Walkers Crisps expose the elusive nature of reality

UK readers have probably seen this advert; International readers may need reminding that our crisps are your potato chips. Regardless of where you are in the world, consider what Walkers Crisps are demonstrating with their latest advertising campaign. They have created three new flavours, none of which is instantly recognisable as the food upon which it is ostensibly based. They then exult in this flavour opacity by selling them “blind”, and asking eaters to guess what the flavours are, in return for a cash prize.

The success of this campaign depends on any one – or a combination of – the following axioms being true:

• Walkers are unable to accurately recreate complex food flavours in crisp format
• Crisp flavours are so divorced from real food flavours that devoid of an active packaging lable nudge, they cannot be recognised as such
• People are hopeless at actively identifying any flavour, relying heavily on explicit prompts in any setting
• Actual flavour doesn’t matter; only the idea of the flavour matters
• (we can take it as read that a somewhat bemused elderly lady speaking slowly to camera is also a necessary but not sufficient factor to crisp marketing success…)

My suspicion is that all the above are true to some extent, but it’s the point about the Idea mattering more than the Actual, that is the most interesting.

Seekers of truth have long debated whether there is a reality separate from human perception. Walkers’ contest demonstrates the impossibility of answering this question. Each entrant submits an answer based on their own perceptions. Walkers determines who is correct by reference to their food scientists’ design brief. But if a majority of people do not identify the flavour as the one Walkers meant their crisps to taste of, is it the taster or Walkers that is wrong?

The extreme Idealist position would be that neither camp is wrong, but rather that there isn’t such a thing as an objectively identifiable food flavour, only a consensus agreement between a large enough mass of people. This circular logic, of course, is what accounts for the longstanding joke that any previously unencountered food “tastes like chicken” (chicken having a sufficiently broad flavour so as to cover a multitude of new tastes). This dependence on perception & cozy consensus also underpins the problem outlined recently at the Oxford Wine Blog, discussing how to fairly rate wines.

What is true in the realm of food & drink applies equally in all fields of knowledge. For instance, there is much debate about the new psychiatric diagnoses being created by the upcoming DSM-V, with the concern (shared by myself) that it will encourage an over-medicalisation of the normal human condition. DSM-V loosens the diagnostic criteria for many existing disorders, and creates fresh ones too. This is a clear boon to the pharmaceutical industry (who will be able to sell into a whole new set of niches), to some blinkered professionals (who believe in their ability to heal everyone, if only they had more power to do so), and to those individuals seeking (consciously or unconsciously) to divest themself of responsibility for their situation and to adopt a sick role where they require treatment instead. Deciding where illness ends and normality begins has always been difficult, and in large part depends on consensus, something recently discussed at the start of a friend’s TEDx talk. The future seems murkier still.

There is a path forward. As individuals, we can try to acknowledge the gossamer-thin nature of reality. The lack of an objectively identifiable truth does not negate the emotional meaning of a subjective one. But crucially, neither does it elevate the subjective into the position of unquestionable fact simply because objectivity is difficult to ensure. Meaning is possible alongside such tolerance, even when Truth is not achievable. And with meaning, comes the potential for happiness.

In other words, Walkers crisps may not have a flavour all can agree upon, but we can still decide whether we like them or not.

Book Review: Hide & Seek – The Psychology of Self-Deception

Neel Burton does well to begin his latest book, Hide & Seek, with a chapter on Denial.

Readers who have not thought about the subject matter before will experience a strong sense of disbelief and irritation at the extent to which he suggests that they are living their lives in a confused and muddled state. Appropriately, Burton roots the discussion of denial in techniques to rise above it, and focuses on motivational interviewing.

Motivational Interviewing is not entirely dissimilar to the age-old method of Socratic Questioning; it enables the questioner to frame a discussion in way that encourages the development of insight and active thought in the other party. It requires the questioner to retain an overarching perspective on the subject in order to constructively, if discreetly, guide the flow of the discussion.

