#theres no news yet on when the rest of the novel will be released

[pitbabetheseries]

As you may or may not have heard, the first 2 chapters of the 2nd Pit Babe novel are now available to read!

The chapters are in Thai, with no official English translation, but you can always use a translator to read them or look for fan translations.

Just like the first novel, the chapters are age restricted but can be accessed by getting a (mainly blocked out) passport or ID approved on the website. It's up to you whether or not you're comfortable doing that. Fan translations or summaries are probably already being spread, so another option is to look for those on social media.

I've so far only heard good things from people who have read the chapters, so I'm excited to see what the show will bring.

Happy reading!

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4/5

Book Blurb:

Drawing on the Grimm Brothers’ dark fairytale, “Godfather Death,” this new novel by the #1 New York Times bestselling author of House of Salt and Sorrows is a sweeping, fantastical saga of actions and consequences.

All gifts come with a price.

Hazel Trépas has always known she wasn’t like the rest of her siblings. A thirteenth child, promised away to one of the gods, she spends her childhood waiting for her godfather—Merrick, the Dreaded End—to arrive.

When he does, he lays out exactly how he’s planned Hazel’s future. She will become a great healer, known throughout the kingdom for her precision and skill. To aid her endeavors, Merrick blesses Hazel with a gift, the ability to instantly deduce the exact cure needed to treat the sick.

But all gifts come with a price. Hazel can see when Death has claimed a patient—when all hope is gone—and is tasked to end their suffering, permanently. Haunted by the ghosts of those she’s killed, Hazel longs to run. But destiny brings her to the royal court, where she meets Leo, a rakish prince with a disdain for everything and everyone. And it’s where Hazel faces her biggest dilemma yet—to save the life of a king marked to die. Hazel knows what she is meant to do and knows what her heart is urging her toward, but what will happen if she goes against the will of Death?

From the astonishing mind of Erin A. Craig comes the breathtaking fairy tale retelling readers have been waiting for— what does a life well-lived mean, and how do we justify the impossible choices we make for the ones we love? The Thirteenth Child is a must-read for fans of dark fairy tales, romantasy, and epic fantasy alike.

Review:

Inspired by the Grimm fairytale "Godfather Death" this story follows a girl who has never belonged searching for her own family as she grows, and it doesn't help that her godfather just happens to be the god of the Dreaded End. Hazel is born as the 13th child in her family, and 13th children are considered extremely rare and meant to be given to the gods. The god that claims Hazel is Merrick, the god of the Dreaded End, yet while she was promised to spend her life with him he meets her and leaves her with her family promising to come back some day. For a girl in a poor family with 12 other siblings... theres not enough mouths to feed and the resentment towards Hazel from her family begins..... and she spends most of her childhood alone, waiting for Merrick to return, On her 13th birthday he does, and he takes her with him telling her how he's planned her future: she will become a gifted healer and has gifted her with the ability to instantly deduce the exact cure needed to treat the sick. Yet with every gift comes a price and for Hazel that means despite being able to see the cure needed... for those who are marked for death and with no cure it is up to Hazel to cure them... but permanently ending their suffering and killing them. As Hazel grows and takes on more patients, the ghosts that haunt her begin to grow and when she is brought into a royal court things only begin to take a bigger turn as a rakish prince shows interest in her and she'll be faced with the consequences of saving someone who was meant to die... and going against the gods. This was definitely a Grimm-esque fairytale and one that I think anyone who enjoys a fairytale will enjoy. It definitely can be slow at times but you do get to see Hazel grow (albeit slowly) throughout the novel and I enjoyed the ending of it. Its got a great fairytale vibe to it and one that will be a cozy read with a warm cup of tea on an afternoon.

Release Date: September 24,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Random House Children's | Delacorte Press for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[the-writer-garion]

Second (HELP WANTED)

Well well well. Several months have passed. Whoops. I meant to use this more but I got distracted by my marriage and new job. My muse did some crap but recently decided to make a reappearance in these last few days. My wife is soon to give birth, making the timing a little crappy, but that is exactly the timing muses like to choose.

I’ve managed to coalesce my mental image of the story into some stuff! I’ve managed to worldbuild the crap out of my idea. Mostly I’ve got characters climbing out the woodworks of my mind, but I’ve invested a great deal into the countries and politics and everyday lives of the people in my world.

Thus, the time has come for me to reveal my brainchild in its first incarnation.

. .

In the beginning, there was the Big Bang and the universe was born. God thought that was a cool thing, so He said His work was done. He then took a nap on a random planet. Millions of years pass and life goes on as it always has. However, on the Earthlike planet called Dirt, strange things were happening to the Humans there. Their souls were visible after death. In some cases, before death. Life, while similar, was rather strange.

This was simply the reality on the resting place of God. However, a resting place is not always such. After His eonic nap God awoke. He saw what had become of His universe and decided to meddle where He was. He summoned up the thousands of Humans and He reached into His infinitesimal power to refurbish all of the land. He brought the land together into a single landmass, with varying biomes and one single mountain in the middle. The frightened humans watched as the great being before them brought great turmoil to the world they had known. They saw as He created new species of Monsters, Beasts, and Plants to diversify the landmass. With a single thought and a swipe of His hand He created a perpetual wind around the entire planet to transport the amount of water such a landmass would need.

He finished with all his changes and spoke to the people. His harmonic voice crossed all language barriers and simultaneously taught them all a common language as He spoke. He taught them of their new world and what He wanted from them. He simply wished to see them grow. He wanted them to use their souls to the fullest, and reach their highest potential. To survive and thrive in this beautiful yet dangerous world He had crafted.

He gifted them all with a set of innate knowledge. Even their children would be born knowing to speak and write in the common tongue, although they would need plenty of time to incorporate it. They knew how to put simple tools together, about how God handled the afterlife. They knew of the abilities God would bestow upon them, and how their souls were the medium to channel them. Most importantly, they learned that to commune with God one need only direct their thoughts to the great mountain.

And then He released the Humans into the biomes that most suited their people. Some groups were placed together that had never met. Others were splintered across multiple places. All were in grave shock over the event they had just witnessed.

Their lives had been forever changed. There was no going back. But that’s okay, if there’s one thing Humans are good at, it’s surviving.

. .

Well, there it is. The base origin of the world my story will take place in. However, that’s not all I wanted to use tumblr for. In his world, God allows ones soul to form a “Contract”, thus allowing their soul to manifest upon the world in some way. This ability isn’t innate or chosen at birth, rather the individual gets to pick their Contract whenever in their life they want to. They can change their Contract only once, and this second one is permanent until they die. This is meant to failsafe when a child decides to forgo their elders advice and choose their Contract early.

A Contract is made up of two core things, with slight differences pertaining to the individual. There is the ability (something gained) and the cost (something lost). The trade off is more severe the greater the ability, and it is all pretty much completely up to the imagination of the individual on what hey can come up with. If God won’t allow the ability, or doesn’t approve of the trade off, the person will know that they cannot do it.

There are exceptions to these rules. There exist a few people who come up with an idea so novel that God decides to give them a deal. They are known as Lucifers, after the first man to come up with such a Contract. There are few Lucifers, but some esoteric abilities that are very unique or grand give their wielders the title of PsuedoLucifer.

Since people of all walks of life have access to this ability, I’d like you all, the people who see this post, to assist me in coming up with anything and everything you can come up with. I’ll be taking all questions about this (or anything else about my story,whether it be worldbuilding or whatever) and I’m specifically wanting people to try and come up with contracts for the everyday background people of the world to have chosen. Please try and remember the era of this world is hunter-gatherers who have been forcefully accelerated to early, early medieval times and technology.

Thanks in advance to all who respond! The likelihood of all who help out here having their abilities appear on either a background character or even a main character is incredibly high!

[topazslut]

all the things I can never feel the same way [choni one shot]

This is my first fanfiction for this ship I love them a lot. This is kinda weird but I kinda like it.. idk? let me know what you think everything is appreciated. It will be on ao3 soon I lost my account and had to apply for a new one anyways. sorry if theres any grammar mistakes its about 3000 words and I'm kinda new to writing

[Summary]

Looking back on events in Toni’s life when she felt the presence of her mother and the moments she realises she can never experience life peacefully 

or;

In which Toni spirals over the years and Cheryl just can’t pick up the pieces

//

Toni is nine years old when she receives her first serious injury.

Two broken fingers and a hairline fracture upon her wrist. She doesn't cry.

Instead, she remains staring, empty, at the new arrivals adorning her body. There's a thick, white cast cradling her appendages and Toni hate's it. It's much too tight, juxtaposing her very loose clothing donated to her by neighbours of Sunnyside.

"Awesome! Is it really broken?" A young Fangs says in awe as he and Sweetpea approach her. He continues his gaze as Sweetpea rests his bicycle against a tree by her uncles trailer.

"Yup. I can't even get the cast wet or anything" Toni replies, trying to reciprocate the energy her best friends were radiating.

"I still can't believe you punched that guy, it was so cool!" Sweetpea perks up, his mouth forming into a bright smile, albeit full of gaps.

Toni looks up at him hastily. They're proud of her. She's confused as all she can feel is an overwhelming guilt.

Guilt for lashing out, guilt for hurting someone, guilt for burdening her uncle with a hospital bill due to lack of insurance. She looks upon her injury and feels nothing -except- a hatred for herself. She tunes out as the boys start rambling on about all the activities they plan to do tomorrow after school.

All Toni can think about is how this would have been if her parents had been here. She clenches and unclenches the remaining fingers not encased in a weakened cement, they shake and the process is strenuous.

The more she does it, the more she swears she can feel the last time her mother ever held her hand. The last time she felt her father's grip as she held onto him whilst sitting upon his shoulders.

In this moment, Toni wants nothing more than to have her mom kiss her forehead and tell her that everything will be ok. But that can't happen anymore. And it never will.

She's brought out of her thoughts by Sweetpea.

"-and then my mom said we could all sleep over at mine, how about it, Toni?"

"Uh, I have to ask my uncle" She mumbles, picking herself off the ground and trudging lazily into her trailer.

"Oh, okay. Still gonna ride to school tomorrow with us?" Fangs retorts, noticing Toni's glum exterior.

"Can't." She replies and holds up her cast wearily. Before either of the boys can reply she slams the trailer door shut and makes her way to the couch.

"What did I say about slamming that damn door!" She hears her uncle bellow from the next room. Toni hangs her head down, as if to shut the rest of the world out. Finally she begins to let the tears fall that she had locked inside her for months. She wept for her parents, wept for the life that would no longer be hers. This was her reality now. This was how it was.

//

She's fourteen when she becomes a serpent.

She's surrounded by so many faces, so many eyes, so many smiles. She's overwhelmed as she looks upon a group of dirty old men smirking hungrily at her. She still feels guilty. Toni looks upon her hands, glances upon the new scars that cover the old. They don't look like -feel- like her hands anymore. They haven't for a while.

She gets down from the tattered stage and is greeted by an intense force that takes her by surprise.

"You're one of us now, Tiny. How does it feel?" Sweetpea questions, releasing her from his grasp.

It's then that Toni finally takes everything in. This dirty bar that's been essentially her home for the last years, her many friends, now her family that she's grown up with. Every stain that laced the windows, every torn up, battered floorboard, every memory that she could conjure up in the moment. Toni inhales. She looks up at Sweetpea, still smiling lazily at her. Then at her hands once more and back to Sweetpea.

"Good. I feel.. good." She starts to smile, maybe to make him happy, maybe for herself. She can't really tell. She hasn't been able to for a while.

"Atta girl!" He practically yells and she feels herself become trapped in the atmosphere. Taken over by the many faces within the bar as the night presses forward. Drinks are passed and sloppy conversations are made. Toni feels loved, she knows she's loved, yet doesn't know why she feels so sequestered.

//

Deja vu.

That's what she feels as she enters her girlfriends house. She's lost in her own mind again. It happens a lot more frequently now. She sits down and feels calmed by the constant ticking of the grandfather clock. Nana Rose is positioned in front of the TV and Toni is comforted by the little red light emitted from it.

She feels someone take her hand. It stiffens, something that doesn't happen often. She can't understand why she's feeling like this. She wants to believe she has everything she could have ever desired, yet she doesn't feel them the way she once used to. Toni wants the world for herself but only if she can have it the way she once felt it.

"TT, you were gone a while, are you ok?" Cheryl inquires, her thumb circling over Toni's bruised knuckles. She sighs at how detached her girlfriend has been recently. Cheryl tucks a strand of Toni's pink hair behind her ear. The gesture is so gentle, so full of love, Toni feels herself become grounded. She has to physically fight the tears threatening to spill. She loves this girl so much. She want's to give her everything, she just can't understand the things people have done to her. Toni believes she see's things differently to others. Maybe that's why she feels so isolated.

"I love you" Toni says, very lackluster but her eyes screaming novels.

Cheryl's taken aback slightly. This isn't her Toni. She complies nonetheless. "I love you too, Toni". She takes her fingers gently under Toni's chin and cranes her forward as she places her lips upon hers. She feels Toni start to increase her pace, her hands coming to cup Cheryl's face. Eventually though, Cheryl finds herself breaking the kiss. She looks into Toni's eyes, reeling in the shared moment. Everything feels frozen and the girl in front of her is almost unrecognisable. The fuzziness of the TV is prominent and the white noise in the room is deafening. Cheryl wants to cry for her girl, nothing and everything is the same. There's an uncomfortable nostalgia in the room and Cheryl feels overwhelmed by the melancholy. She's confused yet everything still makes sense.

"I'm sorry" Toni breaks the silence. She looks down at the floor, refusing to meet Cheryls gaze. Once again she finds herself feeling guilty, feeling like she's let the ones she loves the most down. Cheryl, Sweetpea, fangs. Her parents.

"What for, baby?" Cheryl asks, kissing her forehead and taking hold of her hand.

Deja vu.

Toni feels everything right now. She clenches her eyes tight as she feels the sensations take over her hand.

"I can't tell you right now.. I don't have the words" She whispers.

The two girls stare into each other's eyes, a soft serenity tainting the atmosphere, everything is lukewarm.

//

Cheryl's in class.

Everyone's talking and laughing and being teenagers. She watches as Veronica and Archie give each other wistful glances accompanied by half smiles, as if they're thinking about the same thing and talking through looks. Betty and Jughead are sat next to Cheryl. They're casually chatting among each other, almost everyone in the room is. Cheryl can't wait for the lesson to be over.

After an eternity, the bell rings. Cheryl finds Veronica making her way over to her.

"Hey Cher, I haven't seen much of you recently, how’ve you been?" She asks, making light conversation.

"You see me at cheer practice almost everyday, Veronica. Or is your memory already failing you" She keeps the undertones of her attitude. Business as usual.

"You know what I mean" Veronica gives her a smirk. "Come have lunch with us, I promise we won't bore you to death"

"That's a heavy promise, especially considering these lunch plans involve cousin Betty, I assume?"

"Hey!" She hears Betty drawl

Veronica smiles and takes her arm, linking it with her own. They gang make their way over to the cafeteria and find themselves a table. The scene is what to be expected. All the different cliques gathered in their own areas. Cheryl smiles at the fact she has more than one she can fit into. These guys, and the serpents. She relishes in her family, Northside and South. She finds herself glancing at the serpents table. They all seem to be absorbed in a hearty laughter. It makes her heart swell. Sweetpea and Fangs seem to be in a heated discussion, worry plastering both their faces. Toni being know where to be seen.

Her attention is sparked by Betty asking her something.

"How is Toni, Cheryl. She's been a bit MIA" The whole table unanimously agrees.

"What?" Cheryl replies, a bit lost in the conversation she hasn't been listening to these last five minutes.

"I'm just saying we haven't really seen much of Toni, has she even been to school recently" Betty responds.

"Even at the trailer park she's kinda distant, meetings too" Jughead adds.

"TT is TT. She's fine, she's just doing her own thing. She has a lot on her plate right now." Cheryl says, fully knowing what she has just said was a lie. Toni wasn't fine, not by a long stretch. But she wasn't about to tell the scooby gang all this, not even when she didn't really know herself.

The gang look at her for a second, sort of taking it in but not really satisfied with the answer they were provided. Jughead looks back down at his food and resumes chomping. All of a sudden the sound of screaming deters the whole cafeteria from their previous doings.

"Fuck you, dumbass!" A voice screeches. There's a blunt noise accompanying it followed by the sounds of punches ricocheting off the lockers. The gang rush to see what's happening. Cheryl's eyes widen upon the scene. Before her stands her tiny girlfriend beating the shit out of some guy. He's stood with his back to a locker, a seeping crimson pouring from his nose and other bruises beginning to litter his face. Cheryl stands frozen at the scene, Archie eventually running in to break it up.

"Get off me, you asshole!" Toni screams, almost completely unaware of the gathering of students around her. She locks eyes with Cheryl, and it's then that she feels herself come back to reality. Toni runs -sprints- to the front doors of the school. Unsure of what to do Cheryl stands there confused once more.

"Fucking crazy ass bitch. Dumb serpent slut, I didn't even do nothing, bitch just went crazy" She hears the boy say.

Cheryl looks around the room, some of the students laughing, others stood with their phones out, trying to capture any remaining aftermath.

