Punks, Goths, and Mods on TV (1983)

The Riv­et­head pre­oc­cu­pa­tion with fash­ion is inescapably relat­ed to their anx­i­ety over being con­fused for sub­cul­tures they pro­fess to hate: Goths, Punks, Met­al­heads, Death Rock­ers… The fact that so many sub­cul­tures claim black as their col­or of choice con­tributes to the con­fu­sion.

There are two points upon which the­o­rists of post-indus­tri­al British sub­cul­tures gen­er­al­ly agree: 1) No mat­ter the music or the fash­ion, the bound­aries between one sub­cul­ture and anoth­er were rig­or­ous­ly, even vio­lent­ly, enforced (hence the wars between the mods and rock­ers), and; 2) The music and fash­ions of every sub­cul­ture were sub­ject to coop­ta­tion by the machin­ery of cap­i­tal­ism, to be mass pro­duced, pack­aged, and sold as off-the-rack com­mod­i­ty, a phe­nom­e­non that occurred almost as soon as punks, mods, rock­ers, goths, ted­dy boys, skin­heads, New Roman­tics, etc. began appear­ing on tele­vi­sion — as in the post-Grundy Irish TV appear­ance of four young indi­vid­u­als above from 1983.

The inter­view­er intro­duces these punks, goths, and mods by refer­ring first to their employ­ment — or lack of employ­ment — sta­tus, and then to the num­ber of chil­dren in their fam­i­ly. Com­ments drip­ping with class dis­dain sit along­side a char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of var­i­ous sub­cul­tures as “gangs” — the Hell’s Angels thrown in among them just to dri­ve the point home. Of course, there’s more to say about the denizens of ear­ly-80s UK sub­cul­tur­al street cor­ners — more than these four rep­re­sen­ta­tives have to say them­selves. It is com­mu­ni­cat­ed through per­for­mance rather than ver­bal expo­si­tion, through the affil­i­a­tions of cloth­ing, music, and pose — as in the mini-his­tor­i­cal slideshow of late-20th cen­tu­ry British sub­cul­tures below, from the 50s to the 80s.

In 1979, British the­o­rist Dick Heb­di­ge pub­lished what many con­sid­ered the defin­i­tive analy­sis of these work­ing-class scenes, which fre­quent­ly cen­tered around forms of racial and cul­tur­al exchange — as with mods who loved jazz or punks who loved ska and dub reg­gae; or racial and cul­tur­al exclu­sion — as with fas­cist skin­heads and chau­vin­ist ted­dy boys who glo­ri­fied the past, while oth­er sub­cul­tur­al ide­olo­gies looked to the future (or, as the case may be, no future).

Hebdige’s Sub­cul­ture: the Mean­ing of Style begins with a sto­ry about French writer Jean Genet, humil­i­at­ed in prison by homo­pho­bic guards over his pos­ses­sion of a tube of Vase­line:

Like Genet, we are inter­est­ed in sub­cul­ture – in the expres­sive forms and rit­u­als of those sub­or­di­nate groups – the ted­dy boys and mods and rock­ers, the skin­heads and the punks – who are alter­nate­ly dis­missed, denounced and can­on­ized; treat­ed at dif­fer­ent times as threats to pub­lic order and as harm­less buf­foons.

The irony of sub­cul­tures is that they iden­ti­fy with social out­siders, while re-enforc­ing bound­aries that cre­ate exclu­siv­i­ty (cf. the quote at the top, from Heb­di­ge-inspired Sub­cul­tures List). When the nov­el­ty and shock recedes, they become ripe fod­der for com­mer­cial coop­ta­tion, even lux­u­ry brand­ing.

What we usu­al­ly don’t get from tame ret­ro­spec­tives, or from patron­iz­ing mass media of the time, are deviant out­siders like Genet who can­not be reab­sorbed into the sys­tem because their very exis­tence pos­es a threat to the social order as so con­strued. So much of the fash­ion and music of post-war Britain was direct­ly cre­at­ed or inspired by West Indi­an migrants of the Win­drush gen­er­a­tion, for exam­ple. In too many pop­u­lar rep­re­sen­ta­tions of post­war British sub­cul­tures, that essen­tial part of the work­ing class UK sub­cul­ture sto­ry has been entire­ly left out.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

A His­to­ry of Punk from 1976–78: A Free Online Course from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Read­ing

The Sex Pis­tols Make a Scan­dalous Appear­ance on the Bill Grundy Show & Intro­duce Punk Rock to the Star­tled Mass­es (1976)

The His­to­ry of Punk Rock in 300 Tracks: A 13-Hour Playlist Takes You From 1965 to Present

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Ai Weiwei Creates Hand-Silkscreened Scarves Drawing on a Chinese Paper Cutting Tradition

FYI: Ai Wei­wei has cre­at­ed hand­wo­ven and hand-silkscreened scarves that aes­thet­i­cal­ly draw on a 2,000-year-old Chi­nese paper cut­ting tra­di­tion. “The col­ored, intri­cate­ly cut papers are used as a sto­ry-telling medi­um in fes­tiv­i­ties, for prayers, and as every­day dec­o­ra­tion.” The scarves are 100% silk. You can find ver­sions in blue, red and black. (Here’s Ai Wei­wei sport­ing one in red.) Or find them all here on Taschen’s web site.

