Writing

The unsettling chic is our modern aesthetic of ugliness


This essay won an Honorable Mention at the Writer’s Digest 94th Annual Writing Competition in the category “Nonfiction Essay or Article.”


I recently made a Pinterest account and the first board I created—a bit pretentiously titled Ésthetique Bizarre—ended up consisting of designs, scenes, and characters that are anything but conventionally beautiful. They are unusual. Some are weird. Some even disturbing. And yet, I still found them all very captivating. 

Why was I spending time meticulously curating these images that are not pretty? It made me pause. I then looked through my Instagram and realized this inspiration didn’t come out of nowhere. It was everywhere.

One of the accounts I follow is Fecal Matter, the moniker of Steven Raj Bhaskaran and Hannah Rose Dalton, whose designs, clothes, and makeup would probably be considered frightening by most people (their website shop, even if the idea scares you, is absolutely worth checking out).

Another one I follow is Salvia, a young Welsh artist who uses similar “extreme” techniques of creating otherworldly looks but also specializes in producing content that might look to some as body horror.

And then there is someone like Jaco Putker, who is far less extreme in his presentation but who produces equally bizarre content, often toying with images of centaurs, swines, and gloomy stills of the working class.

What was striking to me was that these niche multimedia artists were not the only ones who had been going against the longstanding standards of beauty. I thought about all the other people I follow who have influenced music, film, and fashion in recent years, and observed very quickly that this trend had permeated the mainstream quite some time ago. Even if we were not paying attention, we definitely witnessed many examples of this.

Lady Gaga showing up at YouTube Music Awards in 2013, wearing an Yves Saint Laurent black leather shirt and horrifying grills. Azealia Banks’ bizarre mouth-and-teeth eyes for the glossy cover of her single Yung Rapunxel that same year. Rosalía’s diabolic limbs as part of art direction for her 2022 album Motomami. The South London-native Klein crouching in darkness with white hair and bloodshot eyes for the eerie but stunning cover of her 2019 album Lifetime.

Quaint scenes of animal and human mutilation in the 2019 movie Midsommar. The beautiful women of the 2019 movie Atlantics possessed by spirits of the Senegalese men lost at sea. The already-formidable Till Lindemann glazed in honey for Zoo Magazine in 2015. The zombie-like Rick Genest modeling for Thierry Mugler. Grotesquely distorted, pastel-colored figures by the Japanese-Canadian artist Jesse Kanda on the promo poster for his 2017 exhibition in Tokyo.

There’s no other way to put it—all these images, videos, and scenes are unsettling. At the same time, I don’t think they can be called ugly. Somewhat sinister for sure, but glamorous in their own way as well. They are chic. Unsettling chic.

The obvious question to all this is: why is it happening? de Pressigny, writer for i-D, analyzed aspects of this phenomenon back in 2018 and interviewed Dr. Ruth Adams, a Senior Lecturer in Cultural and Creative Industries at King’s College London, who described the rise of this aesthetic as “[…] clearly a backlash against normative beauty standards, although the amount of labour involved is obviously no less.”

This labor-intensive movement is definitely not unprecedented. In the same article, de Pressigny points out that punks, goths, and emo kids have all rebelled against normative beauty standards as part of their own subcultural geneses, embracing ugly and weird as something to be proud of.

It’s an astute observation, and I would even add that the desire to distort the definitions of beauty and ugliness has been part of our culture for many centuries and decades, going from New York’s nightclubs with the outrageously glamorous Club Kids and the androgynous, extraterrestrial Grace Jones in the 1980s all the way back to 1850s, when the German philosopher Karl Rosenkranz published his seminal book on this topic, Aesthetic of Ugliness.

What I do think is unprecedented is how mainstream this desire has become. When I look back at my formative teenage years, mid to late aughts, celebrities strived for fit, sexy, clean, and pretty. Now we get to see a global pop-star like Billie Eilish go against all these currents and an influential magazine like Vogue feature extreme-beauty artists like Fecal Matter and Salvia. On the surface, this all can be interpreted as the mainstream finally revolting against beauty standards. But I think there is something more profound to it.

As Rosenkranz implies in Aesthetic of Ugliness, associating ugliness with negativity and evil is the society’s default approach. Yet, it is unwarranted. Ugliness stands on its own, it has its own positivity, and I would venture to say—it has its own appeal. And, what I think is happening is that the mainstream is finally finding its own ugliness attractive. That, I believe, is a result of two major changes over the last decade: the rise of “hyper” connection due to social media and the rise of public conversations about mental health.

What I mean by “hyper” connection is that we have accelerated how we connect and learn about each other. With platforms like Instagram and TikTok, it now just takes seconds to see what strangers are doing, what strangers are thinking, and how strangers are feeling. The widely held narrative so far has been that this microscopic surveillance of other people’s lives is toxic and dangerous.

I don’t disagree, but this wormhole created by social media has also allowed us to learn early on that there are other people like us out there. Other people who have the same insecurities. Other people who like the same weird things. Other people who are equally unadjusted. When we learn of others who share that same ugliness, we learn to accept it and we learn to love it.

Another global common denominator in the last decade has been the increasingly more transparent discussion of mental health. Just ten to fifteen years ago, issues like depression and anxiety were not something one could easily bring up in a casual conversation. To some extent, that was because they were dismissed as something frivolous but mostly because they were taboo, associated with the crazy and the unstable.

Today, we talk about them with incisive nuance, from “Big T” trauma and dissociation to major depressive disorder and substance-induced anxiety disorder. We are all starting to see that—what has now already become a catchphrase—it’s okay to not be okay. We all carry pain, we all have something dark and scary within us, and we are all employing strange, probably unhealthy coping mechanisms to survive. The ugliness that got you labeled as crazy and unstable back in the day is now so ordinary that people might think there is something wrong if you don’t have any issues.

Most interestingly, as a result of these major shifts in our cultural landscape, not only are we collectively starting to find our ugliness attractive, but what I see is that we are also creating space to elevate that ugliness. To make it glamorous. To bring in a new aesthetic to the front: the unsettling chic.

As with all cultural movements in the cyclical nature of our history, unsettling chic might fade away eventually. Maybe we transition at some point to a modern-age renaissance, glorifying bionic perfection and settling for nothing less. Maybe we evolve to a highly technologically advanced species and the concept of beauty is no longer in the eye of the beholder; instead, it is a clearly formulated and reproducible artifact of a new science: beauty engineering.

But, at least for now, in this very human world that’s rife with imperfection and unpredictability, one thing is certain—we are all ugly in our own way. And how beautiful is that?

Cover photo of Rick Genest, courtesy of Joey L. Follow him on Instagram as well.

The age of Motomami: How Rosalía challenged my taste

Anyone who follows the mainstream pop culture will agree Rosalía stole the spotlight in 2022. Fans were the first to have their moment. Her spectacular, genre-bending album Motomami dropped in March after much anticipation, climbed on almost every critic’s list of the year’s best albums, and justifiably hit many of the global top music charts.

Haters got their moment as well. Her debut performance on SNL—unconventional for the show but absolutely magnificent—earlier this year was followed by internet hate comments, which I thought were blatantly mean and narrow-minded. One Twitter user described her Marc Jacobs outfit as “[…] brought to you by Bed Bath & Beyond.” I mean, seriously?

Even the Millennials and the Gen Z, and likely even the Gen X, who had no idea who Rosalía was must have seen, at some point this year, a TikTok or Instagram reel featuring her song “Bizcochito”. Once the song became a thing, in a classic meta moment of social media, it became a way for others who didn’t understand why it was a thing to make fun of themselves for not being able to understand why it was a thing.

I absolutely loved everything about her presence this year. Even eight months after it dropped, Motomami is still on repeat in my Spotify feed. I really enjoyed watching the evolution of her unconventional aesthetic on Instagram. And I continue to be amazed by how talented and hard-working yet completely genuine she is. Just watching her interviews is enough to see this.

I guess, on some level, I loved that she stole the spotlight this year because I felt that I understood it. I loved the music. I felt connected to the current culture. I got it. It was therefore only natural when she announced San Francisco as one of her stops on the new global tour that I would be there. I knew the new live show would be unlike anything else I’ve seen before, but I was confident I would love it and rave about it.

On October 4, my friends and I showed up early at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium to get good spots near the stage. I did not expect that four hours later I would be leaving the concert and thinking: I… didn’t love it?

Rosalía was spectacular as usual, but my feelings about the actual show were mixed. I was confused why she had a “camera motopapi” on the stage and why she sang into the camera instead of the audience for a good chunk of the show. I didn’t understand why the concert felt more like a TikTok reel rather than a real live show. I was annoyed by the fact that almost everyone had their phones up the entire time, even putting up stationary selfie sticks, to record the show. And why did she only have one outfit for the entirety of the two-and-a-half-hour show? Why was there not a little bit more pizazz?

I came back home and concluded that maybe I was actually disappointed. But something felt off about my evaluation. When I don’t like a show, I am vocal about it. I get annoyed that I paid for an expensive ticket to see an artist who doesn’t put an effort to put on a good show. And I never think about the show again.

With Rosalía’s show, it’s all I could think about for the next few days. The concert was not bad, but it felt weird. And not the usual weird, like the type of weird Lady Gaga will put on but it will still be theatrical, meticulous, and high-brow. Rosalía’s show was at the same time theatrical and unassuming, meticulous and chaotic, high-brow and unsophisticated.

For the first time, in all these years of going to concerts and following hot-off-the-press pop culture, I realized that I was doing what I’ve always berated others for doing: sticking to their preferences and not even considering a different point of view. Even though we’re the same age, Rosalía was miles ahead in her perception of what is timely, relevant, and relatable for audiences today. Meanwhile, I was that person, the Millennial falling behind and getting bitter over the fact that things are no longer how they used to be. With that new sense of awareness, I then slowly started to reconstruct my feelings about the show.

Is there a rule that there needs to be a stage with a theatrical performer, carefully curated dancers, and no camera guys? Sure, the show did resemble a TikTok reel but that in itself was art. Rosalía was essentially a content creator for those two and half hours, recording herself sing to us as we all recorded her record herself. After three full years of pandemic-induced focus on our digital selves, how meta is that?

And, who says that a performer needs to have multiple outfits in one show? Sure, she did sport only one look, but that’s exactly what Motomami is about: being minimalist, stripped to the core, with just one but incredibly powerful tool in one’s arsenal: the voice. And with her voice, Rosalía sang and we all felt it.

Sure, people were definitely mounting selfie sticks to record the entire concert, but I had to admit to myself that it was no different from me being “polite” and just slightly raising my phone to record “short snippets” of the show.

The show was certainly a bit of an unnatural experience for me. It challenged me. But that’s what’s so great about Rosalía: she brings together people from all walks of life—from your regular-nightlife club-goers to elitist music connoisseurs—and challenges everyone to be a motomami and a motopapi. To be their genuine selves but to also consider a different point of view.

There was one particular moment in the show that I won’t forget. After finishing “TKN”, Rosalía sat on one of the stage props, as her dancers took turns to dance to a studio mix of Lorna’s famous “Papi Chulo” and probably the even more famous Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina”. She joined them shortly, dancing and singing “dame más gasolina” along with the audience. The whole scene struck me as unusual because, just a moment ago, we were watching her play the piano and sing about hentai.

Looking back, I now realize what a significant cultural moment that was. In the same night, the Millennial-slash-Gen-Z crowd was going equally ecstatic over a famous 2000s club reggaeton hit and a cute Disney-like song about anime porn. Twenty years ago, in the world in which we existed then, this would not have been a thing. The Daddy Yankee crowd would not have been anywhere near the hentai crowd.

But, in 2022, in the age of Motomami, we live in Rosalía’s world. And in her world, Rosalía challenges us, forcing different crowds to coexist.

And what a great world that is to live in.

Cover photo courtesy of Xavi Torrent. Follow him on Instagram as well.

The legacy of Amy Winehouse

It has been ten years since Amy Winehouse’s death on July 23, 2011. With a decade in absence of one of the world’s most iconic musicians, I think it is important to look back and understand why she made such a big impact on the music industry, and — most importantly — why she became an icon at all.

Few would hesitate to say that Amy Winehouse reshaped the music scene. After her debut album Frank, which went mostly unrecognized by the wider public, she floored the world with her unstereotypical sound and irreverent image once Back to Black reached the ears of listeners across the world. Her jazz-inspired, eclectic range of music paved the way for many British female artists, including today’s mega-stars like Adele, while her visual mix of London’s high-end subculture fashion with humorously crass attitude strongly cemented her anti-mainstream status. For many people, she became a fixation: someone who consistently provided enough material for malignantly scrupulous attention.

Of course, one could say this was because she continuously flooded the media with her tumultuous drug and alcohol abuse, but I wouldn’t say her troubled image was the reason why people cared so much about the personal details of her life. In fact, I always thought that her relentlessly honest and occasionally brusque attitude was probably the real “culprit” behind her worshipped persona.

She was witty, unrefined in speech and manner, and sometimes overly presumptuous, which did not align with an unobjectionable image that a star of her caliber was supposed to portray. This dichotomy made her an icon in the eyes of both the dazed fan base and the gossip-hungry media. Sadly, the majority of the public only wanted to see the widely-publicized image of Amy Winehouse — the troubled and drama-ridden diva who was not able to keep up with the hurdles and frenzy thrown at her by the unforgiving paparazzi. The disheartening reality is that she was never emotionally equipped to be a star. Her purpose always rested in her art.

That is probably the most important notion to remember about Amy Winehouse: that, at heart, she was an artist — a true musician and primarily a splendid lyricist — but not a performer or an entertainer. Her earlier live performances were certainly memorable (especially when her backup vocalists Zalon and Ade became regulars on her tours), but her essence was deeply imprinted in her albums and, most notably, in her songwriting. In that sense, her iconic status was not supposed to be based on her image but rather on her music.

