Hi hello,
I hope you’ve been well! I was away last week because my partner and I are settling into our four-month stay in Uzbekistan. The weather here is shockingly hot, and it will only get hotter and frankly, I don’t want to think about that right now.
This week I wanted to write about the amusing shop signs we’ve seen in the first 10 days of our stay. We’ve been compiling a growing list of favourites which includes: Fanny Toys (an unfortunate misspelling of ‘funny’), pretty peculiar street food (not promising), MEN’S TERRITORY (written in all capitals over a violently yellow background), and the mysterious “Transfer of Tech” fashion school.
One can easily imagine how these marketing miscommunications happen in non-English speaking countries — the curse of Google Translate and a desire to appear more Western to consumers. The usual story goes like this: a clueless but determined 40-year-old shop owner types some Uzbek or Russian words into a magic box and ends up with garbled English. Then these words get printed on colourful plastic banners or, worse, are made as permanent light fixtures that emit an ominous blue into the city night.
The history of shop signs spans all the way back to the world’s first major civilisations. Archaeologists have found well-preserved stone signboards from Ancient Rome depicting things like three golden balls to signify a pawn shop or a bush for a tavern (from the proverb “good wine needs no bush”). From the 17th century, English pubs adopted everyday imagery in their signage to cater for the illiterate. These became important geographical identifiers for locals as well as travelling sailors. It’s why one of the most common pub names is the Red Lion.
Over time, as cities developed and competition to sell goods increased, the need to attract attention to business grew. I won’t bore you with a recap of contemporary marketing techniques — going on about social media, salt and a moustached Turkish man who goes by the name Bae — but you get the gist. I think this is why we found ourselves in front of some of the silliest shop signs in Uzbekistan.
Yet I can’t stop wondering — who are these signs in Uzbekistan for? Some of them, like pretty peculiar street food and Fanny Toys, were spotted by us in remote regions of the country — in random parts of Ferghana city and Kokand. Though they certainly will attract their attention, I don’t think they’re aimed at English-speaking tourists. In fact, I think they’re aimed entirely at the local population, just like the viral t-shirts that have been lost in translation. Here, the English language, the most commonly spoken in the world, connotes a certain level of trendiness and quality. Why else would someone in Tashkent name their shop, which sells suits and tuxes, RichMond?
In my own homeland, I find the trend to look Westwards on these matters grating. The collective desire to appeal to the Western capitalist gaze produces homogenous restaurant menus, architectural styles and interior design — the end result is almost always sterile and a bit soulless. Tashkent is a property developers’ playground at the minute, with new apartment blocks replacing Soviet-era buildings and luxury designer shops (real) lining the ground floors. The message is clear: “If you can’t afford to shop here, you can’t afford to live here either.” But I digress. At least the funny shop names are funny. If anything, they add to the surrealist experience of modern life today.
Things I’ve enjoyed this week
The Ultimatum Queer Love!!!!!! Everyone but Mal is a villain. Aussie needs professional help with her communication issues. Vanessa clearly isn’t monogamous. If you’re watching it, I need to know what you think!
Reading more easy copaganda LAPD investigation books by Michael Connelly — it’s the only stuff I can get through in the 40-degree heat. It’s my guilty pleasure. I can’t stop turning the pages.
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