Thursday, August 18, 2011

True Story


Scene: A successful film producer eats granola in his Hollywood home. He is uptight and cruel. As he is leaving for work, he notices that the maid, who he doesn't really trust, has cleaned the bathtub and done a very good job. He walks to the kitchen, opens the refrigerator, and sees that a can of Sprite is missing. There were four cans in there last night and today there are only three. He knows this because he poured the fifth one into his vodka tonic when he got home from the golf club. Five minus one equals four. Obviously the maid has stolen a can of Sprite. The film producer decides to confront the maid. He gets very angry at her as he leaves the house, calling her a thieving wetback bitch. She will probably quit but he doesn't care, he will get someone who doesn't steal other people's property. As he drives to work he wonders if he was not a little too harsh with her.

At the studio, the set is ready for the shoot. It is a modern bathroom. The bathtub is big and white, but it has scuffs on the sides from where the delivery men brushed it up against a black painted background. The producer asks for the set designer. She is a young, pretty, Hispanic woman. He points out the scuff. She is apologetic and immediately begins cleaning the tub with some windex and paper towels. When she is done, she approaches the producer and shows him the gleaming tub. Wow! he thinks, she did a great job, and he is a little bit attracted to her. He thanks her for a job well done and tells her to take a break and grab herself a drink. She goes to the catering area and grabs a Sprite. As she does so, the film producer walks by her and ever so gently brushes her chest with his Rolexed hand.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Don't Brand Me


I find the whole concept of "branding" very very disturbing. Everywhere I look, people are falling all over themselves to be "branded." In all sectors of life, from doctors to refrigerator repairmen to athletes to politicians to musicians to nutritionists to yoga instructors to activists, everyone wants to be "branded." There is a collective desire to be labelled and categorized, subsumed into the marketplace and monetized. In marketing parlance, to be branded is to become a viable commodity. It is to have a name that is recognized, so that the name becomes a replacement for the object, or becomes the definition of an entire category of objects, like jacuzzi, kleenex or xerox. Being a brand means having name recognition that creates instant understanding in the consumer without much research or exploration. In the business world, the sexiest, most bitchin' thing you can do is to become a recognized brand. If you are a lawyer and your name becomes synonymous with earning millions of dollars in personal injury claims, you have passed through that golden doorway, you are no longer just a person plying a trade, you are that magical thing of power and affirmation. You are a "brand." You are branded. I find the whole thing extremely fucked up.
Let's look at where the word "brand" comes from. It comes from people putting an indelible mark on their property, living or otherwise, to identify it as such. It comes from farmers putting a stamp on their cows, or slave owners branding their slaves. Branding is achieved by heating a piece of metal until it is red hot and then pushing it into the flesh to burn and permanently disfigure the person being "branded." It has always been a method of marking chattel or livestock to keep it from escaping or being stolen.
This is what we are all striving for? No thank you. I realize that the term "brand" has evolved since the days of slavery, but I believe to be willingly branded, to desire to turn oneself into a brand, is to willingly subject oneself to a different form of slavery. It is to give up one's individual identity for the sake of monetary gain. We all have to do this to some degree, depending on our occupation. But let's remember where the word comes from. I believe words have meaning and power.
Granted, I am an artist who sells his wares and a tradesman who plies his trade in the system we all live in, the capitalist system of the western world in the twenty-first century. And I realize products in the marketplace are recognized for their quality and reputation by their name. But is there no such thing as an individual? Why do politicians, musicians, athletes, and institutions of higher learning need to have a brand? Are they really so eager to stick their asses out and have someone come along and apply a smoldering piece of metal to their flesh till it oozes, fries, and scars, just to be part of a larger amalgamation of commodities? I think it behooves all of us (no pun intended) to take a step back and examine this whole concept. I am not a cow, I am not a slave. Don't brand me.