Vintage Elevation

“Like your shirt,” said my friend.

“Thanks. It’s vintage,” I replied.

“You mean, like, second-hand?” he said, whereupon I became a tad defensive, since the sub-text of “second-hand” says utilitarian at best, poverty at worst, while “vintage” aspires to be fashionable.

“Well, pre-owned doesn’t mean pre-worn, necessarily,” I said, splitting the hair in an attempt to distance myself from the implication of penury (though the shirt in question had obviously been through the laundry more than a few times).

I had indeed bought it in a shop that offers ‘vintage’ clothing as an alternative to the contemporary styles that are available elsewhere: but it was not cheap (ergo, I am not impoverished. Such places – there is a cluster of them in the Northern Quarter – trade on the premise of fashionability and feel entitled to price their offering at a level that is reassuringly expensive. It’s an old trick. Five minutes away, in a less rarefied part of town, there is a Thrift Shop, where re-cycled clothing is offered, also in a stylish and considered display, but at prices a fraction of those in the Northern Quarter. It is, in effect, the Primark of the used-clothing retail sector. I also go there and, sometimes, spot hipsters skulking, trying to look cool while hunting for bargains away from their home turf. Fashion and style are as applicable at the bottom end of the clothing market as they are at the top.

The branding of goods as vintage implies enhanced value and some, as they get older, may even be classified as antique, thereby accruing even more value. In the end, however, there is an argument for the eco-morality of recycling that can be used against those inclined to snobbish disdain for or plain indifference to the value of second-hand stuff. This applies also to book-exchanges, which provide opportunities for free access to text. I admit that authors might take issue with a system that deprives them of income but, like musicians whose creations are available cheaply or free of charge online, and clothing workers who become redundant because of recycling, they have to face the reality of the post-industrial economy. There is a world-wide trend towards consuming less stuff and more services, despite which (and contrary to common perception) the populations of all nations are becoming wealthier.*

The penchant for vintage, by the way, is not just for clothes. I just saw the film Columbus, a pensive, wistful account of one person’s repressed aspirations set alongside her enchantment with the several classic examples of Modernist architecture that happen to exist in her home town, Columbus, Ohio. The camera dwells lovingly on these 1950s buildings but, when the film had drifted inconclusively into its final shot, the chap next to me stood and said “Is that it? Do you think we could get our money back?” Perhaps he would have been more comfortable watching First Man, the biopic about Neil Armstrong. At least he would have known for sure that the story had a decisive, nay, predictable ending. He would also have had the visual bonus of all that convincing footage of 1960s rocket technology in all its bone-shaking, nuts-and-bolts, seat-of-the-pants, vintage glory.

The term 'vintage' comes to us via the wine-making tradition but has proven useful as a catchall for anything that can be located in an identifiable period of time. Well-made wines of a certain harvest will improve with the passage of time. The same can be said of non-organic goods, the best of which resist wear-and-tear, become revered as classics and preserved in museums. Likewise, the best artistic creations will endure. We mere humans, however, must face a different trajectory, a fact that was brought home to me this week, as I visited the dentist, the optician and, along with others of my ‘vintage’, the surgery for the annual ‘flu jab.

*Factfulness, Hans Rosling. Enlightenment Now, Steven Pinker

  

Enlightened Behaviour

It came as a surprise to me to discover this week that knitted, multi-coloured, stripy socks, with the big toe separated from the rest so that they could be worn with sandals, were invented by the Ancient Egyptians. It is not clear, however, whether those who wore them then were associated, as they are nowadays, with fashion dyslexia, disparaged alternative lifestyle practices, or both – despite the rational case for this perfectly practical and hygienic mode of footwear. Later, while walking in town, I looked for practitioners of the socks-and-sandals combo so that I could nod my head at them in silent approval. There were none.

There were, however, plenty of Jehovah’s Witnesses proselytising in their usual manner, silently proffering leaflets to passers-by: and pass-by is just what I did. Though I am sometimes tempted to stop and challenge their dogma, past experience has proven that it is futile. They believe absolutely in their particular interpretation of god-given ancient scriptures. No discussion is possible from any other starting point. The Enlightenment passed them by – as it did the Mormons, a Christian sect founded on the ‘divine revelations’ experienced by the 17 year-old Joseph Smith (an acknowledged drinker) in 1823. A brief analysis of the account of his mystic experience would lead a rational thinker to the conclusion that the boy was sleep-deprived and delusional, or high on drink and/or drugs, or that he was a liar and a con-man. One can only despair at the fact that, because of the propensity for humans to think and behave irrationally, the Enlightenment has made limited progress since it kicked off in the 17^th century. Jehova’s Witnesses still believe the end of the world is nigh, despite several previously predicted deadlines having passed without incident.

