In Defence of Austerity

Austerity – it reeks of unpleasant IMF structural adjustment plans, cold wooden houses, and meagre meals with over-boiled greens. In light of our economic un-pleasantries, the word has become fashionable. ‘In times of austerity’ has become a popular way for retailers to qualify the guilt now associated with overindulgence, nevertheless coalescing crowds to hoard bargains. Political commentators use the word to limn a world of breadlines and grey concrete housing estates. Has austerity gotten a bad wrap?

Commercial and artistic impetuosity, more often than not, leads to a loss of focus and hyperbolic extremities. In such times there could never be enough – enough ornament, enough colour, enough flavours, enough melodies, enough spending. What of the base, the source, the locus? In stripping away of excess, austerity is better viewed in a Miesian framework of ‘less is more’. To celebrate the austere is to deify the pure, the solid, the simple, the source. Rather than fear austerity or embrace it as some fad, perhaps these troublesome times will allow us to look at both the luxuries and simple pleasures austerity provides.

It was nearly 2,500 years before Walter Gropius and Ludwig Mies van der Rohe were able to equal the perfection of the Parthenon. Like the Ancient Greeks before them, Mies and Gropius had a profound appreciation for balance, proportions, and simplicity that could be expressed in structural forms. Times had changed and technology allowed for steel frames and glass curtain walls in lieu of Doric columns and triangular pediments. The Seagram Building is an enduring architectural poem for the beauty of austerity – clean lines, classical proportions, absence of unnecessary ornamentation. The boldness of architecture has grown, with varying degrees of success, however boldness and audacity in form is often executed for its own sake, particularly in such places as Dubai and Moscow. Perhaps a neo-Modernist wave, which has certainly been subversively present, is needed to wash over such architectural folly. Intelligent economy can be beautiful.

Bling – the word has entered the verbal discourse of youth and pop-culture globally. Shiny and glitzy gems sparkle on garments, jewellery, and accessories. The overuse of such decorations, purely for the sake of demonstration of (often factitious) wealth, has ruined the very qualities that make gems beautiful. In isolation their pure geometry and refraction of light dazzles. Likewise, clothing and raiment need not require superfluous embroidery or ‘bling’. Some of the world’s foremost luxury designers have demonstrated this, namely Helmut Lang and Jil Sander in the 90s and Raf Simons in this decade. Clothing, like architecture, serves a purpose. It protects the body and should focus on the body. Structured and minimalist clothing expresses the form of the body in beautiful and subtle ways – darts pulling a jumper in, creative stitching to assemble simple forms in a unique way. The beauty of the concept is that it can be executed at a variety of prices and still yield a satisfactory result.

Berlin has perfected a modern music aesthetic that reflects both the Teutonic efficiency of its culture and the contemporary place of technology in our society. Electronic music is the most current music, the music of the zeitgeist. This isn’t to say electronic music is the best, most popular, or most interesting music, but its focus on techniques that leverage human ability in both technology and creativity – that most human of elixirs – to execute its results, does make it the most culturally relevant music on an abstract plane. Berlin’s particular brand of electronic music has been minimal techno, a driving, repetitive exercise that embraces texture, rhythm, and space. It is a stripped down aesthetic that focuses the body on movement and perpetual progression. That its popularity is spreading should be no surprise – these times do not call for the decadent folly of Ibiza-esque house or trance – but such an approach should filter up to a broader variety of music genres. Minimal techno itself drew upon the influence of 1970s and 80s minimalism from composers such as Steve Reich, Philip Glass, and John Adams. Again, patterns, rhythms, textures, tonal scales – this was a shift from the hyper-experimentation of late Modernist music. The beauty of minimal music is its ability to draw you in and captivate you, simultaneously in a trance-like state and one of pure cognition.

When the good times roll, so do the bellies – we stuff them full of rich foods like caviar and Wagyu Beef. Besides the idea of a £200 burger being ridiculous (and a bit naff), it doesn’t respect the hearty simplicity of a burger – the very idea is to soften the brusque flavours of ground meat in a rustic and easy to eat way. Epicures know no limits to complex flavours, but when these flavours become distractions from the core ingredients themselves, it is time to rethink. Stop the foams, mousses, and veloutes for a moment. Fresh, local ingredients provided by the bounty of the earth and your local farmer. To coax as much flavour out of these ingredients as possible and synching them in simple harmony is austere cooking at its best. Fergus Henderson has exemplified this cooking in Britain while Alice Waters has done this same in America. Great chefs know a great meal is never cheap, but they also know wonders can be done with available ingredients that can sometimes out-wow sought after delicacies. One could say the same thing about a complex, yet deeply structured Claret. Let the food speak for itself.

Architecture, clothing, music, and food are but a few of life’s wonders that can benefit from a thoughtful austerity. For better or worse, the whims of economic success and consumer capitalism mean that such austerity is forgotten in the bounties of life, not because austerity cannot produce beautiful results, but because properly executed austerity requires thought, time, and precision. When the music stops, as Chuck Prince not so presciently remarked, the nascent hangover of excess suddenly grows into something nasty. We seek to go back to the simpler things in life, to the sundry joys of minimalist delights. Part of it is shame, but an equal part is the realisation that sobriety provides – that thoughtful austerity is a gift that we shouldn’t loose sight of. Soon enough old habits will return, but let this be a reminder to the joys of austerity and perhaps we can carry its virtues into more comfortable times with the hopes that it doesn’t remain such a dirty word.