12/03/2015

The letter ‘o’ is a mysterious one at the best of times. It lacks an obvious start or end point, is easily confused with the puzzling number zero, and forms the phonological centrepiece of this strange song featuring Ost & Kjex. Its very presence in the word “mysterious” is itself something of a mystery*. But if you were trying to make it look even more enigmatic, you could do little better than superscripting and underlining it, before rotating it a beguiling 45˚.

Oh...

Au Clocher du Village is the cozy-looking bistro which I walk past whenever I exit Église d’Auteuil station, as befalls me from time to time. On my first sighting, I was immediately hooked by the cryptic ‘o’. Was the underscore a diacritic? Was its slantiness an arcane prosodic cue? Perhaps an artistic approach was needed – could the ‘o’ be tumbling gracelessly to the earth, a token of this establishment’s rustic charm in  the city of haute cuisine? Or could it symbolise one of the swinging bells evoked in the poetic title? For some time, it seemed to me there was nothing in the world more perplexing and unfathomable than the tilted letter that had captured my imagination.

Until I found a second one.

... my god.

A mere 800m separates Au Clocher’s frivolous vowel rotation from a perfect replica, this time tucked between the letters “au relais Chard” and “n”. At a restaurant called “au relais Chardon”.

If my curiosity had been piqued before, it had now been soaked in methylated spirits and exposed to an open flame. How many more lop-sided ‘o’s were lurking around this city? Or if it was only these two, which one came up with it first? Did the owner of one walk past the other and recognise a good thing when he saw it? Was this a very literal case of one restaurant mimicking the other to the letter?

As it turns out, there’s more linking these two establishments than just a cartwheeling ‘o’ and an ill-advised chocolate colour scheme. They share an owner, and at a total of two locations represent the smallest possible restaurant collective you could just about call a chain. Oddly, it’s not the first minimal chain I’ve come across in Paris. I was struck recently by a façade lit up with the name “Le Congrès” at the Porte Maillot, having already discovered one at the Porte d’Auteuil. I was confident an online search would prove the existence of others around town - but to paraphrase one famous Parisienne, “that’s all there is, there [are]n’t any more”.   

Spot the difference

I have other examples, but rather than list them I’d ask that you just take my word and indulge me the next few sentences. The unlikely parade of Parisian double acts provides a welcome contrast to the tired copy and paste instinct of English restaurateurs. Yes, places like Côte, Bills and Strada are solid eateries in their own right - but once you’ve seen one,  you’ve seen 35% of restaurants in Britain. So I'll take the tilted ‘o’ of tw-independent Parisian dining over a flat UK chain culture any day.

(My apologies to anyone who finds “French food is better than English food” rather an uninsightful conclusion.)

*Where’s the ‘o’ in its French root and counterpart, mystérieux? 

28/02/2015

Restaurant Review

France and fine food. It’s impossible to imagine one without the other. The two go together like moules and frites, foie gras and compote d’abricot, cab sav and côte de boeuf. French cuisine is so thunderously iconic, it even clinched a spot in the Japanese game show Iron Chef. The western dining tradition will forever be indebted to a vast array of French innovations: there’s the amuse-bouche, the hors-d’œuvre, the pièce de résistance. There’s grande cuisine, haute cuisine, nouvelle cuisine. And then there’s this.

For those who find themselves tiring of France’s prissy approach to dining, here surely is the antidote. With its garish shop fronts and dated 90s design, Speed Rabbit Pizza stands out at the party of French gastronomy like a biker stands out a funeral – leather clad and smelling of sweat, hunched in the corner with his back to the casket, blasting death metal from a boombox held together with gaffer tape.

The baffling decision to name the chain after a jumpy sex-crazed rodent has found some justification in recent years: since opening shop in Boulogne-sur-Seine in 1991, Speed Rabbit Pizza has spawned a litter of over 130 restaurants across metropolitan France. About sixty of these are spattered grossly throughout the streets of Paris, doing their utmost to smear excrement in the face of Haussmann’s 19^th Century urban vision.

