Columnists
The allure of retroville
One of the reasons I moved to Wellington several years ago was to find a simpler life. And by and large, it’s worked. I don’t have to waste my time worrying about which drugstore or bank to use. But it could be simpler still.
How so? I’m thinking about the relentless march of technological change. Nothing stays the same. Even though I may have mentally cashed out of the day-to-day grind, I’m forced to deal with it whether I want to or not. For example, I am in the habit of reading a daily newspaper; I didn’t ask, nor do I want, to read it on a tablet instead. While I have grown used to e-mail, I don’t have the stomach for social media. You get the picture. I know, it’s pretty pathetic. But I’m wondering whether I’m entirely alone. I suspect I’m not.
At the same time, I read about the difficulties the County is having attracting new housing developments, whether on account of high development charges, a bureaucracy too slow and sticky, or some other reason. I say to myself, “maybe there’s an opportunity here.” Most developments use a vague attractor that evokes some nostalgic sentiment, however disconnected from reality it might be (Alpine Flats, Phase 3; Riverbend Creek, stacked townhouses; Valley Heights, new condos and singles, and so on). Maybe the County could attract new residents if it were to develop something with a different hook, a niche in time hook, like Disco Gardens, a 1979 Community. You would be buying the peace of mind that says “yes, I’ve elected to live back in a simpler time.” You’d be purchasing the allure of retroville. You’d buy the promise that technology, at least as you experienced it, would operate unchanged even if, behind the scenes, people had to work to keep it talking to current technology.
But you would have to bear some of the consequences, would you not? If you went shopping at your local grocery store, you wouldn’t expect to find fresh pomegranates because they didn’t stock them in 1979. You would also be cheating on the values of our 1979 community if you took out a mortgage at current rates instead of at 1979 rates of over 10 per cent. You would have to maintain your 1979 turntable and platters in pristine condition. And wear 1979 era clothes, if you had any left.
This is all a bit of a fiction, of course. You can’t really divest yourself of the experiences that you’ve had since 1979, or say that the world has to stop because you want to get off. If some durn fool were to launch a nuclear missile, he wouldn’t exempt you from its effects because you were pretending to live in 1979. Nor, I suspect, could most of us resist the temptation to sneak a peek at what’s happening in the outside world. Don’t we (all right, me and few others) secretly care what happens to Donald Trump’s campaign to be the Republican presidential nominee, or whether the Blanding’s turtle (now joined in a tag team by the little brown bat) manages to go all 15 rounds with the wind turbine developers and the Ministry of the Environment? I suppose you could say that a 2016-based retroville would be less of a stretch, but who wants to stop at 2016 when there’s another generation of even bigger flat-screen TVs coming out next year?
Come to think about it, there are other unique ways to market housing developments without getting stuck in the conceptual mess of the retroville allure. How about, since this is Prince Edward County, a housing development that gives every homeowner a share in a winery? Or one that is built around a brewpub? Or, looking to the heavens for inspiration, one that features an astronomical observatory? How about one with a grandchildren’s play centre? Or one with a car-sharing service?
Any of those ideas sounds quite a lot more palatable than being stuck in 1979, what with polyester and Saturday Night Fever and all. But, if instead, I could choose 1966, when the Beatles were kings, things would look a lot different. My copy of Rubber Soul would only be a few months old, and I wouldhave just gotten ahold of Revolver. Maybe I’m not so much afraid of modern techology as I am of suffering from a bad case of nostalgia. I’ll take two 45s and a cup of tea to bed, and check in with you next week.
My secret admirer will not sit still. My kitchen is now overflowing with unopened packages of Liquorice Allsorts after a St. Patrick’s Day blitz. Any addicts with similar cravings are invited to contact me to arrange a fix.
Comments (0)