Note: Taschen is a part­ner of ours. So if you pur­chase a scarf, it helps sup­port Open Cul­ture.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Who’s Afraid of Ai Wei­wei: A Short Doc­u­men­tary

Artist Ai Wei­wei Gives the Fin­ger to Sym­bols of Author­i­ty Around the World

Free: Down­load 70,000+ High-Res­o­lu­tion Images of Chi­nese Art from Taipei’s Nation­al Palace Muse­um

A Side Splitting Medieval TikTok Account: Get a Laugh at Medieval Yoga Poses & Much More

@greedypeasant🧘‍♀️ Medieval Yoga 🧘 #medievaltik­tok #yoga #yogalover #peace­with­in #fyp #fory­ou #fory­oupage♬ orig­i­nal sound — Tyler Gun­ther

Tik­Tok, the short-form video-shar­ing plat­form, is an are­na where the young dom­i­nate — last sum­mer, The New York Times report­ed that over a third of its 49 mil­lion dai­ly users in the US were aged 14 or younger.

Yet some­how, a ful­ly grown medieval peas­ant has become one of its most com­pelling pres­ences, breezi­ly shar­ing his yoga reg­i­men, above, his obses­sion with tas­sels and ornate sleeves, and the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Tran­sit Authority’s plans to upcy­cle his era’s tor­ture devices as New York City sub­way exit gates.

30-year-old Brook­lyn-based artist Tyler Gun­ther views his cre­ation, Greedy Peas­ant, as “the man­i­fes­ta­tion of all the strange medieval art we now enjoy in meme form”:

Often times medieval his­to­ry focus­es on roy­als, wars, popes and plagues. With this peas­ant guide, we get to expe­ri­ence the world through the lens of a queer artist who is just try­ing to make sure every­one is on time for their cos­tume fit­tings for the East­er pageant. 

Ear­li­er, Gunther’s medieval fix­a­tion found an out­let in comics that he post­ed to Insta­gram.

Then last Feb­ru­ary, he found him­self quar­an­ti­ning in an Aus­tralian hotel room for 2 weeks pri­or to per­form­ing in the Ade­laide Fes­ti­val as part of The Plas­tic Bag Store, artist Robin Fro­hardt’s alter­nate­ly hilar­i­ous and sober­ing immer­sive super­mar­ket instal­la­tion:

My quar­an­tine plans had been to work on a mas­sive set of illus­tra­tions and teach myself the entire Adobe Cre­ative Suite. Instead I just wan­dered from one cor­ner of the hotel room to the next and stared at the office build­ing direct­ly out­side my win­dow. About 4 days in, Robin texted, “Now is your time to make a Tik­Tok.” I had avoid­ed it for so long. I always had an excuse and I was gen­uine­ly con­fused about how the app worked. But with no alter­na­tives left I made a few videos “just to test out some of the fil­ters” and I was instant­ly hooked. 

Now, a green screen and a set of box lights are per­ma­nent­ly installed in his Brook­lyn stu­dio so he can film when­ev­er inspi­ra­tion strikes, pro­vid­ed it’s not too steamy to don the tights, cowls, wigs and woolens that are an inte­gral part of Greedy Peasant’s look.

@greedypeasant🕷🕷🕷 (to be con­tin­ued) #medievaltik­tok #fyp #fory­oupage #fory­ou #spi­der­man♬ orig­i­nal sound — Tyler Gun­ther

One of Gunther’s most eye pop­ping cre­ations came about when Greedy Peas­ant answered an ad post in the town square seek­ing a Spi­der Man (i.e., a man with spi­ders) to com­bat a bug infes­ta­tion:

As a for­mer cos­tume design stu­dent, I’m intrigued by how super­hero uni­forms fit with­in the very con­ser­v­a­tive world of West­ern men’s fash­ion. We’re sup­posed to believe these col­or blocked body­suits are ath­let­ic and high tech. These man­ly men don’t wear them just because they look great in them, they wear them for our pro­tec­tion and the greater good.  But what if one super­hero did val­ue style over sub­stance? Would he still retain his author­i­ta­tive qual­i­ties if his super suit was embroi­dered and bead­ed and drip­ping with tas­sels? This medieval­ist believes so. 