It’s hard to put a finger on the secret to SRP’s astronomic success in a country where restaurant chains are rare and the term “fast food” borders on profanity. Could it be the compellingly poetic title? The judicious and sensitive depiction of a typical female customer in their TV advertising campaign? Perhaps it’s their avant-garde range of toppings, with innovations such as four cheese (“La Cheese”) and spicy sausage (“Spicy Lovers”)? Or the enigmatic logo, rendering sleek design in a sophisticated monochrome, accompanied by a toxic yellow font redolent of mustard and abscess pus?

After a nine-month nationwide talent search for a new logo design, this winning entry was selected at random.

I don’t think any of these can fully explain Speed Rabbit Pizza’s trailblazing triumph over the last two decades. More likely is that the restaurants are simply a front for the French amphetamine trade. It’d take an idiot not to spot the overt allusions to the product’s aphrodisiac qualities, the suggestiveness of their by-line “les meilleurs ingrédients font les meilleures pizzas”, or the unsubtle reference to “speed” in the company title. Suddenly their jumpy mascot makes a lot more sense.

What's really in this amphetamine-laced Hawaiian? 

To conclude, SRP cleverly couples a “speed over substance” culinary approach with a “speed as substance” real world sensibility, providing a refreshingly unpretentious Parisian dining experience that anyone can enjoy. Five stars.

10/01/2015

To quote Memrise, a stroppy vocab learning app which has frustratingly acquired permission to use push notifications, "it's been a while". In the last two months, I have:

• Had a delicious $10 dinner in Melbourne's Chinatown 
• Photographed a ruined French abbey in the North Yorkshire Moors
• Won a Tom Tailor minigolf tournament
• Eaten some mediocre pizza in Hamburg for a fiver
• Jogged up the side of a ski piste to the bemusement of an elderly Swiss couple
• Worked an all-day shift in a Tom Tailor store, djing and making popcorn... At the same time.
• Been to Phillip Island and not seen the penguins – cheers Fergus
• Had a solid 20€ dinner in an Indian restaurant in Versailles (biryani was the right choice)
• Changed country… Four times.
• Not used Memrise once. 

With the boring details covered, I'd now like to write about my latest trip to the supermarket. My local Carrefour hypermarché may not quite match up to my favourite branch in the outskirts of Antibes, where freshly prepared sushi is sold alongside immense 3D televisions and 0,89€ bottles of wine (a product arrangement which could probably be improved upon). Though with live lobster marauding aquariums and four aisles dedicated to cheese, the Porte d’Auteuil offering certainly holds its own. Upon entry, the Gruen transfer effect was immediate (non-Australians may need to google), and I eventually washed up outside the store with far more stuff than I knew what to do with.

It was a three day hike to the stationery section.

In that dizzying blur, ten minutes of consternation in the shampoo & conditioner aisle stood out. In other countries, the name of the game in male grooming tends to be simplicity and accessibility. Not so in France – unable to locate a familiar Pantene shelf in this palace of FMCGs, I turned instead to the local hero, L’Oréal. Of the five distinct shampoos available, each styled itself as the solution to some hair-related problem: two were anti-dandruff, two were anti-hair-loss and one was anti-thinning. In other words, the assumptions in every case were that you a) had a problem with your hair, b) had identified it and c) sought measures to counter it. Their range had somehow managed to miss the proportion of men who (i) don’t have a problem with their hair, (ii) don’t know about it, or (iii) don’t care.

Blue+orange & blue act against dandruff, black+teal & red against hair loss, maroon against thinning. Where is my Pantene classic care?

As a (i) or (ii)er, I felt alienated, frustrated and confused. For L’Oréal’s downbeat offering to work, you’d have to assume a culture in which most men are actively looking for problems with their hair. In my experience, that culture doesn’t exist in England or Australia – but then, it probably would if the market-leading haircare brand started listing all the things that can go wrong on their standard selection. So well done, L’Oréal. You’ve balanced the unfair body image expectations on France’s women by beating its men into paranoia too*. You’ve traded in a little bit of liberté for a bit more égalité on the part of the fraternité. And now I’ll never again lose a hair on my pillow without fearing the worst and cursing your name. And giving thanks for the Arginine Resist X3 Shampooing Renforçateur in my shower. Bastards.

Picked it for the colour scheme, I swear.

So. Shampoo in hand (along with a couple of tartes tatin, some onions and a bathmat), I brought home all my essentials for the next six months in Paris. May those months be littered with LAP articles.

