Cash from Mayo: On Richard Hellmann and Malcolm McLaren

Malcolm McLaren in a 2006 TV ad for Hellmann's mayonnaise 

est. as a commercial brand in 1913 by Richard Hellmann 

 

I. 

 

Hellmann's make a whole range of condiments - ketchup, mustard, salad dressing, etc. - but they are probably best known for their ready-made mayonnaise, which was first developed by Richard Hellmann for the use of customers at his New York deli in 1905 [1]. 

 

It proved so popular, that Hellmann began selling it to other stores and, in 1913, after continued success, he built a factory to produce his mayonnaise in ever-greater quantities, sold under the name Hellmann's Blue Ribbon Mayonnaise. 

 

He had discovered his true role in life and was on the way to making a fortune; the very first mayo millionaire, able to comfortably retire in 1927 after selling his brand to Postum Foods.   

 

Somewhat surprisingly, it wasn't until 1961 that Hellmann's mayonnaise arrived in the UK. By the end of the 1980s, however, it had over 50% of the market share. And then, in 2000, Hellmann's became part of the British multinational company Unilever (who own and market the brand to this day). 

 

 

II. 

 

In 2006, Malcolm McLaren was probably feeling a little wistful ... 

 

'Anarchy in the UK' had been released thirty years ago and he had turned sixty in January, which is a difficult age for any man: "Too old to be a midlifer, too young to be elderly; still aiming for the top - but also ready for a lie-down", as the journalist Andrew Baker once wrote [2]. 

 

He had by this time, however, long established his credentials in the advertising industry, after gaining a number of commissions to work on commercials in the previous decade for a variety of top brands including Levi's, Pepsi, and British Airways.

 

Perhaps someone at the ad agency Lowe London remembered this and although they didn't require his services as a conceptualist or creative director, they did offer him the chance to feature as one of a number celebrities in a 30 second TV spot for Hellmann's mayonnaise, passionately discussing the best way to prepare a cheese and tomato sandwich.

 

Whilst there is much disagreement about ingredients - what type of bread, what type of cheese, what type of tomato (Malcolm favours cherry tomatoes) - and how best to cut the sandwich, everyone agree that Hellmann's mayonnaise is crucial. 

 

The tagline runs: You create the sandwich. Hellmann's makes it. [3] 

 

 

III. 

 

Presumably McLaren was well paid for his involvement and by this date he had acquired an extremely lavish international lifestyle, holidaying with Young Kim on St. Barth's, etc., so perhaps needed to earn a few extra bob whenever the chance to do so arose.  

 

For some who knew him at this time, he seemed happier and more content than previously, as well as increasingly proud of his legacy and keen to defend it. But, as Paul Gorman notes, "there is a sense that McLaren was never quite comfortable, nor firing on all cylinders" during this late period, "when life was without conflict" [4] and smothered in mayonnaise. 

 

 

 hellmans.com

 

 

Notes

 

[1] German-born Richard Hellmann (1876–1971) emigrated to the United States in 1903. In mid-1905, he opened his delicatessen at 490 Columbus Avenue, NYC.   

 

[2] Andrew Baker, 'The reinvention of the 60-year-old man', The Telegraph (24 April 2022): click here. 

 

[3]  Written by Sam Cartmell and directed by Jorn Threlfall, the ad can be viewed on YouTube by clicking here. For more info on the creative team behind the ad, click here.  

 

[4] Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 735. Gorman goes on to make an excellent reference to Dorothy Parker's poem 'Fair Weather', which includes the line: 'They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.'   

 

 

Why I'm Not a Party Animal

Marina Molares The Wild Party (2011)  

flickr.com

 

Party animal (n); a very gregarious and outgoing person 

who enjoys parties and similar social activities.

 

 

I. 

 

Like Dorothy Parker, I hate parties; although they don't bring out the worst in me [a], so much as make me anxious, bored, depressed and long to get away. 

 

In other words, I experience a sense of alienation at social gatherings that are meant to be fun and friendly occasions; a feeling of estrangement from my fellow party goers who are all trying so hard to enjoy themselves. 

 

Like Michel Houellebecq, I can't help asking from the moment I walk into the room: What the hell am I doing with these jerks? [b] 

 

In fact, I would echo and endorse many of the things that the French poet and novelist says about parties. This, for example, seems insightful and true:

 

"The purpose of the party is to make us forget that we are lonely, miserable and doomed to death; in other words, to transform us into animals." [43]

 

According to Houellebecq, that's easily done if you belong to primitive humanity; "it doesn't take much to keep them amused" [43] - some drugs and music and they're off. 

 

In contrast, most Westerners have no sense of party at all: "Profoundly self-conscious, radically alien to others, terrorised by the idea of death, they're quite incapable of achieving any exaltation." [43] 

 

This inability to really let go and party might make them ashamed and resentful, but there's nothing they can do about it; attempts to pass as a party animal are just that - attempts to fool themselves and others.

 

And so, whether gathering simply to have fun, to celebrate an event, or to fuck with strangers, it's all a bit of a sham; no one really believes in what they're doing or in who they're pretending to be. You can see it in the eyes of the participants. 

 

Even at a sex party, it's the same thing; everyone is either thinking about making their excuses to leave, or desperately wants to ask the pretty young thing penetrating them with a strap-on dildo: What are you doing after the orgy? [c]     

 

 

II. 

 

Houellebecq concludes that the best thing to do is probably avoid going to parties altogether - even if this means your social life and reputation as fun-loving will invariably suffer as a result. However, if it becomes absolutely necessary to attend a party, then he has some tips to help you get through it without excess suffering or boredom.

