Label Whore

Sorry it's been a while since my last post. I thought I'd update you on my latest fascination: vintage product labels. It's only natural that, as a graphic artist, I would be drawn to labels in general. My love of long-ago eras draws me to labels from everyday products of past decades. Using my expertise with major design programs and knowledge of typographic history, I am able to create replicas of labels from such mundane things as Hershey bar wrappers, Oxydol detergent boxes, old coffee tin labels, and the like. If you're interested, you can view Hershey wrappers through the ages at www.hersheyarchives.org (click on Exhibits). Flickr is also an excellent resource once you hit upon a good photo stream.

I have a distinct memory of being on the USS North Carolina when I was a child and being fascinated with the commissary. Replicas of World War II-era candy, drinks, and such were on the shelves behind the counter, including a Hershey wrapper which was noticeably different from those being made at the time of my visit. I loved the time-warp feeling it created. To me, old labels add a valuable touch of authenticity to any attempt at connecting with a period in history. Typographic elements & treatments, as well as approaches to layout and illustrative styles, are all intertwined with the general course of history. Ever been to a Cracker Barrel store off the interstate? While the environment is overall artificial, the company's designers nonetheless have made a commendable effort at bringing back the feeling of the old general store of 80 or 90 years ago. They sell candies and beverages in specially designed packaging that echoes the graphic styles of the 1920s, '30s, and '40s, displayed on warm wooden shelves and in soulful glass jars. The labels may not be precise replicas, and in most cases are only loosely based on or inspired by early designs or even amalgamations of elements appropriated from different sources, but the overall feeling of the packaging designs of the times is there. No shocking hexachrome inks or hyperactive typographic treatments are in sight. The labels are colorful and engaging, but allow the shopper to amble along at a leisurely pace, his eye unmolested by garish fluorescents and screaming type. The labels reflect a slower, quieter way of life. So, I now seek to surround myself with authentic-as-possible replicas of ordinary goods.

As you already are fully aware, my greatest desire in life is to have the financial means to do only what I wish, and be freed of the time-draining burden of my 9-to-5 grind. If I may share something with you, I've long dreamt of using some of that time and money to build a historically accurate 1920s convenience store on my estate, filled with merchandise in period packaging. Such a thing would probably be built on the side of an unpaved portion of my driving track, nestled in a wooded area of my acreage. Outside the store I would erect restored or replica gas pumps, pull up in my fully-restored vintage auto, step out in my natty three-piece suit and fedora, and pop in for a Moon Pie wrapped in printed wax paper and an RC Cola in a 80-year-old glass bottle. An old Philco on the shelf by the counter would be playing big bands or old-time country music softly, while a hired actor in oily overalls would be sitting and reading the Saturday Evening Post. I'd pay for my items with antique coins, and sit on a rocker outside while the radio plays on. Ever read anything by Jack Finney? I often wish I could find a portal like he found in The Third Level. I wouldn't stay there, but I'd definitely visit often. This little country store on my private dirt road would probably be as close as I can get.