Much of this, however, has already been said in Asif Kapadia’s fantastic 2015 documentary Amy, so it may be more valuable to mention what her music meant to me, a longtime fan of her work. When I first heard her music, which was just around the time “Rehab” started climbing the charts, I was initially drawn to her sound. There weren’t any artists at the time, at least to my knowledge, who were rooted in jazz origins, drawing from the likes of Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughan, and Donny Hathaway, and who seamlessly incorporated accessibility in their music.

There was something unique, though not necessarily unprecedented, in Amy Winehouse’s music, but it took me a while to realize that it was the surprisingly compatible combination of her highbrow jazz influences and the catchy girl group sound — in addition to her extraordinary vocals — that made her music so distinctive.

Over time, I grew to appreciate the entirety of her work, from the tracks on Frank and Back to Black to the posthumous Lioness: Hidden Treasures, reggae- and ska-inspired covers on her B-sides, as well as some lesser known gems, such as her cover of Lesley Gore’s “It’s My Party” with Quincy Jones.

Even more importantly, I started to value her incredible songwriting. Her lyrics notably changed from Frank to Back to Black, transforming from narrative storytelling to chorus-centered verses, but her ability to write about varying aspects of life, whether it was love, adultery, or simply getting angry over having to share weed, in a highly poetic way remained consistent throughout all her life.

I also appreciated that she portrayed a timeless sense of love in her music. Many artists at the time, and even more so today, recorded songs that centered on denying any traces of love in the search of personal empowerment, resulting in songs that very quickly began to sound worn-out and uninspiring.

Amy Winehouse, on the other hand, wrote songs that told the same story of how much pain she was willing to go through just to sustain her sense of love. Granted, such lyrics conveyed a certain dose of self-inflicted tragedy, but I always thought it was incredibly refreshing and courageous to have a modern female artist who was not afraid to put the entirety of her body and soul in her music.

There are three songs of Amy Winehouse that everyone should listen to at least a few times in their lives to truly appreciate her brilliance. “You Sent Me Flying,” a song from her debut album Frank, shows her masterfully narrating and pitch-perfect singing through a dazzling jazz track, which will surely satisfy every music buff out there.

“Wake Up Alone,” a heartbreaking ballad from Back to Black, showcases some of the most brilliant songwriting I have ever read. It is a heart-stopping poem that captures the unnerving anxiety of loneliness, and will induce empathetic feelings even in those who have not experienced the same feelings on such a profound level.

Finally, “Addicted,” the last song on Back to Black and another example of fantastic songwriting, best displays Amy Winehouse’s entertaining wit as she humorously laments having to share weed with her roommate’s boyfriend, and that, from now on, she’ll “check him at the door, make sure he got green,” and that she will be “tighter than airport security teams.”

These songs succinctly show why she was — and will always remain — an icon: because she was a witty poet who wrote songs that reflected what we all felt and knew, but were often unable to express in words. In many ways, her warm and romantic nature thrived in her songs, and always awaited to be discovered by those who had enough curiosity to find it.

Evolution of my taste in music: 2010s through music releases that shaped my life

Opening thoughts

Now that we have entered a new decade, I wanted to reconstruct my last ten years using the music I discovered in this period. What I really wanted to do with this is understand how my taste in music evolved.

I heard a lot of music over the last decade, but only some of it shaped my world and followed me as I (apparently) became an adult in different corners of the world: Mostar, Boston, Berlin, and San Francisco.

So, here’s what my life—and evolution of taste in music—looked like over the last ten years, told through the albums, extended plays, and singles that I will cherish forever.

Early 2010s

Album covers of albums that I discovered in early 2010s: Arabian Horse by GusGus, W by Planningtorock, The ArchAndroid by Janelle Monae, Flesh Tone by Kelis, Visions by Grimes, and Spaces by Nils Frahm.

Starting with the year 2010, my first discovery of the decade was Janelle Monáe’s The ArchAndroid (2010) album. I was a high school junior at the time and, naturally, had nothing to do but to listen to this record. It was a piece of work that was unquestionably a fantastic prelude to the year. Not only was it the first time that I was hearing a concept album, but it was also the first time I was listening to so many genres at once, from hip-hop and R&B to rock and classical. Through just those 18 tracks, the album expanded my music taste faster than years of listening to other records ever did. “Suite II Overture”, “Dance or Die”, “Faster”, “Suite III Overture”, and “BaBopByeYa” to this day remain some of my favorite pieces of contemporary music.

Then came the season of taking SATs and applying to colleges, which meant I spent very little time paying attention to music. When that unnerving period was finally over, I found out that Adele re-emerged with a new single “Rolling in the Deep” (2010) and that Hercules & Love Affair came out with a new album, which had a fantastic track called “My House” (2011). I listened to both tracks incessantly. Although the songs now remind me of anxiously waiting for college decisions, they hold a special place in my heart. Adele’s song was reminiscent of Amy Winehouse’s writing, and Hercules & Love Affair’s track was, looking back, probably my first independent discovery of house music. I would only learn later — after moving to the US and watching Paris is Burning — what “My House” was about, so I like to see this discovery as my prescient cultural enlightenment.

Then, in the spring of 2011, my life turned upside down when I found that I was actually moving to United States to attend MIT. Overwhelmed with both excitement and utter fear, I buried myself in music to cope with these conflicting feelings. Thankfully, many artists that year timed their album releases to be on schedule with my emotional turmoil, so I had plenty of material.

Planningtorock’s (2011) album was the first on the list. I discovered the predecessor Have It All (2007) in 2009 and thought it was one of the most ridiculous and spectacular records I’ve ever heard. I expected the same type of loony production on the new album, but subverted all my expectations. It took me a few weeks to get used to it, and once I did, I fell in love with the haunting yet funky musical arrangements of songs like “The One”, “The Breaks”, “Jam”, and “9”. The lyrics in the last one, “9”, for some reason left a strong impression on me and became an emblem of this period in my life.

On the same day of W’s release in May, GusGus came out with their album Arabian Horse (2011). The eponymous song from this record amazed me. It was a hypnotic dance track that immediately sent me to a place of deep introspection upon first hearing it. The chorus line “too bright to even the sun, more and more sand in my eyes” felt like the perfect description of my afternoons that summer: spent daydreaming and in thoughts of what my life would look like from now on.

In June, I discovered PJ Harvey’s songs “The Glorious Land” (2011) and “The Words That Maketh Murder” (2011). M.I.A. was the only artist in my arsenal at that point whose lyrics I could label as political, so hearing PJ Harvey tackle topics of militarism through folk music felt like an enhancement of my taste. Her songwriting was particularly impressive; I admired how vividly she portrayed the futility and malevolence of war through piercingly detached lyrics. Listening to her interviews about the parent album Let England Shake also helped me realize that writing music with political connotations required maturity and tact.

At the end of August, I left Europe and moved to Boston. The following year was a time of emotional growth, rapid cultural assimilation, and new friendships, all of which were accompanied by changes in my music taste as well. It was hard to discern this at the time, but it’s a causality that I can clearly see only a decade later, which is that the new environment and people had a profound impact on what type of music I was drawn to.

I was listening to a lot of Florence and the Machine’s Ceremonials (2011), Grimes’ Visions (2012), and Yelle’s Safari Disco Club (2011), which all differed in genre, but had one common denominator: nostalgic undertones, either through plaintive lyrics or downtempo production. My guess is that I was drawn to these as a result of my own bewilderment while I was trying to wrangle who I was in a new culture, far away from everything I used to know.

The one album that I distinctly associate with this period is Kelis’ Flesh Tone (2010). I remember first hearing “Intro”, “Home”, and “Emancipate” during a cold January afternoon and thinking how unusual it was to hear dance music that sounded so wintry and futuristic. Kelis did a great job of creating a cohesive concept album⁠ — the record was largely about motherhood⁠ — that reaffirmed how important it was for me to see a personalized and crystallized narrative in the music.

As I settled into my new life in Boston, there was an extended period of time in 2012 during which I drifted away from music. Like every college student, I learned that I didn’t know how to study and that I had to unlearn all my fruitless high-school habits. That process took almost a year. During this arduous time, the only two new songs that got on my radar were Jessie Ware’s “Running” (2012) and Róisín Murphy & David Morales’ “Golden Era” (2012). Together with Kelis’ and Grimes’ albums, these songs were starting to push my taste toward electronic music. And, although they now evoke memories of exam-driven anguish, they were all instrumental in preparing me for more energetic music that would come my way in the following years.

It was really 2013 when I started to feel truly settled in Boston. I was a college junior at that point and had started writing for the campus newspaper, which meant I was going to concerts with friends, interviewing artists, and listening to music on a more regular basis. I loved all of it. This exhilarating period was marked by Julia Holter’s “Horns Surrounding Me” (2013), Nils Frahm’s “Went Missing” (2013), Janelle Monáe’s The Electric Lady (2013) album, and MØ’s Bikini Daze EP. At the time, I thought these choices were undeniably sporadic and disconnected; Holter’s highly-experimental “Horns Surrounding Me” and Frahm’s classical “Went Missing” had no similarity to Monáe’s and Ørsted’s upbeat R&B and pop albums. In what seemed to be a typical pattern in my life, I would only learn later how a Berlin-based artist, affinity toward experimental production, and uptempo music would come together in a very formative period ahead of me.

Mid 2010s

Album covers of albums that I discovered in mid 2010s: Feast of a Broken Heart by Hercules & Love Affair, St. Vincent by St. Vincent, Nikki Nack by tune-yards, Christine by Christine & The Queens, Pale Green Ghosts by John Grant, Mi Senti by Róisín Murphy, and Colonized (Perc Metal Mix) by Paula Temple.

2014 was probably the most important year in shaping my music taste after 2009. In the spring, I saw St. Vincent perform at The House of Blues in Boston, and fell in love with her eponymous St. Vincent (2014)album. Rock music was never really my go-to choice, but this record had enough eccentric crossover into other genres, making it easy for me to rediscover my appreciation for more vigorous music after living in mellower genres for much of the early 2010s.

Right around that time, tUnE yArDs’ Nikki Nack (2014) album came out as well, and it was the perfect complement to the euphoric St. Vincent’s album. I felt experimental overtones in each track, and the more I listened to the record, the more fascinated I became with songs that eschewed typical pop structures, such as “Left Behind” and “Real Thing”. To this day, listening to these two tracks along with St. Vincent’s “Huey Newton” and “Psychopath” remains my remedy for any sluggishness.

Looking back, discovering these two albums that year was paramount because they pushed me to embrace more energetic music. Over the summer, while doing an internship in Berlin and naturally discovering the city’s incredible nightlife, I got completely captivated by such genre: techno. It was, ironically, during one afternoon in July that I remembered seeing Holly Herndon perform as opener for St. Vincent earlier that year in Boston and then thinking “Maybe I’d actually enjoy listening to her music now that I am in Berlin?

Her track “Chorus” (2014) suddenly became so magical and led me to discover her track “Fade” (2013), which then led me to discover Paula Temple’s track “Colonized” (2013), which then somehow led to enjoying Hercules and Love Affair’s The Feast of the Broken Heart (2014) album, which led to discovering John Grant’s “Pale Green Ghosts” (2013) track, eventually leading to Röyksopp and Robyn’s Do It Again (2014) EP. These releases marked my summer and were pivotal in expanding my taste.

I spent the rest of my time in Berlin riding the U-Bahn for three to four hours each weekend, listening to nothing but electronic music, particularly to techno and house. I knew I always enjoyed some flavors of electronic music, especially by being a fan of artists and bands like M.I.A. and Moloko, but that was the first time I was loving club-oriented electronic music: instrumental and repetitive, something I thought I would never enjoy.

The penchant for electronic music continued throughout the year. In October, while back in Boston and once again enduring the city’s dreadful winter, I discovered Róisín Murphy’s Mi Senti (2014) EP. It was the first semblance of any real work from her after Overpowered, and I was nothing short of impressed. Soft vocals and lyrics half-spoken over hypnotic production certainly reminded me of Grace Jones, but there was something uniquely magical about this EP. It felt sparse and magical, one could even say otherworldly. I ended up so deeply embedded in this type of music that I kept longing for new releases without any rich sounds. This was paradoxical given that the year started with two albums that were anything but minimalist in production.

It wasn’t until the summer of 2016 — which meant finishing my undergraduate program and getting through the first year of my graduate program — that I came across two monumental releases that would pull me out of this reflective vortex: Annie’s Endless Vacation (2015) EP and Christine and the Queens’ eponymous (2015) debut album. Annie’s EP served as the perfect transition from the Berlin-driven obsession with electronic music to a much-needed rediscovery of pop music. This shift allowed me to appreciate every layer of Christine and the Queens’ album, a record that showed me how equally energizing and heartbreaking dance-pop music can be. It was after listening to this album on repeat for almost three months that I realized why that was the case. Because of the lyrics. Not just any lyrics, but well-thought-out and personal lyrics.

So much of the decade up until that point was marked by appreciation for music with refreshing production, but I suddenly found myself looking for novelty in the artists’ songwriting. It took two years from that moment to find a release that would completely floor me with lyrical content.

Late 2010s

Album covers of albums that I discovered in late 2010s: Melodrama by Lorde, thank u, next by Ariana Grande, Honey by Robyn, Lifetime by Klein, More than a Woman by Kelly Lee Owens, Pert by Hiver, and Syriacid by Asa Moto.

In 2017, I moved to San Francisco from Boston for my first full-time job. St. Vincent’s “Los Ageless” came out that fall and was very quickly followed by her album Masseduction. Needless to say, the record quickly became the soundtrack to California, my new-found home. I was still, however, subconsciously looking for an album or EP that would elevate the bar of high-quality songwriting.