In a very real sense, the totality of Hide & Seek can be conceived as an exercise in the Socratic Questioning of its readers. Ostensibly, it is a whistle-stop tour of the various ego defence mechanisms with which human beings protect themselves from pain. In this, it is an effective summary, especially to readers who lack prior knowledge of psychological or psychotherapeutic principles. One can see it being used as a handy reference guide by students or junior trainees in those subjects due to its relative readability compared to the standard heftier texts. But its greater value is in helping a reader to question how they are living their own life instead.

I am a firm believer in the importance of personal insight. It inculcates a sense of personal responsibility and encourages the development of a clear inner spiritual self, which in turn acts as a foundation for confidence and tolerance. If nothing else, insight lends perspective and amusement, which can only help to increase net happiness. I think I know Neel well enough to say that his own personal perspective on life peeks out of every hidden nook and cranny of Hide & Seek.

The Last Generation

Countdown to Singularity, Image via Wikipedia

Are we the last generation of humanity?

One of the unique aspects of human consciousness is a desire to understand the nature of our reality. This has manifested itself across all domains of life: spiritual, scientific, psychological, and philosophical. As a species, we are blessed with a deep dissatisfaction with whatever our current circumstances may be, leading to a drive to improve our quality of life. This has lead to the rise and fall of civilisations and religions across the ages. Distinct from this waxing and waning of interpersonal systems has been a much more steady rise in our technological sophistication. Of course there have been hiatus, often caused by an influx of newcomers into a rigid society e.g. the arrival of the Sea Peoples leading to Bronze Age collapse, or the fall of the Roman Empire due to political infighting during a period of external pressure from the Goths. Similar patterns can be detected in civilisations across the globe. But while the collapse of societal structures have delayed technological progress, they have never been able to fully press the reset button, and so sophistication accumulates.

It has been suggested that such progress is logarithmic, leading inevitably to the development of a technological singularity at which time mankind would be able to design an artificial intelligence greater than its own. Beyond this point, such superintelligences become able to improve themselves faster than man can understand, leading to an unpredictable and rapidly-evolving future. The idea is old, stretching back to the 19th century, but has received much greater attention and publicity over the past quarter-century. Theories abound as to whether singularity is possible, and whether the implications will be transformative or apocalyptic for humanity.

What is certain is that recent technological progress has done nothing to suggest that the theory is fundamentally flawed. Almost every day brings stories of startling new discoveries. For instance, it is now possible to read what another person is thinking, at least in a very rudimentary fashion. Is it really so far-fetched to assume that at some point, the technology to do so will be refined, miniaturised and made portable?

Consider your mobile phone, and how it would have seemed the height of science fiction even 30 years ago to suggest everyone would be routinely carrying around such incredibly powerful and versatile devices. It does not seem unlikely to me that such technology would continue to advance and become so integrated into our lives that it becomes integrated into our bodies, with displays directly interfacing with our retinas. Science fiction? Only just. There are already more than a dozen electronic prosthetic retinas in various stages of development and clinical trials, with an aim of restoring sight to the blind. While still primitive, money and time have a way of solving most difficulties, and both have been made available to these devices. The next obvious step would be using such technology to augment vision, instead of merely to restore it.

Even if we do not go down the road of cybernetic implants, it seems irrefutable that our degree of technological immersion will advance in other ways. Our entertainment systems, our cars, our phones, our very ability to acquire and process new information: all are already heavily influenced by electronic networks. It seems almost irrelevant whether they become physically part of us; they are already mentally – and emotionally – part of us.

The great hope of many transhumanists is that technological singularity and our increased integration with electronic networks will lead to a form of immortality, at least of consciousness. This has the vague air of eschatological myth, albeit built upon scientific hopes rather than religious ones. One might even describe this unconscious desire for ego dominance over death as a power phantasy.