"Cheryl" Veronica quietly breaks her from her thoughts. "Go" She follows up with. Cheryl, understanding what she has to do feels her feet move, before she knows it she's outside, searching for her pinkhaired, five foot three girlfriend. Cheryl sees her sat on a bench by the football field. She silently makes her way over to her, unsure of what to say she just places herself next to Toni, offering a shared, understood support. They sit like that for a while. It isn't until Cheryl looks upon Toni's hands that she breaks the silence.

"You're bleeding, TT" Toni looks at her hands, one shaking significantly more than the other. She reaches out for Cheryl who quickly obliges. They both stand up and start to walk, aimlessly.

"Why, Toni? What is going on with you?" Cheryl asks bleakly, she wants nothing more than to help the girl she loves oh so much.

Toni clears her throat, her voice still comes out hoarse and broken. "I- I don't know. It's just easy"

"What's easy?" Cheryl responds

"That.. this" Toni holds up her bloody, broken hand, as if it were to explain everything to Cheryl.

Cheryl sighs once more, Toni taking her over to a tree. She begins to kiss her, peppering them generously around her neck and back to her lips. It's hollow, deposed. It's missing something and Cheryl can feel it. No longer once full of the passion it once harboured, yet Toni showed no signs of stopping. Cheryl finds herself having to break yet another kiss.

"-Toni, Toni s-stop, I-." Cheryl tries to gently position her girlfriend off of her.

"You what, Cheryl? Don't you want me? Don't you love me!?" It comes out demanding and angry. Cheryl has never seen this side of her girlfriend before

"What!? I- of course I do Toni, it's just.. let- let me take you to the hospital" Cheryl offers before she feels Toni slide away from her and begin to walk off, regardless of direction.

"My hand is fine!" She hears Toni yell as she walks further and further away.

"It's your mind I'm worried about" Cheryl mumbles to herself as she watches Toni fade away into the distance.

//

She doesn't know how she's managed to find herself here, but she has.

Some crappy Southside club that she's been able to sneak into. The walls are etched in mold and are wearing away with age. There's little light. It's encompassed by an overall gloomy atmosphere and Toni hates it. She hates everyone here. Currently she’s in the process of flirting with a middle-aged man who was incessant on calling her "sweetheart" to see if she could get him to buy her a drink. After various successful attempts she was growing tired and was in search of more, needed more.

"What are you looking for, Sweetheart" A Ghoulie approaches her, she recognises him (barely) and she informs him on her situation.

"Yeah? Well I got just what you need" He presents a handful of little sticks that Toni knows oh too well.

"Jingle-Jangle?" She looks hesitant.

"I promise ya" He gives her an eager smile.

Toni doesn't need much more convincing. She doesn't care at this point and will try anything. She hands him the money and makes her way over to a corner. She anxiously looks around at everyone at the club. They're sloppily dancing and there's horrific music blaring throughout the place. Toni pops it into her mouth and downs her drink she was milling with for the last ten minutes.

She starts to feel the effects quickly.

As the night goes on she continuously takes JJ whilst simultaneously drinking. Not good, she knows, but she feels alive. Like everything that she usually experiences starts to have layers. And each layer she understands as well as the last, all adding up to the overall thing. Everything's much more intense but because of this new understanding that the drugs have given her, Toni feels like a genius. She understands everything so very well. All the words that have lingered in her head, she finally has them. If she could give someone this feeling, they would understand everything. Everything she has felt over these last years. Everything.

If Cheryl were here right now, Toni would be able to explain her head, her mind. Toni can't stop smiling. She's dancing and she's feeling and she's living her life. The way she assumes it was intended to be felt. Toni looks down at her hands, both as scarred as each other and she clenches them. As she releases, she feels the absence of her mothers grip. Toni panics. She feels herself come undone, starting to hyperventilate and look wildly at this horribly crowded bar filled with sleazy drug addicts and people she promised herself she'd never associate with. She clambers around, holding one hand to her chest, the other she's clenching and unclenching furiously, trying to feel her mother on her, trying to feel anything as she feels herself slipping.

She finds herself on the bathroom floor. She doesn't care that she's most likely kneeling in piss and needles, anything is better than that nightmare. Suddenly, it all becomes too much, too overwhelming as Toni feels the toll of the alcohol and drugs. She's still tripping but it's mixing with her come down and she's in an awkward in between stage that's messing too much with her body and mind. She's leaning over the toilet and violently vomiting into it, tears begin staining her cheeks and her hands tremble as she clutches the toilet. She's completely debilitated and she'd give anything to not be alive.

She hears the door open but can't bring herself to look up.

"Who do you need me to call?" A gruff woman’s voice sounds and bounces off the tiles in the stalls. Toni barely turns herself but recognises that it's the bartender who had given her sorrowful looks for most of the night. Toni can't speak.

She's not sure how but she's now sitting on an uncomfortable seat that's just beside the entrance of the club. She can't move and she realises this is her come down.

The door opens and Toni hears a familiar "Jesus Christ, Toni". Her head tilts ever so slightly in the direction and she see's her girlfriend, face flushed and slightly out of breath, her red hair tousled and her eyes sad. All Toni can do is swallow and try to move her hands.

Cheryl looks down at the girl sat on the bench. She looks at her gaunt features and the black, hollow bags under her eyes. Was Toni always this skinny? Cheryl thought to herself. She analyses the rest of her face and all Cheryl can think is tired. Toni looks so tired.

//

They're asleep in Cheryl's too large canopy bed.

There's three more weeks left until the end of the semester and Toni isn't sure how she feels. She can't sleep. She looks at Cheryl and thinks to herself that she has never seen anyone this beautiful. She loves her. And she would do anything for.

"-mm TT, go to sleep" She hears Cheryl mumble.

"I can't" Toni's voice barely sounds out.

"Where's your head, baby" Cheryl starts to sit up and Toni feels guilty that she's pulled her from sleep.

"Everyone's left for a place I'm not fond of. I think I'm the only person who realises it"

Cheryl pulls Toni closer, both of them feeling each others breath. She kisses her forehead and says "Everything is going to be ok"

Toni feels herself break.

"Mommy" She sobs.  

[amazingviralinfo]

Ashu Garg Crunch Network Contributor

Ashu Garg is a general partner at Foundation Capital.

How to join the network

This has been my Summer of Video several months when it became clear to me that weve reached an inflection point in the transition from linear TV to online video.

It started at the beginning of the season with the release ofThe Revolution Will Not Be Televised,which discussed the shift and how its transforming media and marketing. From studying these trends for the past five years, I understood intellectually that the video revolution was imminent. What I hadnt anticipated is that real-world events this summer would make a born-again believer out of me.

A few weeks later, I went to my first VidCon, the annual convention devoted to all things video. Of the 25,000 attendees, the majority were teenaged (and tweenaged) girls. They were there to see their favorite YouTubers video megastars like Nigahiga, Jenna Marbles, PewDiePie and countless other, um, names(?) that made me feel irreparably out of touch with pop culture.

There were panels by creators on VR storytelling, shooting drone footage and running a gaming channel. On the industry floor, large brands like Nestl and eBay gave presentations on how they were doing video marketing for todays consumers. It was an amazing experience like seeing the IRL instantiation of our whitepaper.

Then, for the rest of the summer, it seemed as though every time news broke, there was a video aspect to the story. A military coup in Turkey was thwarted in part because its president was able to rally his supporters via video sent from his iPhones native FaceTime app. Shootings and arrests were captured and shared instantly by private citizens on Facebook Live and Periscope. We witnessed the first widespread use case of AR, as millions of people around the world shambled along streets playing Pokmon Go.

On the business side, legacy media invested as never before in creating digital video and in video streaming. CNN launched CNN Air, its drone-video-newsgathering operation. Twitter made eyebrow-raising forays into live programming, inking deals with Bloomberg, Major League Baseballand the National Hockey League.

Meanwhile, Instagram decided that rather than beat Snapchat at video, it might as well join them. Netflix released its first piece of original VR content. Finally, as a too-perfect coda to this video summer, the last-known manufacturer of VCRs just ceasedproduction.

If youre an entrepreneur, you should be excited that the online video landscape is inchoate.

There have been a few moments in my life when it felt like the world was in the middle of installing an update; this is one of them.

Not to get too carried away, let me temper my enthusiasm by saying that the future hasnt arrived whole and in its shiny entirety. The innovations are out there in the real world, but these are still Wild West days for the new era of video, and realizing the transition wont be without its difficulties. But I believe if youre an entrepreneur, you should be excited that the online video landscape is inchoate, because that means there are enormous rewards awaiting anyone who can solve the challenges. Ill elaborate on a couple of areas of great opportunity

Content creation

One thing I took away from VidCon is that human needs and motivations are consistent across time the adolescent attendees werent so different from my peers when I was a youth. But the expression of those desires takes different forms in different generations. New media platforms are pervasive among the millennial generation and Gen Z. In her keynote presentation at the convention, Susan Wojcicki, YouTubes CEO, reported that more millennials watch YouTube during prime time than network broadcast TV. For Gen Zers who are growing up with Snapchat, Vine and Pokmon Go Im not sure it makes sense to say that traditional TV is dying, because I doubt its ever been a meaningful part of their lived experience.

Therefore, to start with, there are countless direct-to-consumer opportunities to innovate with content creation tools for these new media. Consider that only just this year have we seen (maybe) breakout tools for live streaming, in the form of Facebook Live and Snapchat Stories. Some early successes, like Vine, appear to be flailing.

Creators and audiences remain agnostic as to platform and application. They simply want frictionless means to create and view which is why YouTube rolled out new features in its app to make it effortless to go live. In other words, I dont think any tool has an insurmountable lead yet. And thats just live streaming a form of video that has analogs in old-school TV. When we turn to more novel forms of video content, like VR and AR, there are no household names in apps, even in the homes of Silicon Valley.

One marketer colleague thinks theres a need for a content production hub, one that allows people to make video and distribute it simultaneously across the various channels. Personally, Im skeptical. Past indicators are that no one-tool-fits-all model will do. You cant take video made for Snapchat and simply dub it for Periscope. Consumers demand authenticity, and that now means being true to the platform.

The most potent content is the kind that says something compelling and is a psychic echo of who its audience is or wants to be.

Even legacy media is abandoning its afterthought approach of either lazily dumping leftover TV scraps into digital, or halfheartedly cranking out B-side video. ABC, for example, recentlyannouncedit is producing dozens of digital shows that are viewable only via mobile or TV apps. Audiences wont sit for second-class content. They want video for Snapchat Stories, or Facebook Live, or VR that was specifically made, and appropriately well-made, for each particular platform.

Speaking of makers, video creators at least the more serious ones are a market waiting to be served. At VidCon we met many who made their living producing videos for YouTube and other platforms, and what they wanted was a) easy ways to create and share, b) to be paid for their work and c) to be treated like professionals with real jobs. Amazon.com is trying to address the monetization and professionalization issues with recently launched Amazon Direct. But theres little other innovation in the payment platform and creator services ecosystem.

Personalization and distribution

We wrote in The Revolution Will Not Be Televised that when CMOs achieve video nirvana, scalable personalized content will be ever present. Well, easier said than done. But within each piece of that prediction is a promising marketing tech opportunity.

Scalable. A particular challenge that marketers face is simply how to produce compelling video, and enough of it. Agencies are prohibitively expensive for most businesses, and too slow to respond to the social web. Native advertising looks far less promising than a few years ago, as its become clear that even the biggest players in the space, BuzzFeed and Vice being prime examples, are running into trouble trying to scale and Facebook continues to eat their lunch as content distributors. Taking it all in-house might be an option for the largest brands. But for SMBs, what are reasonable ways to staff up in order to be able to create myriad kinds of video for myriad platforms?

Personalized. Figuring out what kind of video content individual consumers should be served and when/where they should see the content is another opening for startups. Data has transformed the rest of modern marketing, and it will do so with video marketing. By collecting and analyzing data from mobile, payment systems, wearables and the Internet of Things, marketers will be able to build a 360-degree profile of particular consumers in order to educate their content and micro-target potential customers. Individuals will only see videos that are of interest to them, in the channels most appropriate for them. It shouldnt surprise anyone that the industry thats taken a lead on mining data to deliver (intimately) personalized video content is the online pornography business.

Contemporary audiences wont be dictated to by faceless institutions anymore.

Ever present. The new mechanisms for distributing video are also still being worked out. Ive already mentioned the scaling issues with media outlets. Blogs continue to have currency, but are not nearly as influential as a decade ago. So-called influencers have grown in importance as channels for content distribution but does a viable business model exist for harnessing the power of these disparate individuals who hold sway over millions of loyal followers? Perhaps its still the medium itself with a twist thats the message: Pokmon Go, case in point, recently launched in Japan with its first major sponsor, McDonalds. Or maybe theres a way to work with creator communities to make, test and distribute content via their channels. Theres a danger, however, that a brand working with a creator will erode the trust that their fans place in them, which brings me to my final observation.

A concluding word about authenticity

If I were to boil down to one key point all the developments Ive witnessed in video over the last few months, it would be that the power has shifted to consumers. Gone are the days when three TV networks dictated what everyone watched; when news anchors were the trusted authorities on whats happening in the public affairs; when slickly produced commercials were all you needed to sell your wares.

TV viewership is in steady and irreversible decline. The police-shooting videos were captured by ordinary citizens. The celebrity YouTubers who fans were screaming for at VidCon werent like the big record label-manufactured boy bands of the recent past. Susan Wojcicki shared a remarkable survey finding that 60 percent of teenagers say YouTube stars understand them better than their friends.

Contemporary audiences wont be dictated to by faceless institutions anymore. They only trust real people, and they insist that their content be authentic. Or at least that the content and its creator do a credible job of passing for real. Even global celebrities like Taylor Swift have had to manufacture verisimilitude, despite maybe being, in actuality, cold-blooded pop stars.

Nor are the most engaged consumers satisfied with passive entertainment. Amusement will always be welcome, but todays audiences also value media that allow them to connect and to have a say be that through chance meetings with other Pokmon catchers, finding a nurturing YouTube subculture of ones own or tweeting in solidarity with digitally enabled social justice movements. The most potent content is the kind that says something compelling and is a psychic echo of who its audience is or wants to be.

The people rule. The populi demands that the vox be theirs. And what that voice is calling for on many different levels, from viewing habits to voting preferences, from consumer behavior to civil disobedience is revolution. Entrepreneurs and marketers would do well to listen as well as watch.

[apsbicepstraining]

The secret of savor: why we like which is something we like | Tom Vanderbilt

The Long Read: How does a anthem we detest at first discovering become a favourite? And when we try to look different, how come we end up looks a lot like everybody else?

If you had asked me, when I was 10, to forecast my life as an adult, I would probably have sketched out something like this: I would be driving a Trans Am, a Corvette, or some other muscle vehicle. My residence would boast a mammoth collecting of pinball machines. I would sip sophisticated alcohols( like Baileys Irish Cream ), read Robert Ludlum romances, and blast Van Halen while sitting in an easy chair wearing sunglasses. Now that I am at a point to actually be able to realise every one of these feverishly foreseen flavors, they view zero interest( well, perhaps the pinball machines in a weak minute ).

It was not just that my 10 -year-old self could not predict whom I would become but that I was incapable of suspecting that my flavors could experience such wholesale change. How could I know what I would want if I did not know who I would be?

One problem is that we do not apprehend the effect of experiencing situations. We may instinctively realise the authorities concerned will tire of our favourite meat if we gobble too much of it, but we might underestimate how much more we are to be able like something if only we consume it more often. Another issue is psychological salience, or the things we pay attention to. In the moment we buy a consumer good that offers cashback, the offer is claiming our courtesy; it is likely to be have influenced the buy. By the time we get home, the salience fades; the cashback croaks unclaimed. When I was 10, what mattered in a car to me was that it be cool and fast. What did not matter to me were monthly pays, side-impact crash shield, being able to fit a stroller in the back, and wanting to avoid the impression of is available on a midlife crisis.

Even when we look back and be seen to what extent much our flavors have changed, the idea that we will change evenly in the future seem to be mystify us. It is what remains tattoo removal practitioners in business. The psychologist Timothy Wilson and colleagues have identified the illusion that for numerous, the current is a watershed instant at which they have finally become the person or persons they will be for the rest of their lives.

In one venture, they found that people were willing to pay more money to check their favourite strap play-act 10 times from now than they were willing to pay to see their favourite banding from 10 years ago play now. It is reminiscent of the moment, looking through an old-time photo album, when you visualize an earlier picture of yourself and declare, Oh my God, that “hairs-breadth”! Or Those corduroys! Just as photographs of ourselves can appear jarring since we are do not ordinarily read ourselves as others encounter us, our previous appreciations, viewed to areas outside, from the perspective of what looks good now, come as a surprise. Your hairstyle per se was possibly not good or bad, simply a reflection of contemporary penchant. We say, with condescension, I cant believe parties actually dressed like that, without realising we ourselves are currently wearing what will be considered bad flavor in the future.

One of the reasons we cannot predict our future preferences is one of the things that stirs those very preferences change: novelty. In the social sciences of experience and likings , novelty is a rather elusive phenomenon. On the one side, we crave originality, which defines a arena such as manner( a battlefield of ugliness so perfectly unbearable, quipped Oscar Wilde, that we have to alter it every a period of six months ). As Ronald Frasch, the dapper president of Saks Fifth Avenue, once told me, on the status of women designer storey of the flagship store: The first thing “the consumers ” asks when they come into the accumulation is, Whats brand-new? They dont want to know what was; they want to know what is. How strong is this impulse? We will sell 60% of what were going to sell the firstly four weeks the very best are on the floor.