Just as I settled into my new routine in San Francisco and stopped yearning for such discovery, Lorde’s Melodrama (2017) somehow found its way to my Spotify library in the spring of 2018. It really didn’t take long to notice the depth of the songwriting on this album. “Sober” and “Sober II (Melodrama)” were immediate standouts, and I particularly enjoyed the visceral portrayal of love, loneliness, and friendship in her Greek theater-inspired, hyperbolized songwriting. The lyrics were personal and direct yet so relatable and sophisticated.

With the exception of Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black album, this was really the only record that convinced me songwriting could indeed be a form of poetry. Even beyond that, Lorde’s work felt synesthetic: melodies would conjure up colors, the artwork would conjure up sounds, and the lyrics would conjure up my own memories, packed with scents of previous springs and falls. It was undoubtedly a modern-pop masterpiece and I will forever associate it with my first year in San Francisco.

After that ensued an album-burnout period during which I couldn’t listen to full-length records anymore. I nonetheless fell in love with a few singles that molded my taste, this time away from songwriting as the focus. I discovered Nipplepeople’s “Frka” (2017), an outstanding cover of Zdenka Kovačiček’s eponymous single from 1984. Their electropop rendition was by far one of the most unique productions I’ve seen arise from the Croatian music scene, and it led me to revisit many of the excellent Croatian bands that I didn’t listen to in a while, from E.T. to Yammat.

Few months afterwards, Nicki Minaj’s “Queen” dropped and I instantaneously registered “Ganja Burn,” “LLC,” and “Good Form” as tracks that would end up on my playlists. This was a surprising transition in my taste that year given that I haven’t listened to much hip-hop in 2010s at all. The low-key and evocative production coupled with Nicki’s poised flow somehow suited my mood that summer, making Queen a pleasant discovery of 2018. I didn’t know it at the time, but this particular record made me more open toward trap music, which would resurface in my playlists next year.

I quit my job that fall and was left with a lot of time to listen to music. Luckily for me, Robyn’s Honey (2018) came out at the end of October and the timing couldn’t have been better. “Send to Robin Immediately” really moved me; the meticulous build-up and softness of the production were unlike anything I’ve heard before. I could definitely feel influences of mellower house music, like DJ Koze’s “XTC”, in her songs, but there was something so vulnerable about Robyn’s approach toward these tracks that made the record truly original.

My mood was heavily shaped by Honey in late 2018, leading me to soon enjoy Emina Jahović’s Dalje (2018) album. This was also an unexpected gem: I am typically not in touch with Serbian music scene, but the Balkan-esque pop-house production and despondent lyrical themes were just the right sequel to Robyn’s album. Interlaced with these two releases, Soap&Skin’s “Italy” and “(This is) Water” (2018) were two tracks that left a mark on this period as well. Both albums and both songs were united by a pronounced sense of artists’ vulnerability and wistful introspection. Looking back, they reflected my state of my mind that fall as well, which would probably explain why I was drawn to all of them.

In January 2019, I started a new job. It took me a while before I had a new routine figured out, one in which I had enough time to listen to music. Once I did, Senidah’s “Aman” (2019) came as the first major discovery, and for me, it was a genuine shift in taste⁠ — I never thought I’d be obsessed with a Slovenian trap and R&B track. It was Nicki Minaj’s Queen from 2018 that made me more appreciative of this music. I’m glad that it did because “Aman” has now become a quintessential summer track, often reminding me of slow and reflective Croatian summers.

That August, I was working on a demanding project at work and ended up on Resident Advisor’s playlists in search of techno music that would help me focus. At some point, a catchy track started playing featuring a repetitive “Work, work it, work to be a winner” chant, which halted all my efforts to concentrate. The song ended up being the gateway track to Marie Davidson’s Working Class Woman (2018) album.

If the album had come out while I was still a student, I wouldn’t have fully understood the highly personal and relatable undertones of this layered techno record. It left an imprint on the rest of 2019, and I spent much of the fall and winter listening to “La chambre intérieure”, “Burn Me”, and “Work It” (as well as her unbeatable standalone single “Chasing the Light”). These tracks reinvigorated my love for techno and reminded me how introspective electronic music can be. Plus, I felt the entire album was the perfect soundtrack to my 9-to-5 routine.

Inspired by Davidson’s record, I dedicated the entirety of September, October, November, and December to electronic music. This meant I was — similar to my phase in Berlin — spending a large chunk of my free time researching and obsessing over new songs. Some of those incredible discoveries were Kelly Lee Owens’ “More Than A Woman” (2017), Klein’s “Claim It” (2019), Hiver’s “Pert” (2019), Asa Moto’s “Syriacid” (2017), and East of Ocean’s “Neverlasting Love” (2019). This time, however, to make myself feel more than just a consumer, I would also stay up late on work days and make music mixes using these new tracks.

At the turn of the new decade, as I unwinded from the monolithic stretch of electronic music, I then somehow stumbled upon Ariana Grande’s thank u, next (2019) album. I never paid attention to her as an artist, but this piece of work completely changed my opinion of her and made for a great last discovery of the 2010s. I was so impressed by the album’s cohesiveness despite it veering off into multiple genres, including pop, R&B, and trap. The most outstanding element of this record was its lyrical content, and I found myself analyzing other artists’ songs in greater detail after this album in hopes of finding equally personal writing.

Perhaps even more importantly, this uplifting album came into my life just before the COVID-19 pandemic, giving me a much-needed mental preparation for the omnipresent anxiety that would soon perturb the world.

Closing thoughts

From the bittersweet years of cramming for exams to the harsh era of a global pandemic, music was clearly an indispensable piece of my life at each moment of the last decade.

Writing this helped me realize that, despite new discoveries and many taste-breakers, my listening does seem to follow a consistent pattern—oscillating between introspection and extrospection across pop, R&B, electronic, and experimental genres. As I finished writing this, I also wondered: what music will the next ten years bring and how different will my taste be by 2030? Which memories will I associate that music with?

I guess there’s only one way to find out.

Art or vanity? St. Vincent’s Fear the Future tour

🕒 This article is more than 5 years old (Published Jan 28, 2018).

Annie Clark graced San Francisco last week with her widely-discussed new concert tour, aptly baptized “Fear the Future.” Four years after the Digital Witness tour, which positioned St. Vincent at a peculiar intersection of music, theater, and performance art, there was much to expect from the upcoming album Masseduction and the accompanying tour.

The new record, to me at least, didn’t end up feeling as cohesive as her previous albums, and after hearing mixed reactions to her new glitzy tour, I didn’t know what to expect. On top of that, with Clark’s newly-found spot in the celebrity limelight thanks to her relationship with Cara Delevingne, I wondered: is St. Vincent’s new persona a genuine work of art or is Annie Clark joining the ranks of Dorian Gray? Well, despite my initially lukewarm acceptance of her new record and image, I have to say that the concert was, luckily, nothing short of brilliant.

The first half consisted of Masseduction-ized renditions of songs from previous albums, during which Clark progressively moved across the triangular stage, finally ending at the center, as if she wanted to figuratively portray her growth as an artist during the last decade. Snippets of choreography from the previous tour could easily be seen in “Rattlesnake,” “Birth in Reverse,” and “Digital Witness,” and the self-lacerating tracks from Strange Mercy felt pleasantly unrecognizable with the new subdued production and Clark’s all-pink leather outfit.

Pink screen at Bill Graham Civic Auditorium in San Francisco in January 2018 for St. Vincent's concert.

After a short break following the first set, she returned to the stage, which at that point was subtly redesigned, donning a new outfit and quickly proceeded to play the entirety of Masseduction. There was little—if any at all—difference between the concert and studio versions of the songs, but Clark’s exceptional guitar-playing skills were enough to compensate for this lack of variation.

The second part of the show, however, was probably the reason for the plethora of mixed opinions I heard in the months preceding the show. The austere center-stage podium, flashy background videos (which mostly featured excerpts from her promo videos), and the lack of live band all might have seemed unnecessarily vain. It’s almost hard to imagine that that St. Vincent of the Marry Me and Actor era would ever entertain an auditorium of concertgoers with backing tracks and bizarre promo videos, but in some way, the conceited design of the show worked well—and likely intentionally—with the album’s overt focus on power, sex, and drugs.

Interestingly, I found the new tour invariably more personal and spontaneous than her 2014 Digital Witness tour. Both tours were heavy on choreography and performance art, but Fear the Future show felt familial and not as distant as the one from four years ago. It could be because Tuck and Patti, Clark’s uncle and aunt, opened the show and shared numerous stories about Annie Clark before she became St. Vincent, which created a vastly different atmosphere from the one concocted by Holly Herndon, who opened her previous tour when I saw Clark perform in Boston.

This time, Clark also openly talked to the audience—whether it was sharing political innuendos or satirizing her song “New York”—which was a distinct no-go zone in her previous tour. This is not to say that one was better than the other, but the new tour somehow seemed to be more about Annie Clark and less about St. Vincent.

Altogether, I thought the show was undoubtedly brave and mesmerizing. It takes guts to perform an entire new album after opening the show with ten tracks from previous albums, and Clark certainly staged a captivating performance with an admirable level of confidence. It was also impressive to see another theatrical concert tour that was equally as stunning as—yet so different from—the Digital Witness tour.

Maybe the well-oiled atmosphere won’t suit everyone, but I see no reason to expect a leisurely performance from a musician who has transcended the stereotypical expectations of a solo female artist. Granted, it all might feel a little too self-centered, but who cares? Annie Clark has put a lot of work into her art to deliver some of the most entertaining music today, and if that comes with a little bit of vanity, let her have it.

Cover photo courtesy of Mariana Rodriguez Hakim.

The cheeky and charming Jessie Ware

🕒 This article is more than 5 years old (Published Nov 13, 2017).

“You all are getting a lot of double chin from that angle,” Jessie Ware humorously pointed out to fans in the first row when she asked everyone to put away their smartphones before the last two songs of her San Francisco set list.

Her remark might sound like unattractive hubris, but for a concert of top-notch content, it was completely justified. Swirling around the entire block that night, the queue for Jessie Ware’s concert last Wednesday was indeed a clear indication that a high-quality show was about to take place at The Independent. The sold-out concert, however, was not a consequence of the inceptive media hype that surrounded Ware’s debut half a decade ago. After five years of maturing musical career and three well-received albums, Jessie Ware somehow remained a hidden gem of the British R&B scene.

The new tour follows the release of her long-awaited third record Glasshouse, which could explain the exhilarating atmosphere that overtook The Independent that night, but it would be fair to say that almost everyone at the show was there to pay long-lasting respect to her music. In many ways, the collective anticipation of Ware’s arrival felt like an esoteric euphoria, privy only to those who have closely followed her career. Even DJ Omar, who performed an hour-long set—including well-suited club hits like Moloko’s “Sing it Back”—to warm up the audience, snatched his mic more than once to express his excitement for Ware’s performance.

DJ Omar performing at San Francisco's The Independent as opener for Jessie Ware's concert in 2017.

When she finally entered the stage, opening with “Thinking About You,” it was apparent that the show was going to be a heartfelt performance. Backed by an ensemble of skilled musicians and backing vocalists, Ware instantaneously delivered pitch-perfect vocals, and the lyrical content of her inherently emotional songs became even more palpable in the venue’s intimate setting.

The set list, interestingly, was reflective of her devoted fandom and the sustained respect she had garnered in niche circles over the last few years. Although the tour was intended to promote her newest album, only about a third of the songs were Glasshouse material. The rest, from hit debut singles “Running” and “Wildest Moments” to sophomore follow-ups “Tough Love” and “Champagne Kisses,” were thoughtfully-picked tracks from the first two albums, which altogether transformed the concert into something that felt like a retrospective exhibition of Ware’s music.

Jessie Ware performing at San Francisco's The Independent in 2017 and holding a bouquet of flowers given by an audience member.

So, it might not come as a surprise then that theatrics had no place in her repertoire. Stopping after songs to describe her recent stomach flu misadventures, jokingly lamenting over a zealous fan who stole her spotlight during a New York concert, and chatting with freshly-minted parents in the audience about the bittersweet lessons of parenthood, she did not care for staging a highbrow show.

The entire concert easily resembled a late-night gathering of close friends, during which Jessie Ware incidentally performed a dozen songs for sheer entertainment. Perhaps this was because theatrics could never complement the lush and spontaneous sound of her phenomenal band or because Ware has no aspiration to transcend her status of London’s well-kept musical gem. I would say it’s because her unassuming and charming personality would never find fulfillment in flamboyancy.

Yet, notwithstanding its endearing quality, there was something frightening and venerating in her stage persona. Between verses, she would often move away her microphone and lean forward, gazing directly into audience members—which I was lucky to experience myself—with a cheeky smile, as if she wanted to make it clear that she demanded undivided attention.

In those moments, people would slowly lower their smartphones, uncomfortably trying to avoid her persistent eye contact, in what was possibly the greatest revelation of the night: that Jessie Ware is not just an entertainer but a formidable figure of an honest and loving woman.

Cover photo courtesy of Gus Stewart.

Zola Jesus at The Independent

🕒 This article is more than 5 years old (Published Oct 25, 2017).

After Nika Danilova, better known to most as Zola Jesus, released her fourth album Taiga three years ago, there was much confusion among the music industry as to why she tried to record a catchy pop record. Following the success of rather somber three first albums—The Spoils, Stridulum II, and Conatus—that built the foundation for Danilova’s fanbase, it seemed as if she was trying to break away from the goth label that she so carefully constructed over the last few years.

