What customers can choose to do for respected creators
I wonder when it started.
Whether it's food, clothes, books, or anything else, I've become conscious of "who I buy things from and who they belong to." Whenever I want something that isn't necessarily essential to my life, something more for my hobby or preference, I now first think about "who" it belongs to and "who" I should buy it from.
This is also due to the fact that the spread of social media has made it easier to see the faces of the ``makers'' who we previously had no direct contact with, and has made it possible to get closer to the activities of the stores and the presence of their ``owners.''
Nowadays, our timelines are lined with posts from creators and stores. In some cases, it may be possible to contact the creator directly and purchase something without going through the store. This may result in a better deal than buying through a store, or a transaction at a price that allows the creator to receive better compensation. We live in an age where "buying someone else's things from that person" has become a common and possible option.
But that's why.
I think that it is precisely in times like these that "stores" are so interesting. We are living in an age where the very existence of real "stores" is being called into question. Stores that are facing this are earnestly searching for that "something" that their store must have, in their own way. So, as a "customer," I want to seriously consider "who I buy from" and act accordingly.
That means thinking about who you pay and how you pay them - or, to put it more dramatically, who you live with and how you live.
Of course, it may be more efficient for both parties if makers and buyers could connect and transact directly without going through a store. However, this would require building personal relationships with makers you know face-to-face. It is unlikely that personal connections, that is, private connections, can be fostered solely through self-interest such as "efficiency."
Moreover, each of us can only consume the amount of goods equivalent to one person's consumption. Whether it's clothes, books, or wine, there is a limit to how much we can buy from a maker. Is it really sustainable to force the maker, who is not a customer service professional, to spend their time and effort on each of these "inefficient" transactions?
Because of this, even if I have the opportunity to interact directly with a maker, I generally do business through a trusted "store," with a few exceptions where we both want to continue to develop a relationship and it doesn't seem like a burden to either party.
We love the work of creators and respect them. That's why I think it's important to maintain a proper sense of tension and distance. Our "love" is a difficult emotion to handle, and if we're not careful, it can destroy the things we cherish. In that respect, "shops," and their owners and staff, are skilled at handling our "love" as professionals.
Above all, if a place we can go to on a daily basis is important to us, who are merely consumers, readers, and drinkers, then we must do what we can as customers to ensure that the place and the activities of the people there are sustainable.
The crucial difference between"homey"and"intimate"as revealed through "bazaars and clubs"
I often think about "shops" in this way, but I'm not just thinking about this on my own, based on my experience as a "customer." The history of philosophy, the academic field I've always studied, offers hints on the "wording" needed to think about these things.
There was a philosopher named Richard Rorty who was active in the United States in the late 20th century.
Rorty is a philosopher who has discussed a wide range of topics, but when thinking about "shops," his discussion of the "distinction between the public and the private" is useful.
Yamamoto Riken, who I introduced last time, called the "shop" and the "house," the public and the private. Rorty calls them the "bazaar" and the "club." The "bazaar," which anyone can access and where one can earn a living as a buyer or seller, is an infrastructure that supports everyone's lives; one cannot survive without it.
But the bazaar can also be a tiring place. You might encounter unpleasant customers. You might come across an unpleasant store. If you're a customer, you might just avoid going to that store, but from the store's perspective, it's not so easy to choose your customers. They might accept you for the time being, and then ban you if absolutely necessary, but you can't ban someone without first letting them in.
That's why everyone needs a "club" where they can drop in after a tiring day at the bazaar before heading home to sleep. There, they can meet people who are similar to them, share important values, and talk about anything without any reservations. They can even complain about things they didn't do in the daytime. They might even say harsh things that they wouldn't say at the bazaar.
The "bazaar" is a safe place where everyone is considerate of each other, but it can also be exhausting for individuals, while the "club" is a place where you can feel safe spending time with close friends, but it can also be a dangerous breeding ground for in-group behavior and discriminatory language. Both are necessary, and both are important.
What's interesting about this metaphor is that both the public (bazaar) and the private (club) are "shops" in a broad sense. A more conventional philosopher might say that the public is a "plaza where politics can be discussed" and the private is a "home where life is lived." However, for Rorty, both are commercial places. This is where the philosopher's individuality and appeal lie.
Rorty first came up with this metaphor in 1986, but with the spread of the Internet and the rise of social media, which were unimaginable at the time, "The Bazaar and the Club" raises new questions for us today. As I mentioned at the beginning, our daily lives are now illuminated in every detail by social media.
