#5 Kitsch - Olivia

I have often pondered life without Garfield, the cat.

Without the fat, orange, sarcastic feline with an inclination for waking up in lasagna pans, where would we be?  And if not Garfield, what would take his place?  Would some other mildly asinine creature crawl out of mid-western obscurity?  Or would it be something else, a mineral or vegetable?

Or is Garfield the cat the merciful option compared to whatever might replace him in this alternate reality?  We may never know.

Without Garfield, Jon would probably date more at the very least.  A man who let's his cat talk back to him and eat all his Italian food translates to a red flag in my book.  Then again, even without Garfield, Jon may still have some problems ...

And yet, I think we may need Garfield.

I think Garfield officially became kitsch when he started showing up in plush form, suction cupped to the back window of station wagons.  Or maybe it was when he started popping up on t-shirts as an icon to the phrase "Not My Problem."  Either way, he has most joined the ranks of all that could be considered campy, washed up, or cliché.

Kitsch is bad taste, but harmless.  Kitsch has good intentions, but perhaps misguided execution.  Kitsch is iconic for all the wrong reasons.

Kitsch is, in essence, the Fig Newton.

However, despite being the weeds in the garden of pop culture, kitsch-y things still have their  place under the sun.  And I do mean besides fodder for irony and ridicule.

The kitsch item is often a ripple, a reaction to a bigger, stronger, more influential and probably more sophisticated idea.  It draws our eye to what is really shaking us up while we look at the cultural pop-ups in it's wake.

I'll be honest, I have no idea what ever made Garfield culturally relevant.  Please, don't tell me it's because he's funny.  Maybe someone else can ponder that one.

But I can tell you about what is on the rise, and we all know that what comes up, must come down: Twilight.

I don't want to get too deep into this because sometime next year, I'm going to write a whole post on vampire culture, but it is a prime example.

It seems that there is a cultural fixation with the un-dead in general, but especially within the realm of gentlemen blood-suckers.  Are girls attracted to their scruples?  Their cold, rock-hard bods?  The sparkles?  Probably all of the above.  But that alone is not enough for what we have here, as in cultural kudzu.  All of those things secretly spell out some kind of decent stability.  Even the sparkles of his perfect vampire skin will glimmer in sun exposure every time.  And frankly, in this national climate, stability in any form has never looked better.

But the fanaticism won't last forever, even if in theory, Edward's chiseled features could.  Even if he doesn't age, we do.  The masses bore quickly.

Twilight fans, you know your day is coming, if it is not here already.  Someday, your vampire swag will no longer be hot (cold?) and it'll crowd yard-sale tables for years to come.  That or you'll have to store it in a closet or attic, right next to your Beanie Baby collection.  But don't worry, someone will buy it.

That's what makes it kitsch.

Don replies:


After reading your post, I was left wondering which is more pathetic: Jon without Garfield or Bella without Edward?  I'd guess that while both Garfield and Twilight have their fans, what's really interesting is how vocal the people are who are not their fans.  


I'm mean, most often when people don't care for something arty or literary (okay, okay, I may be stretching the terms "arty" and "literary" here), they just ignore what they don't like in favor of spending time with other material they do like.  After all, no one is making anyone read/watch Garfield or Twilight (at least not yet; perhaps in a few years Twilight might become required reading after the coming apocalypse and it's discovered that reading the sparkling vampire series is the best method for doing serious penitence and ridding oneself of some seriously bad karma).


People who don't like Garfield and/or Twilight, however, don't just smile politely and step aside while they see you reaching for the DVD version in the video store, they'll point you out and try to shame you right then and there.  It's not enough that they don't enjoy cynical cartoon cats or whiny self-absorbed vampires, they don't want anyone else enjoying them either.  


I'm not a big fan of neither Garfield nor Twilight, but as a big fan of greasy, ready-made gas station cuisine, I feel a twinge of sympathy for those people who do like either one and feel they risk becoming social pariahs merely by letting others know their secret (albeit unfathomable) pleasure in their reading/viewing choices.  If someday soon a hybrid Garfield/Twilight book comes out (you know like the immensely popular Pride and Prejudice and Zombies), I only hope I can be well out of town when the screaming and crying begins at the bookstores as people line up to buy the book and another line forms to smack those people in the face for buying the book.