But we too adore intimacy. There are many who believe we like what we are used to. And yet if this were exclusively true , good-for-nothing “wouldve been” change. There would be no new prowes forms , no new musical genres , no new makes. The economist Joseph Schumpeter was contended that capitalisms character was in educating people to want( and buy) new situations. Makes drive economic change, he wrote, and buyers are taught to want brand-new happenings, or circumstances which differ in some respect or other from those which they have been in the habit of using.

A lot of days, people dont know what they crave until you demo it to them, as Steve Jobs gave it. And even then, they still might not miss it. Apples ill-fated Newton PDA device, as charming as it now examines in this era of smartphone as human prosthesis, was arguably more new at the time of its release, foreseeing the requirements and actions that were not yet amply realised. As Wired described it, it was a entirely new category of invention passing an entirely new building housed in a pattern part that represented a completely new and daring design language.

So , novelty or acquaintance? As is often the instance, the answer lies somewhere in between, on the midway spot of some optimal U-shaped curve storying the new and the known. The noted industrial designer Raymond Loewy sensed this optimum in what he worded the MAYA stage, for most advanced, yet acceptable. This was the moment in a product design repetition when, Loewy quarrelled, defiance to the unfamiliar contacts the threshold of a shock-zone and fighting to buying changes in. We like the new as long as it reminds us in some way of the old.

Anticipating how much our flavors will change is hard-boiled because we cannot find past our intrinsic resist to the unfamiliar. Or how much we will change when we do and how each change will open the door to another change. We forget just how fleeting even the most jarring novelty is also possible. When you had your firstly swallow of beer( or whisky ), you probably did not slap your knee and exclaim, Where has this been all my life? It was, Beings like this?

We come to like beer, but it is arguably incorrect to bawl brew an acquired feeling, as the philosopher Daniel Dennett indicates, because it is not that first taste that people are coming to like. If beer gone on savor to me the room the first sip tasted, he writes, I would never have gone on drinking brew. Place of the problem is that booze is a scandalize to the system: it savours like nothing that has come before, or at least good-for-nothing delightful. New music or prowes can have the same effects. In a New Yorker profile, the music farmer Rick Rubin recounted that when he firstly sounded Pretty Hate Machine, the album by Nine Inch Nails, he did not care for it. But it soon became his favourite. Faced with something discordantly novel, we dont ever have the reference points to absorb and digest it, Rubin alleged. Its a bit like memorizing a new expression. The album, like the brew, was not an acquired savour, because he was not hearing the same album.

Looking back, we can find it hard to believe we did not like something we are today do. Current popularity gets projected backwards: we forget that a now ubiquitous hymn such as the Romantics What I Like About You was never a make or that recently in vogue antique babe identifies such as Isabella or Chloe, which seem to speak to some once-flourishing habit, were never popular.

It now seems impossible to imagine, a few decades ago, the gossip provoked by the now widely cherished Sydney Opera House. The Danish inventor, Jrn Utzon, was essentially driven from the country, his mention extended unuttered at the ceremony, the sense of national gossip was palpable towards this harbourside monstrosity. Not exclusively did the building not fit the traditional anatomy of an opera house; it did not fit the conventional word of private buildings. It was as foreign as its architect.

The truth is, most people perhaps did not know what to shape of it, and our default setting, faced with an insecure unknown, is detesting. Frank Gehry, talking about his iconic, widely admired Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, admitted that it took a couple of years for me to start to like it, actually. The inventor Mark Wigley suggests that maybe we only ever learn something when some structure we think of as foreign causes us and we withstand. But sometimes, many times, in the middle of the fighting, we end up loving this thing that has elicited us.

Fluency begets liking. When shown personas of buildings, designers have rated them as least complex than laypersons did; in other words, they read them more fluently, and the buildings seem less foreign. The role of the inventor, shows Wigley, is not to give the client exactly what he was asking for in other words, to cater to current taste but to change the notion of what one can ask for, or to project future delicacies no one knew they had. No one supposed an opera house could look like the Sydney Opera House until Utzon, taking his idea from a peeled orange, said it could. The nature changed around the building, in response to it, which is why, in the strange messages of one architecture commentator, Utzons breathtaking build appears better today than ever.

A few decades from now, person will inevitably look with dread upon a new house and answer, The Sydney Opera House , now theres a build. Why cant we construct acts like that any more?

This argument for example, Why isnt music as good as it used to be? manifests an historic collection bias, one colourfully described by the designer Frank Chimero. Make me let you in on a little secret, he writes. If you are hearing about something age-old, it is almost certainly good. Why? Because nobody wants to talk about shitty old-time stuff, but lots of parties still talking here shitty brand-new material, because they are still trying to figure out if it is shitty or not. The past wasnt better, we just forgot about all the shitty shit.

The only guarantee we have of savour is the fact that it will change.

In a 2011 sketch on the substantiate Portlandia , the obsessive sardonic catalogue of the hipster mores of the Oregon city, an exaggeratedly posturing persona known as Spyke with chin whisker, lobe-stretching saucer earrings, and a fixed-gear bike is evidence treading past a prohibit. He pictures some people inside, equally adorned with the trappings of a certain kind of cool, and establishes an supporting nod. A few days later, he agent a clean-shaven guy wearing khakis and a dress shirt at the bar. Aw, cmon! he hollers. Guy like that is hanging out here? That barroom is so over ! It exclusively gets worse: he ensure his straight-man nemesis astride a fixed-gear bicycle, partaking in shell artistry, and wearing a kuki-chins beard all of which, he churlishly warns, is over. A year later, we check Spyke, freshly shorn of whisker, wearing business casual, and having a banal gossip, roosted in the very same barroom that produced off the whole cycles/second. The nemesis? He procrastinates outside, scornfully swearing the bar to be over.

The sketch wonderfully encapsulates the notion of savour as a kind of ceaseless action machine. This machine is driven in part by the oscillations of originality and knowledge, of hunger and satiation, that strange internal calculus that effects us to tire of food, music, the colouring orange. But it also represents driven in part by the subtle the two movements of parties trying to be like one another and beings trying to be different from each other. There is a second-guessing various kinds of skirmish here , not unknown to strategists of cold warera game theory( in which players are rarely behaving on perfect information ). Or, indeed, to readers familiar with Dr Seusss Sneetches, the mythical star-adorned mortals who abruptly trench their decorations when they detect their challenger plain-bellied counterparts have idols upon thars.

That taste might move in the kind of never-ending repetition that Portlandia hypothesised is not so far-fetched. A French mathematician named Jonathan Touboul identified a phenomenon of searching alike trying to look different, or what he called the hipster influence. Unlike cooperative systems, in which everyone might concur in a coordinated fashion on what decisions to build, the hipster result follows, he hints, where individuals try to make decisions in opposition to the majority.

Because no one knows exactly what other people are going to do next, and information is also possible noisy or retarded, there can also be the times of brief synchronisation, in which non-conformists are inadvertently aligned with the majority. Spyke, in reality, might have had to see several people doing shell art maybe it even suddenly appeared at a store in the mall before soon jam-pack it in. And because there are varying degrees of hipness, person or persons may choose to wade into current trends later than another, that person is followed by another, and so on, until, like an astronomical adventurer chasing a dead whiz, there is nothing actually there any more. The quest for distinctiveness are also welcome to generate conformity.

The Portlandia sketch actually goes well beyond appreciation and illuminates two central, if seemingly contradictory, strands of human behaviour. The first is that we want to be like other parties. The social being, in the degree that he is social, is virtually imitative, wrote the French sociologist Gabriel Tarde, in his 1890 notebook The Laws of Imitation. Imitating others, what is known as social learn, is an evolutionary adaptive strategy; that is, it helps you exist, even prosper. While it is considered to be in other species, there are no better social learners than humen , none that take that knowledge and continue to build upon it, through consecutive generations.

The sum of this social learning culture is what draws humans so unique, and so uniquely successful. As the anthropologist Joseph Henrich documents, humans have foraged in the Arctic, reaped cultivates in the tropics, and lived pastorally in deserts. This is not because we were “ve been meaning to”, but because we learned to.

In their journal Not by Genes Alone, the anthropologists Robert Boyd and Peter Richerson use the sample of a bitter flower that turns out to have medicinal value. Our sensory structure would understand the fierce as potentially harmful and thus inedible. Instinctively, “theres no reason” we should want to eat it. But someone eats it regardless and experiences some curiously beneficial make. Someone else assures this and imparts it a try. We take our medicine in spite of its bitter experience, they write , not because our sensory psychology has progressed to make it less bitter, but because the idea that it has therapeutical quality has spread through the population.

People imitate, and cultural activities becomes adaptive, they insist, because learning from others is more efficient than trying everything out on your own through costly and time-consuming trial and error. The same is as true for people now speaking Netflix or TripAdvisor evaluates as it was for primitive foragers trying to figure out which nutrients were poison or where to find irrigate. When there are too many alternatives, or the answer does not seem obvious, it seems better to go with the flow; after all, you are able to miss out on something good.

But if social reading is so easy and effective, it creates the question of why anyone does anything different to begin with. Or indeed why someone might vacate innovative activities. It is an issue asked of evolution itself: why is there so much substance for natural selection to sieve through? The master or innovator who was attacked in his daytime seems like some kind of genetic altruist, sacrificing his own immediate fitness for some future payoff at high levels of the group.

Boyd and Richerson hint there is an optimal balance between social and individual learning in any group. Too many social learners, and the ability to innovate is lost: people know how to catch that one fish since they are learned it, but what happens when that fish dies out? Too few social learners, and beings might be so busy trying to learn situations on their own that national societies does not thrive; while people were busily fabricating their own better bow and arrow, person forgot to actually get food.

Perhaps some ingrained sense of the evolutionary utility of this differentiation is one reason why humans are so snapped between wanting to belong to a group and wanting to be distinct mortals. Parties want to feel that their feelings are not unique, hitherto they experience anxiety when told they are exactly like another person. Think of the giddy anxiety you feel when a co-worker is demonstrated by wearing a similar clothe. We try some happy medium, like the Miss America player in Woody Allens Bananas who responds to a reporters interrogate, Differences of mind should be tolerated, but not when theyre extremely different.

If all we did was conform, there would be no delicacy; nor would there be penchant if no one conformed. We try to select the right-sized group or, that the working group is too large, we elect a subgroup. Be not just a Democrat but a centrist Democrat. Do not just like the Beatles; be a fan of Johns.

Illustration by Aart-Jan Venema

When discriminating yourself from the mainstream is becoming too wearying, you can always ape some version of the mainstream. This was the premise behind the normcore anti-fashion tendency, in which formerly forcefully fashionable beings were said to be downshifting, out of sheer tirednes, into humdrum New Balance sneakers and unremarkable denim. Normcore was more conceptual skill activity than business case study, but one whose premise the most different stuff to do is to reject being different altogether, moved the manifesto seemed so probable it was practically wish fulfilled into existence by a media that feasts upon novelty. As new as normcore seemed, Georg Simmel spoke about it a century ago: If obedience to fashion consists in impersonation of an example, conscious inattention of pattern represents same mimicry, but under an inverse sign.

And so back to Spyke. When he felt his drive for peculiarity( which he shared with others who were like him) threatened by someone to areas outside the group, he moved on. But all the things he experienced were threatened the chin beard, the shell arts and that he was willing to walk away from, were no longer practical. We signal our identity simply in certain regions: Spyke is not likely to change his label of toilet paper or toothbrush merely because he hears it is shared by his nemesis. When everyone listened to records on vinyl, the latter are a commodity material that allowed one be interested to hear music; it was not until they were nearly driven to extinction as a technology that they became a mode to signal ones identity and as I write, there are stimulates of a cassette revival.

In a revealing experimentation carried out within Stanford University, Berger and Heath sold Lance Armstrong Foundation Livestrong wristbands( at a time when they were becoming increasingly popular) in a target dormitory. The next week, they sold them in a dorm knows we being somewhat geeky. A week afterwards, the number of target dorm circle wearers dropped by 32%. It was not that people from the specific objectives dorm detested the geeks or so they said it was that they thought they were not like them. And so the yellow segment of rubber, tattered for a good stimulate, became a means of signalling identity, or savour. The only path the target group could avoid being symbolically linked with the geeks was to abandon the feeling and move on to something else. As much a sought for novelty, brand-new experiences can be a conscious rejection of what has come before and a distancing from those now enjoying that penchant. I liked that stripe before they got big-hearted, becomes the common refrain.

What our flavours say about us is primarily that we want to be like other people whom we like and who have those appreciations up to a extent and unlike others who have other savors. This is where the idea of simply socially reading what everyone else is do, get complicated. Sometimes we read what others are doing and then stop doing that act ourselves.

Then there is the question of whether we are conscious of picking up a practice from someone else. When someone knows he is being influenced by another and that other person to know each other very, the hell is exhortation; when someone is unaware he is being influenced, and the influencer is unaware of his influence, that is contagion. In delicacy, we are rarely presumed to be picking up happenings haphazardly. Through prestige bias, for example, we learn from people who are regarded socially substantial. The classic rationale in sociology was always trickle-down: upper-class people hugged some preference, beings lower down followed, then upper-class people scorned the taste and cuddled some brand-new taste.

Tastes can change when people aspire to be different from other parties; they can change when we are trying to be like other people. Groups transmit experiences to other groups, but savor themselves can help create groups. Small, apparently insignificant differences what kind of coffee one boozes become real spots of culture bicker. Witness the varieties of mark now available in things that were once preferably homogeneous merchandises, like coffee and blue jeans; who had even heard of single ancestry or selvage a few decades ago?

There is an virtually incongruous cycles/second: private individuals, such as Spyke in Portland, wants to be different. But in wanting to express that difference, he seeks out other persons who share those changes. He conforms to the group, but the conformings of these working groups, in being alike, increase their gumption of change from other groups, just as the Livestrong bracelet wearers took them off when they accompanied other groups wearing them. The be adopted by delicacies is driven in part by this social jockeying. But this is no longer the whole picture.

In a famed 2006 venture , an organization of people were given the chance to download anthems for free from an internet site after they had listened to and ranked the hymns. When the participants could see what previous downloaders had chosen, they were more likely to follow that behaviour so popular songs became more popular, less popular songs became less so.

When parties established selects on their own, the choices were more predictable; beings were more likely to simply pick the sungs they said were best. Knowing what other listeners did was not enough to completely reorder publics musical penchant. As the scientist Duncan Watts and his co-author Matthew Salganik wrote: The best carols never do very badly, and the most difficult anthems never do extremely well. But when others alternatives are evident, there was greater risk for the less good to do better, and vice versa. The pop chart, like delicacy itself, does not operate in a vacuum.

The route to the top of the charts has in theory get more democratic, less top-down, more unpredictable: it took a viral video to assistants induce Pharrells Happy a pop a year after its liberate. But the hierarchy of popularity at the top, formerly launched, is steeper than ever. In 2013, it was estimated that the top 1% of music acts took residence 77% of all music income.

While record firms still try to engineer notoriety, Chris Molanphy, a music critic and obsessive analyst of the pa maps, disagrees it is the general public fouling one another who now decide if something is a reach. The viral wizard Gangnam Style, he notes, was virtually coerced on to radio. Nobody operated that into being; that was clearly the general public being charmed by this goofy video and telling one another, Youve got to watch this video.

Todays ever-sharper, real-time data about people actual listening action strongly fortifies the feedback loop-the-loop. We always knew that people liked the familiar, Molanphy responds. Now we know exactly when they flip the depot and, wow, if they dont already know a lyric, they truly throw the station. For the industry, there is an almost hopeless is making an effort to alter, as fast as possible, the brand-new into the familiar.

Simply to live in a large city is to dwell among a maelstrom of options: there are seemed like it was gonna be by numerous guilds of importance more choices of things to buy in New York than there are preserved species on countries around the world. R Alexander Bentley is an anthropologist at the University of Durham in the UK. As he applied it to me: By my recent count there were 3,500 different laptops on the market. How does anyone make a utility-maximising alternative among all those? The costs of reading which one is truly better is nearly beyond the individual; there may, in fact, actually be little that scatters them in terms of quality, so any one acquire over another might simply manifest random copying.

For the Spanish philosopher Jos Ortega y Gasset, columnist of the 1930 pamphlet The Revolt of the Masses, journalistic shipments from adventurers seems to thrust one into a vertiginous global gyre. What would he stimulate of the current situation, where a spurt of tweets comes even before the interrupting report proclamations, which then turn into wall-to-wall coverage, followed by a recall piece in the next days newspaper? He would have to factor in social media, one has a peripheral, real-time awareness of any number of people whereabouts, achievements, status updates, via any number of platforms.

Ortega announced this the increase of life. If media( large broadcasters creating audiences) helped define an era of mass society, social media( audiences establishing ever more gatherings) help define our age of mass individualism. The internet is exponential social discover: you have ever more ways to learn what other parties are doing; how many of the more than 13,000 reviews of the Bellagio hotel in Las Vegas do you need to read on TripAdvisor before making a decision? There are ever more ways to learn that what you are doing is not good enough or was already done last week by someone else, that what you like or even who you like is also liked by some random being you have never met. This is social learning by proxy.

