When
the Nazis did it, they called it a crime against humanity; when the
MTA does it, they call it "commuting." The New York City
subways are a half-hour daily test of patience for me, packed like
cattle into an overheated, underground sardine can with magenta-haired
art students from Williamsburg, annoying stockbrokers from Long Island,
unbathed day laborers from the Bronx, and the inevitable homeless
guy sleeping in the corner. The car lurches between stops while the
conductor calls out helpful hints like "Stand clear of the fucking
doors!" over the PA as he closes the door on you as you're trying
to squeeze yourself and your gym bag out of the car at the stop. Not
that you can understand what he's saying, of course: I think subway
conductors take speech classes at the same college Charlie Brown's
teacher graduated from.
It's
because of these very facts that the New York City subway system
is probably one of the best places on Earth to advertise. Not only
do millions of people ride it every day, and not only is a significant
proportion of them the fashionable hipsters who help decide the
course the rest of the world takes, but they're also a captive audience.
No one makes eye contact on the subway or talks to anyone else.
Even reading is difficult, so the only place to look... is up.
The thing
is, you think the geniuses in charge of these things would feel
some pride and spend a minute on graphic design? Nuh-uh. The ads
on the subway are some of the worst drek I've ever seen. In fact,
one of my favorite rush-hour hobbies has become deconstructing this
abyssmal advertising. I took my digital camera to work with me this
week to document some prime examples:
Ah, the
nefarious Dr. Z, we meet again! Do you think I would entrust my
skin care to a guy who doesn't have a basic sense of design…
or grammar? That client of his is hardly a recommendation, and the
rainbow just scares me.
Would
you let this man put acid on your face? WOULD YOU?!
In fact,
never go to a doctor who advertises on the subway. See that 800-pound
guy on the seat across from you, slurping down chicken wings? The
one with the really bad BO? Well, just before the doctor touched
your feet. . . he touched HIS.
Have
you ever heard of a teacher being paid a friggin' living wage? Really,
the NYC Board of Education is getting desperate. They'd have had
have the workfare recipients teaching, but they didn't want to take
a pay cut.
This
is from the "Make Something" series designed to inspire
all of us to become art students. I made a Web site. You should
make a better ad, OK? Much as with doctors, never, ever go to a
school that advertises on the subway.
I
can't figure out the Remy Red ads. They seem to say, "This
shit is so good, women will even swim through a pool of blood
to perform fellatio on our bottles." The colors are garish,
the slogans ("A man may have five senses, but a woman. . .
?") insipid, and the models inevitably look like they're gonna
perform porn-movie-style blowjobs on the product. In terms of all-time
bad, these are second only to the infamous "Captain Morgan
Will Make You a Cheap Slut" campaign.
Actually,
a lot of the ads on the subway are for booze. Just thinking about
work makes me want a beer. Of course, I want something better than
a Budweiser. I love the way advertising can make drinking crappy
frat-boy piss-water look like a transcendental experience.
I guess
this explains why all my Catholic friends are running out to buy
Kenneth Cole. The Vatican should sue him for copyright infringement
or something...
Of course,
if I can't be drunk, I'd rather be in the Caribbean. You can't see
it, but the text says, "Hints were dropped. Glasses toasted.
Say no more." The ad shows two chicks and a guy. You know what
this ad is implying? "COME TO CLUB MED FOR BOOZE-FUELED THREE-WAY
SEX!!!"
I'm going,
and if I don't hook up with two hot chicks, I want my money back.
More
Club Med, this time for kids: "1:27 p.m., Punta Cana. Sandy
Pants." Sandy pants? Soundsl like pedophilia to me. ARRR! I'M
THE ASS PIRATE OF THE CARIBBEAN!!!!
And,
of course, you can charge your Club Med vacation with your credit
card. Snappy logo not included. Remember, the cure for all ills
is to buy something.
I
think this sign is for a band or something.
Of
course, there are some cool things on the subway, too. If you walk
through the subway tunnel on 14th street between the "L"
and the "9" train, you might think that the sound echoing
off the tiled walls is someone playing the Fab Four on a boombox.
Much to your surprise, though, you round the corner to find…
Beatles Guy! Once you get over the shock of "Well, it SOUNDS
like Paul McCartney, but it looks like an African-American gentleman,"
you realize he's really good! (And I hear he does a mean John Denver,
too.)
Beatles
Guy is so much of a fixture that he's become an object of some curiosity.
I mean, tourist families get their picture taken with him. One time,
there was an entire group of Japanese taking snapshots as he played
"I Want to Hold Your Hand." They threw wasabi chips into
his guitar case for tips.
Another
cool thing is the "Poetry in Motion" feature, which has,
for ten years, given New Yorkers their daily does of copyright-free
poetry from the members of the Dead Poet's Society. Of course, it's
done in partnership with Barnes & Noble in the hopes that, having
changed our taste from N'Sync to Robert Frost, we'll actually go
buy books of poetry. But then, no scheme to enlighten the public
can be without an ulterior motive, huh?