MONDAY It’s absolutely heaving at London Military Building Fashion Week. The trends are clear, though.
Out: ‘Anti-terrorist design’. In: ‘Retaliation-proof’.
TUESDAY Redesign Hull, making it more meaningful and nostalgic with a Larkin retrospective and an Instagram slideshow.
WEDNESDAY To San Francisco, with a heart full of dread. I’ve been provisionally appointed ‘space stylist dude’ for Facebook’s new headquarters. The money’s fantastically good. Alas, the clients are punchable spindly millionaire dickbrats.
Yes, I’ve ‘flown in’ like some fat British seagull keening for someone’s discarded lunch, but don’t judge me. I am here to WORK. I am here to agree a PROJECT BRIEF, so that both sides know what everyone’s talking about in terms of space, style and dudity.
Nailing the brief is essential. Let’s face it, Britain and America have a ‘cultural disconnect’. Admittedly the phrase ‘cultural disconnect’ is understood, with resignation, on both sides of the same ocean. It’s a shared cultural disconnect, which makes it even worse. I say sausage roll, you say corndog, I’m not entirely sure what a corndog is, let’s call the whole thing off, I’ll email you.
The clients want an extra 50,000 m² of ‘cool, fluid space’ and so far all I have is a photograph of freestyle notes scribbled on the back of a Marvel comic by Facebook Head of Thinking, Spak Hungstrom:
‘Maybe like the apartment in the movie Big? Starring Tom Hanks? But with 21st-century games and shit and whatnot … would be WAY COOL to have like 1980s pinball machines etc actually from the movie on site!! ? ! Retro chill. Right? RIGHT? So what do we call this new cool, fluid space? HQ? Nuh-uh. Same-o lame-o. Old Europe. Needs a COLLEGE feel. The Facebook … Campus? Boom, keep it LITE yo. Animal House! Is jockular a word? BOOM THINK JOCKULAR CAMPUS DUDE J’.
God Almighty. This gig already feels more ‘crèche’ than ‘campus’ and I haven’t even got to the brief-setting meeting yet. I’m led through genuine medieval doors bearing the crayonned legend ‘THOUGHT JAM’, into a vast open-plan refectory space, all polished wood and cultured glass. Difficult to know which one is Spak. I never find out.
‘No names in the thought jam game, man …’ says someone behind my sofa, and this sets the tone: a brisk churn of anonymous non-hierarchical hipster toddlers, all wearing tailored jeans and antique T-shirts. I was expecting beer and sandwiches but oh no: bloody juice and jellybeans. It’s so noisy, too. Indie drivel bleating out, and some weird film being shown on the two-storey height wall. It looks like Norse gods clattering each other in some endless balletic death-battle.
‘Green roofs are kinda … cool?’ murmurs some hypertanned geek, to his Xbox. ‘Cool. Cool-cool-cool!’ says everyone in unison, absently miming a complicated handshake.
‘There could be a jogging trail up there. Different levels. Awesome platforms, and you pick up stars and … boom, sucker! Feel my MACE OF WRATH!’ Ah. That explains it. The wall screen is showing what’s on Teakgeek’s Xbox. ‘Modded Tekken with divinities. Elephant dude with the laser arms is like, whoa. Kick-ass!’
Hell is, specifically, these other people. Plus, there’s fucking nowhere to smoke as usual.
After an hour’s immersion in a dork miasma, I think I’ve grasped the brief. They want a 10-acre long room that feels like a classic 8-bit game, divided into ‘zones’ with an end-of-level boss (Spak) and rewards along the way such as magic jellybeans and actual bags of money. I pretend to take a call from Rupert Murdoch, awkwardly indicate a ‘British high five’ to the unresponsive disdainful pricks, and leave.
THURSDAY On way home. Dream up new global reality show, City Swap, in which inhabitants of say London and San Francisco swap locations for a month, then consider problems with customs, e.g. gun ownership.
FRIDAY Have worked out my Facebook campus zones, based on jetlagged oversleep and a panicky mind-trawl of American culture:
Urban Terror, Black Rural, New York Deli, Chic Shaker Prayer Hall, Jolly Hispanic, University of Buffy, Unoccupied Wall Street, Life-Affirming Prison, Porn Dungeon, Bling Crib, Post-Apocalyptic Pixar, Civil War Paintball, Graffiti Hangout, Pimped Ride (Interior), Wild West Platinum Lounge, Suburban Psychodrama.
SATURDAY Still no word from Facebook Spak. Poke him. Apparently now I am ‘de-friended’.
SUNDAY Attempt to re-ignite my trans-Atlantic excitement by drinking miniature bottles of scotch until I fall asleep in the recliner.
September 20, 2012