The Passing of Steve Jobs

At a time when our world needs better leaders—people who capture creativity, can inspire others and move forth with boldness—we lose Steve Jobs. He leaves an uncomfortable hole in our collective consciousness, as played out in various media. There is sadness, and a lot people admit not quite knowing exactly why. We didn’t know this man personally. We only know the products and brands he championed. We know his story, but most of us never directly experienced his leadership. It can only be then that we mourn the idea of Steve Jobs, what he represented in business and how we apply that to our lives. Indeed, the technology is useful—is cool, is fascinating, is unique—but it all stands most as one of the few areas in life in which we have had reliable guidance, in which we’ve built trust and allowed ourselves to follow another’s vision. And we fear what may happen now that Jobs’ vision is gone. Because right now, we’re lacking the inspiration he was known for. At a time when “leaders” in business and politics fail us, we’ve taken refuge in a brand, in a business, in an idea of how life could be. It is why his statement “stay hungry, stay foolish” has become a constant refrain. We so want to live up to this, especially now in this economically depressed state. But we’re not sure we can. So we spend time and energy relying on others, or being completely adrift. We relied on Jobs to stay hungry and foolish. Now we’re left searching for meaning in his death, thinking we now most need someone like him. We shouldn’t though. His passing should not cause us to look for the next Steve Jobs. If anything, his death signals that we should stop looking to others for answers and guidance and begin looking to ourselves—to be bold and express our own vision for the world, to take risks and rally others to great ideas, to fail and learn and move forth, knowing that all we have to lose is time and all we have to gain is ourselves. 

Bicycle Culture in the District

I've been lately neglecting my blogging here; however, check out my latest post on the new Huffington Post DC site. To complement it, I started this Tumblr to track all the bikes I've been seeing around the District. 

99 Problems but a Stitch Ain’t One

Dear Arc’teryx,

Stop making bizarre-looking, futuristic concept clothing and start using your fine tailoring and technology to save us Washington, DC professionals from the weather—just like you do for mountain climbers and the armed forces alike.

Right now you’re following down the path of Nau—the ill-fated eco-brand started by well-intentioned Patagonia refugees. A great concept poorly executed. They too created drab, lifeless clothing (and still do, I believe). I’m sure the aesthetic aspects of your Veilance designs are suitable to someone, but I think it’s diluting your brand and not staying true to your mission. As my friend Pete Hult says: “Sure, they get a designer’s creative juices flowing and remove traditional design barriers, but they are not grounded in usability.” And what is Arc’teryx about if it’s not about usability?

You obviously do an exceptional job with technical wear. I personally own your Alpha SV jacket, Alpha SV gloves, Beta AR pants and Bird Cap. So I know what you’re capable of. The Alpha SV jacket is better tailored than my Burberry suits. Each of your technical products is an exceptional piece of equipment—which I, like many of your core customers, push to the limits of design and functionality.

Why then can’t you help me out when I’m not climbing mountains? Instead of high-concept, how about real-life. The extremes of Washington, DC weather offer day-to-day challenges to one’s wardrobe that Arc’teryx would understand better than Zenga or Tom Ford. Let’s get practical.

As a “humid subtropical climate zone,” the summer brings piping heat with average daily relative humidity of about 66%—standard business wear doesn’t cut it. In a wool suit I’m toast. Sure, I can supplement my business attire with linens, cottons and seersucker, but that only goes so far. And then in the winter, howling winds cut right through you. That same humidity makes walking through frosty air akin to plunging into an ice bath. Tweed can only get you so far, especially when moving back and forth from street to boardroom, cab to bar.

As a point of reference, prior to air conditioning, Washington, DC was actually considered a hardship posting by the British Foreign Office. It’s diplomats received hazard pay for living here. As noted in a current British expat guide: “Summer remains ferociously hot and humid outdoors, and icy cold in the ubiquitous air-conditioned indoors.” In the old days, the British at least allowed their diplomats to dress down in these conditions, in an outfit consisting of shorts, knee-high socks and lighter threads over all. How my colleagues and I envy the idea at times.