*Thereby making this hilarious but fairly depressing joke a little less true.

PS. The shooting of several policemen and unarmed civilians in France over the last few days has left me feeling cold. I think these articles provide some important reflections in the immediate aftermath.

 

14/11/2014

“Casual fashion for a casual life”. There’s something not quite right about Tom Tailor’s former slogan. As with most of its campaigns, it’s written in English, promoting the broader American feel about the company. Most Germans think Tom Tailor is based in the US, a perception supported by its thoroughly un-German name – few would suspect that its head office is in the sleepy Hamburg suburb of Niendorf, characterised by its predominance of elderly people and startlingly nondescript architecture.

Bleak is chic in Niendorf Market

The majority of people here speak English – indeed, most of them slip it into their everyday speech without thinking. Words like “service”, “show” and “download” are liable to crop up in otherwise purely German sentences, just as “I don’t know” is a perfectly legitimate German response to questions. But though bilingualism is impressively prevalent here, few speak English to a level of fluency and linguistic confidence to recognise the many minor oddities in English language advertising here.

Let’s take a look at “casual fashion for a casual life”. If it were “casual fashion for a casual lifestyle”, it’d be beyond criticism (barring appraisal of the actual effectiveness of the message). But a “casual life” isn’t a thing. It sounds like a life of not being bothered. A life you only show up to when nothing else is on. If your eulogy featured a reference to the “casual life” you’d led, your legacy would be in pretty dire straits. Of course, it’d be a great campaign for a company targeting the existentially noncommittal – but after six weeks of working with the company, I’m pleased to say that our customer base isn’t quite so narrowly definable. Accordingly, my native English-speaking boss killed the campaign as quickly as he could.

But he might just as well have spared himself the effort. German consumers capable of this sort of hair-splitting are few and far between; most will see “casual + fashion + life”, and run with the gist of the message. Even those who harbour doubts about the formulation are likely to shrug their shoulders and accept it – after all, who are they to correct the Americans at Tom Tailor?

This I think allows for an interesting linguistic phenomenon to develop in commercial advertising: the license to sound foreign. It doesn’t matter if the sentences are stilted from the perspective of a native English speaker – the targeted German consumers will have much less of an appetite for criticism.  As long as you strike the right buzzwords or catchphrases, the ideas will come through even if the phrasing is patchy. 

The phenomenon can be witnessed all over this city. Tom Tailor provides another specimen with our “You better believe (kn)it” campaign, in which we exhort customers to cast their doubts aside and affirm their faith in textile manufacture. At least, that’s what the message literally implies. The benchmark standard of puns drops significantly when you permit yourself to sound foreign – your claims can be unapologetically nonsensical, as long as they’re more or less familiar-sounding.

Now I'm a beweaver.

A Marlboro ad on my route to work is another good example. It displays a biker in the middle of the desert on the left side, then on the right a couple of packs of cigarettes and the message “Maybe I will do it my way”. With “maybe” struck out. As if the biker opened his diary one afternoon, wrote the sentence complete with the “maybe”, then reconsidered, and in a devil-may-care act of brazen defiance drew a red cross over it.

Scorching intransigence from the smokers

Or my HanseNet mouse pad from Customer Services at the Alsterhaus. The more I look at this one, the less I understand it. Is it meant to be a play on words? 

Get it?

No one says “high speedy”, because it doesn’t mean anything. No one talks about their "casual life". And no one writes “maybe I will do it my way”, least of all leather-clad desert trekking bikers. But once you leave a native English-speaking market, this stuff becomes pure gold. English is a very different beast here – it’s fizzy and it's glamorous, and faintly intoxicating. And even when it’s wrong, it’s oh so right. 

05/11/2014

Fashion spam reworked.

As briefly summarised in the previous article, I’ve been working at a German clothing retailer for the last month. I’m at the lowest rung in the strategic marketing team hierarchy, and as such, one of my primary responsibilities is to face all the spam that gets sent our way. Some of this is spam which I actually have to do something about – if Frau Naujoks of Interactive Digital Marketing insists on speaking with my boss about developing branded trinkets as customer giveaways, it’s my job to tell her that, while we’re very impressed by her idea of printing the company logo onto a USB stick, we’re either a) already well supported by partner firms in this area, or b) unable to modify budget allocations for the year. Sometimes both, if the Frau or Herr in question is really struggling to get the message.

