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LOOK HARDER

Education is wasted on the young. The tweed wrapped frustrations of an art history teacher begging me to ‘look harder Saunders’ were little more than snigger-fodder to a fourteen year old fresh into long trousers. Wisdom, it seems, can take a good half century to percolate from the inner ear to the cerebrum before it makes any sense.

‘Look at the subject, her expression, look at the others and the position of their hands. What does this tell you?’ he would say peering through his half rimmed specs. Yes, this was way back in the day when we still had male teachers.

What Mr Bromeswell was trying to tell us, all those years ago, was that every painting, every image, every photo is steeped in meaning and messages…for those that are open to decoding them, that is. Some of them are strategic: the items chosen to lie ‘casually’ on the linen tablecloth in a Dutch interior, for example. But many of the messages are subliminal, subconscious signals that cry out for an informed observer. And with the world in its current state of what can be politely described as flux, we have never been bombarded with so many hidden messages queuing up for interpretation and analysis. Mr B must surely be screaming down from the heavens ‘look harder ffs!’

Politics

Let’s start with an easy one. Check out this picture of Sir Keir Starmer meeting Donald Trump. Now, try if you can to wipe your brain completely clean of politics and look at the image as if it were a photograph of two random uncles meeting at a wedding. Oh yes, those dark rims do nothing to obscure the sheer terror that emanates from Uncle K’s eyes. And as for Uncle Don, well his disregard for Uncle K is palpable to the point of cringe. Sure, I selected this image, but I challenge anyone to find another picture that switches these roles. Because there isn’t one.

Disney

Disney is clearly trying to tell us something. Perhaps it’s feeling contrite about having created a billion cute but hideously entitled princesses out of our daughters. Whatever its reasoning, its attempt to correct matters with a ham-fisted dollop of DEI has made it look ridiculous and desperate. To cast a non-white in the role of Snow White was a decision, and a huge investment, that must have taken months if not years. The result was a $170 million loss at the box office and public ridicule. Compare that to the $190 million profits from the 1936 version (accounting for inflation).

Pop Music

Take a few minutes to really look into the face of one of our all time biggest pop idols. Forget about the decades of nipping and tucking, look into Madonna’s eyes and what do you see? Her skin maybe stretched to tearing point like budget clingfilm and her hair and lips over-augmented to compensate for time’s wicked revenge, but it’s the eyes that cannot lie. Some of the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. Sad about ageing, perhaps, but it must surely be that she knows, subconsciously, that pop music is on the same trajectory as she is. And while we’re on the subject of decline, take at close look at Britney, the girl that once fizzed with bright pink vitality now confused, broken and empty. Blame it on drugs and the ageing process if you must, but we are not looking at faces that are proud of their legacy. These are the faces of idols that know the game is up.

As Robbie Williams admits, he would work for months in order to come up with a catchy, anthemic chorus. Today, you can create one at the press of a button. So is pop music dead? Well, formulaic pop music is yes. But the good news is that we’re already seeing the response to AI created music beginning to emerge with bands such as Angine de Poitrine experimenting with microtonal math-rock and unpredictable rhythms that go to show that humans are still very much in charge. Check them out here. Predictable they are not.

Hollywood

Oh dear, oh dear. It couldn’t be more explicit if it tried. Like pop music, Hollywood knows that its heyday lies long behind it. It had an amazing run, made itself stratospherically wealthy, then flaunted its riches back at us only to become even richer as a result. That’s quite some business model. But you can only live off your legacy for so long: Hollywood knows that it is dying and it’s reaching out to tell us that in a most peculiar way. The current Ozempic craze is Hollywood, literally and manifestly, diminishing itself before our very eyes. Drunk on a cocktail of guilt and narcissism, our stars are physically shrinking for us, as if on a kind of hunger strike against their own excesses. So tell me, who is Hollywood’s golden couple right now, the one that we all wish we could be?

Precisely.

The Car Industry

We all know that the Germans are the best engineers in the world. Their car industry has given birth to some of the the fastest, most efficient and aspirational products mankind has ever produced. And now, after eighty years climbing to the top of the world it has decided to dismantle it all piece by piece. As my geopolitical contemporary, Peter Zeihan says: if you’ve always fancied a state of the art BMW, buy one now because they won’t be making them much longer. As part of its strategy of intentional self-sabotage Germany has also decommissioned all its nuclear plants, much like Miliband filling in our gas wells with concrete I guess.