I am not so convinced; everything I see suggests we are on a path to a very different kind of existence, with potential for a signifiant degree of self-actualisation within its broader scope.

Unfortunately, I do rather suspect the transhumanists are over-optimistic on the timeline. They suggest singularity sometime around the middle of this century or a little later i.e. within my lifetime, with luck and good health. I have a sneaking suspicion that it will arrive somewhat later. I will have to make do with other ways of seeking Jungian individuation.

Strange to think that my generation may be the last to need to do so.

Archetypes, Stereotypes, and the Absence of Knowledge

Image via Wikipedia

All knowledge is ultimately self-referential, imbued with only such meaning as we choose to give it.

The archetype is a difficult idea to grasp within Jungian psychology. Archetypes are thought to exist within our psyche, being innately derived. Jung suggested that their existence is due to our connection with the collective unconscious, a broad sharing of the unconscious mind across humanity and across the aeons. While this can have spiritual overtones – and to Jung it likely did – it can also be interpreted using a less spiritual framework. Archetypes can be considered as a set of psychological memes passed down socioculturally through the generations, perhaps reinforced genetically by some basic similarities between all humans in terms of how our brains are neuroanatomically formed.

Archetypes include our Self – the person we both are and aim to be; the Shadow – those traits that lie hidden within ourselves, and often from ourselves; and the Anima/Animus – the part of our psyche that allows us to understand and communicate with the opposite sex. It’s also perhaps possible to consider our Persona – the person we project to others – as a form of archetype, although I consider it a simpler more superficial entity than the others mentioned.

When these archetypes come into contact with the world, a number of consistent mythic symbols are created to understand them. They have been referred to as symbols, motifs or archetypes-as-such. I like to think of them as Stereotypes. Stereotyping is often thought of as a bad thing these days, but in truth, the Stereotype has an important beneficial function. They are widely-held, over-simplified views but that also makes them very useful as a short-cut to understanding the world. Stereotypical forms of archetypes include the mythological motifs of the hero, the wise old man, the earth mother, and so on.

As we perceive the world around us, we do not process every situation as being fresh data. Consider: colours are not real; colour is a perception, or construct, based on the wavelength of photons hitting our retinas. Similarly, what we think of other people are also not actually real people; they are constructs based on the data we receive from those entities. We each possess a personalised understanding of who other people are, and what they mean. There is no objective reference yardstick by which to measure them. We interpret their existence both consciously through reason, and unconsciously through archetypes and stereotypes.

A careful reader might now suggest that if conscious thought and reason can allow interpretation, then this potentially provides a scientific approach to understanding. This is only true if reason itself is independent of archetypal influence. As our rules of reason are human constructs, we cannot be entirely certain that this is so. Munchhausen’s Trilemma (also known as Agrippa’s Trilemma) suggests that any line of reasoning can eventually be boiled down to one of three arguments: circular, regressive and axiomatic. Circular arguments depend on the theory and proof supporting each other, regressive arguments become a never-ending series of proofs, and axiomatic arguments are based on an assumption of correctness.

This is a difficult proposal to accept, but consider a child asking why the sky is blue. You could argue that the sky is blue because we have defined the colour we perceive it to be as blue: a circular argument that ends the debate but does not fundamentally answer the question. You could humour the child by discussing wavelengths of photons and the energy they carry, the effect that energy has on the retina, transduction mechanisms, post-processing of the transducted stimuli into perceptions, psychological constructs of perception, the concept of a construct, the meaning of a concept, and so on, without ever really getting to a final irrefutable proof. This regressive approach allows for a vast expansion of knowledge, but at some point you have to limit your field of study, or be trapped in a never-ending sequence of “but why?”s. Finally, the poor parent of our inquisitive child may simply snap, and say “it just is”: a mere axiomatic assertion of truth.

You can choose to accept any one of the three horns of trilemma and still carry out much productive work, but that does not answer the trilemma’s problem.