The subsequent time after the fourth album proved to be a difficult time for the 28-year old singer. Plagued by depression and struggling with personal issues experienced by those close to her, she moved back home to her native Wisconsin, and started channeling the deep-entrenched sadness into new material that would later become her newest album Okovi. The record’s name translates to ‘shackles’ in many Slavic languages, and it was probably the most appropriate title for a piece of work that carries such heavy emotional weight.

Banner at San Francisco's The Independent showing Zola Jesus as the headliner for Tuesday, on October 17, 2017.

Orchestral strings, loud stomping beats, and ambient instrumentals overtake this record and bring back the sound of Zola Jesus to its roots in dark, poignant music. The previously bright (and, one could say, even artificial) character of Taiga is almost thrown into oblivion as new tracks on Okovi give rise to a tormenting and distressing atmosphere.

Interestingly, the reversion to Danilova’s inherent macabre sound seems to have also mended the drawbacks of her previous live performance when she was promoting the release of Taiga. Particularly, back in December 2014, when I saw her live at Boston’s The Sinclair, there was something jarringly discordant about her performance. While the uptempo live renditions of Taiga’s songs elicited an unexpectedly uplifting atmosphere, Danilova’s stage behavior paradoxically remained bizarre and disturbing: she crawled on the floor, performed ritual-like choreography, and maintained an aloof presence.

Not to say that these gloomy witchlike elements are gone with the Okovi tour, but they now serve as a much better fit for the difficult and heartbreaking narrative of Danilova’s new album. Indeed, when she entered the stage this week at San Francisco’s The Independent, it was clear that this performance was going to be vastly different from the one that complemented the shift of sound on Taiga.

Wearing a full-body dress in abstract monochromatic marble print, with black hair hanging over her face, she opened the show with a dramatic performance of “Veka,” rising from the floor and revealing her face only on the second iteration of the verse “Who will find you / When all you are / All you are is dust,” when the song’s pounding bassline got everyone moving in the audience.

Switching between new tracks, like the dramatic “Exhumed” and the eurodance-infused “Remains,” and older songs, such as “Hikikomori” and “Vessel,” Danilova staged a well-balanced performance that was both hauntingly entertaining and piercingly moving. Surprisingly, the most captivating moment of the show was not when Danilova sang her classic single “Night.” Instead, the pinnacle of the show happened during her performance of “Witness,” a Björk-esque song that she wrote moments after finding out that someone close to her attempted suicide while she was stranded at a remote cabin in the woods.

Aside from the heartbreaking lyrics “One small thread keeps you hostage / To the better side of death,” which were alone enough to evoke long-lasting shivers, Danilova’s extraordinary vocal performance floored the entire venue as she shifted from her staple chest voice to operatic soprano. In those few moments, the bare essence of Okovi’s vulnerability completely came through and allowed for unhindered peek into the emotional turmoil that shaped the album.

It feels almost inhumane to say that this is Danilova’s finest work to date given that it was inspired by times of distorted sense of self and continuous personal struggles. But, as heartless as it sounds, there was something vicariously inspiring in her live performance—something that was guaranteed to draw in and completely absorb even the most resilient of us.

Cover photo courtesy of Timothy Saccenti. Follow him on Instagram and Tumblr as well.

St. Vincent’s hasty, flamboyant return

🕒 This article is more than 5 years old (Published Oct 22, 2017).

When Annie Clark, more commonly known as the genre-bending St. Vincent, won the 2015 Grammy for Best Alternative Album, there was no doubt that the recognition was fully deserved. The eponymous fourth album peaked on many critics’ lists of top albums, with most of them claiming that Clark has truly found the inherent sound of St. Vincent, a statement that was also confirmed and disseminated by Clark herself.

The acclaim was far from hyped and pretentious—St. Vincent was, hands down, one of the most eccentric and enrapturing rock records to have come out in the last decade, reminiscent of the groundbreaking theatricality imposed by the likes of Laurie Anderson, David Bowie, and Freddie Mercury. The overflowing praise was further validated when Clark embarked on her Digital Witness tour (read more here), which lay the foundations for St. Vincent to become an unprecedented art-rock priestess of high-end caliber.

So, when her fifth record Masseduction was announced to the public through a set of satirical press releases, there was much skeptical speculation as to what the record would sound like, especially after she dropped the first two—rather pop-heavy—singles, “New York” and “Los Ageless.” To some extent, the uncertainty seems to have been warranted.

The new album finds Clark in a state of heartbreak and disclosed healing, which was likely spurred by her widely publicized relationship and break-up with Cara Delevingne, who also lent back-up vocals on this record.

The glaring and scrutinizing reality of the celebrity bubble, which undoubtedly left a vivid mark on Clark’s personal life during these past few years, is reflected in both the sound and imagery (who would have known that St. Vincent would ever go for so much red and pink?), giving a du jour note of accessibility to her music that did not exist before. This oddly glossy side of Clark works wonderfully on some of the album’s tracks when the irreverent imagery and vulnerable songwriting are effortlessly unified, but, as a whole, Masseduction falls short of its intended perfection.

Particularly, the album’s culprits are its inconsistency and length. All of Clark’s previous records had a notable sound and character to them, or as she called it in an interview with Spin magazine, an “archetype.” Whether it was “housewives on pills” for Strange Mercy or “near-future cult leader” for St. Vincent, each album carried a specific sound that perfectly complemented her fictional alter-egos. For Masseduction, she cloaked herself with a “dominatrix at the mental institution” model, but the album’s tracks only occasionally follow this bizarre twist on mainstream appeal.

“Hang on Me,” “Masseduction,” “Happy Birthday, Johnny,” and “Young Lover,” for example, are all fantastic tracks but carry such different styles of sound, ranging from inexplicably ecstatic anthems to overly drawn-out ballads, that it seems as if not enough attention went into the polishing phase of production. Whether this shift to sonic inconsistency is a result from working with Jack Antonoff (who has helped produce Lorde and Taylor Swift’s albums) instead of her usual patron, John Congleton, is unclear, but there is a tangible asymmetry in the album’s sonic landscape that cannot go unnoticed.

As a direct consequence of its inconsistency, the album’s length can also wear out the listener faster than it should. “Fear the Future” for example, sounds like a B-side of St. Vincent, while the final three tracks—”Dancing with a Ghost,” “Slow Disco,” and “Smoking Section”—sound like they should have been included on a standalone EP. Their sullen and hazy sound, albeit appealing and enjoyable, does not serve as a proper closure to the album after the ecstatic, and almost aggressive, aura of the first few songs. Had she cut the record at only nine songs, leaving Young Lover” as the album’s apocalyptic ending, Masseduction would have been a flawless work of art.

This all may sound too negative, but Masseduction is still a good record. When Clark delivers on this album, she delivers some of the best material in her opus. “Savior” is possibly the most refreshing track, bridging together the remnant indie sound of Strange Mercy with the musical theatricality introduced on St. Vincent into a seductively despondent song that (even if ever so briefly) shows the unrealized potential of Masseduction. 

“Savior Boy” and “Los Ageless” deliver the offbeat sexiness that Clark was aiming for through incredibly melodic choruses and outlandish outros that will initially perplex and then continue to entertain any listener. On top of that, they have been cleverly listed on the record right after each other, as the opening riff in “Los Ageless” is subtly introduced during the closing notes of “Sugar Boy.”

It’s just that these disjointed moments of exceptional meticulousness are still not enough to compensate for the album’s apparent hastiness. It wouldn’t be fair to say that she hurried the production of Masseduction, because, after all, it has been almost 4 years since the release of St. Vincent, but the lack of finesse, which was omnipresent on all previous records, signals that some time still needs to pass before Annie Clark skyrockets and positions herself as the global star that she truly deserves to be.

Cover photo courtesy of Nedda Afsari. Follow her on Instagram as well.

Is there a path to a more sustainable future for our world?

🕒 This essay is more than 5 years old (Published Jan 19, 2017).

Sustainability has become such a buzzword recently. Sustainable practices, sustainable development, sustainable world, green economy, environmentally-friendly business practices, and so on—we hear them everywhere. Obviously, all these concepts are responses to the rapidly-developing industrial world around us, which has now clearly left us in a precarious state, one that is advanced and innovative but brittle and shortsighted.

Is there actually a solution to this? Is there a path to a more sustainable future for our world? Probably, but our society will have to look beyond the typical pop-culture ideas, such as green economy, to understand that, in order to pull ourselves out of this unsustainable industrial state, we have to think about all areas of sustainable development: economy, environment, and employment.

For me, that means we have to first focus on energy and figure out a way to use it for co-optimizing these three pillars of sustainable development. Energy has tremendous potential to spur innovations and lead to economic growth, but also to hurt the environment, as has been shown throughout history. As a result, we are left with a powerful tool that is a double-edged sword and that has to be used effectively and responsibly.

I also think it’s necessary to create meaningful and rewarding employment opportunities because technological innovations will not have any significant effect if working conditions remain the same—unpredictable, insecure, and largely underpaid.

The reason I think we need to focus on these two solutions is because they tend to be more realistic than what we often hear from scholars and policy-makers. This is not to say these brilliant minds are wrong, but simply that we can still look beyond those proposals and determine what is actually doable.

So, let’s start with what they all have said so far.

Quick summary of what others have said about creating sustainable future

Many of those who advocate for transforming the unsustainable industrial state refer to green economy, a term that has undoubtedly become a buzz word in the realm of efforts devoted to sustainability. While it is true that the mainstream use of the term primarily refers to economic growth with positive environmental effects, scholars like Borel-Saladin and Turok have pointed out that green economy also serves to have a social impact, such as alleviating poverty.

Examples of such policies within the realm of green economy include providing sanitation the poor, or introduction of solar power to replace coal and generate jobs for solar manufacturers and technicians. Recommendations of broader scope for interventions necessary in green economy range from education and innovation to infrastructure and close involvement of government.

Others see green economy as a tool that is closely related to local communities, rather than large-scale systems. For instance, Jackson and Victor argue that we need to “use as little as possible in way of materials and energy,” arguing that local infrastructure and resources are paramount for achieving green economy, and that financing community-based energy is essential for green economy because most renewable sources and materials are local. They see enterprises as central agents of developing green economy through local communities, but that state actors can help this process by serving as catalysts, similarly to Borel-Saladin and Turok’s propositions.

For some, green economy is not an end goal, but rather a stepping stone to a society that sees sustainable development as means for more responsible consumption. Lorek and Spangenberg propose strong sustainable consumption strategy, which would force us to rethink how we perceive mainstream propositions of sustainable consumption, or as they call them, practices of “weak sustainable consumption.”

So, for example, instead of understanding ‘green supply chains’ as supply chains in which firms force their suppliers to disclose environmental standards, global firms should ensure that there exists a “standardized information flow along the product chain about ecological backpacks as well as social standards in the companies.”

Interestingly, the authors also advocate for precautionary principle, which suggests that radical innovations should be implemented with no expectations of them eventually coming to life, so that society can be prepared in case of their non-appearance. Either way, they agree with the previously-mentioned authors in that significant structural changes in the society and people’s way of thinking are necessary for transforming the industrial state.

While green economy implies economic growth, some authors argue that degrowth movement is necessary to achieve such transformation. Kallis, a proponent of such ideas, claims that, even though degrowth is essentially negating the mainstream concept of ‘growth,’ it is necessary to reduce society’s throughput to move toward sustainable development, even if that implies reduced GDP.

Additionally, Kallis shows that significant reformations are necessary; in fact, he argues that movement of degrowth is in accordance with model of revolutionary social change, and that as a society, we need a new political project, rather than new environmental policies in order to avoid a crisis.

Beyond the concept of green economy, some environmentalists are also proponents of more specific policies, such as reducing work hours because they think such policy can secure employment without growth and reduce consumption in the long run (Ashford and Kallis, 2013, p. 53). However, it is also clear that policies like these are not bulletproof and that they need to be accompanied by more systemic changes, such as those in taxation, accompanied by increasing working and poor people’s access to capital.

What can we learn from all these experts on sustainable growth? It boils down to—each of these policies should not be delivered in isolation; they need to be complemented by large-scale changes of the society, from more palpable aspects such as energy, infrastructure, and government, to less palpable ones such as people’s mindsets. The implicit argument in all these publications is that such radical changes are not easy or practical to achieve.

Let’s break down why.

Why policies of sustainable growth are harder than they sound

It’s important to think about the ways these policies will actually affect our society and whether they are necessarily practical.

Starting from the concept of green economy, while it is true that such approach might lead to improved environmental performance and possibly positive employment effects, one needs to consider several drawbacks. For instance, valuing ecosystem goods and services is difficult, market imperfections are serious constraints (e.g. price signals are not credible and predictable), and there are inadequate financing tools for up-front investment in green technology.

Referring again to Borel-Saladin and Turok’s analysis, even though the authors of the paper are aware of some drawbacks in “greening” the economy, it also seems that some of their suggestions lack more in-depth analysis. I mentioned earlier that one of their propositions for greening the economy is to introduce solar power instead of coal, which would generate employment opportunities for solar manufacturers and technicians.

However, this sort of ‘replacement’ innovation will also displace jobs of those who were trained to work in traditional industries, as was suggested by other scholars (Edquist et al., 2001, p. 120). Put differently, even these well-intentioned policies can have serious repercussions if they are not inspected with attention.

Similarly, when Jackson and Victor propose that green economy can be achieved by placing faith on local communities, it is important to understand that this is not always practical or easy to achieve.

They claim, for instance, that “the seeds for this new economy already exist in local, community-based social enterprise: community energy projects, local farmer’s markets, slow food cooperatives, sports clubs, libraries, community health and fitness centres, local repair and maintenance services, craft workshops, writing centres, outdoor pursuits, music and drama, yoga, martial arts, meditation, hairdressing, gardening, the restoration of parks and open spaces”.

Admittedly, the authors are aware that local communities cannot carry the entire burden of green economy, and they support these claims by arguing that governments need to be extensively involved in the process, but we need to discuss what a realistic potential of local communities in developed versus developing countries would look like.