Now, however, there is an alternative warning of Armageddon – not promulgated by prophets, but credibly forecast by scientifically collated data. The U.N. has announced that global warming of the order of 2C will certainly cause the end of the world as it is currently constituted. No vengeful god is responsible. No righteous peoples will be spared. No prayers will affect the outcome. The only way out of the dilemma is for the human population to moderate the economic activities that are at the root of this potential calamity. Disaster could be averted by reasoned and bold action, but time is of the essence. Governments must act, and act now! The problem is, however, that they will not. Governments just aren’t very proactive. Leaving aside those run by tyrants or infested with self-enriching, corrupt politicians, even the cleanest, most democratically elected governments tend to champion policies promoted by lobby groups and act on fears of losing the next election. Momentum for change must come, as it always has, from individuals acting and influencing others, until their number reaches critical mass and obliges politicians to follow suit.

So the onus is on each and every one of us to take action to reduce our carbon footprints. This is a difficult sell, since we who live in rich countries have become accustomed to the throwaway society, the over-consumption of goods and the luxury of placing convenience over necessity – all things to which populations in poorer countries aspire. Still, it is the sum of billions of small things that can make a difference. We don’t all have to become vegetarian but we do all have to eat less meat. How hard is that? My guess is that it becomes easier as awareness and practice spread, establishing new behavioural mores. Sooner or later, neighbours will frown on your eco-unfriendly car(s), friends will encourage you to switch to green energy and avoid profligate consumption. Eventually, those alternative lifestyle pioneers may be awarded belated recognition for their commitment to change. By their socks-and-sandals shall ye know the true saviours of mankind.

Timelining

This week I saw two films and read one novel, and the one thing they had in common was that a main character was killed off towards the end of the plot – a device often used by writers wishing bring things to a convenient conclusion. Death, however, though it may bring an end to an episode, does not terminate the whole story (hence umpteen series of Game of Thrones or whatever). The ramifications of our actions are interwoven into others’ stories long after we are gone. Our short lives are mere episodes in a continuous drama and, if we cannot always relate these to past events, it may be because our memories fail us. However, there is now a handy device that overcomes memory-loss: the smartphone.

It was by chance that I discovered, in the menu of the Google Maps app, a feature called Timeline which, if you allow it, will track your movements. And it is very precise. It shows not only a map of your itinerary but also a list of times, routes travelled, mode of transport and places visited. Last Wednesday, for example, I walked from home for three minutes to Marsters Coffee Shop (there is even a photo of the place). My subsequent movements are similarly recorded in detail and, although I later went “missing in the Gay Village” for 15 minutes (of which I have no memory), I am nevertheless impressed by the technology. Had you asked me where I was and what I was doing last Wednesday at 15.23, I would have had no idea – but Google probably would.

Except that I have noticed an odd discrepancy: on Monday I was simultaneously at home and in Rochdale. It took me quite a while to work out how this was possible but, by a process of deduction, I fathomed it, eventually. I was indeed at home; it was my partner who went to Rochdale. The explanation is that we share a Google account (so that we can both access mutual contacts) and we are both signed into it on our phones. Our timelines, therefore, merge into one, despite there being two devices. All of which is perfect for the happy, devoted couple living mutually supportive lives, though not so for those at the opposite end of the relationship spectrum.

I am sure that some readers will regard this ability of Google to track our movements as a sinister – possibly evil – power, but you do not have to sign up for it: there are other options, such as asking strangers for directions, consulting out-dated paper maps, and using public telephone booths (I think they still exist). Otherwise, there are good things that can come from the confluence of technology and personal data. I have heard the argument for Google to make available ‘safe’ pedestrian routes, for example. This could be done by plotting a course, let’s say, that takes you to your destination avoiding streets that are poorly lit and/or unpopulated by other walkers. Admittedly, this service would require massive data input and computation but this is what they do. The real problems would be resolving the duality problem and persuading everyone to enable GPS on their devices.

There is another possible use for the technology: ‘Group Timelining’ could be employed by writers to experiment with the way they tell stories. Plots of extreme complexity could be auto-generated by persuading each person in the writers’ interactive circles of friends and relatives to sign into the same Google account on a phone that they are given. After carrying the phone constantly for a given period of time, the ‘characters’ can then decide when and where to turn it off, thus providing a ‘death’ for the writers to deal with and thereby preventing them from choosing a convenient conclusion. As in life, the story goes on.