Jung’s archetypes and the stereotypes that result from them could be conceived of as humanity’s practical solution to the trilemma. They give us a framework for understanding ourselves, each other, and the ideas and concepts we create, without us ending up in a never-ending morass of “unknowability”. Of course, archetypal theory is in itself just as trapped by the dilemma as is any other idea (and indeed, is the trilemma itself, if you want to give yourself a headache). But it does allow us to think about who we are in a practical way, and consider who we might become.

Buddhists have the concept of sunyata or “emptiness”, which seems to my limited understanding of the term to be a similar concept. It suggests a middle way between the nihilism and anomie of nothing being provably real and the illogicallity of considering what we think of as real being necessarily true. It hints at a way of finding meaning in the emptiness by embracing it and finding oneself in that void. Jung might call that individuation, the ultimate manifestation of one’s potential self.

All knowledge is ultimately self-referential, imbued with only such meaning as we choose to give it. And what a wonderful opportunity and privilege of our humanity that is.

The Fetishisation of Perfection

Head of a Nymph, Sophie Anderson

I must confess a penchant for complex systems.

There is little more pleasant than the intricacy of checks & balances, although I only enjoy them if my understanding of them arrives through noting the overall patterns that result, rather than through crude mechanistic analysis. Appreciating the underlying ebb & flow of emergent phenomena speaks to what Jung would have termed my intuitive rational nature.

My fondness and aptitude for noticing these mechanisms is at least part of what attracted me to psychiatry. The mind is doubly complex, consisting as it does of both physical and psychic constructs. The physical is the complexity of our neuroanatomical wiring and the neurochemical connections within that network. While some argue that theoretically the psychic world can be entirely understood through the physical, even such reductionist evangelists would admit that our current understanding is a long way from complete.

The psychic world is the more intriguing. It consists of our modes of thought: how we view ourselves, others, and the interplay between these entities. We create an internal construct of both ourselves & others, often built upon rather dubious foundations, and our entire understanding of the world in predicated upon these constructs. Some of the constructs emerge through experience, some are models formally taught to us, and some are probably rooted in a genetic hard-wiring. Even more amusingly, we are only generally aware of a small minority of the conceptual filters through which we view the world, which gives rise to what Freud would term the unconscious mind and perhaps also to what the spiritual would call the soul.

Regular readers know I enjoy a variety of complex systems; not just psychiatry & psychology but also clothes, economics, philosophy and some kinds of art. The common thread linking these interests are the delightful emergent patterns that are created through expression & exploration these systems. Different schools of art & philosophy, different conceptual models of the mind & human behaviour, different fashions & economic systems… they are all best considered not as absolutes with pros & cons relative to some theoretical gold standard, but as different sensory modalities. No-one would ever claim that smell is better than sound, or sight is better than touch.

Of course, this very relativist and individualist intellectual position of mine is itself derived from a set of preconceptions. In the end, everything anyone can attempt to say really is nonsense, if Wittgenstein will pardon the liberty of my paraphrasing. But this is to miss the point entirely: it’s rather delightful to play the game anyway.

The title of this post is a lament at how much of the world either cannot play, or refuses to play. Instead, they focus on improving things in an endless search for perfection. While superficially a laudable goal, the problem is that in order to improve a situation, you must understand the system well enough to know what improvement means. Simply having one specific goal in mind frequently – possibly, inevitably – leads to problems in other important areas. Imagine a fat woman being squeezed into a too-small corset: the narrow waist comes at the high price of either fat spilling over as visible unsightliness elsewhere, or internal distress. Similarly, targets and outcome measures can lead to many more negative issues in unexpected areas even if the target is achieved. Better to appreciate the system for what it is, and harmonise your existence within it, which can mean insulating yourself from its excesses by detaching yourself from its impact through rising above it.

