How Josiah Wedgwood Created Black Friday

Today is Black Friday.  It’s the day when half of America lines up for hours, searching for an incredible bargain, and the other half waits impatiently to sell it to them.  To some, this is the seed of greed in America; to others, it’s capitalism at its finest.  Regardless, unless you flunked math, history and economics in high school, you know that without our much maligned consumer society, our world would look markedly different from what you see out your window.  And most of us would have neither the energy nor the leisure to wax critical on the whole process.  However, did you ever wonder why people buy so much useless junk and literally kick other people out of the way to get at it?  The answer’s quite simple, really: Josiah Wedgwood had smallpox — and survived.

History does not always run on big events.  For example, one of the reasons Drake, Hawkins and rest of Elizabeth I’s Seadogs kicked the snot out of the Spanish Armada in 1588 is their cannons were shorter.  Thus, they could reload faster and, therefore, held superior firepower over their Catholic adversaries.  A much overlooked detail, to be sure, but absolutely critical to the history of Europe and the world.

Likewise, Josiah Wedgewood’s bout with smallpox as a child, insignificant as it might be, was a decisive event that changed human history.  When Josiah recovered, he was apprenticed to his elder brother as a potter, but because his legs were still weak from his illness (a condition that lasted his entire life) he couldn’t work the foot-powered potter’s wheel for long periods.  Thus, he spent just as much time designing pottery, working with glazes and selling his wares as he did actually making them.  Unhitched from the daily grind of producing pottery, Josiah had time to figure out how to effectively sell it.

The story is long and quite complicated, but here is the gist of it.  Josiah’s business career coincides with the early rumblings of the Industrial Revolution.  James Watt’s steam engine was putting people power out of business and creating a whole new class of folks unfettered from the land.  This new urban class of managers, foremen, clerks, artisans etc. etc. were stuck in the “middle” — between the obscenely rich aristocrats and entrepreneurs and the virtual slaves from the mines and the factory floors.  Plus, unlike their parents, who had been practically self sufficient, without land, this new “middle” class had to buy every necessity of life rather than produce it for themselves.  Essentially, Josiah’s pottery works had been handed a huge new consumer demographic that nobody had seen before.

Obviously, all these new people moving into the urban centres of Britain needed plates, cups, jugs etc. but that’s just the nuts and bolts part of the story.  What separates Josiah Wedgwood from every other guy with a lump of clay was his understanding of the market.  He realized that this new middle class was not living hand to mouth.  They had a modicum of leisure time and disposable income.  He also saw that they were willing to use this income to distinguish themselves from the poorer urban masses.  More importantly, even though they didn’t really have the coin for it, they wanted to emulate the social superiority of wealthy aristocrats and the new-fashioned nabobs of trade and industry.  Josiah simply thought outside the 18th century box and cashed in on this middle class social climbing.

Basically what he did was create unique pieces for his wealthier clients — and then mass produce less expensive knockoffs for everybody else.  Suddenly Harvey and Maud, the uppity couple from Pembroke Lane, could eat off plates and saucers just like King George III’s wife, Queen Charlotte.  Wedgwood even called it “Queen’s Ware.”  His Jasperware was elegant, expensive and exclusive, but anybody with enough shillings could afford a posh replica.  Plus, Wedgwood treated his clients as if they were upper class, by bringing the marketing tools of the aristocracy down to the middle class.  He used illustrated catalogues just like exclusive art dealers.  He had salesman who came to your home, written guarantees and free delivery.  Not only that, but he also produced objects of art.  Before Wedgwood objet d’art were the exclusive province of the upper class who could afford to squander money on trinkets and antiquities.  After Wedgwood, everybody had household ornaments.  He made Etruscan busts and Grecian urns that were well within the price range of even the most modest home.  The thriving middle class, striving to keep up appearances, bought this stuff by the wagon load.  Even today, his powder blue and ivory white Greek motif plates are recognized around the world, and many of us have these useless pieces cluttering up our shelves and coffee tables.

Josiah Wedgwood was the first person to sell the sizzle instead of the steak and make you pay for the garnish.  He understood how the middle class ego worked and, frankly, it hasn’t changed in over 200 years.  Those people who lined up this morning for the 80 inch television set aren’t buying solid walls of entertainment; they’re buying a physical expression of their success.  By recognizing this need and filling it, Josiah Wedgwood single-handedly create our consumer society in the late 18th century.  It’s been going strong ever since.  Today’s madness at Target, Kohl and Walmart is just the latest incarnation of two centuries of marketing.

Genealogy: Reincarnation for Old People

Tomorrow is American Thanksgiving, a time for turkey, mashed potatoes and football.  Despite living in a completely different country and being about as far away from Plymouth, Mass. as possible — without leaving the continent entirely — I have a direct connection.  One of my ancestors, William Brewster, was part of the original Thanksgiving Day Parade and likely shared a drumstick with Squanto that afternoon way back in the day.  I found this interesting family tidbit several years ago when I first got interested in genealogy.  For those of you who’ve never been infected by the genealogy bug, just think of it as reincarnation for old people.