But some of the spam is, I’m pleased to say, entirely harmless. I’d go a step further – some of it is positively delightful. It’s always a relief when an unexpected email turns out to be an Italian fashion newsletter or photographer’s portfolio, clearly sent to thousands of addresses at once. There’s something very uplifting about reading these messages – they are almost always upbeat and friendly, and yet they expect nothing in return for their cheering buoyancy. It only felt right to honour them as best I could, with verbatim inclusion on this blog. Though with some of my own edits added in – they’re rough diamonds, to be sure, and as this one captured my imagination, I couldn't help myself from embellishing. Below I give you my rework of a piece from Shotview Berlin (everything in navy is from the original email).

-----

A few minutes with… CLAUDIA HOFMANN! And her muscular boyfriend, Jarryd.

Interviewer: Claudia, you are well-known for your intensive cooperation with high fashion magazines. Is there one particular work of yours that stands representative for your style?

Claudia: I would describe my style myself as sleek/glamoures but always with a twist of coolness.

Jarryd: Oh come on, she’s being modest. A ‘twist’ of coolness? More like a whole bloody saucepan of it. She pisses cool, is what she does.

I: You collaborated with photographers like Peter Lindbergh, Joachim Baldauf or Markus Pritzi. As well as with celebrities like Karl Lagerfeld or Naomi Campbell. Is there someone or somebody´s œuvre that you would call your muse?

[J coughs loudly]

C: I very much like to work with different photographers and teams because it is always nice to get different amazing input and my style is getting also a different look.

J: Well put Claud. I think “muse” is a pretty serious word to start throwing around, but I mean I help out with her diet and shit.

I: Fashion brands such as Escada, Toni Gard, St. Emile and Adidas love to work with you. From classic-chic to avant-garde to sporty – you are familiar with the diverse concepts of styling. Is there any style on your wish list that you haven´t realised yet?

C: I almost did all kind of styles, but to look into the future, realize the look of the year 3000 would be amazing.

J: Hey yeah, you could be wearing like space boots and an astronaut suit. And riding a purple hovercraft! Yeah, it’s a great idea. But absolutely, she almost did do all kind of styles. This close… [gestures with thumb and forefinger]

I: Your work as creative consultant for TV shows as fashion editor, stylist and creative consultant demonstrate the confidence in your work also in this field. Is there an anecdote that can tell us more about the method and give us an insight behind the scenes of your work?

C: I was responsible to bring Naomi Campbell into the show of GNTM.  The whole idea, which scenario would fit perfectly to her to be in the show and how to translate it into a nice and sensitive content was quite interesting since the TV world is so much different for fashion people.

J: Hahah yeah that story always gets me! It’s just, like, totally different! Like you wouldn’t believe! [wipes eyes amid jerks of laughter]

I: Originally you have studied fashion design. You are the co-founder of stylebop.com and established the portal as creative director. Your work for the exclusive porcelain manufacturer Meissen shows another side and variety of your competence. You got the exhibition going and launched the catalogue. Besides styling, your skills in concept, curating and production were also highly appreciated. You are without doubt a multi-talented person. [C blushes at the flattering words, J sees this and shoots a cold stare at the interviewer] What do you do to get inspired?

J: You watch what you say mate.

C: Since I´m traveling al lot in different countries I got most of my inspiration from there and from daily situations when I´m walking on the streets.

J: She’s pretty much being inspired all the time, when she’s not having to deal with wanker interviewers. Isn’t that right babe?

I: Currently, you convince as Editor-at-large Beauty at Harper´s Bazaar. Do you have a particular kind of woman in mind while creating your styles?

C: For Harper´s Bazaar I see a strong independent woman but still with a feminine sense.

J: I should just help explain this a bit, because most people we meet find it hard to figure out the whole “strong independent woman with a feminine sense” thing. They’re just like, “do you mean masculine sense?” For ages I assumed Claud meant “masculine sense” too. But I’ve thought about it, and I think what she means is, being a woman, and being strong and independent at the same time. Still trying to nut it out though.

I: As fashion director you always established the upcoming trends. In a few words how would you describe the fashion stories that you tell in your work?