Enter Arc’teryx.

Arc’teryx has fabrics and technology that would make standard work clothes more bearable to wear in the summer months—lighter, wicking, breathable. Same goes for the winter. I don't necessarily need a thick coat most times, but a little wind-stopper in my suit jacket would go a long way. To have a durable, well-constructed ensemble that looked and felt to the touch like a fine suit, yet accommodated realistic climatic conditions and fashion trends would truly be something to behold.

The only company I see out there doing anything like this is Rapha, which makes exquisitely designed clothing—partnering with Paul Smith for some pieces. However, Rapha serves its niche cycling market. I see opportunity on a broader scale—a creative, technical approach to business attire beginning with the fabric that complements Arc’teryx’s brand attributes and extends it’s brand identity among those who could be in its non-core sportswear user group, as well as in decision-maker positions for its specialty products.

This is Washington, DC. We got 99 problems. Don’t let a stitch be one. 

Hitting a Target

The black and white bull’s-eye appears when I’ve pushed myself too hard. It’s a flickering mark in the center of my sights, like an old film reel blinking over a scene. Physiologically, I don’t know what it is, perhaps related to my blood oxygen levels; but psychologically, it signals when I’ve crossed the threshold from pain to peace. Whereas when I set out on my run or my ride, my brain is sifting, sorting, rehashing, running scenarios, acting out frustrations—all loudly. Once the bull’s-eye appears, all is quiet. All I see is the trail or the road. All I hear is my breathing. Even the thoughts that percolate below conscious contemplation for a time cease to bubble up. And then I know I’ve hit my target; I know I've hit my pace.  

The Guilt of Defacing Graffiti

I defaced graffiti the other day, I am loath to admit. While passing through a crosswalk near the W Hotel, I noticed a fresh “stikman” on the street, and as traffic bore down upon me, I plucked it up and moved along quickly. I carried the illicit art all the way home, half thinking (half wanting) someone to accuse me of being behind these street installations. No one did.

If you are not familiar with stikman, he is the subject of an anonymous street artist who has made this figure well known throughout DC and numerous other cities, from Los Angeles to Boston.

Stikman resides mostly in crosswalks—a reflective vinyl robot staring blankly upward. He comes in several colors, and as traffic and weather run over him, his permanence is solidified by conditions that simultaneously disintegrate him entirely—like a traumatic event seared as a memory but faded overtime, from fixture to abstraction to amorphous reminiscence, and then gone altogether.

I’ve snapped photos of him before, but have never acquired one. I’ve only ever enjoyed his place in the urban landscape—a simple, humorless figure who looks up and says, “Hey, you’re walking on me.” I smile and move on. In hand, though, I sought to learn more.

Aside from many photos, I found a Washington Post article by Stephen Lowman from 2008, in which he wrote about his own exploration of stikman:

I Googled him, half expecting to find out that stikman was part of a viral marketing campaign to get me to the theater on Halloween to see a robot slasher flick. Instead, I found other admirers sharing their fondness for this mysterious figure whose creator was anonymous.

Oh woe for the artist whose work is mistaken for marketing! Is this not the nature of art though? Look at Shepard Fairey’s now ubiquitous “Hope” portrait of President Obama. It may offend the artist to have his or her methods adopted for commercial or political purposes, (Fairey, notably, was an Obama supporter), but I would take it as a compliment that you’re contributing to the expansion of how we can communicate with one another. The tenuous relationship between art and commerce may never be resolved.

With stikman, however, I just feel guilty. I have denied the masses exposure to this simple figure. In art, meaning is derived from context; and with street art, every piece is site-specific. I have in a sense robbed some life from this particular piece. Nor do I feel right replacing it, now that I’ve removed it. Like a baby bird held by human hands, it may not be accepted back into its nest, its stickiness gone. It would then be sweet justice if I was arrested for littering or defacing property in an effort to restore him.

So here I am in my office trying to mash stikman into the carpet—the only sensible way I think he can be displayed. On the wall won’t cut it. I only fear the cleaning people may remove him.

Full disclosure: A modified version has been posted on my company's blog.