People have always wanted to be around other people and to learn from them. Metropolis have long been dynamos of social alternative, foundries of art, music, and manner. Slang has always beginning in metropolitans an upshot of all those different, densely jam-packed people so often exposed to one another. Cities drive taste change because they furnish the greatest showing to other parties, who not amazingly are often the innovative parties metropolitans seem to attract.

With the internet, we have a kind of metropolitan of the sentiment, a medium that people do not just exhaust but inhabit, even if it often seem to be repeat and increase prevailing municipalities( New Yorkers, already physically exposed to so many other parties, use Twitter “the worlds largest” ). As Bentley has argued, Living and working online, people have perhaps never imitation each other so profusely( because it typically costs good-for-nothing ), so accurately, and so indiscriminately.

But how do we know what to copy and from whom? The age-old ways of knowing what we should like everything from radio station programmers to restaurant steers to volume critics to label themselves have been substituted by a mass of individuals, connected but apart, federated but disparate.

Whom to follow? What to prefer? Whom can you trust? In an infinite realm of selection, our options often seem to cluster towards those we can see others representing( but away from those we feel too many are preferring ). When there is too much social affect, people start to think more like one another. They take less information into account to make their decisions, yet are more confident that what they are thinking is the truth because more beings seem to think that way.

Social imitation has gone easier, faster, and most volatile; all those micro-motives of trying to be like others and hitherto different can intensify into explosive erupts of macro-behaviour. The big-hearted ripples have got bigger, and we know that they will come, but it is harder to tell from where, in the vast and random ocean face, they will swell.

This is an edited extract from You May Too Like, published on 30 June by Simon& Schuster( 12.99 ). To ordering a transcript for 10.39, going to see bookshop.theguardian.com or announce 0330 333 6846. Free UK p& p over 15, online guilds only.

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Inside The Handmaiden: A Lesbian Erotic Thriller and the Sexiest Film of the Year

Acclaimed filmmaker Park Chan-wook (‘Oldboy’) opens up about his upcoming film over beers with Jen Yamato in Austin, Texas. “>

Halfway through his first trip to Texas, Korean auteur Park Chan-wook found himself on a tour of a picturesque religious compound notorious for the sex crimes of a cult-like spiritual leader. Five years ago, its once-venerated guru Prakashanand Saraswati fled the country, escaping a trial that saw him sentencedin absentiato over two centuries in prison. On a hot Texas afternoon in September, the director ofOldboystrolled the grounds with his Leica taking in the palatial white granite architecture.

Park was taken by the sights and the lurid true tale, soaking in the experience as he seems to all his travels. The director and avid photographer had come to Austin to screen his Cannes hitThe Handmaidenat Fantastic Fest following its Toronto premiere. Hed tasted Texas BBQ. Hed shopped for trinkets along South Congress Ave. When we met to discuss his period lesbian love-thriller over fine Texan beers this week, he was still marveling at the beauty and hidden perversity forever tied to the Barsana Dham.

It reminded me a little of Uncle Kouzuki inThe Handmaiden, he joked of one of the many deliciously complex characters in his new film, speaking through his traveling companion and translator, Wonjo Jeong. Im a photographer. I thought going to a place like this Id be able to capture some absurd images on my camera. The power that religion has over people, how it draws people in, is always amazing.

Park, arguably Koreas most famed and celebrated filmmaker, made his directorial debut in 1992 and scored his first huge hit in 2000 with the record-breakingJ.S.A.: Joint Security Area, a military thriller about a mysterious murder between soldiers from North and South Korea. In 2003 he released his intoxicatingly elegiac revenge thrillerOldboyand became forever synonymous with its brand of hyperviolent, perverse brutality.

But there are stratums to Parks films, even as they tend toward the extremes of genre, from the two other films that round out hisVengeance Trilogyto his vampire taleThirstto 2013sStoker, the gothic potboiler that marked his English-language Hollywood debut. Consider: When he describes to me the walrus carved from walrus tusk hed just bought at one of Austins eclectic thrift stores, the conversation winds its way to a documentary hed enjoyed, also on the subject of discovering extraordinary objects in the most unexpected places.

It was a documentary calledFinding Vivian Maier, Park recalled. She worked as a nanny to children and at one estate sale one young man bought a lot of her films, and thats how this photographer Vivian Maier came to light. It provided lots of inspiration forCarol, starring Rooney Mara.

Seated at a long wooden table in the corner of a bustling Austin brewery armed with sampler flights of local craft beers, we toasted with a Bavarian-style lager dubbed the Hell Yes, and Park admitted that he prefers Texas BBQ to Korean BBQ. I just dont like marinated meat, he smiled. Please know this: Not all Koreans are fans ofbulgogi. He is, however, something of a beer connoisseur, although homegrown suds have a ways to go. Im really into the Belgian beers, Belgian ales. Korean beer is notorious for being the worst beer in the entire world, he lamented. But recently, a savior has risen in Korea! One of the big beer breweries has started to brew ales. Its very good.

Back home with friends when bar-hopping turns to karaokepractically a national pastimethats my cue to go home.

I envy those people who can play like that, he mused. But I wasnt born that way, unfortunately. Ive overcome a lot of my shyness over the years. Now I can do interviews and go onstage to introduce my films. Its always a difficult thing to do but the work has transformed me. Still, when I walk down the street and see myself on one of those big LED screens on the side of the building, I cringe.

Parks films, however, are quite the opposite: Bold, ballsy, stylish, and often intensely brutal, theyve come to represent the pinnacle of Koreas art house extreme. His is a signature thats difficult to replicate. But despite not yet having seen Spike Lees American remake of Oldboyitself an adaptation of a Japanese mangahes all for the reinterpretation of art. If he had to remake one of Lees films, Park mulled, it would be Jungle Fever.

InThe Handmaiden, Octobers sweeping and engrossing thriller set during Japanese colonial rule in Korea and adapted loosely from Sarah Waters England-set novelFingersmith, director Parks stamp is as evident as ever. Newcomer Kim Tae-ri stars as Sook-hee, a young Korean woman whos sent to work as the new handmaiden to Japanese noblewoman Lady Hideko (Kim Min-hee), who lives in quiet obedience to a Korean-born uncle whos obsessed with Japanese and Western culture. The twistat least, thefirsttwistis that Sook-hees really there to help swindle Hideko out of her fortune and take her place. The rest of The Handmaidens sublime treasures are best unspoiled save for the fact that the two women fall headlong in lovemaking for some steamy lesbian sex scenes that seized critics attention out of Cannes, as well as Parks most romantic film to date.

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Park had wanted for a long time to portray a homosexual character onscreen, particularly in a Korean society that rarely sees such stories told. I knew I wanted to deal with the subject someday, he said. What kind of homosexual film? The kind where the protagonist, who is homosexual, is not afraid of his or her sexualityand is not suffering under the critical eye of a conservative society. I wanted to make a film free of all that.

He sips another sampler glass, a crisp pilsner a little too dry for his tastes. In this film, for the characters who have fallen in love with each other, its just a matter of course. Theres no question about it. The issue they have to overcome is entirely something else, in that one is supposed to be deceiving the other:Am I allowed to love the person Im tricking?There are other issues besides being the same sex.

In addition to depicting the magnetic attraction between its two female protagonists in tender and exquisite detail, The Handmaiden features some of the most frankly sensual lesbian lovemaking scenes sinceBlue is the Warmest Color. Like that films same-sex sex scenes, the film risks incurring criticisms of a leering male gaze, but they also unfold with a keen sense of humor that makes the steamy symmetry of his actresses nude gymnastics less lascivious and more lovingly real.

The humor is the crux, he emphasized. These sex scenes arent all about the panting, the sweating, the going through the motions. They constantly talk to each other, and they look at each others face, and they make jokes.

Sook-hee and Hideko are also two complex characters whose inner workings reflect bigger themes asThe Handmaidenunspools one layer after another. In transplanting the original novels setting to colonial Korea, Park seeded The Handmaidenwith pointed cultural criticisms loaded with meaning for the Korea of today as much as that of yesterday.

Films in Korea thus far which have depicted the colonial period were all about independent movements or resistance fighters, he said. But this film is all about falling in love with a Japanese woman. The villain is actually of Korean ethnicity. His mind, his inner workings, shows that of a typical Japanese sympathizercolonial lackeyat the time. We have enough stories and films about those who fought against Japanese imperialists. Why dont we show and talk about the Koreans who worshipped the Japanese?

He elaborated: My point is that this continues to this day. The only thing thats different is they no longer worship the Japanese imperialistsin their place, they worship the Americans. And rather than idolize American values, they have internalized American values.

In recent years, Park lent his voice to public petitions protesting his governments arms sales to Israel and the censorship of the Busan Film Festival (Compared to the people who put everything they have on the line for these fights and causes, its nothing, he said.) But its no coincidence that Park says what worries him the most about the world is the unequal distribution of wealth both at home in Korea and across the world at large.

Im not saying that everything about America is wrong, he said. Neither am I saying that everything from overseas is wrong. Im saying that everything needs to be in balance between whats our own and whats foreign, among those who have the money, the power, and the informationthe ruling class. One of the reasons some Americans say that this election is pointless is that whoever wins the election, well end up with the same world where capitalism is king.

Park also saw in The Handmaiden the chance to actively battle an industry-wide problem hed started to notice: The underrepresentation of female characters in film. Certainly my interest in young women has gone up because Im the father of a daughter, he said, raising a hoppy IPA to his lips, and it helped me to realize how in cinema there arent many films that deal with the desires of a young woman in an honest way. Films dont tend to portray women as the main subject. It helped me become aware of this problem.

He started showing his films to his daughter, whos now studying art at university, when she was a childwell, all of them except forOldboy, for obvious reasons. Because there was a father-daughter relationship I couldnt bring myself to show it to her, he said. She saw it when she went to university. Fortunately she likes my films. Both women in his life nameThe Handmaidenas their favorite movie of his.

I have heard there is a debate at this film festival where a verbal debate is followed by a boxing match, he smiled, referring to the annual Fantastic Fest spectacle known as the Fantastic Debates, where filmmakers and critics face off over vital cinematic topics and determine the ultimate winner by pounding it out in the ring. I wouldlovefor someone to step up and put this to the test: Prove that all of Park Chan-wooks films are romantic films.

Its ironic to Park, and perhaps a bit frustrating, that he might be known as an artist most concerned with stories of violent revengealthough his films, includingThe Handmaiden, have that, too. Deep down, hes got a romantic streak. It peeks out when he describes how, years ago, he met his wife and saw Vertigo for the first time, and thus fell in love twice on the same day. Creatively I ask her for her opinions and I take a lot of her suggestions, he said. And shes my first love.

Why, then, does he think his films tend toward boundary-pushing extremes of human behavior, like incest, betrayal, mutilation, and extreme violence? Because Ive lived such a boring and mundane life, he shrugged. Every storyteller should never confine themselves to the very small limits of their own experience. Rather, they should be able to put themselves in the position of every different kind of human beingand sometimes non-human beings, as well.

If Park has the ability to put himself in the paws of animals for the sake of art, does he feel bad even years later, for the poor octopi that gave their lives to be eaten by Choi Min-sik inOldboy, in whats still one of the most indelible scenes hes ever filmed?

He considered it, sipping a hoppy red named the Big Mama, a dish of bacon-wrapped quail between us. Not really, he said. In Korea, live octopus is served sliced into pieces, still wriggling on the plate. What difference does it make if its eaten chopped or whole?

Some cephalopod enthusiasts argue that octopi, with their uncanny abilities to liberate themselves from tanks and multitask, are creatures of consciousness who maybe even have souls. I explained how its a thought that haunts me every time I rewatch that scene in Oldboy, the tentacles writhing in Oh Dae-sus mouth as he renders its owner apartarguably that films most sensual and sensory moment, a visceral collision of art, life, and real violence.

Director Park gave it another moments thought. Im not sure whether the existence of a soul equates to your level of intellectual ability. Do we say that snappers dont have souls, but octopi do? If thats the case, what about cows and pigs? he countered, a twinkle in his eye. Youve seenBabe, right?

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/25/inside-the-handmaiden-a-lesbian-erotic-thriller-and-the-sexiest-film-of-the-year/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/162228109327

[samanthasroberts]

Inside The Handmaiden: A Lesbian Erotic Thriller and the Sexiest Film of the Year

Acclaimed filmmaker Park Chan-wook (‘Oldboy’) opens up about his upcoming film over beers with Jen Yamato in Austin, Texas. “>

Halfway through his first trip to Texas, Korean auteur Park Chan-wook found himself on a tour of a picturesque religious compound notorious for the sex crimes of a cult-like spiritual leader. Five years ago, its once-venerated guru Prakashanand Saraswati fled the country, escaping a trial that saw him sentencedin absentiato over two centuries in prison. On a hot Texas afternoon in September, the director ofOldboystrolled the grounds with his Leica taking in the palatial white granite architecture.

Park was taken by the sights and the lurid true tale, soaking in the experience as he seems to all his travels. The director and avid photographer had come to Austin to screen his Cannes hitThe Handmaidenat Fantastic Fest following its Toronto premiere. Hed tasted Texas BBQ. Hed shopped for trinkets along South Congress Ave. When we met to discuss his period lesbian love-thriller over fine Texan beers this week, he was still marveling at the beauty and hidden perversity forever tied to the Barsana Dham.

It reminded me a little of Uncle Kouzuki inThe Handmaiden, he joked of one of the many deliciously complex characters in his new film, speaking through his traveling companion and translator, Wonjo Jeong. Im a photographer. I thought going to a place like this Id be able to capture some absurd images on my camera. The power that religion has over people, how it draws people in, is always amazing.

Park, arguably Koreas most famed and celebrated filmmaker, made his directorial debut in 1992 and scored his first huge hit in 2000 with the record-breakingJ.S.A.: Joint Security Area, a military thriller about a mysterious murder between soldiers from North and South Korea. In 2003 he released his intoxicatingly elegiac revenge thrillerOldboyand became forever synonymous with its brand of hyperviolent, perverse brutality.

But there are stratums to Parks films, even as they tend toward the extremes of genre, from the two other films that round out hisVengeance Trilogyto his vampire taleThirstto 2013sStoker, the gothic potboiler that marked his English-language Hollywood debut. Consider: When he describes to me the walrus carved from walrus tusk hed just bought at one of Austins eclectic thrift stores, the conversation winds its way to a documentary hed enjoyed, also on the subject of discovering extraordinary objects in the most unexpected places.

It was a documentary calledFinding Vivian Maier, Park recalled. She worked as a nanny to children and at one estate sale one young man bought a lot of her films, and thats how this photographer Vivian Maier came to light. It provided lots of inspiration forCarol, starring Rooney Mara.

Seated at a long wooden table in the corner of a bustling Austin brewery armed with sampler flights of local craft beers, we toasted with a Bavarian-style lager dubbed the Hell Yes, and Park admitted that he prefers Texas BBQ to Korean BBQ. I just dont like marinated meat, he smiled. Please know this: Not all Koreans are fans ofbulgogi. He is, however, something of a beer connoisseur, although homegrown suds have a ways to go. Im really into the Belgian beers, Belgian ales. Korean beer is notorious for being the worst beer in the entire world, he lamented. But recently, a savior has risen in Korea! One of the big beer breweries has started to brew ales. Its very good.

Back home with friends when bar-hopping turns to karaokepractically a national pastimethats my cue to go home.

I envy those people who can play like that, he mused. But I wasnt born that way, unfortunately. Ive overcome a lot of my shyness over the years. Now I can do interviews and go onstage to introduce my films. Its always a difficult thing to do but the work has transformed me. Still, when I walk down the street and see myself on one of those big LED screens on the side of the building, I cringe.

Parks films, however, are quite the opposite: Bold, ballsy, stylish, and often intensely brutal, theyve come to represent the pinnacle of Koreas art house extreme. His is a signature thats difficult to replicate. But despite not yet having seen Spike Lees American remake of Oldboyitself an adaptation of a Japanese mangahes all for the reinterpretation of art. If he had to remake one of Lees films, Park mulled, it would be Jungle Fever.

InThe Handmaiden, Octobers sweeping and engrossing thriller set during Japanese colonial rule in Korea and adapted loosely from Sarah Waters England-set novelFingersmith, director Parks stamp is as evident as ever. Newcomer Kim Tae-ri stars as Sook-hee, a young Korean woman whos sent to work as the new handmaiden to Japanese noblewoman Lady Hideko (Kim Min-hee), who lives in quiet obedience to a Korean-born uncle whos obsessed with Japanese and Western culture. The twistat least, thefirsttwistis that Sook-hees really there to help swindle Hideko out of her fortune and take her place. The rest of The Handmaidens sublime treasures are best unspoiled save for the fact that the two women fall headlong in lovemaking for some steamy lesbian sex scenes that seized critics attention out of Cannes, as well as Parks most romantic film to date.

Get The Beast In Your Inbox!

Daily DigestStart and finish your day with the top stories from The Daily Beast.

Cheat SheetA speedy, smart summary of all the news you need to know (and nothing you don't).

By clicking "Subscribe," you agree to have read the TermsofUse and PrivacyPolicy

Subscribe

Thank You!

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Park had wanted for a long time to portray a homosexual character onscreen, particularly in a Korean society that rarely sees such stories told. I knew I wanted to deal with the subject someday, he said. What kind of homosexual film? The kind where the protagonist, who is homosexual, is not afraid of his or her sexualityand is not suffering under the critical eye of a conservative society. I wanted to make a film free of all that.

