One of my favorite McLuhanisms is a 1964 observation about the rise of the automobile: “The horse has lost its role in transportation but has made a strong comeback in entertainment.” It’s a perfect expression of how obsolescence doesn’t necessarily mean total disappearance, as we sometimes expect it will in the moment, but instead just narrows the space in which the outmoded technology operates. Similar fates befell media like vinyl records and mail correspondence, which have since settled into their own happy little corners of the world. Following multiple decades of aggressive, overt technological disruption—a process that seemed eager to fully annihilate its targets—we’ve all been trained to anticipate what will perish next, and sometimes even welcome its demise. The current upheaval we’re experiencing is the ideal petri dish for such ideation: With everything rapidly changing and fewer other ways to engage with the outside world, we sit at home and channel unprecedented collective energy into anxious predictions about what the post-pandemic future will entail. While there’s no strong consensus about what new creations will emerge from this, there’s more agreement about what will be eliminated or severely curtailed, temporarily or permanently. If creative destruction excites you, this is your Super Bowl.
#125: Tears in Rain
#125: Tears in Rain
#125: Tears in Rain
One of my favorite McLuhanisms is a 1964 observation about the rise of the automobile: “The horse has lost its role in transportation but has made a strong comeback in entertainment.” It’s a perfect expression of how obsolescence doesn’t necessarily mean total disappearance, as we sometimes expect it will in the moment, but instead just narrows the space in which the outmoded technology operates. Similar fates befell media like vinyl records and mail correspondence, which have since settled into their own happy little corners of the world. Following multiple decades of aggressive, overt technological disruption—a process that seemed eager to fully annihilate its targets—we’ve all been trained to anticipate what will perish next, and sometimes even welcome its demise. The current upheaval we’re experiencing is the ideal petri dish for such ideation: With everything rapidly changing and fewer other ways to engage with the outside world, we sit at home and channel unprecedented collective energy into anxious predictions about what the post-pandemic future will entail. While there’s no strong consensus about what new creations will emerge from this, there’s more agreement about what will be eliminated or severely curtailed, temporarily or permanently. If creative destruction excites you, this is your Super Bowl.