Naturally, I am extremely grateful that most people prefer to seek perfection. It has led to tremendous improvements in material comforts, and grants me the luxury of not having to live a purely subsistence lifestyle myself. Nonetheless, those capable of broader perspective will be happier for indulging that aloofness rather than chasing the flitting faerie nymph of perfection. The nymph, you will recall, generally doomed her lover.

Measuring Power

Image by JAS_photo via Flickr

Forbes magazine loves lists. One of their annual features is World’s Most Powerful People, the latest revision of which has just been published. The names on the list change occasionally; the order of the names changes more frequently. But what is power, why does it matter, and can it really be measured?

For Forbes, a business-orientated publication, the answer is a calculus of the financial, human and physical resources an individual can draw upon. Unsurprisingly, their list is therefore dominated by global political and business leaders. This demonstrates an important feature of power: it is as much in the eye of beholder (or in this case, beholden?) as beauty is.

On a global scale, Forbes’ list is not a bad attempt. If the world is a pond, Forbes measures the potential ripple effect created by an individual landing on its smooth surface. Current #1 Barack Obama is undeniably a bigger stone to throw in than a random African villager.

Another analogy would be the distortion of the fabric of space-time by large celestial objects. Massive bodies like the Sun or Jupiter create deep gravity wells, drawing other objects into their influence, to the point of bending light around them. At a gravitational extreme, a black hole creates a gaping maw that does not permit anything else to shine. People can create a similar effect on those around them.

One theory of planet formation is that small particles gradually accrete together, eventually forming planets. This analogy allows for an understanding of how large organisations wield power. Obama is not powerful because he is Obama; he is powerful ex officio as a result of the combined wealth & military might of the United States, and there are certainly those in the world who, rightly or wrongly, like to complain that the USA doesn’t let them shine.

Maintaining the strength of an organisation is therefore one method of its leader maintaining power. A more sophisticated analysis would point to the increasing importance of networks rather than organisations. To use Obama again, the power of the President of the USA is magnified through the network of allied nations whose political favours it can draw upon. On a more modest level, an individual’s power over their own network is magnified if they are the hub or major node of the network rather than a distant spoke.

All these forms of power are extrinsic in nature; they correlate power with the ability of an individual to influence the world around them. I would argue that this is a fundamentally unwise way to measure power.

Why? Because it is ultimately dis-empowering; it is a game no participant can definitively win. It is impossible for an individual to maintain their position at the head of an organisation or network indefinitely; new players keep entering the field, and the field of play itself continuously mutates. Essentially, to play this game requires you to accept a life of running to stand still, akin to a giant hamster wheel. It is not the act of a powerful person to subjugate themselves to a system in this way.

True power is intrinsic. It is the acceptance of self that comes from being able to stop. Epicurus famously said, “I would rather be first in a little Iberian village than second in Rome”, and the logical extension of this is to reduce the circle of concern to that within which it is small enough to remain permanently first. This is of course the individual himself. Mastery over one’s own life & emotions is the real challenge, and true mastery over these domains is real power.

Epicurus goes on to describe the nature of this challenge: “the art of living well and the art of dying well are one”. In other words, in order to achieve mastery over self, it is necessary to come to terms with death and the end of one’s existence. This is easy on an abstract level, and much harder on practical/personal one. Nonetheless, it is good to acknowledge the reality of the problem facing us instead of pursuing the endless distraction of extrinsic power. “It is better for you to be free of fear lying upon a pallet, than to have a golden couch and a rich table and be full of trouble”, as the aforementioned philosopher also said.

As those who know me will attest, I am no fan of a poverty-stricken hairshirt existence. Money is important. It has an undoubted – and powerful – insulating effect, permitting an individual the necessary psychological breathing space required to focus on the self. But if I may be permitted a final quote: “Not what we have but what we enjoy, constitutes our abundance”.

Crowning Glories

From Masks to Helmets; specifically the Corinthian, Illyrian and Arcadian/Laconian types pictured from left to right in this photograph taken in the Benaki Museum, Athens. Helmets are of course primarily defensive pieces of armour, but their decoration reveals their auxiliary function identifying friend from foe on the battlefield. Massed ranks of soldiers uniformly attired also have a psychological effect, inspiring what modern tacticians might call “shock and awe” in the opposition, and boosting courage in the wearer.