Humans are pack animals; as such, we have a burning need to find our place in the great scheme of things.  When we’re young, we rely on our immediate family to satisfy this craving.  We call ourselves, “older brother,” “younger sister,” “cousin” — that sort of thing, to mark our position.  However, as we get older and find the world is a pretty mucho grande kinda place, we need bigger connections.  We become Parisians, Texans or Italians.  We identify ourselves with the accomplishments of the group.  In practical terms, this means that we consider the Eiffel Tower, the heroics at the Alamo and the grandeur of the Renaissance as part of what we are.  However, humans are also self aware, and you may have noticed that we all have egos larger than most of us can justify.  So just being part of the tribe is not really good enough; we need to make a more personal impression on the world.  This leads us to searching through time to find out where we fit and using history to better ourselves.

On my own, I’m a pretty dull character.  Like most of us, I’m going to do my time straddling the 20th/21st centuries and then disappear into the vague reaches of eternity.  I display none of the attributes which would lead history to record my existence and so I doubt very much if it will.  However, if I believe in reincarnation, I can take a much larger role in the continuity of human events.   I can, for example, appear as Joan of Arc’s handmaiden, sail with Vasco da Gama, or swap tales on the trail with Hickok and Cody.  My slice of the historical pie gets much bigger when I connect myself to the people history remembers.  That’s why reincarnation is such an attractive idea.  Strolling the halls of history with Philip of Macedonia, Anne Boleyn or Alexander Hamilton, in a past life, is far more romantic than finding the perfect parking spot at the shopping mall in this one.  Besides, it’s easy.  We can translate that dream we had the other night– after an evening of Kingfisher beer and chicken vindaloo– into any number of incarnations.  Essentially, reincarnation is just lazy genealogy.

Of course, some might question the historical accuracy of indigestion, but, as with all beliefs, if you believe, it’s automatically true.  There is no way to disprove a suggested memory — even if it does suspiciously resemble Michael Hoffman’s version of the Restoration.  Reincarnation not only gives us the personal history we want but dispenses with those pesky ancestors who don’t follow the rules.  They shy away from the great moments in history and see them the way we do, as casual bystanders unaware of what the future will embrace or discard.  On the other hand, past incarnations seem to follow history like eager students keenly aware of both the tenor and the torrent of their times.  They can anticipate their own significance with astounding 20/20 vision.

The odd thing is, though, despite my meticulously researched ancestors and documented proof of their existence, I have no genetic memory of New England or the Atlantic coast, past or present.  However, I can accurately describe the snowy spires of Moscow in the fading blue winter distance; feel the cold, the wind and the hopeless, exhausted desolation.  I have never been to Moscow, but in my mind, it’s the furthest east I ever got.

Did You Ever Wonder?

I was at a social engagement recently where a miracle happened and there was quite a bit more wine than there were people.  It worked out well.  Sometime after the boors and the bores left to haunt somebody else’s life, we started playing a game.  It was quite simple; everybody took a turn to wonder out loud about something they’ve never understood.  Some of the questions were lame, some were old favourites, some provoked general agreement and others heated discussion, but most of them were interesting insights into the world around us.  Here are some of my favourites (as close as I can remember.)

Why can Keanu Reeves be so good in Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure and The Matrix and suck so badly in everything else?

Why is David Letterman still on television?

Why does everybody win in Vegas except me?

Why, even though every teacher said we had to learn it in high school, doesn’t (3x + 2y) – 12 = (7x + 3y) ever come up in real life?

Why did August get 31 days instead of September?

Why didn’t Darth Vader remember R2D2 and C3P0?

Why doesn’t glue stick to the inside of the container?

How come a pizza can get to your house faster than the cops can?

Who cares if a tree falls in the forest?

Why do potatoes have more chromosomes than people do?

Why are brushing your hair and brushing your teeth such totally different activities?

Why do dogs hang their heads out the window of a car moving at 60 kph but hate it when you blow in their faces?

Who owns the Internet?

How does aspirin know the difference between a headache and a sore knee?

Why do tornados always attack trailer parks?

Why, whenever there’s a riot anywhere in the world, are the protest signs always in English?

What is déjà vu “really?”

Is the light at the end of the tunnel that people say they see when they’re about to die, just being born again?  (I think somebody cheated on this one – just sayin’.)

Why didn’t Gandalf just fly Frodo to the top of Mount Doom on the eagles that rescued him?

Is calling it Mother Nature just a sneaky way of saying God?

Why, when adults talk to kids, dogs and old people do they use the same voice?

Why do light years measure distance not time?

Why didn’t Samantha Stevens realize she was sleeping with the wrong Darren?

And my personal favourite:

Is Harry Potter just a psychotic kid who made up the whole Hogwarts thing to cope with his miserable life, living under the stairs?