Particularly, the authors argue that people enjoy and harbor greater fulfillment from the previously-mentioned activities than they do by spending time in “materialistic, supermarket economy in which much of [their] lives is spent.” Certainly, this can be true, but I doubt that their ideas would be implemented in developed and developing countries with equal effectiveness.

In most of developing countries, where there is already a stronger sense of community between people, the seeds of “new economy,” as Jackson and Victor call it, will be easier to sow because the mentality of people in developing countries is more likely to be complementary to the authors’ vision of community-centered economy.

Of course, I am not arguing that such transitions will not be possible in developed countries, like the United States, but they will require intensive adjustments of people’s mindsets. Those who are accustomed to supermarket-driven overconsumption and the “more is more” mentality will need to go through more significant adjustments if they are to be convinced that downscaling to community-sized economies is a satisfying outcome. This line of thought circles back to suggestions of authors like Lorek and Spangenberg, who argue that radical disruptions of societal systems are necessary if we want to implement these policies.

If these ideas seem unpractical or hard to implement within a reasonable timeframe, it might be tempting to think that Kallis’ pro-degrowth suggestions are feasible. Certainly, it makes sense to decouple development from growth given that many issues within the current industrial state have been engendered by overconsumption and materialistic desire to always have more. However, even though Kallis doesn’t explicitly state his preference for drastic strategies, such as “exit from the economy,” it does seem that he is calling for a major overhaul of capitalism by strongly arguing for degrowth movement.

Is that even practical? I don’t doubt that his approach of degrowth would mend the currently existing fractures within the society, but I would say it’s more practical to think about the ways that growth—through tools such as energy—can be used to co-optimize the three pillars of sustainable development. This would contradict the idea of radical changes previously mentioned, but I would say it might be more feasible more because overhauling capitalism via degrowth could easily result in a major fiasco.

I also briefly mentioned earlier some of the discussions that have been happening around the reduction of weekly working hours. Instituting a shorter workweek is not guaranteed to have a positive impact on employment and the environment in all contexts. As Ashford and Kallis argue, it is more beneficial to reduce the workweek to four days without changes in weekly wages (thus increasing hourly wages), otherwise the underlying implication would be that workers’ wages are sacrificed for the sake of environment.

Second, even though it seems that shorter workweek might decrease consumption as people would spend more time at home, thus performing leisure activities, it is also possible that leisure would lead to other forms of consumption. That is, the effects of a reduced workweek are strictly positive only if we assume that workers will spend their free time in an environmentally-friendly way. A bold assumption, in my opinion.

When all is said and (un)done, then what are we even left with? Is there a way forward?

Ways to transform the unsustainable industrial state

Comparing all the proposed arguments, it seems as if there is no substantial solution for transforming the unsustainable industrial state.

On the one hand, some scholars think that specific policies, such as greening the economy, opting for degrowth, or reducing the workweek, will be sufficient to provide foundations for sustainable development. On the other hand, other scholars argue that isolated policies are not enough and the we need more radical transformations in order to achieve these goals.

Such significant changes, at the same time, require time and unprecedented effort that it seems more practical to rely on a carefully chosen set of specific policies. It certainly seems like a vicious circle, but I think we can achieve a middle ground by:

  • focusing on effective use of energy and
  • creating meaningful and rewarding employment

These two approaches can provide specific suggestions that could introduce significant changes and begin to drive the reformation of the industrial state.

Energy as a tool for co-optimizing the three pillars of sustainable development

Throughout this analysis, I hope it has become clear that, among the commonly mentioned topics such as innovation and government intervention, energy plays a key role in thinking about sustainable development. It has been a central factor in spurring innovations in the past, so it seems more than fitting to re-orient the discussion of sustainable development to energy and its use in the near future.

Most importantly, the paradoxical implications of energy use, which is that it can positively impact economic growth and negatively affect environmental conditions, leads to an important question—how can energy be used to have positive impacts on all three pillars of sustainable development: economy, environment, and employment? The answer will vary slightly between developed and developing countries, but in both cases, innovation, as well as sustainable production and consumption, are essential for effective use of energy.

Innovation of safer products and processes can greatly impact how energy is used, but one must understand that not all innovations will have positive impacts on all three pillars of sustainable development. As scholars have shown previously, even if we assume that product and process innovations will be environmentally safer and beneficial to the economy, they do not always have a positive impact on employment.

Particularly, product innovations generate employment if they do not substitute old products and if they do not become process innovations in the long run, while process innovations generally reduce number of jobs, even if they increase other aspects of employment, such as productivity. If one thinks about the ways these implications affect potential use of energy for co-optimizing all three pillars of sustainable development, it becomes clear that some compromise is necessary.

For instance, Borel-Saladin and Turok have used example of solar power replacing coal, which would not only be an environmentally friendlier use of energy for advancing economy, but would also generate employment for solar manufacturers and technicians. This is a great example for applying the analysis proposed by Edquist et al. because it represents, essentially, both a product and process innovation.

Certainly, by substituting coal with solar power, new employment opportunities will arise for workers such as solar manufacturers and technicians as the markets will require knowledge and skills for new types of products, but as the new technologies will be accompanied by new processes, it is important to think about what will happen to those workers who have been trained to work in industries with coal.

If this substitution happens with no complementary adjustments, the workers who cannot keep up with new products and processes are likely to lose jobs as more traditional industries are displaced. The popularized idea that coal workers will simply “adjust” and learn new skills is a very rosy view of the world—we need to be more empathetic to those who will experience that change.

This means that energy-based innovations should be complemented with education and training of those who are employed by industries that are going to become displaced by rising innovations. Of course, adjustments like these would require a substantial reformation of some societies (e.g. high-quality education should be accessible to everyone), but it is paramount that innovations do not lead to massive creation of jobs that require highly specialized skills, only attainable by those who have the means to acquire them.

Referring again to the analysis of Edquist et al., I doubt that it’s realistic for institutions, such as the government, to encourage only those types of product innovations that do not substitute older products, which is why it is important to make a compromise when less beneficial energy-oriented product and process innovations occur. In that sense, governments should encourage innovations that are complemented by education and training of those workers who have been trained in more traditional industries. This way, innovative use of energy would advance the economy in an environmentally friendly way while ensuring that jobs are not lost in the process.

Sustainable production and consumption are also necessary if energy is to be used responsibly for transforming the industrial state. In addition to moving to cleaner and safer technologies and processes, it is important that less energy is used in production and provision of products and services that require less energy in their operation and use. Although it might seem unclear how this can co-optimize the three pillars of sustainable development, sustainable production and consumption ensures that economy can advance (as consumption will decrease) in an environmentally friendly way (less energy is used), while increasing long-term security for workers due to a positive feedback loop promoted by advancing economy, resulting from more responsible production and consumption.

These ideas should be implemented in both developed and developing countries, but in countries like China and India, there needs to be a greater compromise when thinking about the repercussions of improper energy use. As Lorek and Spangenberg have noted in their paper, these countries are justifying their growing emissions by claiming that their ever-growing populations cannot be complemented with reduced environmental impact. The authors do not agree with this notion, and instead suggest that the right to growth, and therefore increased emissions, should not be granted to any country, but to groups of people in poverty.

For effective and responsible use of energy, this means that, as a society, we might have to compromise and allow high-poverty areas to temporarily use forms of energy that might lead to negative environmental effects, which would not co-optimize the three pillars of sustainable development. While this might not be the most ideal way of transforming the industrial state, it might be more practical until governments can redistribute wealth from affluent to high-poverty areas, allowing them to also institute energy-oriented innovations.

Meaningful and rewarding work opportunities as tools for ensuring workers’ enduring satisfaction

These innovations will not have a significant impact if the new employment opportunities continue the same trend of unrewarding and underpaid jobs that are harrowing many of today’s workers. Solutions, such as financial compensations above the minimum wage, seem clear and unambiguous, but it can be hard to assess what “meaningful” job opportunities mean.

Meaningful work implies at least some sort of personal fulfillment; that is, while it is unrealistic to expect that all workers will do what they love, it is important that workers can perceive their contribution to the society as significant. One way to achieve this is to offer product services wherever and whenever possible.

Using the example of solar power again, one can imagine a hypothetical future scenario in which solar power systems can be purchased by consumers for delivery and do-it-yourself assembly system, which would help companies cut costs by not employing technicians who would help assemble such power systems.

This line of thought would follow the widespread, profit-maximizing mentality of the today’s world—just think of IKEA—but if we are to transform the industrial state, the companies should orient their business model toward sustainability and employ technicians instead of allowing consumers to assemble these systems on their own. Even if the consumers are capable of doing so.

First, while this approach might increase labor costs for the company, it would generate job opportunities for workers who are trained as technicians. Second, this approach would generate meaningful work for technicians as they would be able to apply their hands-on skills and customize the solar power systems per customers’ desires, which might not be necessarily possible in a simplified, do-it-yourself system. In turn, this would provide the workers with a sense of nontrivial impact, which is, I would argue, the basis of meaningful work.

Bringing it all together

My main argument here is that no policy or suggestion can be a guaranteed solution for transforming the unsustainable industrial state. Even though some propositions might seem effective, if they are implemented in isolation or without in-depth, pre-emptive analysis, they might engender unwanted consequences.

Likewise, calls for radical transformations of society are theoretically more effective, but it is not always clear whether they can be achieved within a reasonable timeframe. Despite this odd conundrum, we can start to transform the industrial state by focusing on two areas: using energy to co-optimize the three pillars of sustainable development and creating meaningful, rewarding work opportunities.

They might not be courageous or radical ideas, but I would think they are at least somewhat more practical.

References

  1. Ashford, N. A., and Hall, R. P. (2011). “Technology, Globalization, and Sustainable Development: Transforming the Industrial State.“ Yale University Press

  1. Ashford, N. A. and Kallis, G. (2013). “A Four-Day Workweek”, European Financial Review

  1. Borel-Saladin, J.M. and Turok, I. N. (2013). “The Green Economy: Incremental Change or Transformation?” Environmental Policy and Governance

  1. Edquist, C., Hommen L., and McKelvey M. (2001), “Innovation and Employment: Process versus Product Innovation” Edward Elgar Publishing

  1. Jackson, T. and Victor, P. (2013). “Green Economy and Community Scale,” Metcalf Foundation November

  1. Kallis, G. (2011) “In Defence of Degrowth” Ecological Economics

  1. Lorek, S. and Spangenberg, J. (2014) “Sustainable Consumption Within a Sustainable Economy: Beyond Green Growth and Green Economics,” Journal of Cleaner Production

Róisín Murphy’s high-fashion world of chic bizarreness at the Brooklyn Electronic Music Festival

🕒 This article is more than 5 years old (Published Nov 10, 2016).

Last Friday, Brooklyn Electronic Music Festival opened its doors for the season at multiple locations across the city, but the most anticipated event took place at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, where lines of dedicated and lavishly dressed fans patiently awaited Róisín Murphy’s arrival. The excitement was, of course, completely justified given that Murphy, who released albums Hairless Toys and Take Her Up to Monto within just one year after an eight-year hiatus, rarely performs in the US. She was possibly a bit of an odd choice of a performer for a festival like BEMF, but as a regular outcast in the music industry, Murphy easily adopted the pariah role for the festival lineup and paradoxically served as the most suitable artist for the opening night by delivering an extraordinary, high-energy show.

Greeted by a long-lasting applause from the audience, she entered wearing a head of a doll clown, with long pink ribbons extending from her face, and opened the show wit “Mastermind” from her latest album Take Her Up to Monto. It was a perfect entrance for a concert of such exuberant panache, during which she continuously changed refined outfits and accessorized onstage while successfully sustaining the essence of the show in a peculiar space between music and theater.

The highly sartorial atmosphere, animated by both Murphy and Belgian artist Christophe Coppens, who designed the eccentric masks for the tour, accentuated the musical bizarreness of her latest albums, which constituted most of the show’s setlist. The longtime fans still had the opportunity to enjoy some of her older hits, like “Forever More,” “Dear Miami,” “Overpowered,” and “Sing It Back,” in addition to lesser-known gems, such as “In Sintesi” from her EP Mi Senti.

Róisín Murphy performing on stage at the Brooklyn Electronic Music Festival, with Eddie Stevens playing in the background.

There was also something surprisingly charming about Murphy’s anarchic – some might even call it messy – stage setup. Soon after Covert Joy, a Queens-based electronic duo that served as the opener for the night, left the podium and the venue staff cleared their DJ booth, a pile of Murphy’s masks, wigs, and props appeared at center stage, surrounded by her extravagant and brightly-colored outfits hanging from the band’s instruments and equipment, while the construction-worker jacket from the “Ten Miles High” video, along with a shield of shades of pink, red, and yellow arranged in concentric circles, lay isolated on the right.

To an uninformed and unacquainted eye, the entire arrangement might seem careless and unappealing, but those who are familiar with Murphy’s ever-growing sense of aesthetic will know that rules play no role in her work. The absence of orderliness, as a matter of fact, served as a perfect complement to her spontaneous and improv-imbued performance.

While one might expect a theatrical concert to be almost like a play, where each physical movement is planned and rehearsed to the point of perfection, this was not the case with Murphy’s show. At one point, a long thread from her hair-like black and gold costume got enwrapped around the equipment, necessitating quick help from the venue staff, and during the earlier part of the show, she almost knocked over a stand with her props while assembling a new outfit. But, it is important, and equally fascinating, to note that moments like these did not stem from lack of preparedness; in fact, they showcased Murphy’s enamoring spontaneity, as well as her incredible to ability to stage a highly theatrical performance without ever using pretentiousness or ostentatiousness as means of bridging music and theater.