About that tas­sel obses­sion

To me tas­sels rep­re­sent orna­men­ta­tion for ornamentation’s sake at its peak. This dec­o­ra­tive con­cept is so maligned in our cur­rent age. 21st cen­tu­ry design trends are so sleek and smooth, which does make our lives prac­ti­cal and effi­cient. But soon we’ll all be dead. Medieval arti­sans seemed to under­stand this on some lev­el. I think if iPhones were sold in the mid­dle ages they would have 4 tas­sels on each cor­ner. Why? Because it would look very nice. A tas­sel looks beau­ti­ful as a piece of sta­t­ic sculp­ture. It adds an air of author­i­ty and pol­ish to what­ev­er object it is attached to. If that were all they pro­vid­ed us it would be enough. But then sud­den­ly you give your elbow a lit­tle flick and before you know it your sleeve tas­sels are in flight! They are per­form­ing a per­son­al bal­let with their lit­tle strings going wher­ev­er the chore­og­ra­phy may take them. It’s a gift.

@greedypeasant(not) FACTS. ##medievaltik­tok ##nyc ##newyorkc­i­ty ##nychis­to­ry ##fyp ##fory­ou ##fory­oupage♬ orig­i­nal sound — Tyler Gun­ther

Gunther’s keen eye extends to his green screen back­grounds, many of which are drawn from the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art’s online image col­lec­tion.

He also shoots on loca­tion when the sit­u­a­tion war­rants:

Espe­cial­ly in New York City, where it seems like every neigh­bor­hood has at least one build­ing dressed up to look as if it sur­vived the Black Plague. I love this bla­tant­ly false illu­sion of a hero­ic past. We American’s know it’s a façade. We know the build­ing was built in 1910, not 1410, but some­how it still pleas­es us. Even when I went home to Arkansas to vis­it fam­i­ly, we were con­stant­ly scout­ing film­ing loca­tions which looked con­vinc­ing­ly medieval. Our great­est find were the back rooms and the choir loft of a beau­ti­ful goth­ic revival church in our town.

While Gun­ther is obvi­ous­ly his own star attrac­tion, he alter­nates screen time with a group of “reli­quary ladies,” whose main trio, Brid­getteAman­da and Susan are the queen bees of the side aisle. Even before he used a green screen fil­ter to ani­mate them with his eyes, lips, and a hint of mus­tache, he was drawn to their hair­dos and indi­vid­ual per­son­al­i­ties dur­ing repeat vis­its to the Met Clois­ters.

“As reli­quar­ies, they embody such a spe­cif­ic medieval sen­si­bil­i­ty,” he enthus­es. “Each housed a small body part of a deceased saint, which peo­ple would make a pil­grim­age to see. This com­bi­na­tion of the sacred, macabre and beau­ti­ful includes all my favorite medieval ele­ments.”

@greedypeasantWill the real St. Catherine’s low­er jaw please stand up. ##medievaltik­tok ##his­to­ry­tok ##fyp ##fory­ou ##fory­oupage ##reli­quary ##peas­ant ##arthis­to­ry♬ orig­i­nal sound — Tyler Gun­ther

Get to know Tyler Gunther’s Greedy Peas­ant here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

160,000 Pages of Glo­ri­ous Medieval Man­u­scripts Dig­i­tized: Vis­it the Bib­lio­the­ca Philadel­phien­sis

A Free Yale Course on Medieval His­to­ry: 700 Years in 22 Lec­tures

Killer Rab­bits in Medieval Man­u­scripts: Why So Many Draw­ings in the Mar­gins Depict Bun­nies Going Bad

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Who Designed the 1980s Aesthetic?: Meet the Memphis Group, the Designers Who Created the 80s Iconic Look

For those who remem­ber the 1980s, it can feel like they nev­er left, so deeply ingrained have their designs become in the 21st cen­tu­ry. But where did those designs them­selves orig­i­nate? Vibrant, clash­ing col­ors and pat­terns, bub­bly shapes; “the geo­met­ric fig­ures of Art Deco,” writes Sara Barnes at My Mod­ern Met, “the col­or palette of Pop Art, and the 1950s kitsch” that inspired design­ers of all kinds came from a move­ment of artists who called them­selves the Mem­phis Group, after Bob Dylan’s “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Mem­phis Blues Again,” a song “played on repeat dur­ing their first meet­ing” in a tiny Milan apart­ment. “I think you’d be hard-pressed to think of any oth­er design phe­nom­e­non that can be locat­ed as specif­i­cal­ly to a group of peo­ple,” says Yale Cen­ter of British Art’s Glenn Adam­son in the Vox explain­er above,