C: I always play with fashion and create my own style. It is very important for me that my work shows  an idea for readers or clients to get a new view/perspective for them on fashion.

J: I’ll answer your question with another question. What is fashion? [glances back and forth between the interviewer and Claudia, with a glint in his eye] Hm? That gets you thinking, doesn’t it? Fashion is basically whatever Claud decides to put on in the morning. Because she’s a natural. Would you ask a forest where it gets its trees from? Like, would you ask a mountain how it makes its caves? No. And this is totally the same thing. Totally. Sorry, what was the question?

I: Is there a key piece that you would recommend every woman to have in her wardrobe? What is a must-have and must-do in fashion? 

C: White blouse. It could be a very elegant, basic or oversized one. With a white blouse you are always nice dressed for every situation and it is easy to break a formal look down with leather pants or more dressed up with a pencil skirt.

Be your self.

J: You heard my girl. Be yourself in a white blouse. It’s that easy, just get a bloody blouse and the rest takes care of itself. Though I’ll add a “must do” here, which is like, once you’ve bought the blouse, wear it. Don’t just let it sit there, you know? Cause that’s a pretty easy mistake to make.

I: Which style should we be in the lookout for this autumn?

C: Leather jackets with shearling and knitwear as an all over look.

J: But keep your eyes open, they could be lurking anywhere.

31/10/2014

Right, where were we? The Alsterhaus? Well, not anymore we’re not. For the last month, I’ve been working away at my second internship – in marketing at TOM TAILOR, a German clothing retailer. TOM TAILOR, not Tom Tailor, by the way. Don’t make that mistake. Making that mistake in the TT marketing department is less ‘beginner’s error’ and more ‘grounds for immediate dismissal’.

It isn’t, obviously. German job protection laws mean that you can get away with a hell of a lot more than failing to make the company title sufficiently shouty, for which fact I’ll remain indebted to the Bundestag forever. And that’s not all I have to thank Merkel for – she’s generously waited until the end of my contract before sounding the death knell for German internships. But perhaps more on that later. 

For now, a quick review of the plummeting TOM TAILOR Holding AG share price, and why I’m entirely responsible for it.

The red zone represents the time I've spent with the company.

01/10/2014

First day: Office is beautiful, everyone’s nice, a lot of Anglophones to fall back onto.

I call a coworker the wrong name by accident. Share price drops 51c.

06/10/2014

Settling in. Slowly figuring out my responsibilities in the department. Loving the 1.50€ all-you-can-eat lunches.

I fumble a phone connection. The caller ends up waiting over ten seconds on hold. Share price drops 9c.

08/10/2014

There’s a lunch for interns working at TT. Only four of us turn up, but it’s nice enough.

I spill coffee on the CEO’s desk. Share price drops 13c.

09/10/2014

The work comes in short, intense bursts. It’s challenging getting used to the erratic rhythm, but I like being kept on my toes.

I spill coffee on the CEO’s face. Share price drops 68c.

 10/10/2014

My boss speaks at a hundred miles an hour. Just trying to keep up is forcing me to process information faster, and communicate more efficiently.

I flood the boardroom with coffee. The directors are disgruntled. Share price drops 39c.

 13/10/2014

Starting to use the many emails I receive as a basis for learning helpful new phrases, like “bei Fragen komm gern auf mich zu”.

I incorrectly separate an inseparable verb. Share price drops 43c.

 16/10/2014

A colleague and I discuss Hanseatic culture, and changes in Northern Germany’s political patterns in recent decades.

I cycle to work instead of taking the bus, shaving ten minutes off my commute. Share price jumps 39c.

 23/10/2014

My capacity to make the fill colour of textboxes semi-transparent in PowerPoint impresses a colleague.

I top my group in a TOM TAILOR Young Talent minigolf tournament. Share price jumps 11c.

 29/10/2014

The team heads out at midday to debrief on plans for our expansion into India. We discuss Bollywood-themed teaser campaigns over pizza.

I use a Microsoft Word template to spruce up an otherwise unremarkable memo. Applause ensues. Share price jumps 40c.

 ---

So after a classic 25%-drop-in-market-cap start I’m beginning to get my act together, and the company is reaping the rewards. Weiter so!

