The party was clearly underway in Woodbridge, a small and well-knit neighbourhood bordering Detroit’s west side. It was the Fourth of July, and in an empty lot between houses DJ Star stood at a picnic table, stacked high with hip hop and classic Motown vinyl, thinking what to play next before George Clinton’s Atomic Dog finished. In front of her turntables a group of local women danced, some with their children in one arm, some in heels and some barefoot, all not missing a beat.
Older children nearby fought over a basketball in a makeshift court, while younger ones screamed relentlessly as they bounced inside a giant inflatable castle. The smell of barbecue slinked aimlessly from someone’s yard, and the smell of weed drifted from a parking lot down the street.
As darkness grew so did the party-going population. Everyone gradually turned their attention to a wide field, just 20 metres across the street, where row after row of illegal fireworks were neatly lined up. “This is the sixth year in a row we’ve been doing this,” said an older man under a tree.
He pointed at a house across from the field that was painted in bright colours and graffiti, and had around four or five sunglassed residents drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon beer on the large covered porch. “They’ve been here two years. That girl over there,” he gestured at a short blonde, “Last year she got so drunk she ran out on the field while they were lighting them fireworks up. They’d better watch her this time.”
The music got louder as dusk settled in, but people began to take their seats. Then, they trickled in. A few at a time at first, then in larger groups; some with blankets to sit on and some with beer, but most on bicycles. Tattooed, pierced and moustached, and primarily white, groups of young adults filtered in amongst the mostly African American congregation. They mixed uncomfortably, but for the most part, they mixed.
The hipsters had arrived, and they were here to enjoy the Woodbridge fireworks.
Detroit has long struggled with its image, often connected with race. The city weathered racial riots in 1943, then again during the Long Hot Summer of 1967, when hundreds were injured and thousands arrested in the Detroit 12th Street Riot. In the tense years that followed, many Caucasian families left for the suburbs, some at the city’s urging. Nowhere else was the “white flight” phenomenon easier to observe than 1960’s Detroit.
Things didn’t stop there. As the city and suburbs became racially polarised, residents of the latter felt wary to tread in unfamiliar territory. Crime rates rose higher in the 1970s, and the city couldn’t shake its image of being populated by “big, tall black men” with guns.
Throughout the 80s, Detroit became synonymous with arson, violence and despair. The film RoboCop was un-ironically set in the city, but even then it was a futuristic, glammed up metropolis. T-shirts emblazoned with “Detroit: Where the weak are killed and eaten” were not an unusual sight. First Motown then the Motor City, Detroit had unintentionally earned another “M” moniker: Murder Capital.
As time went on the “crime-ridden Detroit” hysteria subsided, and the image of blight took over. Urban explorers found acres of abandoned factories in which to create “ruin porn”; prairies began to form on the lower East Side where burned down neighbourhoods had been abandoned. Urban farms moved in along with the occasional group of anarchists, and the city took on an eerie quiet. Detroit became known as the metropolis that was.
But the media kept their eye on the city, with the likes of Time magazine and The New York Times opening Detroit bureaux to watch with close eyes a very slow revolution. Not just urban farmers, but innovative and creative young entrepreneurs began to move into neglected neighbourhoods drawn in by rock-bottom property prices.
There’s Loveland, famous for their micro real estate platform that allows people to buy land at $1 per square inch and manage it online. Then there’s Green Garage Detroit, an incubator for environmentally friendly businesses housed in an old Model T showroom. Numerous bicycle shops, cafes, breweries and even a doggy day care have sprouted up where 10 years ago there was, literally, nothing.
Detroit’s gone through an inadvertent image change once again. From the ashes, so to speak, it’s emerged as a solemn underdog; a place with a mighty history and loads of hidden potential; a city that’s been downtrodden by years of abuse but is now chalk full of fighting spirit.
More important than all that, though, is that this new Detroit is cool.
While the term “hipster” has some rather vague definitions, and is often used pejoratively, Wikipedia diplomatically defines them as “middle class or upper class young people associated with alternative culture.” As Time magazine describes them, “Take your grandmother’s sweater and Bob Dylan’s Wayfarers, add jean shorts, Converse All-Stars and a can of Pabst [Blue Ribbon] and bam—hipster.”
At the fireworks, a Brit named Rob, dressed in gold parachute pants and glasses with thick black frames, joined a similarly bespectacled friend wheeling his fixed-gear, who had explained that he was kinda-sorta from Manchester but he actually grew up in the Midwest. Matt, the friend, had returned to the city from the UK to be closer to his family, and to take advantage of the growing art scene. “I still had a lot of friends here, and there’s so much happening that it just made sense.”