Found­ed in Decem­ber 1980 by design­er Ettore Sottsass — known for his red Olivet­ti Valen­tine type­writer — and sev­er­al like-mind­ed col­leagues, the move­ment made a delib­er­ate attempt to dis­rupt the aus­tere, clean lines of the 70s with work they described as “rad­i­cal, fun­ny, and out­ra­geous.” They flaunt­ed what had been con­sid­ered “good taste” with aban­don. Mem­phis design shows Bauhaus influ­ences — though it reject­ed the “strict, straight lines of mod­ernism,” notes Curbed. It taps the anar­chic spir­it of Dada, with­out the edgy, anar­chist pol­i­tics that drove that move­ment. It is main­ly char­ac­ter­ized by its use of lam­i­nate floor­ing mate­ri­als on tables and lamps and the “Bac­te­rio print,” the squig­gle design which Sottsass cre­at­ed in 1978 and which became “Memphis’s trade­mark pat­tern.”

Mem­phis design shared with mod­ernism anoth­er qual­i­ty ear­ly mod­ernists them­selves ful­ly embraced: “Noth­ing was com­mer­cial­ly suc­cess­ful at the time,” says Bar­bara Radice, Sottsass’s wid­ow and Mem­phis group his­to­ri­an. But David Bowie and Karl Lager­field were ear­ly adopters, and the group’s 80s work even­tu­al­ly made them stars. “We came from being nobod­ies,” says design­er Mar­tine Bedin. By 1984, they were cel­e­brat­ed by the city of Mem­phis, Ten­nessee and giv­en the key to the city. “They were wait­ing for us at the air­port with a band,” Bedin remem­bers. “It was com­plete­ly crazy.” The Mem­phis Group had offi­cial­ly changed the world of art, archi­tec­ture, and design. The fol­low­ing year, Sottsass left the group, and it for­mal­ly dis­band­ed in 1987, hav­ing left its mark for decades to come.

By the end of the 80s, Mem­phis’ look had become pop cul­ture wall­pa­per, inform­ing the sets, titles, and fash­ions of TV sta­ples like Saved by the Bell, which debuted in 1989. “Although their designs didn’t end up in people’s homes,” notes Vox — or at least not right away — “they inspired many design­ers work­ing in dif­fer­ent medi­ums.” Find out above how “every­thing from fash­ion to music videos became influ­enced” by the loud, play­ful visu­al vocab­u­lary of the Mem­phis Group artists, and learn more about the design­ers of “David Bowie’s favorite fur­ni­ture” here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Meet the Mem­phis Group, the Bob Dylan-Inspired Design­ers of David Bowie’s Favorite Fur­ni­ture

The Ulti­mate 80s Med­ley: A Nos­tal­gia-Induc­ing Per­for­mance of A‑Ha, Tears for Fears, Depeche Mode, Peter Gabriel, Van Halen & More

Watch Bri­an Eno’s “Video Paint­ings,” Where 1980s TV Tech­nol­o­gy Meets Visu­al Art

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Haruki Murakami Has Created New T‑Shirts Featuring Words & Imagery from Norwegian Wood, 1Q84 and More

Haru­ki Muraka­mi is a nov­el­ist, but for some time his name has been no less a glob­al brand than, say, Uniqlo’s. Though both the man and the cloth­ing com­pa­ny hap­pen to have come into exis­tence in Japan in 1949, this com­par­i­son goes beyond mere nation­al­i­ty. In their home­land, both Uniq­lo and Muraka­mi came into their own in the 1980s, the decade when the for­mer opened its first casu­al-wear shop and the lat­ter pub­lished the name-mak­ing A Wild Sheep Chase and the cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­non that was Nor­we­gian Wood. Hav­ing assid­u­ous­ly cul­ti­vat­ed mar­kets out­side Japan, both have become inter­na­tion­al­ly known in the 21st cen­tu­ry: just as Uniq­lo now has shops all over the world, Murakami’s books have been trans­lat­ed into at least 50 lan­guages.

There­fore, per­haps Muraka­mi and Uniqlo’s con­ver­gence was only a mat­ter of time. “Haru­ki Muraka­mi and Uniq­lo have teamed up for a line of T‑shirts inspired by the author’s nov­els like Nor­we­gian Wood and 1Q84, as well as his radio pro­gram,” writes Spoon & Tam­ago’s John­ny Wald­man.