11/10/2014

“Bist du farbenblind oder einfach blöd?”

Die Frage klang laut und bedrohend in meinen Ohren. Ein weiterer Beweis dafür, dass die Deutschen zutiefst begabt sind, farbige Ausdrücke leicht von der Zunge gehen zu lassen. Auch wenn das Thema monochrom ist. Ich sagte nichts, hielt die Ohren steif, und überfuhr die rote Fußgängerampel auf meinem Fahrrad.

Die Worte meines redegewandten Gesprächpartners sind mir aber geblieben. Einige Minuten suchte ich eine pfiffige Antwort, wie immer wenn ich plötzlich konfrontiert mit einer Frage oder Aussage bin, die mich ins Scheudern bringt. Ich arbeitete Retourkutsche nach Retourkutsche in meinem Kopf aus, aber ich konnte das faustische Gespenst dieses gesetzestreuen Fußgängers nicht überlisten. ‘Ja, ich bin farbenblind” schien mir auf den ersten Blick furchtbar schlau – eine kurze Überlegung reichte zu sehen, wie blöd (und deshalb ironisch) dieses Antwort gewesen wäre. Letzten Endes hat die Wahrheit mir gedämmert – er hatte Recht.

Das heißt nicht, dass ich nie mehr rote Ampeln überfahren werde. Es ist allerdings schwer, eine Position mündlich zu verteidigen, wenn es offensichtlich und zu Recht illegal ist. Das war nicht ein flegelhafter Spott seitens eines besoffenen Passant, sondern Empörung über ein Schwerverbrechen, und ich war der Schuldiger. Aber inwiefern? Diese Empörung hatte seinen Ursprung in reiner Autoritätshörigkeit, statt in einem echten moralischen Grund. Es war spät und die Straße war leer – vielleicht ist es genauso blöd gegen das Gesetz zu verstoßen wie eine Regel blind und einsichtslos anzuwenden. Weil es klar ist, dass die schwarz-weiße Handlung meines farbebegierigen Freundes an der bunteren Realität vorbeigeht. (Da habe ich endlich meine Retourkutsche!)

In einzigartiger Weise in der Welt sind Fußgängerampeln ein wichtiges Teil des nationalen Dialogs hier in Deutschland. Die Deutschen weisen oft auf die merkwürdige Entscheidung der Ostdeutschen hin, nach dem Mauerfall ihre alten Ampelmännchen zu behalten. Die östliche Ampel dient als eine Ahnung, dass die Erinnerung der Lebensordnung unter Kommunismus nie auszulöschen ist. Aber was für mich noch merkwürdiger ist, ist etwas, das aus meiner Erfahrung überall in Deutschland gilt: es gibt immer zwei rote Ampeln, und nur eine grüne. 

Das duldet keinen Widerspruch.

Getreu diesem visuellen Hinweis findet man die gehorsamste Fußgänger der Welt in Deutschland. Egal ob es keine Autos für fünfhundert Meter gibt: wenn die Ampel rot ist, geht man nicht. Oder vielmehr: wenn die Ampeln rot sind. Weil die Deutschen wissen, was noch stärker als eine rote Ampel ist, ist zwei rote Ampeln. Jedenfalls ist diese bemerkenswerte Gehorsamkeit Wasser auf Heinrich Manns “Untertan” Mühle und leichte Beute für so einen unwissenden Teilzeitsoziowissenschaftler wie mich.

Für so einen Untertan hatte ich diesen Fußgänger gehalten. Allerdings muss ich zugeben, dass ich unsicher bleibe, ob die Frage tatsächlich böse gemeint war. Die eine Person unter meinen Freunden, die teilweise farbenblind ist, ist auch deutsch – und ich habe wenige deutschen Freunde. Vielleicht ist es eine besonders häufig vorkommende Benachteiligung in diesem Land? In der Tat würde das auch die doppelte rote Ampeln erklären – die sind dann für die Millionen der Deutsche, die farbenblind sind, und wissen statt der Farben dass zwei bedeutet “halt” und eins bedeutet “geh”. Ja, jetzt bin ich überzeugt davon – die Frage wurde mit den besten Absichten gestellt, und ging nur aus seiner Neugierde hervor. Noch ein Rätsel gelöst im Land der alten Brüstungen.