He sips another sampler glass, a crisp pilsner a little too dry for his tastes. In this film, for the characters who have fallen in love with each other, its just a matter of course. Theres no question about it. The issue they have to overcome is entirely something else, in that one is supposed to be deceiving the other:Am I allowed to love the person Im tricking?There are other issues besides being the same sex.

In addition to depicting the magnetic attraction between its two female protagonists in tender and exquisite detail, The Handmaiden features some of the most frankly sensual lesbian lovemaking scenes sinceBlue is the Warmest Color. Like that films same-sex sex scenes, the film risks incurring criticisms of a leering male gaze, but they also unfold with a keen sense of humor that makes the steamy symmetry of his actresses nude gymnastics less lascivious and more lovingly real.

The humor is the crux, he emphasized. These sex scenes arent all about the panting, the sweating, the going through the motions. They constantly talk to each other, and they look at each others face, and they make jokes.

Sook-hee and Hideko are also two complex characters whose inner workings reflect bigger themes asThe Handmaidenunspools one layer after another. In transplanting the original novels setting to colonial Korea, Park seeded The Handmaidenwith pointed cultural criticisms loaded with meaning for the Korea of today as much as that of yesterday.

Films in Korea thus far which have depicted the colonial period were all about independent movements or resistance fighters, he said. But this film is all about falling in love with a Japanese woman. The villain is actually of Korean ethnicity. His mind, his inner workings, shows that of a typical Japanese sympathizercolonial lackeyat the time. We have enough stories and films about those who fought against Japanese imperialists. Why dont we show and talk about the Koreans who worshipped the Japanese?

He elaborated: My point is that this continues to this day. The only thing thats different is they no longer worship the Japanese imperialistsin their place, they worship the Americans. And rather than idolize American values, they have internalized American values.

In recent years, Park lent his voice to public petitions protesting his governments arms sales to Israel and the censorship of the Busan Film Festival (Compared to the people who put everything they have on the line for these fights and causes, its nothing, he said.) But its no coincidence that Park says what worries him the most about the world is the unequal distribution of wealth both at home in Korea and across the world at large.

Im not saying that everything about America is wrong, he said. Neither am I saying that everything from overseas is wrong. Im saying that everything needs to be in balance between whats our own and whats foreign, among those who have the money, the power, and the informationthe ruling class. One of the reasons some Americans say that this election is pointless is that whoever wins the election, well end up with the same world where capitalism is king.

Park also saw in The Handmaiden the chance to actively battle an industry-wide problem hed started to notice: The underrepresentation of female characters in film. Certainly my interest in young women has gone up because Im the father of a daughter, he said, raising a hoppy IPA to his lips, and it helped me to realize how in cinema there arent many films that deal with the desires of a young woman in an honest way. Films dont tend to portray women as the main subject. It helped me become aware of this problem.

He started showing his films to his daughter, whos now studying art at university, when she was a childwell, all of them except forOldboy, for obvious reasons. Because there was a father-daughter relationship I couldnt bring myself to show it to her, he said. She saw it when she went to university. Fortunately she likes my films. Both women in his life nameThe Handmaidenas their favorite movie of his.

I have heard there is a debate at this film festival where a verbal debate is followed by a boxing match, he smiled, referring to the annual Fantastic Fest spectacle known as the Fantastic Debates, where filmmakers and critics face off over vital cinematic topics and determine the ultimate winner by pounding it out in the ring. I wouldlovefor someone to step up and put this to the test: Prove that all of Park Chan-wooks films are romantic films.

Its ironic to Park, and perhaps a bit frustrating, that he might be known as an artist most concerned with stories of violent revengealthough his films, includingThe Handmaiden, have that, too. Deep down, hes got a romantic streak. It peeks out when he describes how, years ago, he met his wife and saw Vertigo for the first time, and thus fell in love twice on the same day. Creatively I ask her for her opinions and I take a lot of her suggestions, he said. And shes my first love.

Why, then, does he think his films tend toward boundary-pushing extremes of human behavior, like incest, betrayal, mutilation, and extreme violence? Because Ive lived such a boring and mundane life, he shrugged. Every storyteller should never confine themselves to the very small limits of their own experience. Rather, they should be able to put themselves in the position of every different kind of human beingand sometimes non-human beings, as well.

If Park has the ability to put himself in the paws of animals for the sake of art, does he feel bad even years later, for the poor octopi that gave their lives to be eaten by Choi Min-sik inOldboy, in whats still one of the most indelible scenes hes ever filmed?

He considered it, sipping a hoppy red named the Big Mama, a dish of bacon-wrapped quail between us. Not really, he said. In Korea, live octopus is served sliced into pieces, still wriggling on the plate. What difference does it make if its eaten chopped or whole?

Some cephalopod enthusiasts argue that octopi, with their uncanny abilities to liberate themselves from tanks and multitask, are creatures of consciousness who maybe even have souls. I explained how its a thought that haunts me every time I rewatch that scene in Oldboy, the tentacles writhing in Oh Dae-sus mouth as he renders its owner apartarguably that films most sensual and sensory moment, a visceral collision of art, life, and real violence.

Director Park gave it another moments thought. Im not sure whether the existence of a soul equates to your level of intellectual ability. Do we say that snappers dont have souls, but octopi do? If thats the case, what about cows and pigs? he countered, a twinkle in his eye. Youve seenBabe, right?

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/25/inside-the-handmaiden-a-lesbian-erotic-thriller-and-the-sexiest-film-of-the-year/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/06/25/inside-the-handmaiden-a-lesbian-erotic-thriller-and-the-sexiest-film-of-the-year/

[allofbeercom]

Inside The Handmaiden: A Lesbian Erotic Thriller and the Sexiest Film of the Year

Acclaimed filmmaker Park Chan-wook (‘Oldboy’) opens up about his upcoming film over beers with Jen Yamato in Austin, Texas. “>

Halfway through his first trip to Texas, Korean auteur Park Chan-wook found himself on a tour of a picturesque religious compound notorious for the sex crimes of a cult-like spiritual leader. Five years ago, its once-venerated guru Prakashanand Saraswati fled the country, escaping a trial that saw him sentencedin absentiato over two centuries in prison. On a hot Texas afternoon in September, the director ofOldboystrolled the grounds with his Leica taking in the palatial white granite architecture.

Park was taken by the sights and the lurid true tale, soaking in the experience as he seems to all his travels. The director and avid photographer had come to Austin to screen his Cannes hitThe Handmaidenat Fantastic Fest following its Toronto premiere. Hed tasted Texas BBQ. Hed shopped for trinkets along South Congress Ave. When we met to discuss his period lesbian love-thriller over fine Texan beers this week, he was still marveling at the beauty and hidden perversity forever tied to the Barsana Dham.

It reminded me a little of Uncle Kouzuki inThe Handmaiden, he joked of one of the many deliciously complex characters in his new film, speaking through his traveling companion and translator, Wonjo Jeong. Im a photographer. I thought going to a place like this Id be able to capture some absurd images on my camera. The power that religion has over people, how it draws people in, is always amazing.

Park, arguably Koreas most famed and celebrated filmmaker, made his directorial debut in 1992 and scored his first huge hit in 2000 with the record-breakingJ.S.A.: Joint Security Area, a military thriller about a mysterious murder between soldiers from North and South Korea. In 2003 he released his intoxicatingly elegiac revenge thrillerOldboyand became forever synonymous with its brand of hyperviolent, perverse brutality.

But there are stratums to Parks films, even as they tend toward the extremes of genre, from the two other films that round out hisVengeance Trilogyto his vampire taleThirstto 2013sStoker, the gothic potboiler that marked his English-language Hollywood debut. Consider: When he describes to me the walrus carved from walrus tusk hed just bought at one of Austins eclectic thrift stores, the conversation winds its way to a documentary hed enjoyed, also on the subject of discovering extraordinary objects in the most unexpected places.

It was a documentary calledFinding Vivian Maier, Park recalled. She worked as a nanny to children and at one estate sale one young man bought a lot of her films, and thats how this photographer Vivian Maier came to light. It provided lots of inspiration forCarol, starring Rooney Mara.

Seated at a long wooden table in the corner of a bustling Austin brewery armed with sampler flights of local craft beers, we toasted with a Bavarian-style lager dubbed the Hell Yes, and Park admitted that he prefers Texas BBQ to Korean BBQ. I just dont like marinated meat, he smiled. Please know this: Not all Koreans are fans ofbulgogi. He is, however, something of a beer connoisseur, although homegrown suds have a ways to go. Im really into the Belgian beers, Belgian ales. Korean beer is notorious for being the worst beer in the entire world, he lamented. But recently, a savior has risen in Korea! One of the big beer breweries has started to brew ales. Its very good.

Back home with friends when bar-hopping turns to karaokepractically a national pastimethats my cue to go home.

I envy those people who can play like that, he mused. But I wasnt born that way, unfortunately. Ive overcome a lot of my shyness over the years. Now I can do interviews and go onstage to introduce my films. Its always a difficult thing to do but the work has transformed me. Still, when I walk down the street and see myself on one of those big LED screens on the side of the building, I cringe.

Parks films, however, are quite the opposite: Bold, ballsy, stylish, and often intensely brutal, theyve come to represent the pinnacle of Koreas art house extreme. His is a signature thats difficult to replicate. But despite not yet having seen Spike Lees American remake of Oldboyitself an adaptation of a Japanese mangahes all for the reinterpretation of art. If he had to remake one of Lees films, Park mulled, it would be Jungle Fever.

InThe Handmaiden, Octobers sweeping and engrossing thriller set during Japanese colonial rule in Korea and adapted loosely from Sarah Waters England-set novelFingersmith, director Parks stamp is as evident as ever. Newcomer Kim Tae-ri stars as Sook-hee, a young Korean woman whos sent to work as the new handmaiden to Japanese noblewoman Lady Hideko (Kim Min-hee), who lives in quiet obedience to a Korean-born uncle whos obsessed with Japanese and Western culture. The twistat least, thefirsttwistis that Sook-hees really there to help swindle Hideko out of her fortune and take her place. The rest of The Handmaidens sublime treasures are best unspoiled save for the fact that the two women fall headlong in lovemaking for some steamy lesbian sex scenes that seized critics attention out of Cannes, as well as Parks most romantic film to date.

Get The Beast In Your Inbox!

Daily DigestStart and finish your day with the top stories from The Daily Beast.

Cheat SheetA speedy, smart summary of all the news you need to know (and nothing you don't).

By clicking "Subscribe," you agree to have read the TermsofUse and PrivacyPolicy

Subscribe

Thank You!

You are now subscribed to the Daily Digest and Cheat Sheet. We will not share your email with anyone for any reason

Park had wanted for a long time to portray a homosexual character onscreen, particularly in a Korean society that rarely sees such stories told. I knew I wanted to deal with the subject someday, he said. What kind of homosexual film? The kind where the protagonist, who is homosexual, is not afraid of his or her sexualityand is not suffering under the critical eye of a conservative society. I wanted to make a film free of all that.

He sips another sampler glass, a crisp pilsner a little too dry for his tastes. In this film, for the characters who have fallen in love with each other, its just a matter of course. Theres no question about it. The issue they have to overcome is entirely something else, in that one is supposed to be deceiving the other:Am I allowed to love the person Im tricking?There are other issues besides being the same sex.

In addition to depicting the magnetic attraction between its two female protagonists in tender and exquisite detail, The Handmaiden features some of the most frankly sensual lesbian lovemaking scenes sinceBlue is the Warmest Color. Like that films same-sex sex scenes, the film risks incurring criticisms of a leering male gaze, but they also unfold with a keen sense of humor that makes the steamy symmetry of his actresses nude gymnastics less lascivious and more lovingly real.

The humor is the crux, he emphasized. These sex scenes arent all about the panting, the sweating, the going through the motions. They constantly talk to each other, and they look at each others face, and they make jokes.

Sook-hee and Hideko are also two complex characters whose inner workings reflect bigger themes asThe Handmaidenunspools one layer after another. In transplanting the original novels setting to colonial Korea, Park seeded The Handmaidenwith pointed cultural criticisms loaded with meaning for the Korea of today as much as that of yesterday.

Films in Korea thus far which have depicted the colonial period were all about independent movements or resistance fighters, he said. But this film is all about falling in love with a Japanese woman. The villain is actually of Korean ethnicity. His mind, his inner workings, shows that of a typical Japanese sympathizercolonial lackeyat the time. We have enough stories and films about those who fought against Japanese imperialists. Why dont we show and talk about the Koreans who worshipped the Japanese?

He elaborated: My point is that this continues to this day. The only thing thats different is they no longer worship the Japanese imperialistsin their place, they worship the Americans. And rather than idolize American values, they have internalized American values.

In recent years, Park lent his voice to public petitions protesting his governments arms sales to Israel and the censorship of the Busan Film Festival (Compared to the people who put everything they have on the line for these fights and causes, its nothing, he said.) But its no coincidence that Park says what worries him the most about the world is the unequal distribution of wealth both at home in Korea and across the world at large.

Im not saying that everything about America is wrong, he said. Neither am I saying that everything from overseas is wrong. Im saying that everything needs to be in balance between whats our own and whats foreign, among those who have the money, the power, and the informationthe ruling class. One of the reasons some Americans say that this election is pointless is that whoever wins the election, well end up with the same world where capitalism is king.

Park also saw in The Handmaiden the chance to actively battle an industry-wide problem hed started to notice: The underrepresentation of female characters in film. Certainly my interest in young women has gone up because Im the father of a daughter, he said, raising a hoppy IPA to his lips, and it helped me to realize how in cinema there arent many films that deal with the desires of a young woman in an honest way. Films dont tend to portray women as the main subject. It helped me become aware of this problem.

He started showing his films to his daughter, whos now studying art at university, when she was a childwell, all of them except forOldboy, for obvious reasons. Because there was a father-daughter relationship I couldnt bring myself to show it to her, he said. She saw it when she went to university. Fortunately she likes my films. Both women in his life nameThe Handmaidenas their favorite movie of his.

I have heard there is a debate at this film festival where a verbal debate is followed by a boxing match, he smiled, referring to the annual Fantastic Fest spectacle known as the Fantastic Debates, where filmmakers and critics face off over vital cinematic topics and determine the ultimate winner by pounding it out in the ring. I wouldlovefor someone to step up and put this to the test: Prove that all of Park Chan-wooks films are romantic films.

Its ironic to Park, and perhaps a bit frustrating, that he might be known as an artist most concerned with stories of violent revengealthough his films, includingThe Handmaiden, have that, too. Deep down, hes got a romantic streak. It peeks out when he describes how, years ago, he met his wife and saw Vertigo for the first time, and thus fell in love twice on the same day. Creatively I ask her for her opinions and I take a lot of her suggestions, he said. And shes my first love.

Why, then, does he think his films tend toward boundary-pushing extremes of human behavior, like incest, betrayal, mutilation, and extreme violence? Because Ive lived such a boring and mundane life, he shrugged. Every storyteller should never confine themselves to the very small limits of their own experience. Rather, they should be able to put themselves in the position of every different kind of human beingand sometimes non-human beings, as well.

If Park has the ability to put himself in the paws of animals for the sake of art, does he feel bad even years later, for the poor octopi that gave their lives to be eaten by Choi Min-sik inOldboy, in whats still one of the most indelible scenes hes ever filmed?

He considered it, sipping a hoppy red named the Big Mama, a dish of bacon-wrapped quail between us. Not really, he said. In Korea, live octopus is served sliced into pieces, still wriggling on the plate. What difference does it make if its eaten chopped or whole?

Some cephalopod enthusiasts argue that octopi, with their uncanny abilities to liberate themselves from tanks and multitask, are creatures of consciousness who maybe even have souls. I explained how its a thought that haunts me every time I rewatch that scene in Oldboy, the tentacles writhing in Oh Dae-sus mouth as he renders its owner apartarguably that films most sensual and sensory moment, a visceral collision of art, life, and real violence.

Director Park gave it another moments thought. Im not sure whether the existence of a soul equates to your level of intellectual ability. Do we say that snappers dont have souls, but octopi do? If thats the case, what about cows and pigs? he countered, a twinkle in his eye. Youve seenBabe, right?

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/25/inside-the-handmaiden-a-lesbian-erotic-thriller-and-the-sexiest-film-of-the-year/

[viralhottopics]

YA author Mindy McGinnis returns to the book world with new epic fantasy novel ‘Given to the Sea’

Image: Penguin Young Readers

Sometimes the best way to follow a hit novel is to switch things up and try something completely different.

Or at least that’s the case with YA author Mindy McGinnis and her latest book, epic fantasy novel Given to the Sea.

SEE ALSO: ‘All Our Wrong Todays’ is your next fast-reading, mind-expanding, science fiction romance

The novel follows four intertwined characters Khosa, Vincent, Donil and Witt as each struggles to confront fate and loyalty in the warring kingdom of Stille. At the center of the story is Khosa, a girl destined to sacrifice herself to the sea to save her village. After surviving an attack on her village, Khosa is taken to safety at the royal palace in Stille where she finds herself enmeshed in a love triangle or probably more apt, love square that could alter not only her own fate but the fate of her kingdom.

“I had this idea that writing fantasy would be easy because I get to make up all the rules, no research required. Not true,” explains McGinnis. “In fantasy, nothing is a given, nothing is assumed. I have to do a lot of explaining… and keep that interesting. I’ve written post-apocalyptic, historical, contemporary, and now fantasy. Fantasy is by far the hardest.”