With graph­ics con­tributed by sources like illus­tra­tor and fre­quent Muraka­mi col­lab­o­ra­tor Masaru Fuji­mo­to, “the col­lec­tion show­cas­es the world of his mas­ter­piece nov­els, his love for music, and of course cats.” The reverse of the Muraka­mi Radio shirt, seen at the top of the post, even fea­tures this unam­bigu­ous quo­ta­tion of the man him­self: “Books, music, and cats have been my friends from way back.”

More than a few of Murakami’s fans could no doubt say the same. They’ll also delight in the nuances of the words and images on the sev­en oth­er Muraka­mi shirts Uniq­lo has cre­at­ed for sale from March 15th. Many have read Nor­we­gian Wood, but rel­a­tive­ly few will notice that Uniqlo’s shirt based on that book comes in the very same red-and-green col­or scheme as its two-vol­ume Japan­ese first edi­tion. Far from draw­ing only on the pop­u­lar­i­ty of such big hits, the col­lec­tion also pays trib­ute to Murakami’s less­er-known works: his sopho­more effort Pin­ball, 1973, for instance, which went with­out a major Eng­lish trans­la­tion for 35 years.

Still unpub­lished out­side Asia are most of Murakami’s essays, which he’s been writ­ing on music, food, trav­el, and a vari­ety of oth­er sub­jects near­ly as long as he’s been a nov­el­ist. But this Novem­ber, Knopf will pub­lish Muraka­mi T: The T‑Shirts I Love, a book doc­u­ment­ing his impres­sive col­lec­tion includ­ing T‑shirts “from The Beach Boys con­cert in Hon­olu­lu to the shirt that inspired the beloved short sto­ry ‘Tony Tak­i­tani,’ ” all “accom­pa­nied by short, frank essays that have been trans­lat­ed into Eng­lish for the first time.” Writ­ing essays or fic­tion, what­ev­er the lan­guage in which they appear, Murakami’s work remains broad­ly appeal­ing yet dis­tinc­tive­ly his own, belong­ing at once every­where and nowhere in the world — more than a bit, come to think of it, like Uniqlo’s cloth­ing. On March 15, pur­chase the shirts online here.

via Spoon & Tam­a­go

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Became a DJ on a Japan­ese Radio Sta­tion for One Night: Hear the Music He Played for Delight­ed Lis­ten­ers

Why Should You Read Haru­ki Muraka­mi? An Ani­mat­ed Video on His “Epic Lit­er­ary Puz­zle” Kaf­ka on the Shore Makes the Case

Dress Like an Intel­lec­tu­al Icon with Japan­ese Coats Inspired by the Wardrobes of Camus, Sartre, Duchamp, Le Cor­busier & Oth­ers

Vin­tage Lit­er­ary T‑Shirts

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Color That May Have Killed Napoleon: Scheele’s Green

“Either the wall­pa­per goes, or I do.” —Oscar Wilde

Look­ing to repel bed bugs and rats?

Dec­o­rate your bed­room à la Napoleon’s final home on the damp island of Saint Hele­na.

Those in a posi­tion to know sug­gest that ver­min shy away from yel­low­ish-greens such as that favored by the Emper­or because they “resem­ble areas of intense light­ing.”

We’d like to offer an alter­nate the­o­ry.

Could it be that the crit­ters’ ances­tors passed down a cel­lu­lar mem­o­ry of the per­ils of arsenic?

Napoleon, like thou­sands of oth­ers, was smit­ten with a hue known as Scheele’s Green, named for Carl Wil­helm Scheele, the Ger­man-Swedish phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal chemist who dis­cov­ered oxy­gen, chlo­rine, and unfor­tu­nate­ly, a gor­geous, tox­ic green pig­ment that’s also a cupric hydro­gen arsen­ite.

Scheele’s Green, aka Schloss Green, was cheap and easy to pro­duce, and quick­ly replaced the less vivid cop­per car­bon­ate based green dyes that had been in use pri­or to the mid 1770s.

The col­or was an imme­di­ate hit when it made its appear­ance, show­ing up in arti­fi­cial flow­ers, can­dles, toys, fash­ion­able ladies’ cloth­ing, soap, beau­ty prod­ucts, con­fec­tions, and wall­pa­per.

A month before Napoleon died, he includ­ed the fol­low­ing phrase in his will: My death is pre­ma­ture. I have been assas­si­nat­ed by the Eng­lish oli­gop­oly and their hired mur­der­er…”

His exit at 51 was indeed untime­ly, but per­haps the wall­pa­per, and not the Eng­lish oli­gop­oly, is the greater cul­prit, espe­cial­ly if it was hung with arsenic-laced paste, to fur­ther deter rats.

