We crave authenticity, but often settle for imitations in the objects with which we surround ourselves. We believe in the real deal, but put up with simulated materials that sometimes look foolish.
Not far from my home, there’s a huge telecommunications monopole poorly disguised as an escapee from a grove of giant California redwoods. Standing on a hill with ersatz branches bearing pretend conifer needles, it towers over the surrounding Lilliputian forest. More distracting and uglier than an unadorned steel pole, it calls attention to a ridiculous idea. It screams: I’m a fake.
Along the same road some miles distant, is a hollow, gray lump of plastic articulated to look like a boulder. It hides a utility installation in front of a shopping center. At first, I thought it was a joke since it’s obviously not fooling anyone. But no, it’s a serious attempt to hide an unsightly electrical connection with an even more hideous container meant to look natural. Even a young child would not be deceived. Their plastic toys are much better made and do not masquerade as the real thing. The usual gray or green metal cabinet, however bad-looking, would have been, much better. At least some talented artist could paint it with a clever design.
Sometimes the differences are subtle, like concrete pavers instead of brick, or plastic fences designed like classic white picket models. Reduced installation and maintenance costs are often an attractive inducement for their use. Still, by their design they demonstrate a longing for conventional materials. We may sacrifice original elements to price, but we want the fake to look as much like the real thing as possible.
Perhaps, too much love for traditional substances inhibits creative use of newer ones. Often, I see Formica imprinted with a wood grain, or linoleum made to simulate stone or tile. Why make them look like something they are not when they have so many singular, innovative possibilities? We let nostalgia for the past shape our future.
Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but sometimes it just makes a mockery of the mimic. It’s not a new phenomenon. Brick-look asphalt siding on buildings was used widely in the mid-twentieth century to cover clapboards and barnboard. It never tricked anyone, and to contemporary eyes looks bizarre. Vinyl siding molded with a woodgrain effect is even stranger. Maybe some people get warm fuzzies thinking a building wrapped in such plastic is reminiscent of clapboards. But when painted, real clapboards do not typically show any grain.
Concrete may seem the epitome of a soulless modern material, but it’s been around since Roman times. It’s not concrete that’s soulless, only lack of imagination in its use. Often it is the victim of sterile design, as in a typical Interstate highway bridge. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Connecticut’s Depression era Merritt Parkway was built with more than three score different concrete bridges, all graceful with delicate individual ornamentation and sculptural elements that dazzle the eye. Perhaps it’s a yearning for the Parkway spans, but there’s a tendency today to use concrete molded to look like stone. It’s getting better, but still looks fake, and does not come close to the creative thought and innovative construction that went into Merritt bridges of the 1930s.
Historic contexts must be respected with traditional materials wherever possible. But elsewhere, innovative manufactured materials have many benefits. They may be quicker to execute, less costly, and have design possibilities that can stretch human imagination. But they need to be themselves. Thinly disguised as something they are not, often results in aesthetic failures diminishing their positive qualities. We like people who are honest. The objects with which we surround ourselves should be held to the same standard.