The book comes fresh off the heels of McGinnis’ 2016 contemporary YA novel Female of the Species. The novel followed Alex, a teenage girl who seeks vigilante justice on the sexual abusers in her town. Female of the Species was much acclaimed at the time of its release for its exploration of feminism, sexual violence and justice. (The MashReads Podcast actually recommended it. Twice.)

It’s this juxtaposition contemporary YA to fantasy that may shock McGinnis’ fans picking up her latest book. Yet McGinnis teases that Given to the Sea contains something for all types of readers.

“There’s something for everyone here – romance, gruesome deaths, magic, sword fights, scary animals, and inevitable death.”

Given to the Sea doesn’t come out until April 11. In the meantime, check out a sneak peek of the book’s first two chapters below.

Image: Penguin Young Readers

Chapter 1Khosa

It is in my blood.

It is in my bone.

It is in my brain.

One day my body will betray me, dancing into the sea, my mind a passenger only. The water will close over my head and I will drown, my death bringing a reprieve for those who are not me. This is what Ive been born and bred for. The food passing into my mouth, the clothes covering my body, every breath I drawthese are smaller offerings, each a promise that I will endure, bear my own cursed daughter, and then succumb.

How that will happen I do not know. My mother suffered the touch of another at least once, long enough to fulfill her duties and bring me about. I know it was badly done. I see it in the faces of my Keepers, these people who care for me without caring. I hear the small things in their voices. They worry I will not be pleasing to the sea, that my mother and her chosen mate created something less than perfect. I understand their concern, but cannot share it. Why should I care if the tides rise again, if I am only a corpse riding the waves?

To live aware of your own doom is no easy thing. I spend my days at lessons, my body fulfilling the expected duties, though my mind is elsewhere. The Keepers are worried that I have not prepared well, have not set my face in the appropriate response to their commands. Happy, for instance, is an emotion I cannot be expected to parade, but they tell me it is necessary. Melancholy I excel at.

My mother and grandmother had other lessons, ones to please at table and dancing. Proper chewing, proper speaking, proper walkingonly expected, of course, when we are in control of our limbs. My lessons have taken a different course, my other instructors quietly dismissed once I learned all that was expected.

All except how to contort my stone face appropriately.

The Keepers have tried, their emotions chasing through their faces so quickly I cant keep up, my own trying to mirror what I see. They say to me, Pleased, but look nothing like it themselves, and I am easily confused on this point. So I often retreat, my mind escaping the room where I learn to mimic emotion, returning itself to some well-ordered facts absorbed from a musty book, its scent still lingering on my fingers, a source of comfort.

Their pages follow me through the day, their words imprinted on my mind. I know the history of my land better than the Scribes, better than the royals who rule it. I can recite the names of my predecessors, from the woman who gave birth to me all the way to Medalli, one of the Three Sisters whom the sea gave back after the wave that took nearly all. Seaweed was pulled from their hair, their locks drying as they worked alongside other survivors to rebuild what had washed away, not knowing they would be taken again, the first of the Given.

The sea waited until the sisters had married and had children of their own before it called for them, the price of its leniency the blood of their line. For the children went too, and their children after them, the first twitches of their childhood pulling them toward the water, the final coordinated movements driving them deep into the waves, the dance of death one their kingdom deemed the will of the sea. And so it continues. Their footprints in the sand not returning, my feet now itching to follow. Medallis linemineremains strong, the other two Sisters falling short, the last names in their column females who did not produce heirs, the ink that wrote them now faded with time.

I rub my fingers together, drawing the scent of the book pages from them as my male Keeper says, Sad. Sad I can perform, closing my eyes and picturing my name, Khosa, the ink slightly darker than my mothers name before me, Sona.

Dont close your eyes, he says.

I open them again to see my Keepers, their faces so easily read.

Disappointment.

Chapter 2Vincent

Im sorry you have to wait, my lord.

Not a concern, I answer the guard, but my eyes are on my hands, the clean nails freshly clipped, the smoothness of my palms interrupted by the lines that Madda insists hold my future.

In any kingdom other than Stille, the future of a prince wouldnt need to be read in his hands. It would be clear in his actions, the preparations taken to ensure he sits the throne well, does his duty, leads his country. Somewhere else I would be wed already, the announcement of my own child eagerly anticipated, the girl I keep on the side politely excused, with her pockets lined for her trouble. Instead I sit outside the throne room at the age of seventeen, awaiting my turn to speak to King Gammalmy grandfatherhealthy, hearty, capable. At his side, my father Prince Varrick, already gray and lined, but still sitting in the lower throne.

I shift on the wooden bench, and the trapman next to me slides farther away, the smell of sea salt rising from his clothes. Im sorry, my lord. Do you need more room?

More than enough room, I insist, patting the space between us.

Hes quiet for a moment, and the lady on the bench next to ours fills the hall with the clicking of her wooden knitting needles. One foot rests casually on the ball of coarse wool beneath her feet to keep it from rolling away as she works. Shes assured, content. As a citizen of Stille, she is entitled to speak to the king, and her turn will come. Eventually.

I look back at my empty hands and the lines that Madda the Seer wrinkles her brow at. Her answers to my questions are always vague and muttered.

Am I right to say my lord? the trapman asks. Is that what youre called?

The words it doesnt matter are half formed in my throat, but I choke them back.

The womans needles continue to click. Her hands are gnarled and work-worn, but her color is good, and the hat she is knitting small. For a grandchild. Or great-grandchild. They are lucky to have her. I tell myself these things every day: Stille is fortunate. Stille is healthy. Stille is strong. Years of peace and prosperity mean that the old linger and the middle-aged flourish, while the young inherit only boredom and aimlessness.

Just Vincent, I say, finally answering the trapmans question. No title necessary.

Youre of royal blood, the woman says, not glancing up from her work. It should not be taken lightly.

No… My voice fades away. I have no words to explain succinctly, only memories from my childhood when I was called the baby prince, and then the young prince, and now theres a hesitation, a slight pause before acknowledging my rank. There is no name for the third in line, one whose hands will wither with age long before they hold the scepter.

Ive come to hate the blank space before my given name, the deferential glance of the servants as they search for a title that represents nothing. So I make it easier for them, and for myself.

Just Vincent, I reassert. The old woman makes a disapproving noise in her throat and keeps knitting. The trapman smiles at me, his teeth even, strong, and white in a face lined with wrinkles.

Im Agga. He holds out a bent hand, gnarled from years of pulling in the crab traps, the lengthy ropes rubbing it raw. Even the trapmen dont go into the water, letting the tides carry out the traps. His skin feels of age and the scars of work, years of absorbed salt water pressing back against the softness of my own hands.

How is the sea, Agga? I ask.

He shakes his head. Eating the beach with hunger. Well be needing her thats given to the sea, and soon.

I will pass that along, I say. I dont add that my voice doesnt carry in the great hall, only echoes back into my ears.

Here to do it myself, Agga says, and I wonder if he followed my thought.

I saw when the last one was given, the woman says. She danced beautifully.

They all have, Agga says.

But their faces, they do… twist, the woman adds, her own mimicking the memory, a brief mask of horror that slides off easily as she counts her stitches.

Do they want to go? I ask.

Agga shrugs. Its their own feet taking them. No one in Stille makes them go. Were not the Pietra, feeding sea monsters with the flesh of their aged.

No. The woman shudders, dropping the first stitch since Ive sat here. Were not the Pietra.

Theres laughter in the throne room. It reverberates under the closed doors, my grandfathers hearty one underscored by my fathers, which has never ceased to produce goose bumps on my skin, even in a lifetime of hearing it.

Im sorry you have to wait, my lord, the guard says again.

Not a concern, I repeat, looking back at my hands, where lifelines extend forever, marching right off the palm.

Waiting is what Im good at.

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from YA author Mindy McGinnis returns to the book world with new epic fantasy novel ‘Given to the Sea’

[apsbicepstraining]

The secret of savor: why we like which is something we like | Tom Vanderbilt

The Long Read: How does a anthem we detest at first discovering become a favourite? And when we try to look different, how come we end up looks a lot like everybody else?

If you had asked me, when I was 10, to forecast my life as an adult, I would probably have sketched out something like this: I would be driving a Trans Am, a Corvette, or some other muscle vehicle. My residence would boast a mammoth collecting of pinball machines. I would sip sophisticated alcohols( like Baileys Irish Cream ), read Robert Ludlum romances, and blast Van Halen while sitting in an easy chair wearing sunglasses. Now that I am at a point to actually be able to realise every one of these feverishly foreseen flavors, they view zero interest( well, perhaps the pinball machines in a weak minute ).

It was not just that my 10 -year-old self could not predict whom I would become but that I was incapable of suspecting that my flavors could experience such wholesale change. How could I know what I would want if I did not know who I would be?

One problem is that we do not apprehend the effect of experiencing situations. We may instinctively realise the authorities concerned will tire of our favourite meat if we gobble too much of it, but we might underestimate how much more we are to be able like something if only we consume it more often. Another issue is psychological salience, or the things we pay attention to. In the moment we buy a consumer good that offers cashback, the offer is claiming our courtesy; it is likely to be have influenced the buy. By the time we get home, the salience fades; the cashback croaks unclaimed. When I was 10, what mattered in a car to me was that it be cool and fast. What did not matter to me were monthly pays, side-impact crash shield, being able to fit a stroller in the back, and wanting to avoid the impression of is available on a midlife crisis.

Even when we look back and be seen to what extent much our flavors have changed, the idea that we will change evenly in the future seem to be mystify us. It is what remains tattoo removal practitioners in business. The psychologist Timothy Wilson and colleagues have identified the illusion that for numerous, the current is a watershed instant at which they have finally become the person or persons they will be for the rest of their lives.

In one venture, they found that people were willing to pay more money to check their favourite strap play-act 10 times from now than they were willing to pay to see their favourite banding from 10 years ago play now. It is reminiscent of the moment, looking through an old-time photo album, when you visualize an earlier picture of yourself and declare, Oh my God, that “hairs-breadth”! Or Those corduroys! Just as photographs of ourselves can appear jarring since we are do not ordinarily read ourselves as others encounter us, our previous appreciations, viewed to areas outside, from the perspective of what looks good now, come as a surprise. Your hairstyle per se was possibly not good or bad, simply a reflection of contemporary penchant. We say, with condescension, I cant believe parties actually dressed like that, without realising we ourselves are currently wearing what will be considered bad flavor in the future.

One of the reasons we cannot predict our future preferences is one of the things that stirs those very preferences change: novelty. In the social sciences of experience and likings , novelty is a rather elusive phenomenon. On the one side, we crave originality, which defines a arena such as manner( a battlefield of ugliness so perfectly unbearable, quipped Oscar Wilde, that we have to alter it every a period of six months ). As Ronald Frasch, the dapper president of Saks Fifth Avenue, once told me, on the status of women designer storey of the flagship store: The first thing “the consumers ” asks when they come into the accumulation is, Whats brand-new? They dont want to know what was; they want to know what is. How strong is this impulse? We will sell 60% of what were going to sell the firstly four weeks the very best are on the floor.

But we too adore intimacy. There are many who believe we like what we are used to. And yet if this were exclusively true , good-for-nothing “wouldve been” change. There would be no new prowes forms , no new musical genres , no new makes. The economist Joseph Schumpeter was contended that capitalisms character was in educating people to want( and buy) new situations. Makes drive economic change, he wrote, and buyers are taught to want brand-new happenings, or circumstances which differ in some respect or other from those which they have been in the habit of using.

A lot of days, people dont know what they crave until you demo it to them, as Steve Jobs gave it. And even then, they still might not miss it. Apples ill-fated Newton PDA device, as charming as it now examines in this era of smartphone as human prosthesis, was arguably more new at the time of its release, foreseeing the requirements and actions that were not yet amply realised. As Wired described it, it was a entirely new category of invention passing an entirely new building housed in a pattern part that represented a completely new and daring design language.

So , novelty or acquaintance? As is often the instance, the answer lies somewhere in between, on the midway spot of some optimal U-shaped curve storying the new and the known. The noted industrial designer Raymond Loewy sensed this optimum in what he worded the MAYA stage, for most advanced, yet acceptable. This was the moment in a product design repetition when, Loewy quarrelled, defiance to the unfamiliar contacts the threshold of a shock-zone and fighting to buying changes in. We like the new as long as it reminds us in some way of the old.

Anticipating how much our flavors will change is hard-boiled because we cannot find past our intrinsic resist to the unfamiliar. Or how much we will change when we do and how each change will open the door to another change. We forget just how fleeting even the most jarring novelty is also possible. When you had your firstly swallow of beer( or whisky ), you probably did not slap your knee and exclaim, Where has this been all my life? It was, Beings like this?

We come to like beer, but it is arguably incorrect to bawl brew an acquired feeling, as the philosopher Daniel Dennett indicates, because it is not that first taste that people are coming to like. If beer gone on savor to me the room the first sip tasted, he writes, I would never have gone on drinking brew. Place of the problem is that booze is a scandalize to the system: it savours like nothing that has come before, or at least good-for-nothing delightful. New music or prowes can have the same effects. In a New Yorker profile, the music farmer Rick Rubin recounted that when he firstly sounded Pretty Hate Machine, the album by Nine Inch Nails, he did not care for it. But it soon became his favourite. Faced with something discordantly novel, we dont ever have the reference points to absorb and digest it, Rubin alleged. Its a bit like memorizing a new expression. The album, like the brew, was not an acquired savour, because he was not hearing the same album.

Looking back, we can find it hard to believe we did not like something we are today do. Current popularity gets projected backwards: we forget that a now ubiquitous hymn such as the Romantics What I Like About You was never a make or that recently in vogue antique babe identifies such as Isabella or Chloe, which seem to speak to some once-flourishing habit, were never popular.

It now seems impossible to imagine, a few decades ago, the gossip provoked by the now widely cherished Sydney Opera House. The Danish inventor, Jrn Utzon, was essentially driven from the country, his mention extended unuttered at the ceremony, the sense of national gossip was palpable towards this harbourside monstrosity. Not exclusively did the building not fit the traditional anatomy of an opera house; it did not fit the conventional word of private buildings. It was as foreign as its architect.

The truth is, most people perhaps did not know what to shape of it, and our default setting, faced with an insecure unknown, is detesting. Frank Gehry, talking about his iconic, widely admired Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, admitted that it took a couple of years for me to start to like it, actually. The inventor Mark Wigley suggests that maybe we only ever learn something when some structure we think of as foreign causes us and we withstand. But sometimes, many times, in the middle of the fighting, we end up loving this thing that has elicited us.

Fluency begets liking. When shown personas of buildings, designers have rated them as least complex than laypersons did; in other words, they read them more fluently, and the buildings seem less foreign. The role of the inventor, shows Wigley, is not to give the client exactly what he was asking for in other words, to cater to current taste but to change the notion of what one can ask for, or to project future delicacies no one knew they had. No one supposed an opera house could look like the Sydney Opera House until Utzon, taking his idea from a peeled orange, said it could. The nature changed around the building, in response to it, which is why, in the strange messages of one architecture commentator, Utzons breathtaking build appears better today than ever.

A few decades from now, person will inevitably look with dread upon a new house and answer, The Sydney Opera House , now theres a build. Why cant we construct acts like that any more?

This argument for example, Why isnt music as good as it used to be? manifests an historic collection bias, one colourfully described by the designer Frank Chimero. Make me let you in on a little secret, he writes. If you are hearing about something age-old, it is almost certainly good. Why? Because nobody wants to talk about shitty old-time stuff, but lots of parties still talking here shitty brand-new material, because they are still trying to figure out if it is shitty or not. The past wasnt better, we just forgot about all the shitty shit.

The only guarantee we have of savour is the fact that it will change.

In a 2011 sketch on the substantiate Portlandia , the obsessive sardonic catalogue of the hipster mores of the Oregon city, an exaggeratedly posturing persona known as Spyke with chin whisker, lobe-stretching saucer earrings, and a fixed-gear bike is evidence treading past a prohibit. He pictures some people inside, equally adorned with the trappings of a certain kind of cool, and establishes an supporting nod. A few days later, he agent a clean-shaven guy wearing khakis and a dress shirt at the bar. Aw, cmon! he hollers. Guy like that is hanging out here? That barroom is so over ! It exclusively gets worse: he ensure his straight-man nemesis astride a fixed-gear bicycle, partaking in shell artistry, and wearing a kuki-chins beard all of which, he churlishly warns, is over. A year later, we check Spyke, freshly shorn of whisker, wearing business casual, and having a banal gossip, roosted in the very same barroom that produced off the whole cycles/second. The nemesis? He procrastinates outside, scornfully swearing the bar to be over.

The sketch wonderfully encapsulates the notion of savour as a kind of ceaseless action machine. This machine is driven in part by the oscillations of originality and knowledge, of hunger and satiation, that strange internal calculus that effects us to tire of food, music, the colouring orange. But it also represents driven in part by the subtle the two movements of parties trying to be like one another and beings trying to be different from each other. There is a second-guessing various kinds of skirmish here , not unknown to strategists of cold warera game theory( in which players are rarely behaving on perfect information ). Or, indeed, to readers familiar with Dr Seusss Sneetches, the mythical star-adorned mortals who abruptly trench their decorations when they detect their challenger plain-bellied counterparts have idols upon thars.

