November 23, 2009

Wayfarers

You’d be hard-pressed to find a pair of sunglasses more influential than Ray Bans’ Wayfarers.

Originally manufactured in 1952, the Wayfarers were seen as a ‘mid-century classic’ – a design as iconic as the Eames chair, or the Cadillac tailfin.

However, revolutionary design isn’t enough: for something to be truly iconic, it must first have the approval of established icons. So, when pictures of Hollywood starlets Kim Novac and Marilyn Monroe wearing Wayfarer sunglasses popped up across America, people started to pay attention. But it would be Audrey Hepburn who took what could have been a passing fad, and turned it into a statement of style that would last half a century.

It was the opening few minutes of Breakfast at Tiffany’s that sold the Wayfarer to the world. We watch as Hepburn, in her memorable turn as Holly Golightly, saunters through uptown New York City. She is effortlessly beautiful, her black cocktail dress and gorgeous jewellery worn as casually as most wear a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

When Hepburn stops and looks into the window of Tiffany & Co., her tiara resting above a pair of jet black Wayfarers, we were sold. Wayfarers were no longer a trend – they were now an icon.

Through the next two decades, the Ray Bans’ Wayfarers would become the accessory of choice for the world’s finest artists, musicians, and personalities: Andy Warhol wore them; so did John Lennon. Bob Dylan rarely took his Wayfarers off. Even the President of the United States, John F. Kennedy, owned a pair. The Wayfarer juggernaut seemed unstoppable – the world couldn’t get enough.

But although the classics may endure, they don’t always thrive. And so it was that the 1970’s saw a decline of the Wayfarer’s sales, almost to the point of the Wayfarer’s discontinuation.

This all changed in 1982, when Ray-Ban signed a $50,000 a year deal with a company called Unique Product Placement, in an effort to place Ray-Bans in movies and television shows once more. The Wayfarer had achieved its cult status thanks to the efforts of Hollywood stars – if there was a chance of a Wayfarer revival, this was the way to do it.

The 1983 Risky Business was the start of the Wayfarer comeback: 360,000 pairs of Wayfarers were bought that year. Everyone wanted to look like Tom Cruise.

More product placement followed. The Breakfast Club. Miami Vice. Moonlighting. Soon  sales had reached 1.5 million, and were being worn by stars like Jack Nicholson and Madonna. The Wayfarer reigned supreme again.

Despite a decline during the 1990’s, 2000 saw the Wayfarer return to the public conscious, repackaged with the original idea behind the Wayfarers back: they were edgy; they were cool.

Cool is such a relative term. Twelve years ago, I watched Vanilla Ice roll through a pastel-chalk street in a Felix the Cat sweater. That guy was cool.

Two years ago, it was cool to have a parted fringe. Right now, it’s cool to like vampires. I have no idea what will be cool tomorrow.

What I do know, though, is that what is classic will remain classic. Wayfarers are an example of something classic. They’re an icon; they’ve been worn by some of the most influential people of the last 50 years. They may not always be in vogue, but they will always be cool.

October 2, 2009

Crack Couch.

My favourite place to write in the entire world looks like it should be resting somewhere deep within a King’s Cross crack den.

I call it my crack couch.

It might have been a nice addition to a living room, once. But years of abuse from adolescent males has destroyed it to the point where I think it just wants to die. It isn’t even allowed inside the house anymore; it just sits on our upstairs veranda, exposed to the elements.

Why I do my best work on this couch, I have no idea. But I’ll sit outside at night, nestled in my dilapidated couch, and I’ll write for hours, completely disconnected from the rest of the world, completely calm. And I like the way it feels very much.

September 25, 2009
The only thing I was fit for was to be a writer, and this notion rested solely on my suspicion that I would never be fit for real work, and that writing didn’t require any.
Russell Baker