The ethics of appeal

Appeal is architecture. Every color, font, or price point is a moral decision in the arena of awareness. We debate the ethics of the extraction of data. But what about the ethics on the surface? The desire we sell?

To make something beautiful, pleasing, and wanted is a real responsibility. It’s the central exchange of our time.

Is it ethical to create something that doesn’t demand to be seen, shared, or owned? I think it’s worse to make art that’s confusing on purpose.

True accessibility is honesty. The ethics of appeal is all about that clarity: I’m here to seduce your attention. What you do with it after is the art we make together. Public opinion is the medium.

Similar Posts

  • Democratizing the gaze

    The power to look and to be seen was once curated by a priesthood in quiet rooms. No more.

    I make work for our new reality. It’s in the glance of someone on the street or in a shared meme. True power is in flooding the space. When my icon is on a thousand t-shirts, in a million feeds, the gaze is no longer borrowed; it’s owned by the crowd.

    This is distribution. By putting an image in the marketplace, I’m not asking for your contemplation. I’m demanding your participation. The art is in the collective gaze. See it. Share it. Wear it. That’s the transaction that matters.

  • The best art knows how to pose

    She’s been doing it for 500 years. The world’s most famous smile ain’t a happy accident. It’s a pose, held perfectly. She understood the assignment: to be seen and to be talked about.

    We do this all the time now, whether it’s the deliberate poise in a crisis or the quiet confidence of a well-cut suit. It’s all a kind of art. It’s knowing how you want to be seen, and holding that shape just long enough for the world to get it.

    The real work is in the presentation. A firm act of showing up as you intend to. That’s the art that lives.

  • Screens are prettier than people

    It’s in the fine-tuning behind the scenes of a selfie. A screen offers a different kind of truth, edited, yes, but more forgiving. It gives you a sense of control that you’re in-person face, with its tired lines and unpredictable emotions, can’t.

    I find a strange honesty here. In the pixel-perfect ad, a filtered sunset, or that endlessly looping video. These are aspirations. They’re the portraits we choose to hang in the gallery of our mind. We built these mirrors to affirm what we want to be.

    So I work with that light. I find meaning in the refresh. The prettiness is the language. It speaks directly to desire without life’s unpredictable rhythm. It is, for better or worse, how we see ourselves now.

  • 20 years ago

    2006. Tallahassee, FL.

    I bet $1,200 on a Ghost in China to start my first venture.

    20, in my first apartment, scrolling a shady website filled with perfect-looking sneakers. No contact info, just a cart. I selected a few Jordan releases, wired cash via Western Union, and waited.

    No confirmation. No tracking number. Just faith in a loophole I’d discovered: the space between a warehouse in Guangzhou and a buyer on Ebay.

    When the boxes arrived, I listed them on eBay. They sold fast. Then the feedback hit: “FAKE.” “NOT REAL.”

    The venture lasted weeks. The lesson has lasted 20 years:
    You can’t build on borrowed trust.

    Every project since has been about creating real foundations. Focusing on truth, not just product.

    The shoes are gone. The website vanished. The lesson remains: build things that hold weight.

  • The internet makes good copies

    The Mona Lisa hangs behind glass, tucked away and untouchable. We have the copy. We have the meme and the reaction GIF. The original is a relic and the copy becomes currency.

    Virality is a form of perfection. Today, a thing isn’t real until it’s replicated a million times. The internet multiplies the impact. Every share is a brush stroke.

    Good copies are the only originals that matter now. They prove an idea is alive.

  • I miss boring celebrities

    I miss when fame was quiet. You knew an actor from their roles, not their timeline.

    There was a space then… a respectful distance between the art and the artist. It left room for you to bring your own meaning. The mystery was a feature.

    Now every public life is a perpetual press tour. The curtain is gone, and so is the magic.

    I appreciate the ones who let their work speak. Who understands that sometimes the most compelling thing a famous person can do is simply be good at their job, and then go home.

    Quiet talent is a rare gift.