Show me the Logos

23 April 2001
Jamie's ready to dish out some corporate punishment...

In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And now look at us. Microsoft Word¹ has more followers than most religions; people are more likely to lend credence to a Bill Gates press release than to the latest papal edict from the Vatican. In short, the Word just got blown out of the water.

Let me give you an example, from a couple of weekends ago. I was shocked and delighted to see signposts by junction 10 of the M4 pointing the way towards The Oracle. Could Apollo be alive and well and living in Berkshire? Spurred on by promises of Delphic guidance, I strove like Aeneas towards my destiny; unfortunately, all I found was a fuck-off shopping centre slap-bang in the middle of Reading's one-way system. From the navel of the earth to the arsehole of the universe in one easy step. What the fuck happened there?

All I can say is, maybe we got wise to the scams. We're too rational to follow the ambiguous instructions of some dippy virgin who's high on ganja (unless there's the slightest chance of scoring); fear of divine retribution and subsequent gnashing of teeth isn't going to force us to change our lives. When it comes to superstition, I'm afraid the writing's on the wall (apologies to Mr Wonder. But hey, he's not going to be able to read this!); we'd rather have somewhere convenient to buy our clothes...

But let's be honest, has anything changed? Looking round the new Oracle, you could be forgiven for thinking there was a bit of a religious gathering. Punters gathering round the various makes of footwear with the sort of blind respect and awe usually reserved for sacred relics ('No, I'll gladly pay a week's wages for the new Reebok Mach 1, that sounds a perfectly fair exchange'), or hopping around waving a shoe like out-takes from the Life of Brian. If you were a bit of a God-squadder in the old days you had a fish tattooed on you; now you declare allegiance to Nike (sportswear icon, not goddess, this time) by shaving a tick in the back of your head.

Now, am I the only one that finds this all a bit spooky? I suppose in part it's the concept of branding that gets me - as if the ovine approach of flocking towards the latest fashion wasn't enough in itself, you carry the permanent mark of ownership burned into your shoulder (or tracksuit or whatever). Makes the term 'slave to fashion' even more pertinent.

It's more than that though - it's the zealots that really play games with my mind. The type of people who adhere religiously (sorry, that word again) and irrationally (the two do tend to go together) to a particular brand and get all the gear, and spend their whole time slagging off the rivals. Part of this is just a natural need for community and a common enemy, some of the old tribal instinct coming out (I remember when I was nine a big debate going round school on who was better out of Garfield or Snoopy, in which everyone had to declare allegiance one way or the other), and I suppose it's better arguing about fashion labels than going on crusades or declaring fatwahs on literary figures; but it seems a pretty pointless outlet for one's splenetic juices.

Maybe I wouldn't mind so much if I could afford the bloody things. As it is, I'm sat here with my Green Flash plimsolls and C&A slacks, celebrating Easter with plenty of chocolate, the way it should be. Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ I feel sick. fcuk the lot of you.

FOOTNOTES
 
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I know. I did a word / Word(tm) thing in my first clown. But that was ages ago...