When Scheele’s Green wall­pa­per, like the striped pat­tern in Napoleon’s bath­room, became damp or moldy, the pig­ment in it metab­o­lized, releas­ing poi­so­nous arsenic-laden vapors.

Napoleon’s First Valet Louis-Joseph Marc­hand recalled the “child­ish joy” with which the emper­or jumped into the tub where he rel­ished soak­ing for long spells:

The bath­tub was a tremen­dous oak chest lined with lead. It required an excep­tion­al quan­ti­ty of water, and one had to go a half mile away and trans­port it in a bar­rel.

Baths also fig­ured in Sec­ond Valet Louis Éti­enne Saint-Denis’ rec­ol­lec­tions of his master’s ill­ness:

His reme­dies con­sist­ed only of warm nap­kins applied to his side, to baths, which he took fre­quent­ly, and to a diet which he observed from time to time.

Saint-Denis’s recall seems to have had some lacu­nae. Accord­ing to a post in con­junc­tion with the Amer­i­can Muse­um of Nat­ur­al History’s Pow­er of Poi­son exhib­it:

In Napoleon’s case, arsenic was like­ly just one of many com­pounds tax­ing an already trou­bled sys­tem. In the course of treat­ments for a vari­ety of symptoms—swollen legs, abdom­i­nal pain, jaun­dice, vom­it­ing, weakness—Napoleon was sub­ject­ed to a smor­gas­bord of oth­er tox­ic sub­stances. He was said to con­sume large amounts of a sweet apri­cot-based drink con­tain­ing hydro­cyan­ic acid. He had been giv­en tarter emet­ic, an anti­mon­al com­pound, by a Cor­si­can doc­tor. (Like arsenic, anti­mo­ny would also help explain the pre­served state of his body at exhuma­tion.) Two days before his death, his British doc­tors gave him a dose of calomel, or mer­curous chlo­ride, after which he col­lapsed into a stu­por and nev­er recov­ered. 

As Napoleon was vom­it­ing a black­ish liq­uid and expir­ing, fac­to­ry and gar­ment work­ers who han­dled Scheele’s Green dye and its close cousin, Paris Green, were suf­fer­ing untold mor­ti­fi­ca­tions of the flesh, from hideous lesions, ulcers and extreme gas­tric dis­tress to heart dis­ease and can­cer.

Fash­ion-first women who spent the day corset­ed in volu­mi­nous green dress­es were keel­ing over from skin-to-arsenic con­tact. Their seam­stress­es’ green fin­gers were in wretched con­di­tion.

In 2008, an Ital­ian team test­ed strands of Napoleon’s hair from four points in his life—childhood, exile, his death, and the day there­after. They deter­mined that all the sam­ples con­tained rough­ly 100 times the arsenic lev­els of con­tem­po­rary peo­ple in a con­trol group.

Napoleon’s son and wife, Empress Josephine, also had notice­ably ele­vat­ed arsenic lev­els.

Had we been alive and liv­ing in Europe back then, ours like­ly would have been too.

All that green!

But what about the wall­pa­per?

A scrap pur­port­ed­ly from the din­ing room, where Napoleon was relo­cat­ed short­ly before death, was found by a woman in Nor­folk, Eng­land, past­ed into a fam­i­ly scrap­book above the hand­writ­ten cap­tion, This small piece of paper was tak­en off the wall of the room in which the spir­it of Napoleon returned to God who gave it.

In 1980, she con­tact­ed chemist David Jones, whom she had recent­ly heard on BBC Radio dis­cussing vaporous bio­chem­istry and Vic­to­ri­an wall­pa­per. She agreed to let him test the scrap using non-destruc­tive x‑ray flu­o­res­cence spec­troscopy. The result?

.12 grams of arsenic per square meter. (Wall­pa­pers con­tain­ing 0.6 to 0.015 grams per square meter were deter­mined to be haz­ardous.)

Dr. Jones described watch­ing the arsenic lev­els peak­ing on the lab’s print out as “a crazy, won­der­ful moment.” He reit­er­at­ed that the house in which Napoleon was impris­oned was “noto­ri­ous­ly damp,” mak­ing it easy for a 19th cen­tu­ry fan to peel off a sou­venir in “an inspired act of van­dal­ism.”

Death by wall­pa­per and oth­er envi­ron­men­tal fac­tors is def­i­nite­ly less cloak and dag­ger than assas­si­na­tion by the Eng­lish oli­gop­oly, hired mur­der­er, and oth­er con­spir­a­cy the­o­ries that had thrived on the pres­ence of arsenic in sam­ples of Napoleon’s hair.

