shall pass.
The moment has answered to me, and it has passed. It is time to finish my coffee and go to work. I’ll put a smile on and empty my mind; where I work, there are no thoughts allowed.
Cheap Trinkets
Everywhere the streets are bustling as people try to have adventures. My adventure today is a small one, I’m sitting in my normal spot, methodically sipping my coffee as the crowd walks by. It seems that each person has a destination, as I will in around 20 minutes when I leave for work.
The mix is strange; the crowd consists of tourists, performers putting up their promotional fliers, and disgruntled locals who are sick of all the foolish and shallow sightseers. Tourists do not seek real adventure, instead they seek reputation. They want so badly for everyone to know where they have been. They want proof in the form of souvenirs. Intelligent locals exploit this fact by selling tourists ‘local’ items that have been imported from China. These are usually nothing but cheap trinkets.
I am guilty too, except I don’t want cheap trinkets, even if I could afford them. Instead, I take pictures of things, hopefully things that are interesting in some way. I imagine that any important area of Edinburgh has already been photographed a million times by people with better eyes and cameras than me.
It’s time to have a destination. I’ve had my release and have mentally prepared for the grueling onslaught that will numb my mind for 11 hours. It will be nice when I can stop working to live.