It might be because I've been thinking a lot about this topic this week, but kitsch seems to be increasing at an exponential pace.  How long, I wonder, before everything we watch, read, or listen to begins to emit that faint whiff of cheddar?  Okay, enough said.  Time to go listen to The Beatles; a sure cure for overcoming kitsch saturation (unless, of course, "Piggies," "Yellow Submarine," or "Octopus's Garden" happens to pop up in the mix, and then, dag, it's back to square one).

#5 "Kitsch" -- Don

“Happiness is a thing called Joe.” –  Yip Harburg (1940)

“Happiness is a warm puppy.” – Charles Shultz (1962)

“Happiness is a cigar called Hamlet.” – the Collett Dickenson Pearce Agency (1966)

“Happiness is a warm gun.” – John Lennon (1968)

For the record, by the way, Bill Watterson, the cartoonist who wrote and drew Calvin and Hobbes, never once had Calvin peeing on anything, ever.  The ubiquitous sticker decals that we see on cars and trucks comes from an unauthorized, unapproved, plagiarized reproduction of Calvin from a strip in which the boy had his back turned toward the reader while he filled a water balloon.  Someone, somewhere in the back alleys of commerce, took the image, scanned it (or redrew it), and added the contextual urination.  The irony of how popular these “Peeing Calvin” decals have become is that Watterson has always adamantly disproved of any commercial usage of his comic strip characters and, despite offers ranging well into millions of dollars, refused to sell his work for use in advertising because he felt merchandizing Calvin would have corrupted the artistic integrity of the strip. 

At first, Watterson sued a few decal manufacturers for copyright infringement, and they altered the appearance of the boy to look a bit different from Calvin.  Unfortunately, because they are so many people willing and able to pirate the original pirates, so many businesses are now hawking these decals that there is no way Watterson can go after them all for infringing on his rights to his own creation.  In one interview, Watterson said, "I clearly miscalculated how popular it would be to show Calvin urinating on a Ford logo." 

And, of course, now Calvin wees on everything, not just carmakers.  Last April, U.S. District Judge Malcolm J. Howard ruled that an ex-Marine working at a military base was wrongly disciplined by base commanders for displaying a decal of Calvin peeing on a cartoon portrayal of Muhammad.  

Whatever Calvin is urinating on – regardless whether it’s somebody else’s favorite carmaker, sports team, or religion – I find the whole business trashy.  And this, of course, leads me into this week’s topic of “Kitsch.”  For those who may be unfamiliar with the term, “kitsch” is any type of art that’s made up of some combination of whatever is lowbrow, vulgar, mass-marketed, and aimed at the lowest common denominator.  Kitsch is frequently excessively sentimental, inordinately patriotic, or inappropriately titillating. 

As far as I am concerned, precisely delineating “what is” and “what is not” kitsch is beyond the ability of any particular individual because ultimately where the line gets drawn between art and garbage is based solely in the personal taste of each and everyone of us.  I have no idea how many trailer parks there are here in the US, but I would gamble for every trailer park, there has to be at least three paintings of Elvis on a velvet canvas.  If I had a time machine, I think I would go back to the early 1950’s (when Elvis was just another poor hillbilly from the sticks) and bribe the future King of Rock and Roll to get a tattoo that said “Velvet” just to see how high it would register on my Acme Irony Meter.

Saying that kitsch can’t be precisely defined, however, is not the same thing as saying it doesn’t exist.  In 1964, Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart wrote in a case dealing with obscenity that while hard-core pornography may be hard to define, “I know it when I see it.”  I would say the same is true for kitsch.  Though we may argue over whether any particular work of art or music is kitsch, I don’t see how we could argue whether or not the category (or genera, perhaps) exists.  Anyone who would argue there’s no line at all between real art and kitsch has never been to a county fair.  County fairs – with their generous heart-choking deep-fried cuisine, their ear-splitting midway Country music, their peculiar “animal or machine versus gravity” sporting events, their cartoon-themed amusement prizes, and their meager-toothed patrons sporting all-encompassing tattoos – represent the absolute nexus of kitsch.

Don’t get the idea from all I’ve said so far, by the way, that I’m somehow “anti-kitsch” – because I’m not.  Despite the 8 years in graduate school I spent obtaining a Ph.D, I’m still a hillbilly.  Given a choice between brie and Velveeta, you know which one I’m going to go for, right?  (And at the risk of being too blunt about it – lest I set off the alarms that puts me on the radar of The Illuminati – you and I both know there is a cosmic relationship between the “Elvis on Velvet” and the Kraft “Velveeta.” This is no coincidence; it’s a conspiracy.)