Indeed, the reason why Murphy succeeded at delivering such an entertainingly camp performance is because she allowed herself to explore different characters with each outfit and song, creating an ephemeral world of her varied alter egos, where seriousness and silliness were in a constant state of flux.

Róisín Murphy performing on stage at the Brooklyn Electronic Music Festival, with random numbers being displayed in the background.

Whether it was simply donning a streamlined combo of red and white for “Evil Eyes” with owl-like sunglasses and duster-like pink scarf or transforming into an otherworldly princess with an oversized, glittered round face mask for “Exploitation,” she engendered a dozen of different and undoubtedly bizarre characters who followed the band’s experimental tone to reveal “weird-sibling” versions of Murphy’s songs. Chart-toppers, for example, became outlandish musical explorations (“Sing it Back” borrowed an additional chorus from Reel 2 Real’s “I Like to Move It”) and acoustics-driven dance gems (who would have known that banjo would work so well with “Overpowered”), while pounding, brass-heavy songs got accompanied by more downtempo renditions (“Forever More,” most notably, transitioned from an ecstatic, beat-infused chorus to a jazzy outro).

A Róisín Murphy show in the post-Hairless Toys times is, therefore, not just a concert, and those who seek a traditional, singalong experience will surely be perplexed by Murphy’s flamboyant performance. But, the unorthodox and outré content of her show is precisely why one should want to see Murphy –  an unequivocally prolific artist –  in a live setting, where music, fashion, and theater become indistinct components of her peculiar and evanescent world.

These days, it’s rare to find an artist like Murphy, whose work becomes progressively more captivating and exciting, so hopefully it won’t be too long before she produces another album and embarks on a new set of shows. And, even if it does take a while, it will certainly be worth the wait.

Cover photo courtesy of José Sena Goulão. Follow him on Instagram as well.

Theatrical melancholy in the form of French extravaganza

🕒 This article is more than 5 years old (Published Oct 20, 2016).

It is hard to believe that Héloïse Letissier’s heartbreak-driven escape from Paris to London in 2010 would lead him to Soho’s lavish Madame Jojo’s, where he would find solace in the company of three drag queens and eventually relaunch his existence as one of the most enigmatic millennial French pop stars.

Yet, at the age of only twenty eight, Letissier, more commonly known by his stage name Christine and the Queens, is steadily conquering the music scene with his debut album Chaleur Humaine (later rebranded eponymously as Christine and the Queens for the English-speaking audiences).

Last week, he opened his fourth North American show as part of the new tour at the sold-out Paradise Rock, during which he recreated a vicarious, Paris-is-burning-esque escapism for Bostonians who eagerly anticipated Lettisier’s arrival. Switching effortlessly from catchy chart-toppers like “Tilted” and downtempo ballads, such as “Saint Claude” and “Nuit 17 à 52,” to tracks from his EPs, like “Intranquillité,” he flawlessly and vividly portrayed the underlying story of the devastating breakup that shaped most of the album’s lyrical content. The emotional underpinnings of his music were furthermore emphasized by the theatrical performance of “Safe and Holy” and “Here,” songs which never attracted as much public attention as other tracks from the album, despite their transfixing, dramatic character.

At the same time, the essence of Christine and the Queens was never in the music, and those who attend Letissier’s concert will surely understand why. Dance and meticulously designed movements are at the heart of his show, which is why the live renditions of songs like “Science Fiction,” “Half Ladies,” and “Tilted” brought in a pulsating flavor through exquisite choreography and gave a flamboyant spin on Letissier’s downhearted lyrics.

It should come as no surprise, then, that Letissier treats his concert-going fans with unexpected dance gems, brilliantly executed with the help of his backup dancers. “Science Fiction,” for instance, transitioned into a minute-long synchronized choreography to Serge Gainsbourg’s “Mon légionnaire,” while another segue put the four backup dancers under the spotlight as they took turns to demonstrate sleek voguing to Inner City’s “Good Life.”

Despite the concert’s captivating liveliness, it is easy to dismiss Letissier’s music and show as uncreative and trite. The streamlined, monochromatic outfits of the all-male dancers — in, what is essentially, a one-man show — will certainly remind the more observant audiences of Madonna’s music videos from the Vogue era.

His brisk and desexualized choreography clearly draws movements from iconic artists, like Michael Jackson, and more contemporary ones, such as Janelle Monáe, while the overall hyper-electronic pop sound of his music carries strong resemblance to that of other European music acts, like The Knife, that have already explored the ideas of marginalization and androgyny through pop music, which all together challenges the progressiveness of his identity as Christine and the Queens.

While it is completely warranted to doubt Letissier’s “novelty factor” for the previously-mentioned observations, there is also no reason not to believe that he will continue to grow as an artist and eventually carve his own, unique niche within the music industry. Most importantly, even though it might prove informative to objectively deconstruct the basis of his musical identity and question its authenticity, perhaps it is best to simply accept and appreciate his show for what it is — an enrapturing, playful, and undeniably entertaining performance that succeeds at creating a safe haven for those who seek one.

Cover photo courtesy of Jeff Hahn. Follow him on Instagram as well.


02/18/2023 update: The article was updated to use ‘he/him/his’ pronouns to reflect Christine and the Queen’s preferred gender identity.

Anohni’s take on climate change, foreign policy, and mass surveillance

🕒 This article is more than 10 years old (Published Jul 6, 2016).

Six years after releasing the album Swanlights with the ensemble of musicians known as Antony and the Johnsons, the English artist Anohni returns to the music scene, dropping the previous name “Antony Hegarty,” and releases her debut solo album Hopelessness. As the second openly transgender person who has been nominated for an Academy Award (with Angela Morley being the first), she re-enters the industry not only with a new moniker, but with a new musical style as well. Shifting her work, which was previously rather pastoral and orchestral, to pop-inspired electronic music, Anohni focuses on politics this time in an attempt to make a protest album.

The transition to a new genre is executed flawlessly. Joined by producers Hudson Mohawke and Oneohtrix Point Never, Anohni delivers a successful combination of pounding and captivatingly glitchy synth-pop in “4 Degrees” and “Violent Men,” followed by the catchy and peppy songs “Watch Me” and “Execution,” in addition to offering ballads like “I Don’t Love You Anymore” and euphoric anthems like “Why Did You Separate Me from the Earth?” Her vocal performance is just as effective, with a wide range of emotions, which are vividly portrayed in each song, clearly indicating the promising potential of this album.

Unfortunately, the successful musical production is thrown off balance by the album’s draining lyrical content. Despite Anohni’s best attempts to deliver a dance protest album that addresses a wide range of topics, from foreign policy and capital punishment to climate change and mass surveillance, her fusion of music and politics instead creates a naive image of a bleak, nihilistic, and 1984-esque society facing impending doom.

“Execution,” for example, attempts to showcase the saddening truth that capital punishment is still actively practiced in several countries around the world, but Anohni’s simple recital of nations, “Like the Chinese and the Saudis / The North Koreans and The Nigerians,” accompanied with the repetitive hook “Execution / Execution / It’s an American dream” over a jingle-like melody, renders the song bereft of any emotional maturity.

Similarly, in the song “Obama,” the weakest track on the album, Anohni directly criticizes the president through verses such as “Now the news is you are spying / Executing without trial” and “All the hope drained from your face / Like children we believed”, while periodically chanting the president’s last name. Without giving a more diplomatic and well-thought-out criticism of Obama’s presidency, she fails to deliver the intended message and instead presents the listeners with a rather unpolished set of opinions.

On the other hand, when the lyrics become coated with poetic ambiguity, the album feels undoubtedly triumphant. “I Don’t Love You Anymore,” the only song on the album that does not have any explicitly political content, highlights Anohni’s mastery as a storyteller. When she sings “I was so lonely, all alone / When the phone rang, I wasn’t there / When my parents called, I just sat and stared” with a dejected voice, a more vulnerable and visceral side of Anohni is shown, allowing the listeners to feel the gravity of her personal struggles.

In “Why Did You Separate Me from the Earth,” she succeeds at creating a palpable vision of a dying environment, one that shows the dire repercussions of careless human activities, by singing “I don’t want your future / I’ll be born before you’re born / Why did you separate me, me from the Earth?” Lyrics like these contrast sharply with the bluntness of other songs on the record, and show that poeticism could convey her ideas more effectively.

Blurring the lines between music and politics is not a novelty, and Anohni is certainly not the first musician whose lyrics draw attention to current global issues. Just within England, M.I.A.’s single, “Borders,” which addresses the European migrant crisis, created controversy when it was released at the end of 2015, and, more recently, PJ Harvey’s track “Community of Hope,” from this year’s album The Hope Six Demolition Project, drew criticism from D.C. politicians, who considered Harvey’s apocalyptic depiction of Ward 7 as incorrect and incomplete.

Much of the criticism directed at politically charged music usually stems from observations that artists themselves do not offer any solutions to issues presented in their songs. But, it is important to understand that this type of disapproval is completely unwarranted, as musicians are certainly not expected to propose sound policies in their work. The purpose of such music is merely to raise consciousness and promote discussions about issues through a medium that is more accessible and less censored.

That said, the underlying problem of Anohni’s debut album is not that she does not complement her observations with robust solutions, but that she tries to encourage discussions about issues of layered complexity with haste and no tact. Had she dedicated more time towards developing nuanced and mature lyrics, the album could have easily become an indispensable component of leftwing music.

It would be unfair, however, to give her no credit. The album’s political content certainly should have been crafted with more care, but Anohni’s courage to lyrically tackle global issues as an openly transgender artist through a new musical genre deserves unequivocal praise. At its best, Hopelessness should be appreciated for its strong, albeit latent, message — that humanity must stand united, more so now than ever before.

Originally published in MIT’s newspaper “The Tech.” Cover photo courtesy of Alice O’Malley

Julia Holter’s exquisite live performance

🕒 This article is more than 10 years old (Published Mar 17, 2016).

After the captivating live rendition of “Goddess Eyes I,” Julia Holter smiled to the audience and remarked that the only thing she could see that night in the background of Allston’s dimly-lit Great Scott was the live stream of former U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and Senator Bernie Sanders’ Democratic presidential debate on TV. The audience immediately burst into laughter.

As the debate was taking place, Holter and her band mesmerized Boston with their celestial and enchanting music as part of Holter’s North American tour with Haley Fohr, otherwise known as Circuit des Yeux. With a diverse setlist showcasing songs from both her latest and earliest records, and an amusing band of talented musicians, Holter’s concert was nothing short of excellent.

Haley Fohr, the main pillar of the eerily charming music act Circuit des Yeux, opened the show in the densely crowded and intimate Great Scott. Those who have been following Fohr’s career will know that she is not a newcomer to the music scene, but those who are hearing the name Circuit des Yeux for the first time will likely find the singer-songwriter’s music unexpectedly haunting and, at the same time, undoubtedly riveting. With her slender physique and long hair that covered her face throughout most of the show, Fohr at first might seem like a timid performer, but her resonating baritone voice and ecstatic blend of goth, folk, and rock music will leave any audience member in awe.

The stark contrast between Fohr’s and Holter’s live music and appearances was one of the most striking and well-employed aspects of the show. Whereas Holter’s live music and performance are dominated by a sense of transcendental peacefulness and childlike playfulness, Fohr’s music and stage persona can easily evoke feelings of fear and even horror, which might make Circuit des Yeux seem like an unnatural choice of an opener. This juxtaposition, however, served as a wonderful segue when Holter and her band joined Fohr on stage to collectively perform a cover. In those few minutes, Holter’s serene and Fohr’s tempestuous vocals provided an unlikely but successful auditory synergy that completely justified the disparity between the opening and main act.

After a few minutes of setup and stage readjustment, Holter and her band — consisting of Dina Maccabee (viola, vocals), Devin Hoff (bass), and Corey Fogel (drums, vocals) — took over and opened the setlist with “Silhouette” from her latest record. Smoothly transitioning from Have You in My Wilderness and Loud City Song to Holter’s older albums Tragedy and Ekstasis, the quartet delivered a laid-back but nonetheless astonishing performance. The intimate setting of Great Scott, where murmur and vocal cues between Holter and the band members were easily heard across the space, bolstered the quality of their performance. Embracing the physical closeness to the audience, the band fully surrendered to the present moment and allowed their body language to closely mimic the diverse rhythmic portfolio of Holter’s songs.

The greatest value in seeing Julia Holter perform live, however, was witnessing the alluring orchestration and vocal harmonization from the studio recordings come to life in a concert setting. While some of the acoustic charm was naturally lost in this process of translation, Holter’s band added a new, entertaining twist to Holter’s songs. This adaptation was most easily notable in live performances of songs like “Horns Surrounding Me” and “Sea Calls Me Home.” The studio version of “Horns Surrounding Me” can be easily described as claustrophobic and agonizing, but the live version of the song was successfully transformed into a low-key dance gem. Similarly, the soothing feel of “Sea Calls Me Home” was amplified in the live setting when Holter and the band captivated the audience with blissful harmonizing and whistling.

Holter is taking a short break from touring until May 27, when she will perform at Gorge Amphitheatre in George, WA, followed by shows in Belgium, Canada, Oregon, and Sweden. If you get a chance to see her and the band perform live, be sure not to miss them — you will be transported to a world of sublime surrealism that only Julia Holter is capable of constructing.

Originally published in MIT’s newspaper “The Tech.”

In memoriam: Remembering David Bowie

🕒 This article is more than 10 years old (Published Jan 21, 2016).

David Bowie, a legendary music and fashion icon, passed away on Jan. 10 after an 18-month battle with liver cancer. Following his death, numerous artists and public figures paid their respects to the singer via social media by thanking him for being a source of inspiration throughout their lives.