But don’t be fooled by the reassuringly snarly grin on the face of a luxury BMW eDrive machine. It is nothing but a grimace that hides the truth. The truth is that almost 60% of that sexy beast’s power plant was made in China. They deny it of course referencing a barrage of foreign sources and parts suppliers, but that’s the nub of it. Germany hasn’t just opened its gates to a Trojan horse, it has transplanted the damn thing into its very heart.

The same is true of Jaguar. Too many column inches have been written on Jaguar’s do-or-die gamble, so I’ll keep it short: Its 00 concept is openly and brazenly ground zero. It has abandoned its loyal, grey haired and tan gloved fan base in favour of a customer of dubious orientation and origin. At precisely the time, incidentally, that our ageing boomer army will be at its most populous ever. Go figure.

Meanwhile, the Chinese are shamelessly building gorgeous, indistinguishable clones of BMW X5s, G-Wagens, Lamborghinis, Range Rovers, Mini Coopers, Rolls Royces and even classic Corvettes. They are obviously taking the piss.

Let me spell it out. As the West abandons its cultural heritage, the Chinese are on hand to mop it up and regurgitate it for their own amusement.

Thank you Mr Bromeswell. Our destiny could not be any clearer.

Howard Saunders is a writer, speaker and the Retail Futurist

howard@22and5.com

theretailfuturist.com

@retailfuturist

Howard Saunders May 12, 2026 Brand, culture, Future, image, Uncategorized, woke Comments Off Read More

YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING

Kids ruin Christmas. It’s not their fault, of course, but as November drags to its drizzly demise the world inexplicably switches into kiddy mode. Every shop, every advert, every programme and every song addresses us as if we’ve just turned six: fully grown TV presenters grin toothily in tinsel covered pixie hats explaining things in over enunciated tones as if their audience is thumb-sucking and nodding in agreement. Even our much lauded Christmas ads have become unbearably cutesy as a parade of lovable fire-breathing dragons (John Lewis) animated carrots (Aldi) animated dogs (Costa) or simply Disney characters lifted directly from Frozen (Iceland) are splurged across our screens in a tidal wave of diabetes-inducing drivel. And as if to add insult to injury, our ‘leaders’, our pathetic politicians promise us an ever-lengthening list of things we’re as likely to witness as Santa’s fat arse in our fake fireplace.

So, partly to escape my homegrown Yuletide blues I hopped across to Salzburg for advent weekend in search of the true spirit of Christmas. (And even though I tweeted my intentions I had no idea that I would actually find it! More of that later.)

Salzburg old town is ridiculously cute too, but in a grown up, stein-clinking kinda way. The Christmas markets have not been plundered by filterless-fag smoking reprobates and street-hustlers, and are instead largely owned by local families. And they’re not all selling the same imported plastic shite either. Each stall has a respectful, symbiotic relationship with its neighbours. The bauble connoisseur is adjacent to the knick-knackery, the miniature figurine specialist is flanked by a lantern stall and a flavoured oil salesman. They segment by colour too, with one stand selling wares in shades of white to contrast with next door’s rich reds and golds. There’s also a fair slice of religious iconography, this being the historical centre of the Counter-Reformation when the Catholic Church turned up the volume on all that icon stuff. (The ‘Altstadt’ alone is home to 27 churches) I found this unusually refreshing, coming from an uber-secular city where religious iconography is avoided like, err, a religion.

Having browsed, nibbled and Gluhweined a good half dozen advent markets I decided to take a break from all the jollity and go for a Sunday walk, because well, it was Sunday. After half an hour’s staggering up the stupidly steep stone steps just across from the Mozartsteg Bridge, I seriously began to question my sanity. At each stone ‘landing’ where I paused to wheeze noisily, I was faced with yet another stretch of stairs, as if trapped in some impossible Escher etching. Finally I reached, surprise surprise, yet another church, but I still felt Kapuzinerberg Hill remained uncharted, despite its managed pathways and clear signs. And so this huffing, puffing pioneer marched onward and upward. Very upward.