“I came to see what this place was about,” said Rob. “It’s pretty laid back and everyone’s doing something really unique—not how the media makes it out to be. I’ll definitely tell my friends back home.”
Street art by local artist duo Hygienic Dress League
“Killed and eaten” T-shirts are now passé (unless worn ironically), as a new breed of Detroiter put their stamp on the city. One brand declares, “Defend Detroit”, another “Detroit Hustles Harder”. RoboCop is a popular icon, with local groups earlier this year raising over $50,000 to construct a statue of him—location TBA.
You don’t have to look too far to find a more whimsical Detroit, too. Midtown shop City Bird sells eco-friendly cloth shopping bags, candles, shot glasses and anything else a young urbanite might want—all plastered in the theme of Detroit.
But just 10 years ago, if you wanted to wear Detroit, you were wearing Made In Detroit. The clothing label, developed by local artist Robert Stanzler in 1991, was one of the only options for those who wanted to display Motor City pride without resorting to a shirt with a sports logo on it.
Made In Detroit pays respect to the city’s industrial roots, with the silhouette of a worker, wrench in hand, displayed starkly between bold, angular letters. The brand quickly found an audience amongst the city’s hip urban crowds, and was sported by the occasional tourist who ventured beyond the parking lot of Detroit Metro Airport.
In 2005, Stanzler ran into financial troubles and was forced to sell the business. He worked for a while as creative director even after the sale, but eventually his different vision for the company forced him to leave after just six months.
He carried on with that vision, however, and in 2007 started Detroit Manufacturing. The brand has a distinctly different style, as Stanzler departed even further from the “doom and gloom” image he was trying to change with Made in Detroit.
His new designs range from cutesy to edgy, but many target a hip, young crowd that is up on their internet memes and has a thirst for retro. Some feature turntables, others kitschy logos that look like something out of the 70s or 80s.
One two-tone design looks like it could have come straight off an Atari, with the Peoplemover (Detroit’s solitary and neglected rail transportation) blazing past the city skyline, a bulbous sun setting behind the iconic GM headquarters. It advertises, “Detroit: City of Tomorrow”. Another women’s T-shirt features a little girl being lofted into the air, hands gripping tightly the strings of not balloons, but gears. “Detroit Makes Me High”.
Made In Detroit still lives, albeit now produced in the suburbs. The buyer, infamous rock-rapper and Detroit-area native Kid Rock, moved operations there shortly after his 2005 purchase. He was seen most recently touting his wares, and Detroit love, on the Daily Show.
Shoppers check out merchandise at Pure Detroit
Ryan Hooper of Pure Detroit, one of the oldest Detroit-centric retail shops in the downtown area, says people generally still respect the Made In Detroit brand. “It widens the pie, and makes Detroit cool to people in the suburbs. We often get them to come down and buy a shirt.”
He says, though, that although the Detroit brand has become popular with out-of-towners, it’s maintained an even higher level of cool with those from out of the country. “I think Europeans, especially, are completely fascinated by Detroit—a lot of them because of techno,” says Hooper.
Many retailers say up to 20 per cent of their in-store and online sales come from overseas, with an especially large audience in Germany. Says Hooper, “We’ve often talked about, what would happen if we put up an ad on a billboard in Berlin. What kind of impact would that have?”
He believes things are changing for the better, with an influx of new residents and a gradual change-of-heart by the media. “There’s more positive energy surrounding Detroit these days,” Hooper says, “People who used to live here but moved away often come back and buy something.”
Claire Nelson is a Detroit immigrant, having moved into the city from New York 10 years ago because of her husband’s job. The couple chose to live downtown, and four years ago she opened one of the first boutique retail shops in the Midtown area, Bureau of Urban Living. She stocks things for the home, from locally made furniture to knickknacks like candles and soaps, but also carries some Detroit paraphernalia, such as posters, glassware and clothing.
Nelson says the majority of her customers are “people who are new in town but determined to spend their dollars on local businesses.”
Detroit is all about supporting local artists, but Nelson says she wants to sell more functional items made locally rather than things with the Detroit brand. But it’s the themed items that are popular, she laments, as she points out a funky wooden table—made in Detroit—that just won’t sell.
“There’s a major appetite for Detroit-themed merchandise—I’d say there’s not enough of it,” she says.
A huge proponent for her new hometown, Nelson co-founded Open City, a forum for Detroit business owners, and often helps new entrepreneurs take their ideas from paper to concrete.
She says the movement of the young and the hip is definitely not unwelcome, but she just hopes they stay. “Detroit may be a fun ‘Wild West’ when you’re young, but what about when these people get married and have kids? They’ll have different concerns then,” she says. “Let’s hope they don’t run away to the suburbs like everyone else did.”
28 July, 2011
One Comment
Great report!