In 1958, Sheb Wooley had a #1 hit with the song “Purple People Eater”; it came in at #3 for the year, putting “All I Have to Do is Dream” by The Everly Brothers at #4.  Now, in my humble opinion, The Everly Brothers were one of the finest musical acts of all time, and “All I Have to Do is Dream” is one of their finest compositions.  Just because Sheb Wooley outsold them in 1958 doesn’t really indicate much.  I don’t really dislike “Purple People Eater.”  There are times when (at a Halloween party, for example) it is exactly what I would want to listen to. The point I’m trying to make, however, is that what is most popular isn’t always the most artistically substantial.  In fact, as rule of thumb, it’s almost always the inverse: given the cultural tastes of humans in general, what is most popular is typically going to be the most atrocious, vulgar, or banal.

In regards to the question in the image that illustrates this post, The Campbell’s Tomato Soup Can is a painting (or more accurately a silk-screen) by Andy Warhol.  Back in 1962, Warhol did a series of paintings based on sketches he did of ordinary Campbell soup cans and their labels.  At his first one-man-show gallery exhibit of the soup cans, Warhol sold a total of six canvases (out of 32) for $100 dollars each (Actor Dennis Hopper was, strangely enough, one of those six people who plunked down a Benjamin to take one of those bad-boys home).  Skip ahead over 40 years,  and in 2006, the last time a Warhol Campbell’s Soup Can painting went up for public auction, it sold for $11.8 million, and that painting (Small Torn Campbell’s Soup Can -- Pepper Pot) wasn’t even one of those original 32 paintings that were selling for $100 each on their opening night at the gallery.

This is why I can honestly say I don’t understand anything about “real” modern art.  If these paintings were kitsch when you could buy one for $100, then are they still kitsch if they sell for more than $12 million dollars today?  Is there a relationship between financial value and aesthetic value?  I honestly do not know how to answer these questions.  Who gets to decide what is and isn’t “fine art”?  Who gets to say what is and isn’t “kitsch”?

I don’t know who has the authority to answer these questions, but I know it’s not me.  Like most people, I suppose, I have my opinions on what makes something “art” but these opinions are never going to be anything more than just that, my opinions.

I’d like to argue (for example) that the 1960’s Batman tv series of my childhood (starring Adam West) was pure kitsch while the latest Batman movie, The Dark Knight (starring Christian Bale), was not.  While I’m a big fan of both, I think the artistic sensibility of the later crosses from mere pop culture into the realm of real art while the former does not. I am also a big fan of Tim Burton’s Batman (released in 1989). And this movie stumps me. I don’t know if Burton’s version should be considered kitsch or not.  Another of Burton’s other early films Pee Wee’s Big Adventure is clearly kitsch, a massively-entertaining juggernaut of a movie but kitsch nonetheless.

If anyone wants to straighten me out on this, you are more than welcome to leave comments below.  If not, I guess I’ll see you next week.

Olivia says:


First of all, in response to Mom, I do not think the Dinosaur song is kitschy.  It’s far too cool for that.  Also, I think for something to something to truely be kitsch-worthy it has to have gained some unexplicable popularity, which, besides in the lucky few who have heard it, has yet to be achieved.  


That said, you bring up some true points.  


I wonder what creators of things that end up to be kitsch think about their creations.  What I mean is, what do you think Elvis would think about his likeness in velvet?  Do you think Sheb Wooley would look back at that song in wonder or nausea?  


In response to your question, the only relationship I can think of between financial and aesthetic value is one of supplanting one for the other.  When someone chooses something obliviously to mimic prestige, I think you’re on the road to kitch, e.g. glass figurines make your living room look ‘fancy.’  Trust me, it’s not going to do it.  


However, I think there are inbetween-y things.  I kind of wish I had a kitsch-o-meter sometimes.  Because I have no idea what to think about Pee Wee’s Big Adventure except that it’s flawlessly awesome.  


But I guess, like you suggested, kitsch is in the eye of the beholder.  


Also, please explain to me what is up with those naked babies that look like they’re giving eachother bedroom eyes???  Where did THAT come from?