Last week, the entrance to the MIT’s Infinite Corridor was embellished with a banner that paid homage to Bowie through his verse from “Space Oddity,” while Lobby 7 greeted the MIT community with imagery of his eccentric outfits. Surely, every Bowie fan can cite a multitude of reasons why this icon should be remembered and appreciated, but I can understand why someone who did not follow his career might ask a simple question — why should we care about David Bowie?

There are the obvious reasons. He was one of the defining figures of the glam rock era, with his alter-ego Ziggy Stardust becoming almost equally important as Bowie himself. His love for theater allowed him to develop convincing characters and stories, which served as solid foundations for flamboyant and unforgettable shows.

He continuously experimented with music and created albums that — even when they did not receive widespread recognition — were ahead of their time. His outfits, just as outlandish, have become an artistic legacy of incontrovertible importance. He gracefully and successfully re-entered the music scene after a decade-long hiatus and managed to release two critically acclaimed albums before his death.

Besides his contribution to the world of art and entertainment, he was highly valued by other people, not only as a musician but also as a friend. In a recent interview for The New York Times, Iggy Pop described Bowie as “more of a benefactor than a friend” and that he “went a bit out of his way to bestow some good karma on [Iggy Pop].” Tony Visconti, Bowie’s producer, said that he was an “extraordinary man, full of love and life” in his Facebook post following Bowie’s death.

But, in order to completely grasp why he was an important global figure, perhaps we should try to understand what he meant to those who never had the opportunity to meet him in person: children, teenagers, young adults, parents, grandparents, and dedicated music fans across the world.

I was first introduced to Bowie’s music as a 14-year-old, when a friend of mine directed me to his songs “Ashes to Ashes” and “China Girl.” It would be a stretch to say that I’ve been a devout fan of his music ever since. While his most prominent albums have become essential components of my music collection, I can’t say that I know the majority of his songs by heart or that I have appreciated the entirety of his work.

However, since that day, I have committedly watched many of his interviews and studied his life and career, because there was something inexplicably touching about his character that made me want to learn more about this unique artist. It wasn’t until 2014 that I finally understood what made Bowie so special to me.

Two years ago, when I visited the exhibition “David Bowie,” the first retrospective collection of his work, in Berlin’s Martin-Gropious-Bau, I realized for the first time that David Bowie was more than just an icon in the history of music, fashion, and entertainment.

Looking through the displays of his handwritten lyrics, original costumes, music videos, interviews, and album artwork, I sensed that his two opposing traits, grandiose eccentricity and subdued vulnerability, were, paradoxically, closely related. Whereas his style and demeanor at times made him seem otherworldly and almost inaccessible, his unapologetically honest character, showcased through his evolving work and emotional expressiveness, helped me see that he was just another human being, but who was — unlike many of us — not afraid to express himself and defy society’s oppressive stereotypes. In his own special way, David Bowie was the world’s favorite outcast.

So, why should we care?

We should care because he undoubtedly changed the music industry and inspired other musicians, but also because he achieved so much more. He inspired actors. He inspired designers. He served as a role model (or anti-role model, for that matter) to children, teenagers, rebels, music fans, and adults who wanted to immortalize their youth. He wore outlandish outfits that remain avant-garde even today. He played with the notion of ambiguous sexuality when the world was struggling to accept the idea of alternative sexual identity. He challenged the world by fighting the old-fashioned concepts of polarized masculinity and femininity. In other words, most importantly, he showed that there is value in being a misfit.

Rest in peace, David Bowie. The world will never forget what a bright and shining star you were.

Originally published in MIT’s newspaper “The Tech.”

Can the pharmaceutical industry inspire intellectual property in fashion?

🕒 This essay is more than 10 years old (Published Oct 13, 2015).

Meds, clothes, and intellectual property. Probably the last three words you would imagine together in a sentence. But, as preposterous as this may sound, I would say that the fashion industry can learn a lot from the pharmaceutical industry. These two seemingly disparate worlds actually have something in common—a market failure: unstable and undefined intellectual property (IP) rights.

To disentangle this paradox, we need to dissect the IP issues in both industries, and then draw a two-fold comparison to show how current IP challenges in the pharmaceutical industry can actually be analyzed to build foundations for IP policy-making in fashion.

I definitely do not aim to offer sound policy for rectifying these issues in both industries, but I do think it’s valuable to point out why a very notorious industry, known for its highly competitive and sometimes unscrupulous regulatory processes, should be seen as a template for protecting the work of fashion designers, people who unfortunately often live at the blurry intersection of art and commerce.

Unstable and Undefined Intellectual Property Rights in Fashion

Why would one even think about this issue in the fashion industry? Well, more than anything, there is an economic importance. A 2008 report from the U.S. Census Bureau estimated $217 billion in annual sales from clothing and accessories, while shoes generated $27 billion through retail. A more recent report in The Legal Intelligencer cites $300 billion in sales as the industry’s annual revenue, which shows that the industry contributes a significant amount of revenue to the US economy and that the sales are likely to continue growing.

Despite its economic importance, at the same time, the industry lacks well-defined and established laws and policies that protect intellectual property in US-based fashion, which can easily allow others to copy ideas in fashion without significant repercussions. This, however, is not the case with non-US branches of the fashion industry, such as the European one, where fashion designs can receive up to twenty-five years of protection.

Recently, there have been few attempts at solving the issue of intellectual property in fashion through copyright, but they have all, unfortunately, failed. For instance, The Design Piracy Prohibition Act of 2006 never passed from Congress to the next steps approval, and the Innovative Design Protection and Piracy Prevention Act of 2010 was placed on the Senate Legislative Calendar at the end of 2010, but has not since moved forward. The Innovative Design Protection Act of 2012, which would have allowed protection of fashion designs up to three years, was introduced at the end of 2012 but was never passed.

While fashion designs themselves cannot be protected by copyright, some aspects—unique prints, patterns, and color arrangements—can be protected “only if, and only to the extent that, such design incorporates pictorial, graphic, or sculptural features that can be identified separately from, and are capable of existing independently of, the utilitarian aspects of the article,” according to the U.S. Copyright Act.

Of course, one can immediately see how this vague rule can be easily surpassed to copy an idea without creating ground for litigation. For example, in a hypothetical situation, if a designer uses a triangular color-blocking pattern—a pattern that is not novel—to create a novel line of color-blocked scarves, which no one has presumably thought of before, the designer will not be able to protect neither the color-blocking scarves nor the design as the triangular color-blocking pattern might not be identified separately from the utilitarian aspects of the scarves. An obvious global example is Burberry’s popular cashmere scarf in heritage check, whose characteristic pattern can be easily replicated with only slight modifications and used to sell unbranded, Burberry-like scarves on popular commerce websites, such as Amazon.

Designers can partially rectify these issues by turning to trade dress, a part of trademark law governed by the Lanham Act, or design patents, which are available under the U.S. Patent Act. Trade dress allows designers to protect their brand names and logos, as well as the visual characteristics of a product if they denote the source of the product to consumers and if they are not functional, which effectively excludes apparel since apparel designs are considered to be functional.

Design patents, on the other hand, will protect the look of a design and ornamentation as long as “it is novel, nonfunctional, and nonobvious to a designer of ordinary skill in the art.” Once again, it is clear that there is great degree of freedom in interpreting this statement, essentially leaving designers without a guaranteed safety net. On top of that, design patents are generally not applicable to apparel because of its functionality.

You still might be thinking: why does anyone care? After all, if a person is a loyal Oscar de la Renta customer, for instance, it is reasonable to assume that they would not bother looking into non-original garment that’s sold for less. While the assumption is valid, as it was shown in BBC’s popular 2007 documentary The Secret World of Haute Couture, there is only a very small and exclusive global community that religiously attends designers’ publicly-inaccessible runway shows and that purchases these exclusive designer garments.

The rest—in fact, the majority—of the population has easy access to non-original products, which can be classified into: counterfeits, knockoffs, and generics.

Counterfeits are those products that are produced with the intent of being sold as originals, while knockoffs are derivative products that are not meant to be sold on the black market as originals, but they have been designed by adopting one or many ideas from an original product.

For instance, using again the example of Burberry’s popular cashmere scarf, a counterfeit would be a replica of the scarf that’s illegally marketed and sold as the original one, while a knockoff would be a Burberry-like scarf that’s sold on Amazon under a different name.

It is therefore clear how a counterfeit might negatively impact revenues and profits of a branded fashion house, but one might naturally wonder how high-end fashion knockoffs can have a negative impact if they are marketed under a completely different seller, such as a retail-clothing company.

As Ferrill and Tanhenco describe in their paper, knockoffs are not prohibited by any U.S. law—while counterfeits are regulated by trademark law and the Lanham Act—which means they are even more dangerous for the world of fashion, because they hurt designers both economically and creatively.

Particularly, the knockoffs can hurt designers economically because those customers who are willing to pay enough for a high-end fashion product, but also do not mind purchasing a knockoff, will buy the knockoff at a lower price, which will effectively decrease designers’ revenues. As a consequence, knockoffs will also negatively affect the creative side of designers’ works; without protection over their creations, the designers will lose incentive to invest in developing novel designs.

One can think of a situation where this would be particularly relevant—if the creation of novel clothing line requires high costs of production due to a specific material or intricate pattern-making process, a designer might not have the incentive to incur high costs if the product can be easily copied and sold as a knockoff in retail-clothing stores, such as H&M or Zara.

Finally, one can think about the long-term negative impacts in this industry caused by the lack of strong protection over intellectual property. While counterfeits and knockoffs represent immediate threats to designers and high-end fashion houses, it is important to understand that there is a third type of threat—not yet presented and analyzed in the literature—which comes from products that have lost their patentability potential due to their overuse over an extended period of time.

I call these fashion items generics as they are closely comparable to generic drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, drugs marketed under their chemical name that are identical to corresponding brand drugs in qualities such as dose, strength, and efficacy. It is easy to see how generics can develop in fashion if there is no firm protection over a new design and product. For example, if a designer creates a trapezoid-neck t-shirt, which has presumably not yet appeared in the world of fashion, and is unable to protect this unique design, the t-shirt will be able to get copied as a knockoff in the near future and finally become a generic in the long run.

Put differently, after an extended period of overuse in the retail-clothing industry (assuming that the product prevails throughout multiple seasons), the concept of trapezoid-neck will become obvious and not new, effectively annulling the patentability of the original design idea.

Generics do not economically impact designers and high-end houses in any different way than knockoffs do, because they stem from knockoffs, but they can hurt them creatively in a significantly more damaging way. If designers fear that their unique designs will become generic due to uncontrollable production and imitation, they will not have any incentive to reveal their ideas to the world of fashion. This, in turn, can impact the overall economy by not bringing new high-end products to the market and it can negatively affect the creativeness of the industry—simply because the designers’ ideas might be left concealed and unrealized.

So, we can identify the reason why the fashion market experiences economic and creative instability: because there isn’t a cohesive U.S. law that would establish relevant policies for rectifying the issue of intellectual property in fashion. How would we go about fixing this? This is when it is worth looking at a similar problem in the pharmaceutical industry to draw a parallel and and learn whether any IP principles from pharma can be applied to fashion.

The Issue of Intellectual Property Rights in the Pharmaceutical Industry

The pharmaceutical industry, despite its seemingly irrelevant connection to the fashion industry, faces a similar problem. Specifically, as the result of the industry’s prominent focus on research and development, especially in the field of drug development, patents are viewed as valuable assets and reliable representatives of a company’s standing in the market.

As Grabowski describes in his paper, it takes several hundred million dollars to discover, develop, gain approval, and finally send a new drug to the market. The costs of R&D are significantly high because most new drug candidates never actually reach the market due to various reasons, such as toxicity, manufacturing difficulties, and economic and competitive factors.

Even more importantly, if there is no patent protection over a new drug, imitators can easily duplicate the drug for very low costs. The costs of investing in research and developing new drugs can therefore often seem daunting to pharma executives who are aware that, especially in the field of drug development, rapid reverse engineering can lead to easy imitation of any compound.

Given that patents are currently used in the pharmaceutical industry to address these problems, one might wonder whether there is truly any similarity between fashion and pharma. It is certainly true that patenting has already been in use to protect new drugs during development, but the real issue is that pharmaceutical companies often do not have bandwidth to maintain a dedicated IP team that can strategize and help the pharmaceutical company extract meaningful profit from the generated IP.

Furthermore, any drug-producing pharmaceutical company also has to draw a distinct line between original products and those that enter the market and negatively affect company’s revenues, such as counterfeit drugs, derivative drugs, and low-cost imitations more commonly known as generics, which enter the market after the original drug’s patent has expired. These products are analogous to counterfeits, knockoffs, and generics in fashion as is evident from the following analysis.

Counterfeit drugs are fake medicines that are sold illegally under the same brand name of the original drug. As FDA describes them, they can contain the same ingredients as the original drug—although they might have no active ingredient at all—but the ingredients are incorporated at the wrong dose. One can see how they are analogous to counterfeits in the fashion industry, which are also marketed as high-end products but they usually lack in the quality or intricacy of the original design. Certainly, counterfeit drugs negatively impact the pharmaceutical industry because they can directly affect the company’s profits if they succeed at entering the market illegally and deceiving the customers.

While the term “knockoff” is not officially used in the pharmaceutical industry, and is often interchangeable with the term “counterfeit”, I use the term knockoff drugs to refer to those products that are derivatives of the original product with slight changes. For instance, a drug can be a knockoff if it performs a similar function as the original brand-name drug but has some properties changed, such as its functional groups, thermodynamics- or kinetics-based properties.

The damaging impact of these types of drugs is clear—they are not directly infringing on IP rights of the brand-name drug’s company because the knockoff drugs have different properties, but they are effectively a variation on a theme and, as such, exploit the high costs incurred by the brand-name drug’s company for R&D. Just like the knockoffs in fashion industry, which hurt designers both economically and creatively, knockoff drugs can hurt the pharmaceutical industry if companies do not ensure that their patents protect a broad spectrum of intellectual properties.