As Dr. Jones recalled:

…sev­er­al his­to­ri­ans were upset by my claim that it was all an acci­dent of decor…Napoleon him­self feared he was dying of stom­ach can­cer, the dis­ease which had killed his father; and indeed his autop­sy revealed that his stom­ach was very dam­aged. It had at least one big ulcer…My feel­ing is that Napoleon would have died in any case. His arseni­cal wall­pa­per might mere­ly have has­tened the event by a day or so. Mur­der con­spir­a­cy the­o­rists will have to find new evi­dence! 

We can’t resist men­tion­ing that when the emper­or was exhumed and shipped back to France, 19 years after his death, his corpse showed lit­tle or no decom­po­si­tion.

Green con­tin­ues to be a nox­ious col­or when humans attempt to repro­duce it in the phys­i­cal realm. As Alice Rawthorn observed The New York Times:

The cru­el truth is that most forms of the col­or green, the most pow­er­ful sym­bol of sus­tain­able design, aren’t eco­log­i­cal­ly respon­si­ble, and can be dam­ag­ing to the envi­ron­ment.

Take a deep­er dive into Napoleon’s wall­pa­per with an edu­ca­tion­al pack­et for edu­ca­tors pre­pared by chemist David Jones and Hen­drik Ball.

via Messy Nessy

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Why Is Napoleon’s Hand Always in His Waist­coat?: The Ori­gins of This Dis­tinc­tive Pose Explained

Napoleon’s Eng­lish Lessons: How the Mil­i­tary Leader Stud­ied Eng­lish to Escape the Bore­dom of Life in Exile

Napoleon’s Dis­as­trous Inva­sion of Rus­sia Detailed in an 1869 Data Visu­al­iza­tion: It’s Been Called “the Best Sta­tis­ti­cal Graph­ic Ever Drawn”

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. She most recent­ly appeared as a French Cana­di­an bear who trav­els to New York City in search of food and mean­ing in Greg Kotis’ short film, L’Ourse.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How to Make a Savile Row Suit: A Short Documentary from the Museum of Modern Art

Sav­ile Row is unfash­ion­able. This, of course, is its great strength: not for noth­ing does that Lon­don street stand as the last word in time­less tai­lor­ing. Since at least the ear­ly 19th cen­tu­ry, men have gone to Sav­ile Row not just to com­mis­sion hand­made suits from their favorite shops, but to par­tic­i­pate in as many fit­tings as nec­es­sary through­out the process of bring­ing those suits ever clos­er to per­fec­tion. The result, over decades and indeed gen­er­a­tions of reg­u­lar patron­age, is the cul­ti­va­tion of not fash­ion but style. Even so, Sav­ile Row fig­ures in the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art’s online course Fash­ion as Design, whose videos on the mak­ing of a bespoke three-piece suit you can see here.

It all hap­pens at Ander­son & Shep­pard, a fix­ture on the Row since 1906. In the first video, “behind a drawn cur­tain, a mas­ter cut­ter” — whose job includes not just cut­ting the cloth but inter­act­ing with the client — “takes an ini­tial series of 27 mea­sure­ments: 20 for the jack­et, 7 for the trousers. From these mea­sure­ments, the cut­ter fash­ions a pat­tern in heavy brown paper.”

We then see the cloth cut to this pat­tern, “and the many pieces of fab­ric are rolled for each gar­ment into tiny pack­ages, which await the tai­lors.” The sec­ond, which begins in the back of the house, shows how these tai­lors “receive their bun­dles of fab­ric and set about deci­pher­ing the cutter’s notes. Three weeks after a client’s mea­sure­ments have been tak­en, his suit will be ready for a first fit­ting.”

Empha­sis on “first”: though the young man being fit­ted here only appears for one ses­sion, some bespoke suits can require two, three, or more, worn each time as a wear­able rough draft held togeth­er with bright white thread and marked up for lat­er cor­rec­tion. This reflects not the tai­lor’s inabil­i­ty to get it right the first time, but the rig­or­ous desire of the Sav­ile Row habitué for an ide­al fit. (Ander­son & Shep­pard’s list of for­mer clients include such noto­ri­ous­ly per­fec­tion­ist dressers as Fred Astaire, Bryan Fer­ry, and Prince Charles.) Watch­ing this process from start fin­ish under­scores the truth of those famous words, “The dif­fer­ence between style and fash­ion is qual­i­ty” — famous words spo­ken by no less a detrac­tor of Sav­ile Row than Gior­gio Armani, but true ones nonethe­less.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dress Like an Intel­lec­tu­al Icon with Japan­ese Coats Inspired by the Wardrobes of Camus, Sartre, Duchamp, Le Cor­busier & Oth­ers

