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IPATEK PHIUPPE
GENEVEA Patek Philippe advertisement for a watch and cufflinks - which represent little to do with a life on the ocean wave -
does, however, mould our aspirations by associating an ideal wit h an elegant timepiece. We are buying into a
duplicitously engineer ed lifestyle, confusing value with priceand t he tactics on which t he profession actually thrives.
Take, for example, the renowned Patek Philippe campaign. In one
of its advertisements, pictured above, we see a handsome father and
son sailing. The father, whom we assume is experienced from the
fact that he isn't wearing a lifej acket, is teaching his son t o tie a knot
as they cruise through gentle waters in a tranquil bay. The image is
seductive. I t speaks of a life lived in the lap of luxury, of the loving
respect of a child. Of hope for the future and t he serenity of ageing
well. It even attempts to defy death, invoking the feeling that
families and tradit ions will endure through generation s. All t h ose
delicious ideas are what t h e advertisement is selling, and yet t he
product at t he end is a m echanical watch and cu:fflinks - finely
tooled, no doubt, but in no way able to live up to t he promise of
the advertisement's depiction of t he good life.
The gulf between promise and product, endemic in contemporary
marketing, can be deeply depressing - t he sign of an industry
blatantly lying, manipulating our deepest desires to sell what
is often tat. However, in How to Rej01·m Capitalism, edited by
the School of Life's Alain de Botton, the argument is t hat this
disjunction is a source of hope. The ideas in m any advert isements
are ultimately t he right ones even if the merchandise is lacking.
It's as if deep down we know what enriches life, but have become
so confused about where true value lies that vve allow ourselves
to b e duped by canny advertisers projecting t he things vve cr ave onto
stuff which cannot hope to satisfy t he hunger. It is a clash of values,
real and imagined. A bad blend of true worth an d retail price.
We have conflated the concept of value and t h e concept of money.
Ther e is an infinite number of ways t hat something can be
valuable. I t might be considered important or deserving of respect
and care. It might nourish us, lifting our spirits or fortifying our
bodies. I t might help express feelings which are hard to squeeze
into words or provide pr otection from danger. Yet to truly monetise
something requires not only an appreciation of t he specific value in
it, but making it liquid - capable of being easily cashed in for other
things of commensurate value. I n economic anthropology this
is called 'gener al-purpose money', a currency that can be used
to purchase virtually anything.
Liquidity in architecture is endemic. The price of a building is
often not determined by how it can be used , but to what extent it
can be converted to other types of value. Architectural decisions
about form, structure and programme are often made with
the question of h ow each choice will impact on the project's
performance as a sellable commodity in the back of t he mind.
Liquid architecture reached a kind of zenith with emergence
of investment properties, homes built, bought and owned without
ever being lived in. Like gold bars, bitcoin and certain works of art,