That taste might move in the kind of never-ending repetition that Portlandia hypothesised is not so far-fetched. A French mathematician named Jonathan Touboul identified a phenomenon of searching alike trying to look different, or what he called the hipster influence. Unlike cooperative systems, in which everyone might concur in a coordinated fashion on what decisions to build, the hipster result follows, he hints, where individuals try to make decisions in opposition to the majority.

Because no one knows exactly what other people are going to do next, and information is also possible noisy or retarded, there can also be the times of brief synchronisation, in which non-conformists are inadvertently aligned with the majority. Spyke, in reality, might have had to see several people doing shell art maybe it even suddenly appeared at a store in the mall before soon jam-pack it in. And because there are varying degrees of hipness, person or persons may choose to wade into current trends later than another, that person is followed by another, and so on, until, like an astronomical adventurer chasing a dead whiz, there is nothing actually there any more. The quest for distinctiveness are also welcome to generate conformity.

The Portlandia sketch actually goes well beyond appreciation and illuminates two central, if seemingly contradictory, strands of human behaviour. The first is that we want to be like other parties. The social being, in the degree that he is social, is virtually imitative, wrote the French sociologist Gabriel Tarde, in his 1890 notebook The Laws of Imitation. Imitating others, what is known as social learn, is an evolutionary adaptive strategy; that is, it helps you exist, even prosper. While it is considered to be in other species, there are no better social learners than humen , none that take that knowledge and continue to build upon it, through consecutive generations.

The sum of this social learning culture is what draws humans so unique, and so uniquely successful. As the anthropologist Joseph Henrich documents, humans have foraged in the Arctic, reaped cultivates in the tropics, and lived pastorally in deserts. This is not because we were “ve been meaning to”, but because we learned to.

In their journal Not by Genes Alone, the anthropologists Robert Boyd and Peter Richerson use the sample of a bitter flower that turns out to have medicinal value. Our sensory structure would understand the fierce as potentially harmful and thus inedible. Instinctively, “theres no reason” we should want to eat it. But someone eats it regardless and experiences some curiously beneficial make. Someone else assures this and imparts it a try. We take our medicine in spite of its bitter experience, they write , not because our sensory psychology has progressed to make it less bitter, but because the idea that it has therapeutical quality has spread through the population.

People imitate, and cultural activities becomes adaptive, they insist, because learning from others is more efficient than trying everything out on your own through costly and time-consuming trial and error. The same is as true for people now speaking Netflix or TripAdvisor evaluates as it was for primitive foragers trying to figure out which nutrients were poison or where to find irrigate. When there are too many alternatives, or the answer does not seem obvious, it seems better to go with the flow; after all, you are able to miss out on something good.

But if social reading is so easy and effective, it creates the question of why anyone does anything different to begin with. Or indeed why someone might vacate innovative activities. It is an issue asked of evolution itself: why is there so much substance for natural selection to sieve through? The master or innovator who was attacked in his daytime seems like some kind of genetic altruist, sacrificing his own immediate fitness for some future payoff at high levels of the group.

Boyd and Richerson hint there is an optimal balance between social and individual learning in any group. Too many social learners, and the ability to innovate is lost: people know how to catch that one fish since they are learned it, but what happens when that fish dies out? Too few social learners, and beings might be so busy trying to learn situations on their own that national societies does not thrive; while people were busily fabricating their own better bow and arrow, person forgot to actually get food.

Perhaps some ingrained sense of the evolutionary utility of this differentiation is one reason why humans are so snapped between wanting to belong to a group and wanting to be distinct mortals. Parties want to feel that their feelings are not unique, hitherto they experience anxiety when told they are exactly like another person. Think of the giddy anxiety you feel when a co-worker is demonstrated by wearing a similar clothe. We try some happy medium, like the Miss America player in Woody Allens Bananas who responds to a reporters interrogate, Differences of mind should be tolerated, but not when theyre extremely different.

If all we did was conform, there would be no delicacy; nor would there be penchant if no one conformed. We try to select the right-sized group or, that the working group is too large, we elect a subgroup. Be not just a Democrat but a centrist Democrat. Do not just like the Beatles; be a fan of Johns.

Illustration by Aart-Jan Venema

When discriminating yourself from the mainstream is becoming too wearying, you can always ape some version of the mainstream. This was the premise behind the normcore anti-fashion tendency, in which formerly forcefully fashionable beings were said to be downshifting, out of sheer tirednes, into humdrum New Balance sneakers and unremarkable denim. Normcore was more conceptual skill activity than business case study, but one whose premise the most different stuff to do is to reject being different altogether, moved the manifesto seemed so probable it was practically wish fulfilled into existence by a media that feasts upon novelty. As new as normcore seemed, Georg Simmel spoke about it a century ago: If obedience to fashion consists in impersonation of an example, conscious inattention of pattern represents same mimicry, but under an inverse sign.

And so back to Spyke. When he felt his drive for peculiarity( which he shared with others who were like him) threatened by someone to areas outside the group, he moved on. But all the things he experienced were threatened the chin beard, the shell arts and that he was willing to walk away from, were no longer practical. We signal our identity simply in certain regions: Spyke is not likely to change his label of toilet paper or toothbrush merely because he hears it is shared by his nemesis. When everyone listened to records on vinyl, the latter are a commodity material that allowed one be interested to hear music; it was not until they were nearly driven to extinction as a technology that they became a mode to signal ones identity and as I write, there are stimulates of a cassette revival.

In a revealing experimentation carried out within Stanford University, Berger and Heath sold Lance Armstrong Foundation Livestrong wristbands( at a time when they were becoming increasingly popular) in a target dormitory. The next week, they sold them in a dorm knows we being somewhat geeky. A week afterwards, the number of target dorm circle wearers dropped by 32%. It was not that people from the specific objectives dorm detested the geeks or so they said it was that they thought they were not like them. And so the yellow segment of rubber, tattered for a good stimulate, became a means of signalling identity, or savour. The only path the target group could avoid being symbolically linked with the geeks was to abandon the feeling and move on to something else. As much a sought for novelty, brand-new experiences can be a conscious rejection of what has come before and a distancing from those now enjoying that penchant. I liked that stripe before they got big-hearted, becomes the common refrain.

What our flavours say about us is primarily that we want to be like other people whom we like and who have those appreciations up to a extent and unlike others who have other savors. This is where the idea of simply socially reading what everyone else is do, get complicated. Sometimes we read what others are doing and then stop doing that act ourselves.

Then there is the question of whether we are conscious of picking up a practice from someone else. When someone knows he is being influenced by another and that other person to know each other very, the hell is exhortation; when someone is unaware he is being influenced, and the influencer is unaware of his influence, that is contagion. In delicacy, we are rarely presumed to be picking up happenings haphazardly. Through prestige bias, for example, we learn from people who are regarded socially substantial. The classic rationale in sociology was always trickle-down: upper-class people hugged some preference, beings lower down followed, then upper-class people scorned the taste and cuddled some brand-new taste.

Tastes can change when people aspire to be different from other parties; they can change when we are trying to be like other people. Groups transmit experiences to other groups, but savor themselves can help create groups. Small, apparently insignificant differences what kind of coffee one boozes become real spots of culture bicker. Witness the varieties of mark now available in things that were once preferably homogeneous merchandises, like coffee and blue jeans; who had even heard of single ancestry or selvage a few decades ago?

There is an virtually incongruous cycles/second: private individuals, such as Spyke in Portland, wants to be different. But in wanting to express that difference, he seeks out other persons who share those changes. He conforms to the group, but the conformings of these working groups, in being alike, increase their gumption of change from other groups, just as the Livestrong bracelet wearers took them off when they accompanied other groups wearing them. The be adopted by delicacies is driven in part by this social jockeying. But this is no longer the whole picture.

In a famed 2006 venture , an organization of people were given the chance to download anthems for free from an internet site after they had listened to and ranked the hymns. When the participants could see what previous downloaders had chosen, they were more likely to follow that behaviour so popular songs became more popular, less popular songs became less so.

When parties established selects on their own, the choices were more predictable; beings were more likely to simply pick the sungs they said were best. Knowing what other listeners did was not enough to completely reorder publics musical penchant. As the scientist Duncan Watts and his co-author Matthew Salganik wrote: The best carols never do very badly, and the most difficult anthems never do extremely well. But when others alternatives are evident, there was greater risk for the less good to do better, and vice versa. The pop chart, like delicacy itself, does not operate in a vacuum.

The route to the top of the charts has in theory get more democratic, less top-down, more unpredictable: it took a viral video to assistants induce Pharrells Happy a pop a year after its liberate. But the hierarchy of popularity at the top, formerly launched, is steeper than ever. In 2013, it was estimated that the top 1% of music acts took residence 77% of all music income.

While record firms still try to engineer notoriety, Chris Molanphy, a music critic and obsessive analyst of the pa maps, disagrees it is the general public fouling one another who now decide if something is a reach. The viral wizard Gangnam Style, he notes, was virtually coerced on to radio. Nobody operated that into being; that was clearly the general public being charmed by this goofy video and telling one another, Youve got to watch this video.

Todays ever-sharper, real-time data about people actual listening action strongly fortifies the feedback loop-the-loop. We always knew that people liked the familiar, Molanphy responds. Now we know exactly when they flip the depot and, wow, if they dont already know a lyric, they truly throw the station. For the industry, there is an almost hopeless is making an effort to alter, as fast as possible, the brand-new into the familiar.

Simply to live in a large city is to dwell among a maelstrom of options: there are seemed like it was gonna be by numerous guilds of importance more choices of things to buy in New York than there are preserved species on countries around the world. R Alexander Bentley is an anthropologist at the University of Durham in the UK. As he applied it to me: By my recent count there were 3,500 different laptops on the market. How does anyone make a utility-maximising alternative among all those? The costs of reading which one is truly better is nearly beyond the individual; there may, in fact, actually be little that scatters them in terms of quality, so any one acquire over another might simply manifest random copying.

For the Spanish philosopher Jos Ortega y Gasset, columnist of the 1930 pamphlet The Revolt of the Masses, journalistic shipments from adventurers seems to thrust one into a vertiginous global gyre. What would he stimulate of the current situation, where a spurt of tweets comes even before the interrupting report proclamations, which then turn into wall-to-wall coverage, followed by a recall piece in the next days newspaper? He would have to factor in social media, one has a peripheral, real-time awareness of any number of people whereabouts, achievements, status updates, via any number of platforms.

Ortega announced this the increase of life. If media( large broadcasters creating audiences) helped define an era of mass society, social media( audiences establishing ever more gatherings) help define our age of mass individualism. The internet is exponential social discover: you have ever more ways to learn what other parties are doing; how many of the more than 13,000 reviews of the Bellagio hotel in Las Vegas do you need to read on TripAdvisor before making a decision? There are ever more ways to learn that what you are doing is not good enough or was already done last week by someone else, that what you like or even who you like is also liked by some random being you have never met. This is social learning by proxy.

People have always wanted to be around other people and to learn from them. Metropolis have long been dynamos of social alternative, foundries of art, music, and manner. Slang has always beginning in metropolitans an upshot of all those different, densely jam-packed people so often exposed to one another. Cities drive taste change because they furnish the greatest showing to other parties, who not amazingly are often the innovative parties metropolitans seem to attract.

With the internet, we have a kind of metropolitan of the sentiment, a medium that people do not just exhaust but inhabit, even if it often seem to be repeat and increase prevailing municipalities( New Yorkers, already physically exposed to so many other parties, use Twitter “the worlds largest” ). As Bentley has argued, Living and working online, people have perhaps never imitation each other so profusely( because it typically costs good-for-nothing ), so accurately, and so indiscriminately.

But how do we know what to copy and from whom? The age-old ways of knowing what we should like everything from radio station programmers to restaurant steers to volume critics to label themselves have been substituted by a mass of individuals, connected but apart, federated but disparate.

Whom to follow? What to prefer? Whom can you trust? In an infinite realm of selection, our options often seem to cluster towards those we can see others representing( but away from those we feel too many are preferring ). When there is too much social affect, people start to think more like one another. They take less information into account to make their decisions, yet are more confident that what they are thinking is the truth because more beings seem to think that way.

Social imitation has gone easier, faster, and most volatile; all those micro-motives of trying to be like others and hitherto different can intensify into explosive erupts of macro-behaviour. The big-hearted ripples have got bigger, and we know that they will come, but it is harder to tell from where, in the vast and random ocean face, they will swell.

This is an edited extract from You May Too Like, published on 30 June by Simon& Schuster( 12.99 ). To ordering a transcript for 10.39, going to see bookshop.theguardian.com or announce 0330 333 6846. Free UK p& p over 15, online guilds only.

Follow the Long Read on Twitter at @gdnlongread, or sign up to the long read weekly email here.

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The secret of savor: why we like which is something we like | Tom Vanderbilt

The Long Read: How does a anthem we detest at first discovering become a favourite? And when we try to look different, how come we end up looks a lot like everybody else?

If you had asked me, when I was 10, to forecast my life as an adult, I would probably have sketched out something like this: I would be driving a Trans Am, a Corvette, or some other muscle vehicle. My residence would boast a mammoth collecting of pinball machines. I would sip sophisticated alcohols( like Baileys Irish Cream ), read Robert Ludlum romances, and blast Van Halen while sitting in an easy chair wearing sunglasses. Now that I am at a point to actually be able to realise every one of these feverishly foreseen flavors, they view zero interest( well, perhaps the pinball machines in a weak minute ).

It was not just that my 10 -year-old self could not predict whom I would become but that I was incapable of suspecting that my flavors could experience such wholesale change. How could I know what I would want if I did not know who I would be?

One problem is that we do not apprehend the effect of experiencing situations. We may instinctively realise the authorities concerned will tire of our favourite meat if we gobble too much of it, but we might underestimate how much more we are to be able like something if only we consume it more often. Another issue is psychological salience, or the things we pay attention to. In the moment we buy a consumer good that offers cashback, the offer is claiming our courtesy; it is likely to be have influenced the buy. By the time we get home, the salience fades; the cashback croaks unclaimed. When I was 10, what mattered in a car to me was that it be cool and fast. What did not matter to me were monthly pays, side-impact crash shield, being able to fit a stroller in the back, and wanting to avoid the impression of is available on a midlife crisis.

Even when we look back and be seen to what extent much our flavors have changed, the idea that we will change evenly in the future seem to be mystify us. It is what remains tattoo removal practitioners in business. The psychologist Timothy Wilson and colleagues have identified the illusion that for numerous, the current is a watershed instant at which they have finally become the person or persons they will be for the rest of their lives.

In one venture, they found that people were willing to pay more money to check their favourite strap play-act 10 times from now than they were willing to pay to see their favourite banding from 10 years ago play now. It is reminiscent of the moment, looking through an old-time photo album, when you visualize an earlier picture of yourself and declare, Oh my God, that “hairs-breadth”! Or Those corduroys! Just as photographs of ourselves can appear jarring since we are do not ordinarily read ourselves as others encounter us, our previous appreciations, viewed to areas outside, from the perspective of what looks good now, come as a surprise. Your hairstyle per se was possibly not good or bad, simply a reflection of contemporary penchant. We say, with condescension, I cant believe parties actually dressed like that, without realising we ourselves are currently wearing what will be considered bad flavor in the future.

One of the reasons we cannot predict our future preferences is one of the things that stirs those very preferences change: novelty. In the social sciences of experience and likings , novelty is a rather elusive phenomenon. On the one side, we crave originality, which defines a arena such as manner( a battlefield of ugliness so perfectly unbearable, quipped Oscar Wilde, that we have to alter it every a period of six months ). As Ronald Frasch, the dapper president of Saks Fifth Avenue, once told me, on the status of women designer storey of the flagship store: The first thing “the consumers ” asks when they come into the accumulation is, Whats brand-new? They dont want to know what was; they want to know what is. How strong is this impulse? We will sell 60% of what were going to sell the firstly four weeks the very best are on the floor.

But we too adore intimacy. There are many who believe we like what we are used to. And yet if this were exclusively true , good-for-nothing “wouldve been” change. There would be no new prowes forms , no new musical genres , no new makes. The economist Joseph Schumpeter was contended that capitalisms character was in educating people to want( and buy) new situations. Makes drive economic change, he wrote, and buyers are taught to want brand-new happenings, or circumstances which differ in some respect or other from those which they have been in the habit of using.

A lot of days, people dont know what they crave until you demo it to them, as Steve Jobs gave it. And even then, they still might not miss it. Apples ill-fated Newton PDA device, as charming as it now examines in this era of smartphone as human prosthesis, was arguably more new at the time of its release, foreseeing the requirements and actions that were not yet amply realised. As Wired described it, it was a entirely new category of invention passing an entirely new building housed in a pattern part that represented a completely new and daring design language.

So , novelty or acquaintance? As is often the instance, the answer lies somewhere in between, on the midway spot of some optimal U-shaped curve storying the new and the known. The noted industrial designer Raymond Loewy sensed this optimum in what he worded the MAYA stage, for most advanced, yet acceptable. This was the moment in a product design repetition when, Loewy quarrelled, defiance to the unfamiliar contacts the threshold of a shock-zone and fighting to buying changes in. We like the new as long as it reminds us in some way of the old.

Anticipating how much our flavors will change is hard-boiled because we cannot find past our intrinsic resist to the unfamiliar. Or how much we will change when we do and how each change will open the door to another change. We forget just how fleeting even the most jarring novelty is also possible. When you had your firstly swallow of beer( or whisky ), you probably did not slap your knee and exclaim, Where has this been all my life? It was, Beings like this?