Recall­ing Albert Camus’ Fash­ion Advice, Noam Chom­sky Pans Glenn Greenwald’s Shiny Pur­ple Tie

Fash­ion Design­ers in 1939 Pre­dict How Peo­ple Would Dress in the Year 2000

Browse a Col­lec­tion of Over 83,500 Vin­tage Sewing Pat­terns

How Ladies & Gen­tle­men Got Dressed in the 18th Cen­tu­ry: It Was a Pret­ty Involved Process

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­terBooks on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

How Levi’s 501 Jeans Became Iconic: A Short Documentary Featuring John Baldessari, Henry Rollins, Lee Ranaldo & More

In his mem­oir Liv­ing Care­less­ly in Tokyo and Else­where, the Amer­i­can Japa­nol­o­gist John Nathan remem­bers evenings in the 1960s spent with Yukio Mishi­ma, whose work he trans­lat­ed into Eng­lish. “I lis­tened rapt­ly as he recit­ed pas­sages from The Tale of the Heike that revealed the fierce­ness and del­i­ca­cy of Japan’s war­rior-poets, or showed me the fine cal­i­bra­tion of the Chi­nese spec­trum,” Nathan writes. “One night he stood up abrupt­ly from behind his desk, asked me to wait a minute, and left the room. When he came back he had changed into a pair of blue jeans and a thick black leather belt. He explained that he had been sand­pa­per­ing the jeans to make them iden­ti­cal to the pair Mar­lon Bran­do had worn in The Wild One.”

Even a fig­ure like Mishi­ma, who with­in a few years would die in an ultra­na­tion­al­is­tic rit­u­al sui­cide after a hope­less attempt­ed coup, felt the allure of Amer­i­can blue jeans. Though Nathan does­n’t note whether Mishi­ma’s pair were gen­uine Lev­i’s 501s, the exact­ing stan­dards to which Mishi­ma held him­self in all respects would seem to demand that mea­sure of authen­tic­i­ty.

“Authen­tic­i­ty,” of course, is a qual­i­ty from which Levi Strauss & Co. have drawn a great deal of val­ue for their brand, their sig­na­ture riv­et­ed den­im prod­uct going back as it does near­ly a cen­tu­ry and a half, to a time when rugged pants were in great demand from the min­ers of Cal­i­for­ni­a’s gold rush. But it was in the eco­nom­i­cal­ly flush and new­ly media-sat­u­rat­ed decades after the Sec­ond World War that jeans took their hold on the Amer­i­can imag­i­na­tion, and soon on the world’s.

The pants, the myth, and the leg­end star in The 501 Jean: Sto­ries of an Orig­i­nal, a three-part series of short doc­u­men­taries pro­duced by Lev­i’s them­selves and nar­rat­ed by Amer­i­can folk singer Ram­blin’ Jack Elliott. Its gallery of 501-wear­ers includes such job titles as Musi­cian, Pho­tog­ra­ph­er, Gar­men­tol­o­gist, Bik­er, Cre­ative Direc­tor, Music/Style Con­sul­tant, and Urban Cow­boy. Con­cep­tu­al artist John Baldessari dis­cuss­es the child­hood love of cow­boy shows that lodged jeans per­ma­nent­ly into his world­view. Album design­er Gary Bur­den brings out his own work, a copy of Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush, to demon­strate the impact of jeans on pop­u­lar music. That both Bur­den and Baldessari have passed away since these videos’ pro­duc­tion under­scores the cur­rent fast depar­ture of the gen­er­a­tions who took jeans from the realm of the util­i­tar­i­an into that of the icon­ic — some of whose mem­bers have doubt­less cho­sen to be buried in their 501s.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dress Like an Intel­lec­tu­al Icon with Japan­ese Coats Inspired by the Wardrobes of Camus, Sartre, Duchamp, Le Cor­busier & Oth­ers

What Hap­pens to the Clothes We Throw Away?: Watch Unrav­el, a Short Doc­u­men­tary on the Jour­ney Our Waste Takes

Google Cre­ates a Dig­i­tal Archive of World Fash­ion: Fea­tures 30,000 Images, Cov­er­ing 3,000 Years of Fash­ion His­to­ry

A Brief His­to­ry of John Baldessari (RIP) Nar­rat­ed by Tom Waits: A Trib­ute to the Late “God­fa­ther of Con­cep­tu­al Art”

Hen­ry Rollins Tells Young Peo­ple to Avoid Resent­ment and to Pur­sue Suc­cess with a “Monas­tic Obses­sion”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­terBooks on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

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