 

These include: drink before as well as during the party, as alcohol (in moderate doses) produces "a socialising and euphoric effect that has no real competition" [46]; always make sure you have booked a taxi to take you home - and always plan to go home alone; never stay too long - a good party is a brief party. 

 

I think my favourite piece of advise, however, is this:

 

"Be aware beforehand that the party will inevitably be a failure. Visualise examples of previous failures. You don't really have to adopt a cynical and jaded attitude. On the contrary, the humble and smiling acceptance of the common disaster makes it possible to achieve this success: to transform a failed party into a moment of pleasant banality." [46]   

 

And, finally, Houellebecq offers this consoling perspective on the subject: "with age, the obligation to go to parties decreases, the inclination towards solitude increases" [46]; i.e., the acceptance of death triumphs.   

 

 

Notes

 

[a] I'm referring here to Parker's poem entitled 'Parties: A Hymn of Hate', which can be found on poets.org: click here. 

 

[b] Michel Houellebecq, 'The Party', in Interventions 2020, trans. Andrew Brown, (Polity Press, 2022), p. 43. Future page references to this text as it appears here will be given directly in the post. This amusing short piece was first published in 20 Ans in 1996. 

 

[c] See Jean Baudrillard, 'After the Orgy', in The Transparency of Evil, trans. James Benedict, (Verso, 1993). 

      I have referred to Baudrillard's idea in numerous posts on Torpedo the Ark over the years; see, for example, this post from 23 October 2015, entitled 'After the Orgy: Rise of the Herbivores'. 

 

 

Notes on Herb Brown's Party

Herbert L. Brown: Party (1966)

Overpainted subway poster (60" x 90")

When I first saw the above work by the American artist Herb Brown, I immediately smiled and thought of something that Lawrence once confided to a friend with reference to his own erotic canvases and artistic intent: "I put a phallus in each one of my paintings somewhere. And I paint no picture that won't shock people's castrated social spirituality."

For there's no place at which people parade their cultivated personal selves and castrated social spirituality more blatantly than at a semi-formal drinks party. I don't think I've ever enjoyed such a gathering - no matter how gracious the host, how splendid the cocktails, nor how interesting the guests are said to be. As Dorothy Parker once wrote: I hate parties; they bring out the worst in me.

I love the way that Brown allows bits of lettering and illustration from the original posters to show through, although it is their inert neatness that seems superimposed on the explicit nakedness of the figures. It's an amusing (and provocative) aesthetic juxtaposition.

Unsurprisingly, Brown's paintings - like Lawrence's - were branded gross, coarse, hideous and obscene and he found it difficult to exhibit them. Worse, in 1966 he lost most of his work in a huge blaze (by his own estimation, around 900 pieces were destroyed). To his great credit, however, Brown started again and kept on working right up until his death, aged 88, in 2011.

Finally, we might ask in closing whether Lawrence would have liked Brown's Party ...?

I very much doubt it: probably too raunchy and not reverential enough for his tastes. Despite his phallic bravado, Lawrence remained a bit of a prude; easily offended by those who, in his view, had their sex in their heads.

But I like it. And I would hang it on my wall and leave it there - even when the grandkids came to visit.    

Notes 

Dorothy Parker's poem Parties: A Hymn of Hate (1916) can be read online by clicking here. 

For a post on one of Lawrence's phallic paintings - Boccaccio Story (1926) - click here. 

Ayn Rand: The Mme. Blavatsky of Wall Street

Ayn Rand (1905-1982)

Any figure whose work is scorned and amusingly dismissed by both Dorothy Parker and Lisa Simpson probably doesn't deserve to be taken seriously. And yet, depressingly, Ayn Rand continues to be read by a large number of people, many of whom seem to genuinely regard her as a visionary philosopher rather than a novelist of what Christopher Hitchens described as transcendent awfulness.

Her big idea of Objectivism asserts that rational self-interest should determine all human relations. In practice, this means an unqualified acceptance of laissez-faire economics and idealizing the heroic individual fighting for freedom and human greatness against the State and its regulations, as well as the hordes of resentful parasites (some of whom have facial hair) reliant upon his tax dollars in the form of welfare handouts and publicly-funded programmes of education and healthcare.

Not surprisingly, therefore, she has exerted a significant and somewhat sinister (almost cultish) influence on a number of conservative and libertarian figures; her first major literary success, The Fountainhead (1943), serving in Miss Simpson's words as "a bible for right-wing losers".

As for her fourth and final effort in the field of fiction, Atlas Shrugged (1957), considered by many to be her magnum opus, well, I cannot better Miss Parker's brilliant review which concludes: "This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force".

I'm sorry Antoine, but your affection for this woman compromises my affection for you ... 

Suicide Note

Photo: Adam Rowney, Suicide Rainbow, 2009

I have always been attracted to the idea of suicide. Not because I feel particularly world-weary, or prone to morbid thoughts, but because the act of suicide seems to me to be one that shows tremendous courage and which, paradoxically, takes away life out of a love of life. That is to say, in choosing to die freely and in a manner of their own devising, the suicidal subject offers a form of vital affirmation.  

I would happily kill myself tomorrow were it not for the fact that a very great deal of time and effort is required to produce an originally stylish suicide and I am, alas, fundamentally lazy. Thus whenever I begin to imagine the meticulous preparation that is required - arranging all the details, finding all the right ingredients, shaping the entire enterprise into a true practice of joy - then too do I think: 'Well, maybe the day after tomorrow ...'

And I remember also the following verse by Dorothy Parker:

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.