“We must not see any person as an abstraction. Instead, we must see in every person a universe with its own secrets, with its own treasures, with its own sources of anguish, and with some measure of triumph.”
- Elie Weisel, The Nazi Doctors and the Nuremburg Code

I saw a couple of these photos from Ai Weiwei’s “Study of Perspective” series during my visit to MoMA in March and absolutely loved them. My immediate response was to chuckle, to see the humor in Ai’s middle finger positioned in front of some of the world’s most notable man-made landmarks, from Tiananmen Square to the White House to the painting of Mona Lisa. But upon second glance, there is a powerful protestation behind the gesture, a rejection of the power held by culture and politics and a rebellion against authority. I definitely did a couple double-takes. And even now when I look at these photos, I’m drawn in by the comedy of the composition but find myself lingering on its implications, and how subtly Ai is able to combine humor with making a political statement. Pretty amazing. How does this photo series make you feel? Amused? Rebellious? Underwhelmed?

All images courtesy of MoMa.org

For someone who never intended to be a writer, Malcolm Gladwell has done pretty well for himself as exactly that: he began as the business and science writer for The Washington Post, then made his way over to The New Yorker, where he has been a staff writer since 1996, and with the release of three wildly popular books (Blink, The Tipping Point and Outliers), found himself sitting atop the New York Times Bestsellers list and emerged as perhaps the most recognizable name in contemporary American non-fiction. Not too shabby, Malcolm, not too shabby.

In What The Dog Saw and Other Adventures, Gladwell has collected his favorite essays that he’s written for The New Yorker from 1996 to present and compiled them into a single volume. As his essays span a broad range of subjects, he’s broken the book up into three sections: the first section, “Obsessives, Pioneers, and Other Varieties of Minor Genius” focuses not on the people at the top, those with a great deal of power or fame or influence, but the people in the middle, individuals like Ron Popeil, the Chop-O-Matic salesman, or Cesar Millan, the dog whisperer, whose knowledge of their particular subject is unparalleled; the second section, “Theories, Predictions, and Diagnoses” takes a look at how we as humans think about things, from homelessness to plagiarism to the Challenger explosion, and how we should think about them; and the third section, “Personality, Character, and Intelligence,” is devoted to examining the ways that we make judgments about others, whether they’re a bad person or a qualified applicant for a job or deserving of a raise, and how those judgments may not always be fully-formed or entirely accurate.

The entire collection of essays is really strong and engaging throughout, but there were a few essays that really stood out to me. “The New Boy Network” examines the important role intuition and first impressions play in a job interview and how little they are actually able to tell us about a person’s capabilities to perform well within the context of the job, as well as how the hiring process would have to change in order to avoid hires based on the bias of personability. “True Colors” looks at the hair dye market in post-war America, and compares Clairol’s “Does she or doesn’t she? Only her hairdresser knows for sure” campaign, which encouraged a woman to bridge the gap between “the kind of woman she was and the kind of woman she felt she ought to be,” and L’Oreal’s “Because I’m worth it” campaign, which was originally written as a veiled statement of feminism and has since become perhaps the most well-known hair dye slogans of all time. “Something Borrowed” problematizes the damning offense of plagiarism, and asks questions about the life cycle of creative property and the difference between “borrowing that is transformative and borrowing that is merely derivative,” questions that are made all the more interesting considering that one of the cases of plagiarism Gladwell looks at involves a playwright’s “borrowing” of his own writing.

In his preface, Gladwell addresses the most commonly-asked question he gets as a writer, “Where do you get your ideas?,” by explaining:

“The trick… is to convince yourself that everyone and everything has a story to tell. I say trick but what I really mean is challenge, because it’s a very hard thing to do. Our instinct as humans, after all, is to assume that most things are not interesting. We flip through channels on the television and reject ten before we settle on one. We go to a bookstore and look at twenty novels before we pick the one that we want. We filter and rank and judge. We have to. There’s just so much out there. But if you want to be a writer, you have to fight that instinct every day. Shampoo doesn’t seem interesting? Well, dammit, it must be, and if it isn’t, I have to believe that it will ultimately lead me to something that is.”

This curiosity, this ability to find something of interest in any subject, is perhaps what I appreciate the most about Gladwell as a writer. It seems to me a real feat of creativity to be able to take a commonplace and mundane subject like ketchup or hair dye and turn it into an essay that is undeniably fascinating and engaging. The way that Gladwell writes is miraculous, in that he’s able to bring together several seemingly disparate stories and perspectives into a single seamless narrative that is never simply about ketchup or hair dye, but rather how those commonplace and mundane subjects can explain something about who we are as humans. It’s an incredible gift he has.

So now you know why I want to be Malcolm Gladwell when I grow up. I usually end these book reviews with an “if” statement, but there are no ifs about What The Dog Saw: it’s one of the most fascinating, well-written and thought-provoking non-fiction books I’ve ever read, and I highly doubt that you will regret reading it.

So I started subscribing to Rookie a while back, mostly because I became infatuated with Tavi Gevinson, the sixteen-year-old founder and editor-in-chief of Rookie who is incredibly stylish and thoughtful and well-spoken and a feminist. Basically, everything I wanted to be as a sixteen-year-old. Tavi-infatuation aside, I’ve found that Rookie, an online magazine for teenage girls, is actually awesome, both for it’s willingness to engage in discussion about topics that are relevant to teenage girls without being prescriptive or pretending like its writers have all the answers, and also for features like “Ask A Grown Man,” where a grown man answers five questions submitted by readers. I particularly love this video with Jon Hamm, not simply because he’s dreamy, but because he has some wise advice for the teen girls of the world (like, “Everybody farts”) and because he’s very no-nonsense about it all. “Don’t define yourself by who wants to get with you,” he says with his eyebrows furrowed and a you-know-better-than-that tone of voice, which says to me that he actually means it. So awesome. All of which is to say: teen girls need to hear this kind of stuff more often, and I wish Rookie had been around when I was a teenager. And Tavi is my hero.

You can watch more “Ask A Grown Man” segments (the one with Paul Rudd is very funny, FYI) and other videos on Rookie’s Vimeo page here.

Even before I was a world traveler, I was a lover of maps. They serve a functional purpose, of course, but I tend to look at maps as beautiful pieces of art: there are always such fine details and every map is different, an expression of a distinct style and distinct interpretation of the way the artist/cartographer perceives the world. Maps are a link to the past, present and future for me. I have a few vintage maps that have graced my walls as well as a small globe collection, but I keep seeing really innovative and unique ways to incorporate maps into decor around the interwebz, from old-school pull-down maps to globe lanterns to wall decals, and am now seriously itching to find a place to live so that I can exercise a little more creativity with the map motif. That may be a while yet though, so until then, I shall gaze upon these worldly pretties and sigh longingly. Feel free to do the same. Happy Friday, friends!

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