What
is Oober and what the hell do we have against fashion?
First
of all, we don't give a damn how Versace made his money
or what got him killed. We here at Oober, Inc. love our
Levi's and $200 shoes--because they're comfy and they
make our butts look sexier.
We're
not talking about FASHION
. . . We're
talking about cultural norms and "taste" and
basically whatever you're supposed to do to be "successful"
or "liked" or to just get along in the world.
We're
talking about those ideas that seep into our creative
aquifers and make us feel like crap because we can't or
won't do things the way that everyone tells us is "the
right way" or "the best way".
We
also understand that it is quite fashionable to not be
"fashionable". Our goal is not to not be fashionable.
Our goal is to NOT THINK ABOUT IT.
There's
only one way to kill fashion and that is to IGNORE IT.
If everybody were to ignore fashion it would go away (by
definition). Not gonna happen. Not even at Oober, inc.
Not completely. But it can happen a little bit. In ways
that matter.
It's
not as easy as it sounds . . . If you believe you've successfully
killed fashion in your personal universe and you have
some compelling evidence to back it up, give us a call.
We'll worship you. Then you will be fashionable to us
(mwaaahaaahaaa!).
Oober?
Oober
means not trying to make art that sounds/looks/smells/tastes
like someone else's.
Oober
means not trying to not make art that sounds/looks/smells/tastes
like someone else's.
Oober
means trying not to try to make art.
Oober
means exploring the fine line between genius and insanity
(not exploiting what you consider "insanity" you
bullies--goddam you piss me off--you know who you are.).
Oober
means knowing the difference between writing a song and
writing in your journal.
Oober
means hand-tooling methods that custom fit what you are
trying to do.
Oober
means not tooling.
Oober
means exploiting what others perceive to be your weaknesses
to allow your true genius to emerge.
oober
means "insider" art.
Oober
means working hard to nurture the machine that kills fashion
within each and every one of us.
Oober
. . . we knows it when we sees it.
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