What does a combat infantryman have in common with a #vanlife rock climber? It turns out the roots of outdoor industry owes a lot to the military. The first whitewater rafting gear was salvaged from military surplus equipment from the Korean and the Vietnam War. The first inflatable whitewater rafts were old life rafts from naval ships, known as “bucket boats”. Modern mountaineering and skiing techniques were developed in Colorado during World War II in order to invade German-occupied mountains in Europe. When the wars were over, the thrill and access to these extreme conditions remained. These two different lifestyles intersect at the commodification of fear. A fear that can only be felt when risking your life in unsafe environments.
The outdoor industry grew out of this need to access the wildest, most remote areas of the planet. It co-creates the idea of prestige nature by mythologizing the virtues of exploring the limits of “prestige” nature. Prestige Nature is nature that is pristine, remote, untouched by people, and strikingly beautiful. This image of nature is so ubiquitous that it has become the baseline for defining what nature is. If you close your eyes and think about nature, you probably don’t see weeds growing out of a crack in the cement. It is more likely to be that of a majestic mountain, a forested lake, a rugged coastline.
The aim of outdoor enthusiasts wasn’t to exploit these areas or use them for strategic advantage. It was to explore and push the limits of the human ability to survive in the most adverse conditions. To touch what no one else has touched. Participants were only as safe as the equipment and their skills allowed them to be. As outdoor gear became more sophisticated and training became more refined, the envelope of what was possible got pushed further and further. Those that could push further than any others became celebrities in this growing subculture that in part grew out of the Bay Area. People like Yvon Chouinard, Royal Robbins, and Peter Metcalf started as iconic climbers who went on to found companies like Patagonia, Royal Robbins, and Black Diamond.
The efforts of these people and their peers led to a radical counter-culture in the way that most Americans related to the outdoors at the time. Risk and remoteness became synonymous. A new form of heroism became exalted in nerve-wracking videos and images that defined these thrill-seeking generations. The images and mythology of this niche counterculture became mainstream with the rise of lifestyle brands and retailers like The North Face, REI, and Patagonia. Now, most people that buy technical clothing don’t use it for its designed purpose. Urban clothing has hybridized with technical outdoor gear so that one can go from the office to the bouldering gym without having to change. It speaks to an identity of the weekend warrior, the arm-chair adventurer. Perhaps it helps connect those of us living in urban areas to the remote wildernesses we romanticize.
Free Solo Climber Alex Honnold during his historic ascent of Half Dome without the use of ropes
Through this evolution, the once wild outdoor industry has become domesticated and urbanized. Looking at this evolution as a designer I see an interesting opportunity to re-define Prestige Nature. In the same way that outdoor gear has become urbanized, inversely could the urban experience become more wild? What would it take to design a shift in public perception from urban spaces to urban ecologies? Urban ecosystems are the fastest growing ecosystems on the planet, and yet for many cities remain as separate entities from the very idea of nature.
I believe we need to be in constant contact with nature’s mechanisms and systems in order to stay connected to it emotionally. One of these important mechanisms is entropy, or the gradual decline into disorder. Entropy is what makes the Grand Canyon so grand. The patterns of erosion over the eons have sculpted it into the sublime environment that emotionally moves those that witness it. In what ways might we elevate entropy in urban spaces in order to repair a broken emotional connection to nature’s systems? A plant breaking through a crack in the asphalt is a heroic moment, not a weed needing to be pulled.
