Evolution rules
A very tenuous (and tipsy) link to the evolution of personal style.
Hi there, it’s possible you’re a new subscriber and that you came here because of my Finspiration project, which I publish through Substack Notes.
I’m not writing about them here, however, if it’s the fish ‘fits you’re after - here’s a little round up of all of them, so far.
Moving on
My newsletter theme has been “rules that define my personal style”. If you’ve read more than two posts, I’m guessing you’ll have noticed that I use the rules as an arbitrary framework to write about life experiences that shape what I wear. That’s what style is, right?
Today the theme is evolution, not the Darwinian kind, more Nietzsche. I’m not educated enough to be academic about either. I’ve spent more time in bars than libraries. Thus, through the power of a doorway and empty Jägermeister1 bottles, I will tell a visual story about emergence, mutation and ‘fizzling out.’
Of course it’s symbolic. I like to think of it as an allegorical representation of an ever-evolving relationship with style.
The setting
My corner of Vienna is a blend of slightly posh and slightly seedy. It’s quiet, artsy and a bit boring after dark.2
There’s a lot of independent businesses, some stalwarts and some which have fallen away to make space for the newbies.
Like everywhere, sometimes when a business closes, the space they occupied remains unused; vacant but not completely empty. It sits as a time capsule; dusty remnants indicating what it once was.
When we moved, in 2017, this defunct and dusty ex-shop window, not far from our apartment, displayed signs of its past, despite having closed, sometime in the early noughties.
Its equally inviting doorway is the backdrop for this story.
Emergence
For a number of years, I walked past the doorway several times a week. Initially, it was a thing to be ignored and then one day, I noticed a display.
I thought it was a rather jolly sign of a fun night out. I imagined a couple of mates, enjoying the evening and chuckling as they organised their empties with such panache.
The display didn’t last more than a few hours. By evening it had been cleared by Vienna’s iconic MA 483 waste management team.
It wasn’t long before I was treated to another, thoughtfully composed display.
Something happening once is a chance, twice is a coincidence, more than that… it’s definitely a trend. And with regularity, but no conforming pattern, these little displays appeared and I became a dedicated doorway documenter.
I would deliberately plan my route to check for bottles. There were periods of feast and famine and the displays were never exactly the same; quantities varied, sometimes there were interlopers.
Occasionally the display wasn’t so orderly, I guess the bottles had been knocked down.
I often wondered (still do, as I have no answers) about the person/people leaving the bottles:
How long had this gone on?
Why don’t they buy a big bottle, surely it’s more economical?
Do they sit in the doorway and drink, or do they bring the empty bottles specifically?
Have a group of revelers spilled out of a local bar to smoke a cigarette and brought their Jägermeister bottle with them?
Do they hoard empties and live across the street, watching how the passing public interact with the displays?
Who else was tracking it?
I remember a small family of slightly posh immigrants wandering past in front of me. Their hesitation and mutterings at the slightly seedy doorway alerted me to a fresh display. I stopped for the regulation photo and tried to explain this harmless activity. I don’t think we saw it the same way and they started worrying they’d moved to a hell hole.
Mutation
One day Mr Benbow arrived home; “there’s action at Jäger-doorway, it’s being painted”. I scurried down.
Clean windows. Paint job. New business? “Oh well, good for the local area.”
Next came full coverage window stickers. I realised that the relatively new digital agency next door, wanted fancier neighbours and were responsible for the facelift. Nothing new inside.
And with the new look, the bottles stopped.
And I missed them.
And I started taking photos of random Jägermeister bottles. I spotted them on windowsills and in gutters. It wasn’t quite the same. My story ended before I was ready to say goodbye.
To fulfil my creative instincts, I made a little Jägermeister doorway video and shared it with colleagues. They started to send me photos of large collections of Jägermeister bottles, which they had spotted on their travels in other European cities.
This habit of collective noticing habit helped fill the void.
And then one morning...
and then the same evening…
and then the plant was gone.
My pals were undeterred. They came back with a force only beaten in Alpine après-ski bars. The frequency increased, the displays were new because the fake grass meant the bottles toppled easily.
Fizzling Out
Eventually it slowed, and eventually, I stopped checking for bottles.
I moved on. Found new projects.
Of course, I wander by occasionally. Of course I look. Always nothing.
It’s become just another doorway.
A doorway that once housed my story. And the drinkers’ stories, and the neighbours’ stories, and the fellow immigrant stories. And an interior, where kids squandered their pocket money on trinkets and comfort.
A doorway with a backstory, fake grass and a lick of paint.
Is that what style is?
Jägermeister is part of the cultural fabric of Austria. You have to go to a pharmacy to buy headache tablets, but you can buy a mini bottle Jägermeister almost anywhere - the supermarket checkout, vending machines, fuel stations... Austria is the brand’s most important market behind Germany. It gets drunk in celebration, commiseration, or just as part of the function of daily life. In Austria that means before skiing, during skiing, after skiing and with coffee before, during, or after the working day. A local bar has a full-size throne made from miniature Jägermeister bottles.
MA48 is the municipal department of StadtWien (Vienna City) responsible for waste and street cleaning. They have managed their brand image with humour. They have their own Christmas market, hold family days, and, all-in-all, they have a cult-like status in the city. They have funny slogans and puns. For example ‘Mist’ means rubbish, Arnold Schwarzenegger is a famous Austrian and you’ll often see “hasta la mista” imprinted in the city waste bins.
"Is that what style is?" This blows my mind! YES! Trying, getting knocked down, giving up, then trying and creating and they fall down, so you keep trying and then something works...and then you move to the next thing. Suddenly, you're that fish person.
I take pictures of interesting graffiti and odd things around my city. I talk to birds.
Julia this is amazing ! You are officially my favourite substacker. I absolutely love the way you look at the word your writing and pictures brighten my day each time I come across them.