There, everyone is able to see who is doing what, when, where, and how they are interacting with others. Even if you don't create an account or lock your account, as long as you're interacting with others, it's difficult to escape this structure. What's more, if you're doing business in a broad sense and need to communicate or advertise something through social media, you'll inevitably be caught up in it.
Thus, public, light-filled "bazaar" spaces have now spread to every corner of the globe. In a world where everything is visible, we find ourselves wondering who a certain piece of clothing, book, or wine belongs to, and from whom we should buy it. This is simply a matter of the fact that the world's original structure of production, distribution, and retail, and the people behind each of these, have become visible, but once you can see them, there's no going back.
In this kind of environment, it is not easy to find or create a "club"-like space where you can be free from the tension of a bazaar, where you never know when or how you will be seen, that is, where you can escape from being a specific "person" and blend into the darkness.
Rorty himself only went so far as to say that both bazaars and clubs are "necessary." However, it is undoubtedly the "clubs" that we must now consciously protect or actively create. So how can we create a "club"-like space in the current environment while also dealing effectively with its precariousness?
As we discussed last time, each "shop" has a mixture of "bazaar" and "club" elements. The kind of shops that are on the rise these days, where the faces of the people who run the shop are well known, have a stronger "club" feel than large stores or chain stores where this is not the case. However, as a place where different people gather, the "bazaar" element of a certain tension is also essential. Perhaps if that tension were to disappear, a "good, homey shop" would become an indecent, exclusive establishment that doesn't allow first-time customers and sometimes even becomes a nuisance to the neighbors.
This is also where the difficulty of connecting directly with makers and customers without going through a "shop" lies. Maintaining the tension of a "bazaar" in a one-on-one relationship requires a great deal of self-control and a sense of balance on both sides.
A store that can sometimes become a "club"-like space, in keeping with the demands of the times, but still maintains the necessary level of "bazaar" quality. How can such an exquisite balance be achieved? There is no single answer; there will likely be different answers for each combination of variables, such as the store's genre, the owner's personality, location, and clientele. But whatever it may be, it will be known as a "good store" and have "good customers."
Why are we drawn to bars?The charm ofthe darknessof a bar
I think about this day and night in cafes, clothing stores, bookstores, and bars. I wonder why the "good stores" that I like and can recommend are the way they are.
One of the places that is close to me and where a "club"-like space can emerge is the "bar." So tonight, once again, I'll go to a bar that I think is nice, and watch the bar owner's actions, listen absentmindedly to the conversations with each customer and among the customers, and if I feel like I can join in, I'll join in.
The same rule applies to clothing stores and bookstores, where the rules are different. In restaurants, you generally shouldn't talk to the person next to you. But bars are different. The good thing about bars is that you can strike up a conversation with the person next to you. Of course, you should carefully watch their expressions and find the right timing, or perhaps get the bar owner to intervene.
You don't need to know the other person's name. Their background doesn't matter. The main purpose isn't to get to know each other or communicate with each other. But it's the small things like the delicious food, the alcohol, or laughing together over silly stories that bring people together and create that fleeting feeling of "we" that makes a bar feel like a bar.
If we can share that feeling, that is, if we can share the fact that the "shop" likes the space and time, then a "we" emerges who share that feeling and goal. This is completely unnecessary when it comes to simply wanting to eat or get drunk. But it is for this reason that I go to the "shop" known as a bar.
These are the conditions for what Rorty calls a "club"-like space to emerge as something fleeting. You might be able to chat carelessly with someone you've just met, or with a regular customer whose name you don't even know, relying on the vague sense of "we." Because there's no mutual interest, you might be able to air your daytime complaints.
What's more, you don't have to talk at all or drink alcohol. At the very least, you can enjoy spending time with people who don't intend any harm on you and whom you don't have to be wary of.
If you can believe that there will be a night like that, you will be able to continue working at the Bazaar tomorrow.
Lighting in the bazaar is important.
Thanks to this, we can now think about "who" we should buy from and which store we should go to. We can obtain and enjoy products made by makers we know face to face, through the store owner or staff we know face to face. In that sense, I think we are living in an unprecedented and interesting era.
However, living with your face exposed like that, or facing it directly, all the time can be restrictive and exhausting.
That's why we need the dark side of the club too.
There must be a moment of security for everyone, including the shop owners, where names and faces don't matter and where they feel like they're part of "us" and are bound together by just a little bit of "liking."
There is day and night, and both are necessary, and that's how the world works.