A uniform also lends an identity to the wearer, sometimes the most important identity a person possesses if they are young and as yet unformed. This graveyard stele (right), photographed in the National Archaeology Museum in Athens, depicts the tomb’s inhabitant, an Athenian soldier.

The accompanying inscription tells the reader that the man died young, in service, and without a family of his own. Wearing his uniform in perpetuam on the stele gives his death some deeper meaning, a tradition we continue to this day with flags, poppies and other symbols of military Remembrance.

Society is generally good at creating roles for its constituent members. Regardless of what sociopolitical system is in place, their continued operation depends on the consent of the population being governed. The Greeks recognised four main systems: tyranny, oligarchy, timocracy and democracy, but were more open-minded than we tend to be today about which system is “best” for the population, and about what metric is optimally suited to define “best”. Regardless, even the most tyrannical regime depends of the consent of a critical mass of its population to survive. Without this, revolution ensues, as the populations of several Arab countries would attest to this year.

People generally like being assigned a role by society, even if the role is to be an angry outsider. It gives them the luxury of a pre-fabricated identity, and saves them the effort to trying to create an identity of their own. Society also benefits, because most people given a social identity tend to be quite predictable in their actions and will reinforce the status quo of the polity governing them. Deciding on one’s own identity/meaning – the process of psychological integration Jung called individuation – is a never-ending process with uncertain outcome.

Nonetheless, it does offer the prospect of defining a more profound and personal meaning. This votive relief (below) depicts an athlete crowning himself with a wreath; the holes show where a metal wreath was attached. It is an appropriate image to end this post with; the ultimate symbolic seizing of one’s own destiny.

The Meanings of Masks

What do you see in the above image?

If you’re anything like me, your first thought is “ritual cultic mask”.

In fact, it is thought more likely to be protective headgear worn during metal-working in Bronze Age Greece. The mask is one of many I saw displayed on a recent visit to the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. It is interesting that my preconceptions/mental associations of Ancient Greece as a powerful mystical cultural source led to my assuming the mask had an equally mystical role. It’s amusing to see one’s own assumptions turned on their head; it encourages further thought.

Masks are commonly thought of as means of disguise; a way to conceal identity from detection. But in fact, they can also be used to create identity. Think of the masks used in Greek theatre or Japanese Kabuki, both designed to evoke the spirit of a character and so allow the observer to know how to react to their stage antics. Think also of Venetian carnival masks, used in a more permissory manner to give the wearer freedom from their normal responsibilities; a license to be licentious.

Masks are also commonly used in funerary rites, especially in earlier eras (though the art of the modern mortician could be thought of as continuing this ritual remaking of the dead). The Mycenean golden death mask below is also from the Athenian National Archaeological Museum, and has the rare feature of depicting the dead person with eyes open:

The death mask illustrates another role of masks: to transform the person wearing the mask into something else. The image below from the Benaki Museum in Athens is not a mask (it’s a garment buckle) but my reflection in the cabinet’s glass while taking the photo neatly replaces my own face by the Gorgon’s face (you can just about see my shirt collar below). Another masked transformation of sorts…

Masks can therefore be co-opted as disguises, as emotional guides, and as transforming agents. And of course, they are deployed in a metaphorical way during our daily lives, as we mould our words and actions to suit different circumstances, sometimes suppressing our inner thoughts to do so.

On that note, I will end by quoting American author Clifton Fadiman on the risks of our using self-created masks too often:

For most men life is a search for the proper manila envelope in which to get themselves filed.

Expressionism vs Minimalism – A Sartorial Perspective

Edvard Munch, Vampire (1893/84). Munch originally named the painting Love and Pain and it is not meant to be vampiric in theme; the lady is not a vampire but a lover. Its subsequent worldwide fame under the name Vampire is an intriguing example of the artist's expressionist message being re-interpreted by the viewer.