We come to like beer, but it is arguably incorrect to bawl brew an acquired feeling, as the philosopher Daniel Dennett indicates, because it is not that first taste that people are coming to like. If beer gone on savor to me the room the first sip tasted, he writes, I would never have gone on drinking brew. Place of the problem is that booze is a scandalize to the system: it savours like nothing that has come before, or at least good-for-nothing delightful. New music or prowes can have the same effects. In a New Yorker profile, the music farmer Rick Rubin recounted that when he firstly sounded Pretty Hate Machine, the album by Nine Inch Nails, he did not care for it. But it soon became his favourite. Faced with something discordantly novel, we dont ever have the reference points to absorb and digest it, Rubin alleged. Its a bit like memorizing a new expression. The album, like the brew, was not an acquired savour, because he was not hearing the same album.

Looking back, we can find it hard to believe we did not like something we are today do. Current popularity gets projected backwards: we forget that a now ubiquitous hymn such as the Romantics What I Like About You was never a make or that recently in vogue antique babe identifies such as Isabella or Chloe, which seem to speak to some once-flourishing habit, were never popular.

It now seems impossible to imagine, a few decades ago, the gossip provoked by the now widely cherished Sydney Opera House. The Danish inventor, Jrn Utzon, was essentially driven from the country, his mention extended unuttered at the ceremony, the sense of national gossip was palpable towards this harbourside monstrosity. Not exclusively did the building not fit the traditional anatomy of an opera house; it did not fit the conventional word of private buildings. It was as foreign as its architect.

The truth is, most people perhaps did not know what to shape of it, and our default setting, faced with an insecure unknown, is detesting. Frank Gehry, talking about his iconic, widely admired Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, admitted that it took a couple of years for me to start to like it, actually. The inventor Mark Wigley suggests that maybe we only ever learn something when some structure we think of as foreign causes us and we withstand. But sometimes, many times, in the middle of the fighting, we end up loving this thing that has elicited us.

Fluency begets liking. When shown personas of buildings, designers have rated them as least complex than laypersons did; in other words, they read them more fluently, and the buildings seem less foreign. The role of the inventor, shows Wigley, is not to give the client exactly what he was asking for in other words, to cater to current taste but to change the notion of what one can ask for, or to project future delicacies no one knew they had. No one supposed an opera house could look like the Sydney Opera House until Utzon, taking his idea from a peeled orange, said it could. The nature changed around the building, in response to it, which is why, in the strange messages of one architecture commentator, Utzons breathtaking build appears better today than ever.

A few decades from now, person will inevitably look with dread upon a new house and answer, The Sydney Opera House , now theres a build. Why cant we construct acts like that any more?

This argument for example, Why isnt music as good as it used to be? manifests an historic collection bias, one colourfully described by the designer Frank Chimero. Make me let you in on a little secret, he writes. If you are hearing about something age-old, it is almost certainly good. Why? Because nobody wants to talk about shitty old-time stuff, but lots of parties still talking here shitty brand-new material, because they are still trying to figure out if it is shitty or not. The past wasnt better, we just forgot about all the shitty shit.

The only guarantee we have of savour is the fact that it will change.

In a 2011 sketch on the substantiate Portlandia , the obsessive sardonic catalogue of the hipster mores of the Oregon city, an exaggeratedly posturing persona known as Spyke with chin whisker, lobe-stretching saucer earrings, and a fixed-gear bike is evidence treading past a prohibit. He pictures some people inside, equally adorned with the trappings of a certain kind of cool, and establishes an supporting nod. A few days later, he agent a clean-shaven guy wearing khakis and a dress shirt at the bar. Aw, cmon! he hollers. Guy like that is hanging out here? That barroom is so over ! It exclusively gets worse: he ensure his straight-man nemesis astride a fixed-gear bicycle, partaking in shell artistry, and wearing a kuki-chins beard all of which, he churlishly warns, is over. A year later, we check Spyke, freshly shorn of whisker, wearing business casual, and having a banal gossip, roosted in the very same barroom that produced off the whole cycles/second. The nemesis? He procrastinates outside, scornfully swearing the bar to be over.

The sketch wonderfully encapsulates the notion of savour as a kind of ceaseless action machine. This machine is driven in part by the oscillations of originality and knowledge, of hunger and satiation, that strange internal calculus that effects us to tire of food, music, the colouring orange. But it also represents driven in part by the subtle the two movements of parties trying to be like one another and beings trying to be different from each other. There is a second-guessing various kinds of skirmish here , not unknown to strategists of cold warera game theory( in which players are rarely behaving on perfect information ). Or, indeed, to readers familiar with Dr Seusss Sneetches, the mythical star-adorned mortals who abruptly trench their decorations when they detect their challenger plain-bellied counterparts have idols upon thars.

That taste might move in the kind of never-ending repetition that Portlandia hypothesised is not so far-fetched. A French mathematician named Jonathan Touboul identified a phenomenon of searching alike trying to look different, or what he called the hipster influence. Unlike cooperative systems, in which everyone might concur in a coordinated fashion on what decisions to build, the hipster result follows, he hints, where individuals try to make decisions in opposition to the majority.

Because no one knows exactly what other people are going to do next, and information is also possible noisy or retarded, there can also be the times of brief synchronisation, in which non-conformists are inadvertently aligned with the majority. Spyke, in reality, might have had to see several people doing shell art maybe it even suddenly appeared at a store in the mall before soon jam-pack it in. And because there are varying degrees of hipness, person or persons may choose to wade into current trends later than another, that person is followed by another, and so on, until, like an astronomical adventurer chasing a dead whiz, there is nothing actually there any more. The quest for distinctiveness are also welcome to generate conformity.

The Portlandia sketch actually goes well beyond appreciation and illuminates two central, if seemingly contradictory, strands of human behaviour. The first is that we want to be like other parties. The social being, in the degree that he is social, is virtually imitative, wrote the French sociologist Gabriel Tarde, in his 1890 notebook The Laws of Imitation. Imitating others, what is known as social learn, is an evolutionary adaptive strategy; that is, it helps you exist, even prosper. While it is considered to be in other species, there are no better social learners than humen , none that take that knowledge and continue to build upon it, through consecutive generations.

The sum of this social learning culture is what draws humans so unique, and so uniquely successful. As the anthropologist Joseph Henrich documents, humans have foraged in the Arctic, reaped cultivates in the tropics, and lived pastorally in deserts. This is not because we were “ve been meaning to”, but because we learned to.

In their journal Not by Genes Alone, the anthropologists Robert Boyd and Peter Richerson use the sample of a bitter flower that turns out to have medicinal value. Our sensory structure would understand the fierce as potentially harmful and thus inedible. Instinctively, “theres no reason” we should want to eat it. But someone eats it regardless and experiences some curiously beneficial make. Someone else assures this and imparts it a try. We take our medicine in spite of its bitter experience, they write , not because our sensory psychology has progressed to make it less bitter, but because the idea that it has therapeutical quality has spread through the population.

People imitate, and cultural activities becomes adaptive, they insist, because learning from others is more efficient than trying everything out on your own through costly and time-consuming trial and error. The same is as true for people now speaking Netflix or TripAdvisor evaluates as it was for primitive foragers trying to figure out which nutrients were poison or where to find irrigate. When there are too many alternatives, or the answer does not seem obvious, it seems better to go with the flow; after all, you are able to miss out on something good.

But if social reading is so easy and effective, it creates the question of why anyone does anything different to begin with. Or indeed why someone might vacate innovative activities. It is an issue asked of evolution itself: why is there so much substance for natural selection to sieve through? The master or innovator who was attacked in his daytime seems like some kind of genetic altruist, sacrificing his own immediate fitness for some future payoff at high levels of the group.

Boyd and Richerson hint there is an optimal balance between social and individual learning in any group. Too many social learners, and the ability to innovate is lost: people know how to catch that one fish since they are learned it, but what happens when that fish dies out? Too few social learners, and beings might be so busy trying to learn situations on their own that national societies does not thrive; while people were busily fabricating their own better bow and arrow, person forgot to actually get food.

Perhaps some ingrained sense of the evolutionary utility of this differentiation is one reason why humans are so snapped between wanting to belong to a group and wanting to be distinct mortals. Parties want to feel that their feelings are not unique, hitherto they experience anxiety when told they are exactly like another person. Think of the giddy anxiety you feel when a co-worker is demonstrated by wearing a similar clothe. We try some happy medium, like the Miss America player in Woody Allens Bananas who responds to a reporters interrogate, Differences of mind should be tolerated, but not when theyre extremely different.

If all we did was conform, there would be no delicacy; nor would there be penchant if no one conformed. We try to select the right-sized group or, that the working group is too large, we elect a subgroup. Be not just a Democrat but a centrist Democrat. Do not just like the Beatles; be a fan of Johns.

Illustration by Aart-Jan Venema

When discriminating yourself from the mainstream is becoming too wearying, you can always ape some version of the mainstream. This was the premise behind the normcore anti-fashion tendency, in which formerly forcefully fashionable beings were said to be downshifting, out of sheer tirednes, into humdrum New Balance sneakers and unremarkable denim. Normcore was more conceptual skill activity than business case study, but one whose premise the most different stuff to do is to reject being different altogether, moved the manifesto seemed so probable it was practically wish fulfilled into existence by a media that feasts upon novelty. As new as normcore seemed, Georg Simmel spoke about it a century ago: If obedience to fashion consists in impersonation of an example, conscious inattention of pattern represents same mimicry, but under an inverse sign.

And so back to Spyke. When he felt his drive for peculiarity( which he shared with others who were like him) threatened by someone to areas outside the group, he moved on. But all the things he experienced were threatened the chin beard, the shell arts and that he was willing to walk away from, were no longer practical. We signal our identity simply in certain regions: Spyke is not likely to change his label of toilet paper or toothbrush merely because he hears it is shared by his nemesis. When everyone listened to records on vinyl, the latter are a commodity material that allowed one be interested to hear music; it was not until they were nearly driven to extinction as a technology that they became a mode to signal ones identity and as I write, there are stimulates of a cassette revival.

In a revealing experimentation carried out within Stanford University, Berger and Heath sold Lance Armstrong Foundation Livestrong wristbands( at a time when they were becoming increasingly popular) in a target dormitory. The next week, they sold them in a dorm knows we being somewhat geeky. A week afterwards, the number of target dorm circle wearers dropped by 32%. It was not that people from the specific objectives dorm detested the geeks or so they said it was that they thought they were not like them. And so the yellow segment of rubber, tattered for a good stimulate, became a means of signalling identity, or savour. The only path the target group could avoid being symbolically linked with the geeks was to abandon the feeling and move on to something else. As much a sought for novelty, brand-new experiences can be a conscious rejection of what has come before and a distancing from those now enjoying that penchant. I liked that stripe before they got big-hearted, becomes the common refrain.

What our flavours say about us is primarily that we want to be like other people whom we like and who have those appreciations up to a extent and unlike others who have other savors. This is where the idea of simply socially reading what everyone else is do, get complicated. Sometimes we read what others are doing and then stop doing that act ourselves.

Then there is the question of whether we are conscious of picking up a practice from someone else. When someone knows he is being influenced by another and that other person to know each other very, the hell is exhortation; when someone is unaware he is being influenced, and the influencer is unaware of his influence, that is contagion. In delicacy, we are rarely presumed to be picking up happenings haphazardly. Through prestige bias, for example, we learn from people who are regarded socially substantial. The classic rationale in sociology was always trickle-down: upper-class people hugged some preference, beings lower down followed, then upper-class people scorned the taste and cuddled some brand-new taste.

Tastes can change when people aspire to be different from other parties; they can change when we are trying to be like other people. Groups transmit experiences to other groups, but savor themselves can help create groups. Small, apparently insignificant differences what kind of coffee one boozes become real spots of culture bicker. Witness the varieties of mark now available in things that were once preferably homogeneous merchandises, like coffee and blue jeans; who had even heard of single ancestry or selvage a few decades ago?

There is an virtually incongruous cycles/second: private individuals, such as Spyke in Portland, wants to be different. But in wanting to express that difference, he seeks out other persons who share those changes. He conforms to the group, but the conformings of these working groups, in being alike, increase their gumption of change from other groups, just as the Livestrong bracelet wearers took them off when they accompanied other groups wearing them. The be adopted by delicacies is driven in part by this social jockeying. But this is no longer the whole picture.

In a famed 2006 venture , an organization of people were given the chance to download anthems for free from an internet site after they had listened to and ranked the hymns. When the participants could see what previous downloaders had chosen, they were more likely to follow that behaviour so popular songs became more popular, less popular songs became less so.

When parties established selects on their own, the choices were more predictable; beings were more likely to simply pick the sungs they said were best. Knowing what other listeners did was not enough to completely reorder publics musical penchant. As the scientist Duncan Watts and his co-author Matthew Salganik wrote: The best carols never do very badly, and the most difficult anthems never do extremely well. But when others alternatives are evident, there was greater risk for the less good to do better, and vice versa. The pop chart, like delicacy itself, does not operate in a vacuum.

The route to the top of the charts has in theory get more democratic, less top-down, more unpredictable: it took a viral video to assistants induce Pharrells Happy a pop a year after its liberate. But the hierarchy of popularity at the top, formerly launched, is steeper than ever. In 2013, it was estimated that the top 1% of music acts took residence 77% of all music income.

While record firms still try to engineer notoriety, Chris Molanphy, a music critic and obsessive analyst of the pa maps, disagrees it is the general public fouling one another who now decide if something is a reach. The viral wizard Gangnam Style, he notes, was virtually coerced on to radio. Nobody operated that into being; that was clearly the general public being charmed by this goofy video and telling one another, Youve got to watch this video.

Todays ever-sharper, real-time data about people actual listening action strongly fortifies the feedback loop-the-loop. We always knew that people liked the familiar, Molanphy responds. Now we know exactly when they flip the depot and, wow, if they dont already know a lyric, they truly throw the station. For the industry, there is an almost hopeless is making an effort to alter, as fast as possible, the brand-new into the familiar.

Simply to live in a large city is to dwell among a maelstrom of options: there are seemed like it was gonna be by numerous guilds of importance more choices of things to buy in New York than there are preserved species on countries around the world. R Alexander Bentley is an anthropologist at the University of Durham in the UK. As he applied it to me: By my recent count there were 3,500 different laptops on the market. How does anyone make a utility-maximising alternative among all those? The costs of reading which one is truly better is nearly beyond the individual; there may, in fact, actually be little that scatters them in terms of quality, so any one acquire over another might simply manifest random copying.

For the Spanish philosopher Jos Ortega y Gasset, columnist of the 1930 pamphlet The Revolt of the Masses, journalistic shipments from adventurers seems to thrust one into a vertiginous global gyre. What would he stimulate of the current situation, where a spurt of tweets comes even before the interrupting report proclamations, which then turn into wall-to-wall coverage, followed by a recall piece in the next days newspaper? He would have to factor in social media, one has a peripheral, real-time awareness of any number of people whereabouts, achievements, status updates, via any number of platforms.

Ortega announced this the increase of life. If media( large broadcasters creating audiences) helped define an era of mass society, social media( audiences establishing ever more gatherings) help define our age of mass individualism. The internet is exponential social discover: you have ever more ways to learn what other parties are doing; how many of the more than 13,000 reviews of the Bellagio hotel in Las Vegas do you need to read on TripAdvisor before making a decision? There are ever more ways to learn that what you are doing is not good enough or was already done last week by someone else, that what you like or even who you like is also liked by some random being you have never met. This is social learning by proxy.

People have always wanted to be around other people and to learn from them. Metropolis have long been dynamos of social alternative, foundries of art, music, and manner. Slang has always beginning in metropolitans an upshot of all those different, densely jam-packed people so often exposed to one another. Cities drive taste change because they furnish the greatest showing to other parties, who not amazingly are often the innovative parties metropolitans seem to attract.

With the internet, we have a kind of metropolitan of the sentiment, a medium that people do not just exhaust but inhabit, even if it often seem to be repeat and increase prevailing municipalities( New Yorkers, already physically exposed to so many other parties, use Twitter “the worlds largest” ). As Bentley has argued, Living and working online, people have perhaps never imitation each other so profusely( because it typically costs good-for-nothing ), so accurately, and so indiscriminately.

But how do we know what to copy and from whom? The age-old ways of knowing what we should like everything from radio station programmers to restaurant steers to volume critics to label themselves have been substituted by a mass of individuals, connected but apart, federated but disparate.

Whom to follow? What to prefer? Whom can you trust? In an infinite realm of selection, our options often seem to cluster towards those we can see others representing( but away from those we feel too many are preferring ). When there is too much social affect, people start to think more like one another. They take less information into account to make their decisions, yet are more confident that what they are thinking is the truth because more beings seem to think that way.

Social imitation has gone easier, faster, and most volatile; all those micro-motives of trying to be like others and hitherto different can intensify into explosive erupts of macro-behaviour. The big-hearted ripples have got bigger, and we know that they will come, but it is harder to tell from where, in the vast and random ocean face, they will swell.

This is an edited extract from You May Too Like, published on 30 June by Simon& Schuster( 12.99 ). To ordering a transcript for 10.39, going to see bookshop.theguardian.com or announce 0330 333 6846. Free UK p& p over 15, online guilds only.

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