collections of things

I'm a big design geek and there's been some activity recently about cultural design in the US and over in England. There's an issue of big, grandiose, iconic things . . . like double-decker buses and phone booths. But it was in discussing the cultural impact of smaller pieces that left me intrigued.

Like stamps, for instance.


















I, for one, have always placed a negative connotation on the damn things -- they're one of the most unpredictable household staples. But if you take a step back and think about it, stamps (much like currency) are objects we obliviously touch a great deal in our lives . . . but also objects that reflect who we are as a culture.

Which leads me to my real interest here: collecting stuff.

Our iTunes collections have hoards of songs we'll never listen to (I think my iPod holds 40,000 songs -- why?), our friends/followers on social networks are expected to be not just big, but constantly growing, and our cultural drive to excel professionally leads us to measure our success by the money we collect in our bank accounts. But what's behind all of it? Why are we collecting? And is it a phenomenon that's uniquely human?

I'd like to point to an example that's all-too-current: professional recruitment. I've had many conversations previously with some ad friends about the present state of the typical ad agency (at least in the US, not to exclude our friends abroad) -- we always seem to come to a frustrating hault in the conversation. There are many examples I can think of where very talented people are vetted (not recruited) by agencies, but alas there's no way to keep them around. Looking at it another way, agencies find talent they want to collect and keep on their desks, but they don't have the capacity to do it.

This may sound like a personal complaint, but it's honestly not -- it's a mix of personal confusion and professional worry. What would the world be like if agencies were able to collect outstanding talent, rather than just keeping around mediocre talents for the time being? Is there a value beyond just relying on headcount right now or money right now? Aren't we playing with big risks on the table when we rely on miraculously-timed, perfectly-executed recommendations from higher-ups?

I think of Pogs as a stellar analogy here. Remember those things? Playful (arguably stupid) simplicity in game form. We built our collections, shared some, created some, and cried/cheered when we made a big trade with a sibling. Essentially, though, they were all the same stupid things: paper circles. But we attributed our own value to each one; they were each unique. To us. One person's trash is another person's treasure, right? There's definitely some subjective thoughts in what is "good" when it comes to a damn Pog.

Isn't the same true with people, though? No offense to those few geniuses out there -- I hope you're found immediately and given paychecks.

But long-term, what are the implications of treating personalities and individuals as commodities? instead of collecting the great ones, like they're one-of-a-kind-can't-miss-out-on-this treasures?

Maybe as a culture, we ought to have a think about our people in addition to our cultural objects. Both should be designed to be collected.

Just a thought -- a little half-baked, but maybe it'll lead to something else.

thus opens the thought laboratory

I recently found Say Everything in the half-off section of Strand, and just wanted to say that it's a fantastic read so far. Granted, I'm only about halfway through the thing, but it's definitely a read that drags out some thoughts.

I'll save any sort of synopsis for another time. But one of the biggest thoughts that's been floating around in my head has been the idea of experimenting with your online voice.

As a creator. As writer. As a curator. As an innovator. As a planner. But most importantly, as an individual.

Although the book fills in the details of an often-overlooked blogging history, my mind can't help but spot my own story juxtaposed on each dramatic tale. It seriously made me think about how I've involved myself in the changing blogosphere over the past decade or so. Starting with LiveJournal, playing around with WordPress . . . and eventually moving on to bigger and better things.

Probably the greatest attribute of blogs (and with other things, like twitter/etc since the introduction of blogs) is the license of thought they give people. There's something very powerful in that innate automaticity. Something we as people can learn from, and something we might be able to extend to the brands of the world.

But anyway.

Here I am, still ranting about things online all these years later. Although I seem to have a pretty good idea of what my voice sounds like (test, test), I would argue that no one truly understands everything their voice can do (or has done) for the world.

Enter some dabbling in the online world of verboseness and excessive self-expression.

Without getting too far off-course here, I wanted to take a moment to sort of broadcast a self-assigned project/goal/expectation thing I've agreed to take on:

I'm going to be clicking "publish" each day in September. With whatever thoughts I have to share.

Why, you ask?

Simple. I believe our voices should be used in laboratory-like settings as a way to showcase our thought processes. It's something I feel very strongly about, but I think it's something that everyone could improve upon. Thinking, voicing, sharing, etc. All very strong ingredients in powerful communication, and I'm pretty sure concocting a lab-like context will produce some sort of great end-product. Not sure what it'll be, but I can feel it in my gut. (If I knew what the benefit would be and could clearly communicate it, I probably wouldn't need to dedicate a month of my life to voicing up.)

This thought laboratory concept isn't new for communications, though; it seems to be popping up all over the place. BBH, Jerwood Space over in London, Ajou University, Havas Group, MIT, etc. All really great stuff. What can we learn from them?

I'm not entirely sure what'll happen over the next month, but I look to Russell for another great example of this little experiment -- thoughts are forked over, and other thoughts follow. It can only be great, right?

Well, anyway. I just think it's a really great project for myself. One I'm happy to take on as I seek out some sort of next step in my planning life.

'Til tomorrow, cheers.

image c/o thatwasmyfoot.my-expressions.com