Expressionism and Minimalism are probably vaguely familiar terms to you. At their respective cores, Expressionist artists translate their subjective experience of reality into their work, so giving the viewer a glimpse of their internal experience; whereas Minimalism is reductionist, paring down meaning into its simplest components, rendering it more meaningful to the viewer. It could therefore be said that Expressionism is indulgent to the artist, as it is their personal perspective that matters the most, whereas Minimalism is over-generous to the viewer by stripping a message down to its bullet points.

There is a paradox here. The Expressionist artist, in his attempt to convey a holistic sense of subjective experience, may convey more to the viewer than the Minimalist, who with his more stark approach, overtly sets the agenda and the parameters of communication. The Expressionist may thus end up enabling the viewer more, in terms of permitting said viewer his own interpretation of the work. The Minimalist may end up narrowing the scope of meaning so intensively that the viewer has no choice but to interpret it in a particular way. We therefore see that – as with so many other situations in life – the intent of the creator may be at odds with the effect of his creation. It is a wise artist who is aware of this.

These terms are also used in other settings, especially Minimalism. The concept gained significant traction with the general public in the fields of architecture and interior design, to the extent that Minimalist designs are perceived as modern, clean, professional and efficient. This reflects the narrowness of the communication bandwidth used in Minimalism, and the clear intent of the designer to ensure form and function co-ordinate elegantly.

The terms are less commonly applied to clothes, but the parallel is quite obvious. A Minimalist approach to dressing encourages communication on the dresser’s terms, by setting a narrow agenda. It gives little leeway to the observer to perceive an alternative interpretation. To use an example many readers may be familiar with, Don Draper (the central character of TV show Mad Men) adopts a certain business look common in the 1960s. Unconsciously, viewers will regard him a certain way.

A different, but equally precise, dressing archetype would be Gordon Gekko (Wall Street). The moviegoer translates that look into the clichéd and largely meaningless term, “power dressing”.  Note that while the message in both Draper’s and Gekko’s cases is resolutely Minimalist, the elements that compose it are not the same. In Draper’s case, the elements themselves are also Minimalist: mainly solid suits, narrow dark ties, white shirts, folded white pocket square. In Gekko’s, the elements are almost the opposite; flamboyant suits, braces,  silk puffed pocket squares, boldly striped shirts. But the message in each case is remarkably similar, and equally pared down.

Another example of a clear & focused minimal message is Richard Gere’s Armani-draped American Gigolo.  His character demonstrates that minimalism of message does not require harsh clean lines. His clothes at the start of the movie are soft in appearance but the message they exude is precise and unambiguous: sexual availability. As the movie progresses, his clothing becomes ragged, symbolising his increasing distress and loss of control. They no longer send out a message of his choice, but reveal his state of mind. In effect, they transition from Minimalist to Expressionist.

Costume designers are generally expert in a minimalist approach to dressing. Their very job requires them to distill a character down to core traits and find a way of conveying precisely those traits and nothing else that would distract or confuse an audience. While the elements they choose may vary from the clean & tidy to the gaudy & ragged, the message they create is usually simple and clear.

Precise and unambiguous sartorial message have their place in the real world too. Whenever you want to transmit a clear message to an audience, dress with a minimalist approach in mind. Identify the message, and choose items according. An everyday example should illuminate: how you would dress for a job interview in a conservative profession?

The typical dark suit, white shirt, simple tie, and black shined shoes conveys a simple and reductive message: “I am precise, professional, capable. and trustworthy”. Other examples would be dressing to look attractive to potential mates, dressing to give a presentation, dressing for a cocktail party, and so on. The resultant looks are varied, but share a common denominator of often being described as elegant. Elegance is thus conforming to social rules & expectations in a focused & precise manner while still appearing to do so effortlessly. This is the laser-like coherence of a focused and unambiguous sartorial message.

