The word “glamour” comes from the word “grammar”. In ye olden days, it very well would’ve been pretty cool to be able to read. However, in the Age of Disinformation, people who seem to exude glamour are obviously being prepped for vivisection, it’s like watching Bambi in the shadow of Godzilla’s foot. . Cottage industries thrive from the ultra-instantaneous media’s ability to absorb and relate the destruction of one’s persona to that of necessity. Glamour destroys itself anew. In the debauchery of infantile celebrity I have recognized Rousseau’s conflict between “Nature” and “Society”. Glamour is false consciousness arising from knowledge of the simultaneous. It’s psychotic. There, I said it. Glamour is psychotic – when you describe it. Once it is codified into product, it’s old, faded, worthless. In a unquantified state, in the ear like an endlessly repeating, haunting melody, glamour calls. Glamour calls for you at seven. There, I said it. Glamour calls for you at seven, because the Early Bird special is when the newbie is pouring the drinks at Le Poisson Garde. There, I said it. Glamour is calling me to Le Poisson Garde at seven, pouring big drinks, and is totally psychotic. Simply the coolest looking server I’ve ever seen. Glamourous:
It is the safe haven of the cynical, an accident on wheels speeding at its own reflection, egocentric, garish and universally recognizable.
glamour (n.) 1720, Scottish, “magic, enchantment” (especially in phrase to cast the glamor), a variant of Scottish gramarye “magic, enchantment, spell,” alteration of English grammar (q.v.) with a medieval sense of “any sort of scholarship, especially occult learning.” Popularized by the writings of Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832). Sense of “magical beauty, alluring charm” first recorded 1840. As a verb, by 1830s, from the noun.
Glamour enchants the hipster, the purveyor of Utopian means of making and doing that allude to secretive methodologies, or abandoned methodologies cast-off from the husks of Progress in its continuous metamorphism towards finite utility. Hipsters like antiques because the triumph of making over purchasing, of putting the “tools of production” into the hands of the person was the 19th century answer to rampant industrialization and the decoding of human behavior into the conveyance of profit, unit by unit, hour by hour. The hipster is collecting an antique relationship to labor. Because there are tons of unnecessary jobs. Is being glamorous necessary? Being glamourous has the advantage of being unserious.
“The glamour of it all. New York! America!” – Charlie Chaplain
Rock over London, Rock On Chicago.
glam·our also glam·or (glmr)
n.1. An air of compelling charm, romance, and excitement, especially when delusively alluring.2. Archaic A magic spell; enchantment.
But I like hipsters. So, whatevs. I think there’s always a sort of innocent joy to be had in understanding a mechanical, non-electronic, preferably human-powered device, like an Underwood typewriter or a fixed wheel bicycle. items that are not too complex to understand, nor to describe. It is not so much in the using or interaction with the device, but the meta-narrative of all known, finite interpretations of the use by a community of users. Obsolescence takes on a mysterious, provocative feel, tingeing the increasingly immediate past with the golden aura of amber. It’s like a tombstone with an alcove for a yard gnome. It’s a steam punk toaster that doubles as something to stretch or shape a fedora. It’s a solar-powered single-serving coffee maker. What’s the fun in using these castaways. What’s the fun in being castaways.
I never felt I would be rich, nor would I have the wits about me to be able to live freely, that conniving people would convince me such trappings were common, yet I would sense that these material privileges were prevalent. Misery loves company. I feel like a wave in the bow of a sinking ship, a moment of energy caught in the drowning moment of a capsizing ship, gone one moment if it could be said you could have seen at all. Poof. In the Pure Utopia of Naturalism, I have decided to turn my world of images on its head. I watch the shibboleth upside down. Without being able to identify myself, I have no object to which i subject myself.
I grabbed hold of the earth with my feet and hung upside down, my arms dangling down towards the stars, waiting for gravity to release me so I could be free. There is glamour in the deep night, absurdly populated with unknowable stars, alone, enchanted, entombed. Glamour. [make mime box around face like Madonna]
Glamour comes from grammar. Dancing librarians, activate!