MARS MISSION 99% Invisible, the podcast, and The 99% Invisible City look at the design of everyday life.
ILLUSTRATION: JEFF HAGAN ’86
example, is now independent). Another Kickstarter in 2014 raised more than $600,000 for Mars to start a podcast network, Radiotopia, which now includes more than 25 shows. Today, Mars has a staff of about a dozen people producing 99% Invisible, with offices (pre-COVID) in Oakland, California. (The show’s VP of strategic development is Sofia Klatzker Miller, a 1996 conservatory graduate whom Mars met at Oberlin). He hopes the book will bring his reporting to new audiences—“about 70 percent of the world doesn’t know what a podcast is”—while also giving his listeners a great resource. “As much as I think audio is the superior form of communication for humans, it does lock stories into a linear format,” he says. “I talk for 20 minutes. You get the story, but maybe not all the details. I felt it was time to have all this information, everything that 99% Invisible is about, broken open in print.” The COVID-19 crisis called into question the design of everyday life in a way that has made Mars’ job more interesting (and the book more relevant). In 2020, he produced episodes on the homeless, masks, ambulances, and toilet paper. “When COVID-19 happened, the soft architecture of city and commerce instantly changed,” he says. “The tape on the floor and the Plexiglass started showing up everywhere. It was jarring. It make you think, what other aspects of our lives were once ad-hoc solutions?” Stretches of city streets closed down to allow for outdoor dining. “Roads used to be this mass constituency of people, horses, trollies, and vendors, along with cars,” Mars observes. “Then, we made a conscience choice to cede that territory just to cars. But now, our values and needs are changing. None of this stuff was inevitable, and knowing the history, I believe, helps people imagine how things could be different.” OBERLIN ALUMNI MAGAZINE 2021 SPRING
BOOK LOOK
A Moveable Seat BY JEFF HAGAN ’86
“There is no magic, by the way, to the particular chair that is used in Bryant Park.” So writes Andrew Manshel ’78, who spent a decade as associate director and counsel of the Bryant Park Restoration Corporation, in his book Learning from Bryant Park: Revitalizing Cities, Towns, and Public Space. Many would disagree, given the importance the chairs played in giving new life to the once run-down four-acre park that nestles up to the back of the New York Public Library. Even those who think the word “iconic” is overused are willing to attach the label to the moveable metal-frame, wooden-slatted chairs that populate the park. Well-used ones are offered for sale (as “vintage furniture”) through the park’s online shop.
In 1991, Manshel was tasked with finding replacements for the park’s mesh-seat chairs, which were falling apart and quite literally leaving bad impressions on the people using them. After a nine-month search, and over his own choice, the organization selected the green French bistro chair. That isn’t just their trés chic name: the chairs literally came from France (the manufacturer, FERMOB, now has a distribution center in Georgia). For Manshel, though, it’s the fact of the chairs, not the design, that’s important. “The very existence of the chair in the space demonstrates that someone has put it there, cares about the space, and is taking care of it,” he writes. “The movable chair delivers a powerful message about the character of the place where it can be found.” 11