Can one dress in an expressionist manner instead? Yes, but with caution. Expressionism in dressing is far more risky. You can inadvertently reveal far more about your actual state of mind than you intend. Remember, Expressionism is your subjective experience of the world, albeit in this context through an outfit rather than through paint or stone. It is inherently more incoherent in its message than a minimalist approach. A clear message can still emerge (and indeed, should emerge) but it is a message that the viewer has interpreted. By wearing the proverbial heart on one’s sleeve, the dresser cedes some degree of control to the viewer. Done in an uncontained way, the outfit may elicit either discomfort or downright dislike, without the observer necessarily being able to pinpoint why.

But if done well, it can be used to create a more subtle sense of being at ease with the dresser. The look appear on the surface to be shabby or garish, and yet it somehow brings a smile and warmth rather than a disapproving eyebrow. This is the power of trust. Rather than feeling the need to convey a precise message, the message is an unthreatening “hello, pleased to meet you. I’m me”.

Beware: this is not the same as wearing whatever you want all the time! Done carelessly, that can all too easily result in a message of “F*** you, I’m here”, which, I think you’ll agree, is a rather disagreeable thing to project. Just as an Expressionist artist applies conscious thought to his work, so must the Expressionist dresser apply though to what elements best convey a perceptual mindset. This harks back to an enfant chéri of mine, the importance of personal insight. Understanding the person you are is vital to being able to confidently convey that sense of self with an outfit. That is the powerful and charming effect described as “being comfortable in one’s own skin”… or in this case, “being comfortable in one’s own clothes”.

Giving of yourself to others, done in safe and judicious small measures, can be remarkably charming. It is an expression of trust that can inspire the same from others. Trying to do it in a small way with your clothes may be one of the safest mediums within which to do it. Experiment with it and see the results!

Death and Life

Cover of Departures

In today’s world of TV on demand, there remains great value in having live television quietly on in the background of a room while busy doing something else. Just occasionally, it causes one to stumble upon something that captures the imagination and draws attention away from other tasks. Such was the happy case last night that led me to watch Departures.

The 2009 Foreign Language Oscar-winning film tells the story of a cellist, Daigo, who unexpectedly loses his orchestra job, is forced to return to his hometown, and almost accidentally finds work as a nokanshi, an “encoffiner” who is responsible for ritually preparing the body for burial.

The movie tells of his growing pride in his work as he masters the movements and techniques involved in the death ritual, and of his growing understanding of the emotional importance of his role in helping bereaved families reconnect the corpse with the living person for one last goodbye. The other threads of the movie – his relationships with his wife, his father and his neighbours – are woven beautifully together over the last 20 minutes into a poignant and uplifting climax.

I will not reveal more plot details, for fear of spoiling the movie for others who have not yet seen it, but it is a work that demonstrates something rather special about the Japanese attitude. Daigo’s developing emotions and conceptual understanding of the power of his work (despite its low social status in Japan) reveal an acceptance of death. But this is not a fatalistic outlook. Instead it is an acknowledgement of death as life. Death becomes a way of reconnecting with the living, making the dead person more alive in the memory than they were in actuality. If death is life, so too does the movie suggest that ugliness is beauty and tragedy is joy. These are not depicted as opposite sides of the same coin, which is about as close as many thoughtful Western attitudes to this topic would get, but rather that the coin has no sides.

The unity of these experiences – for Daigo, and the viewer – is what creates poignancy and hope. Death becomes not something to be overcome in a search for meaning and immortality, but something to be experienced and “done well”. This is an attitude I find both intellectually and emotionally very appealing, though it remains a harder challenge to fully live it on a deeper level.

As our societies struggle with various ethical difficulties associated with aging and dying (dementia, assisted suicide, euthanasia, etc.), Departures is brave enough to tell a different story: one of hope and fulfilment.