Finally, generic drugs are identical copies of brand-name drugs that enter the market after the original drug’s patent has expired. According to the FDA, they are important options that allow greater access to health care for all Americans. For the pharmaceutical industry, they can be perceived as the least threatening option because they cannot legally enter the market before the expiration of the original drug’s patent; in other words, there is an extended period of time for the brand-name drug to generate revenue before generics enter and become competition.

However, one can see how generics would be a problem for pharma if there was no clear patenting system available, which is currently the case with fashion industry. Generic drugs would immediately enter the market and, after their use over an extended period of time, annul the aspects of novelty and non-obviousness for the original brand-name drug and therefore diminish its patentability.

Sadly, this is indeed currently an issue in the fashion industry, where knockoffs can immediately lead to development of generics without leaving any time period for the high-end products to succeed at generating maximum revenue.

In her paper, Vinita Radhakrishnan proposes two strategies of strategically protecting intellectual property in the pharmaceutical industry that can rectify the previously-mentioned issues in pharma and maximize profit, and that are relevant to the examples of counterfeits and knockoffs in the fashion industry.

She proposes the use of trade secret protection for those products that are difficult to reverse-engineer or those that have value because of their secret nature. She uses an example of a biomarker that can assess the efficiency of a drug three times faster than a regular compound, and as such, can be used to optimize the company’s development, which means it should not be accessible to the public.

If placed under trade secret, the biomarker will be protected as long as the secrecy is maintained; in other words, the protection is not limited by term. On the other hand, if the biomarker is patented, the company will likely run into difficulties because the use of biomarker by another firm is difficult to audit. It is worth looking at how Radhakrishnan’s advice can be used to address the issue of counterfeit drugs.

As most drugs are easily reverse-engineered, trade secret protection could be used for those compounds that a pharmaceutical company uses as a crucial part of its drug development. As a critical component of the drug development process that is protected under secrecy, this compound will ensure the uniqueness of the developed drug so that its function cannot be copied easily. While this likely will not prevent all counterfeit sellers from distributing fake drugs to the market, it can certainly make the process harder because the difference between the original drug and counterfeit drug’s functionalities will be augmented with trade secret protection.

Conversely, patenting will work best for those products that can be easily reverse-engineered, such as a drug molecule or synthesis process. As Radhakrishnan describes in her paper, patenting does provide strong protection under law, but it comes at the expense of limited protection term, high protection and maintenance costs, as well as many exceptions to the definition of patentable matter. More importantly—and the most relevant aspect of patenting in pharma to fashion—is the drafting of specification.

Radhakrishnan suggests that the drafter of a patent should ensure that the patent is drafted to maximize the broadest possible scope while not infringing on neighboring patents. Her suggestion addressing this particular aspect of IP protection is crucial for knockoff drugs: the broader the scope of the patent is, the harder it will be to develop a derivative of the drug that’s not infringing on IP rights of the brand-name drug’s company.

It is important to note that patenting does not always benefit the entire industry. Another problematic aspect of biological research, which is an indispensable component of both the pharmaceutical and biotech industry, is the issue of anti-commons. As Michael Heller and Rebecca Eisenberg noted, too many IP rights in the upstream portion of R&D can hinder the development of downstream R&D.

According to their findings, product-developing companies have to incur high transaction costs to identify and clear rights, while academic scientists—unlike commercial scientists, who face similar problems to those of product-developing firms—seldom face patent enforcement, even when they ignore them. However, scientists in both the commercial and academic settings have trouble gaining access to materials and data that they can’t easily replicate in their own laboratories.

One can see how this essentially leads to a paradoxical problem: too many patents and high transaction costs can weaken the enforcement of patent rights, thereby increasing the possibility of unauthorized access and use, which effectively decreases the risk of anti-commons. At the same time, if the owners of the patent successfully exclude others from gaining access to their materials, users will have to incur high costs to gain access to the materials, thereby decreasing the possibility of unauthorized access, which increases the risk of anti-commons.

In their paper on intellectual commons and property in synthetic biology, Oye and Wellhausen succinctly summarize this issue through a four-quadrant graph that distinguishes private from public ownership, and clearly defined rights from ambiguously defined rights. As they describe, synthetic biologists mostly agree that processes such as protocols and design methods should fall within public ownership with clearly defined rights, while commercializable devices should also have clearly defined rights, but should fall within private ownership. They all agree that ambiguously defined rights, both within public and private ownership, serve as a threat and danger to development in the field.

Looking at all these issues together, it’s clear the pharmaceutical and fashion industry face similar problems—despite the differences between their internal operations and overall purpose. While the fashion industry’s operations focus primarily on design and transformation of raw materials, such as cotton and fossil fuels, into functional products, pharmaceutical industry places heavy emphasis on health-oriented research and drug development. Nevertheless, both industries have to combat the challenge of intellectual property rights.

Applying lessons from pharma to development of IP policies in fashion

The two most promising solutions to designers are design patents and trade dress, but as it was mentioned earlier, they are not applicable to apparel due to its functionality. Therefore, there needs to be a clearer set of policies that can protect apparel as well since, given the statistics shown earlier, apparel generates a greater percentage of revenue for the U.S. fashion industry. Using the issues and suggestions presented in the section about IP issues in pharma, one can think about potential solutions to the IP problems in fashion. My goal here is to provide suggestions for mitigating the negative effects of counterfeits, knockoffs, and generics in the fashion industry.

While counterfeits are regulated by trademark law, designers have no protection over their design process, which means that they have to keep their designs in complete secrecy until the designs are presented in runway shows or until they are worn by celebrities in public. Even so, sellers can still replicate the product and its design process because it would likely be difficult to prove that a person was replicating a fashion garment for the purpose of selling it on the black market.

Using a concept similar to trade secret, presented by Radhakrishnan in the case of pharma, policy makers should develop a law that protects the entire design technique and treats it as a secretive process. Because the design process is not similar to a synthesis process, and would therefore be difficult to reverse-engineer, it should be placed under an act that fully protects it without any time limit.

This way, if designers are using unique materials or an intricate production process, they can protect the “upstream” levels of their design technique, which would likely discourage others from attempting to obtain the same materials and knowledge about the design process. Of course, an illegal seller could still find a way to try replicating the garment, but by having a law that protects the design technique and process, designers would make this endeavor far more difficult.

Developing policies for knockoffs is a lot trickier. Drawing a parallel to the pharmaceutical industry, knockoffs can be seen as derivative products that are easy to reverse-engineer: because they won’t be exact replicates of a designer’s original garment, they are quite easy to develop through imitation. A knockoff designer simply needs to copy a single visual idea from the original designer and find a way to subtly incorporate it into a mass-production, ready-to-wear product.

It makes sense why designers would want to have patents over their final products in this case, but that doesn’t mean they should be granted these rights easily. To understand why this might be the case, it is worth looking at two examples of high-end fashion where patenting would not have benefited the fashion industry.

In a recent famous case Christian Louboutin v. Yves Saint Laurent (2012), Christian Louboutin sued Yves Saint Laurent for selling all-red shoes, which—according to Louboutin—looked similar to Louboutin’s women shoes with red soles and different colored tops. While the court ruled that Louboutin can have trademark protection over shoes with red soles, it did not grant Louboutin permission to claim trademark over monochromatically red shoes.

This exemplary case highlights how the concept of anti-commons could also become present in fashion if patenting was used more freely. More precisely, because fashion is a form of art, it is hard to distinguish what deserves to be patented, as patenting art forms can easily exclude others from using them in a way that’s originally intended to be non-restricting.

Simply put, it is reasonable that the court didn’t give permission to Louboutin to have trademark protection over monochromatically red shoes because that would essentially imply that Louboutin could sue any designer in the future who incorporates color red in their shoes. If designers are allowed to place strong protection over their final products, it can hinder other designers’ creativity and prevent progression of fashion.

Another example is Yves Saint Laurent’s famous “Mondrian” day dress, a wool jersey in color blocks of white, red, blue, black, and yellow, which was Saint Laurent’s adaptation of Piet Mondrian’s famous painting “Composition II in Red, Blue, and Yellow.” The dress has become one of the most important pieces in the history of fashion, yet—even though it is a high-end fashion product—the dress is a knockoff of another artist’s work.

It is unlikely that fashion connoisseurs today would consider this to be a non-inventive knockoff, but the dress undeniably represents an issue that the fashion industry is so fervently trying to combat today. So, once again, placing a patent over any design or visual feature to simply prevent creation of knockoffs would certainly hinder progression of fashion, leading to a “fashion anti-commons” issue, which is why it makes sense to have exceptions when defining patentable matter in this field of work as well.

With that in mind, what is the right way to approach this issue and still preserve designers’ intellectual rights? One way to develop a set of potential solutions is to use the framework presented in Oye and Wellhausen’s paper.

Currently, the U.S. fashion industry is having problems in the territory of intellectual property rights because the policies are based in the two quadrants of ambiguously defined rights. Policy-makers need to establish laws that can move fashion-oriented policies into the other two quadrants, by clearly defining rights for designers so that it’s transparent what can be a designer’s private ownership and what should be “intellectual commons.”

Of course, there are many ways to categorize aspects of fashion design into these categories as these decisions would be highly subjective. I propose one potential solution: categorizing these aspects in terms of structural and visual non-obviousness and innovativeness. The goal of the following policy template would be to provide designers with a firm set of rules, which would not allow for any ambiguity when deciding whether one should claim patents over their creations.

If the structural design of any fashion product, from simple accessories to apparel items, is non-obvious, and has therefore never been used before, the designer should be allowed to claim patent over such creation. For instance, in a hypothetical situation, if a designer has created trapezoid-neckline T-shirts, which therefore showcase a structural feature that has presumably not been used in fashion before, the designer should be able to protect the trapezoid-neckline structure so that this feature cannot be used by other high-end or retail-store designers who would want to mimic the product. Therefore, the designer would have private ownership over the product with clearly defined rights.

On the other hand, visual features of the product that do not in any way represent a designer’s official logo or any symbols that are officially recognized as the designer’s trademark visual features should not be patentable. In another hypothetical situation, if a designer created a line of simple dresses—which are not structurally non-obvious—that showcase an arrangement of colors gold, black, and white in a non-innovative way (for instance, a simple juxtaposition of colors along the dress), the designer should not be able to claim a patent over this dress. This way, visual characteristics, such as common patterns and colors, would be placed in the quadrant of public ownership and would constitute “intellectual fashion commons,” those aspects of design that can be used freely by all designers.

One exception to the latter rule would be the use of visually non-obvious and innovative patterns. For example, if a designer created a line of dresses that featured a specific tri-color arrangement on each dress, such that the first color was contained in an all-over triangular form, the second color was contained in an all-over circular form, with the rest of the dress featuring the third color, the designer should be able to claim patent over this specific visual arrangement, but not over the entire dress and the colors used on the dress.

Applying this rule to the Louboutin vs. Saint Laurent case, Louboutin would be able to claim patent over shoes whose soles have one color that’s different from the color of the rest of the shoe. This would prevent other designers from painting the soles of their shoes with one color, but it would still allow them to use the color for changing other features of the shoe. Therefore, this exception can be viewed as sitting in the area of clearly-defined rights, but halfway between private and public ownership because it will require a professional’s objective assessment of the visual feature’s non-obviousness and innovativeness.

Finally, as generics develop from knockoffs after the knockoffs have been used in fashion for an extended period of time, clearer policies that address knockoffs will consequently hinder development of generics. If designers are able to place strong protection over their designs and ideas, there will be an extended period of time in which high-end fashion products can generate maximum revenue before protection expires and before knockoffs enter the market and persist as generics in the long run.

Now, in the context of fashion at least, some of high-end products might survive only throughout few seasons. As a result, generics might never enter and prevail in the market if the “seasonality” of the high-end product expires before the protection over the product does. This, of course, can be seen as an additional benefit in the case of generics.

All this could certainly impose more creative protection, but I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the drawbacks of my proposed solutions. While these suggestions might lead to firmer and more helpful policies for fashion designers, they would inevitably be unfair to those designers and ideas that warrant special exceptions. This is particularly true because fashion is a form of art, and developing policies for this field of work requires subjective—and therefore not always fair—decisions.

References

1. E. Ferrill, T. Tanhenco (2011), Protecting the Material World: The Role of Design Patents in the Fashion Industry, North Carolina Journal of Law and Technology, Volume 12, Issue 2.
2. Eisenberg, Rebecca S., Noncompliance, Nonenforcement, Nonproblem? Rethinking the Anticommons in Biomedical Research, Hous. L. Rev. 45, no. 4 (2008), (Symposium: Patent Law in Persepctive Institute for Intellectual Property and Information Law.)
3. Grabowski, Henry; Patents, Innovation, and Access to New Pharmaceuticals, Journal of International Economic Law (2002).
4. Jeffrey, Don and Timberlake, Cotten; Louboutin Wins Appeal Over Saint Laurent Red-Soles Shoes, Bloomberg Business; September 5, 2012.
5. Krause, Kevin; Feds in Dallas warn of knockoff products – including cancer drugs – hitting the market, Dallas News; August 19, 2015.
6. Oye, Kenneth and Wellhausen, Rachel; Intellectual Commons and Property in Synthetic Biology (2009), Synthetic Biology.
7. Radhakrishnan, Vinita; IP Strategy for Drug Discovery: A Dedicated Research Firm’s Perspective, Journal of Intellectual Property Rights, Vol. 17, September 2012.
8. Schuman Campbell, Christiane; Protecting Fashion Designs Through IP Law, The Legal Intelligencer (04/15/2015).