Occasionally I came across another idiot coming downhill through the forest towards me, presumably from somewhere, so I pushed on. Heroically I parted bracken and bravely stepped over a few perilous boulders until finally, thank god, the slope softened into a level clearing. Snuggled into the crest of the hill sat a stone lodge by the spittle-making name of Franziskischlossl. I approached cautiously, pulling back a dark blue velvet curtain behind the weighty wooden door. I felt like one of the Wise Men arriving at the stable, for yes, I had just discovered the true spirit of Christmas! Below me, nestled in a courtyard way above the city, looking down along the majestic Salzach, was a small band of Christmas hunters just like me. A motley crew of walkers and respectful revellers were gathered around an open fire pit, drinking Sporer hot orange punch and Stiegl beer. I’m sure I‘d have heard the angels singing Halleluja, if ‘Last Christmas’ hadn’t been playing.

Here, my friends, is the real Christmas spirit. It’s not in the shimmering, shop windows, nor is it on the faces of those infantile TV presenters or even in the heartstring tugging supermarket ads . You won’t find it on Amazon, Twitter or Youtube, and you certainly won’t find it on Instagram. You can’t even Google it. No, the true spirit of Christmas is tucked away, often where you’d least expect it, in simple places where like-minded strangers gather around a fire to clink glasses and wish each other well.

Thanks for reading. Now, do the right thing and follow me on Twitter @retailfuturist for daily retail musings.

Howard Saunders Dec 11, 2019 Brand, Retail, Uncategorized Comments Off Read More

MEET THE WALL DOGS (How advertising became street art)

At first everything seems to be exactly as you’d expect. New York is plastered with commercial images at every turn: on the sides of buses, in the subway, on cab doors and high up on the sides of buildings. But one advertising hoarding catches your eye. At first glance nothing looks unusual, but as you wait to cross the street you ponder it for a few seconds. Something about it has grabbed your attention and you’re not quite sure why. Perhaps it’s the gentle sheen or the way in which the image fits around the window frames? And then it dawns on you: it’s hand painted.

Sky High Murals has turned the everyday advertising hoarding into an art form. Not just by showcasing their tremendous skills as artists, but also as performers: sky high abseiling artists. Sky High HQs in Williamsburg, a couple of doors down from the Brooklyn Brewery, is where our band of artist-abseilers plan their attack before jumping astride their motorcycles. They are the special forces of the advertising world, an urban gang of artistic Navy Seals in paint spattered hoodies. They call themselves ‘wall dogs’ as they spend their working lives chained to a wall. This is not a job for artists of faint heart or delicate disposition. Walldogs endure long hours, high above the city streets in sub zero New York winters and crazy hot summers. But they love it. It’s clear by their swagger, as they head out to another big project, that they feel like an elite squadron of highly sought after soldiers. On the website their list of things ‘you’ll need to become a walldog’ includes ‘strength, positive attitude’ and a ‘good alarm clock’.

In an age where large scale digital printing has never been easier or cheaper it’s clear that picking up the phone to Sky High Murals must offer a brand some serious added value. The obvious answer is that it brings an extra artistic depth to an otherwise everyday image. A global Nike campaign, for example, will see its images reproduced in thousands of cities across the planet, translated into hundreds of languages, in different formats and across all types of media. And yet, Nike will happily invest in the skills of a small band of abseiling street artists because of the extra dimension it brings to the campaign. Hand painted images add artistic value, of course, and street cred, definitely, but there is a more powerful message that sings out behind every individual brushstroke. Namely, time.

I believe the real message is that our advertising images took extra time, dedication and phenomenal skill to come to your street, so please take time to appreciate them. Our message is not the background noise to your city or yet another thin layer of visual clutter spewed from an uncaring and cynical global corporation. Our images, as well as being art, clearly produced by artists, are integral to the city itself.

Yet again Brooklyn has soaked up contemporary culture and regurgitated it in its own likeness. Just like Brooklyn’s take on fast food it has slowed down the things we take for granted and made them more locally relevant, more considered. Like its take on everyday objects it has transformed the ordinary into the artisan. Like its take on all things retail it attempts to integrate it into the community and the fabric of the city, as opposed to simply landing on it from the great corporate heights of commercialism. Even advertising can be Brooklynized.

This article is an extract from the recently published Brooklynization. Click here for a preview.

Join me on Twitter for daily retail rants @retailfuturist and read more of my blogs here: andcom.uk9.fcomet.com/blog/

Howard Saunders Mar 02, 2018 Brand, city, Retail, Uncategorized 1 Comment Read More