Trendsurfing: Urban vinyl toys (The Times)
By David Rowan
Why waste toys on children? The new wave of cult action figures sweeping Britain is aimed squarely at the grown-ups. Quirky, collectible dolls known as "urban vinyl toys" are making stars out of the artists who create them and spurring a richly inventive artistic subculture. They may be just a few inches of cold plastic, resembling anything from crazed space aliens to hyperactive monkeys. Yet with fashion stores clearing shelves for them and broadcasters fighting to license the characters, the toys have quickly become one of the art world's growth industries.
Don't confuse them with Barbie or Action Man. Typically produced in batches of just a few hundred, urban vinyl reflects the whimsical styles of the artists behind them, who lately have included fashion designers such as Diane von Furstenberg and animators from DreamWorks. Often, the attraction is their witty assaults on pop culture: one group, Achy Breaky, specialises in dolls with mullet hairstyles; others parody hip-hop culture with ice-cool DJs battling over breakbeats. The most sought-after rarities sell for thousands of pounds.
The phenomenon started in the late Nineties. Michael Lau, a Hong Kong artist, made a name for himself customising GI Joe action figures to reflect street fashions, turning soldiers into skateboarders and surfer dudes. Lau quickly attracted a devoted following as the trend spread to Japan, Australia and North America. If you can find one of Lau's dolls on eBay, you may just have yourself a little pension pot.
Today at Kidrobot, an American retail chain that specialises in urban vinyl, you can buy smoking Chairman Mao dolls, Oyster Boy figures designed by Tim Burton, and teddy bears redesigned in homage to Kill Bill 2. As Kidrobot's online store warns, these are not toys for children - "they're the centrepieces of a full-blown movement with its own language, celebrities and diehard fans". Follow the dolls' stylistic development, it suggests, and you can monitor the shifting faces of fashion, music and art.
So where does Britain fit in? "Demand here is blowing up," according to Rob Manley, co-owner of the London-based PlayBeast label. "Hong Kong and Japan are both now bit-part players. But here, we keep getting inquiries from cool little boutique stores that want to stock our figures."
Manley's bestseller is the Monsterism range, by Pete Fowler, the UK's leading star. He claims to have sold half a million of Fowler's pieces, at £5 to £30. So who is buying? "Mostly males, 14 to 35 years old, who are into music, fashion and film," Manley says. "Actually, a lot of kids we're hearing from are getting into it via their dads."
The appeal, he explains, lies in each designer's unpredictable play on pop culture. "The toy world is run by the big sharks, but this is us lot doing something completely different," he says. "And if you're clever about it, the toys can be the first step towards a big entertainment product."
Next stop Hollywood, then? "Actually, we're hoping more for Channel 4 or BBC3," Manley says matter-of-factly. "We're talking to some big broadcasters about Monsterism. And Disney is knocking our door down at the moment." Disney? Doesn't that rather defeat the anti-corporate ethos? "Yeah," he says. "Flattering though it is, I'm not jumping on the next plane to strike a deal."
(The Times Magazine, May 28 2005)
Why waste toys on children? The new wave of cult action figures sweeping Britain is aimed squarely at the grown-ups. Quirky, collectible dolls known as "urban vinyl toys" are making stars out of the artists who create them and spurring a richly inventive artistic subculture. They may be just a few inches of cold plastic, resembling anything from crazed space aliens to hyperactive monkeys. Yet with fashion stores clearing shelves for them and broadcasters fighting to license the characters, the toys have quickly become one of the art world's growth industries.
Don't confuse them with Barbie or Action Man. Typically produced in batches of just a few hundred, urban vinyl reflects the whimsical styles of the artists behind them, who lately have included fashion designers such as Diane von Furstenberg and animators from DreamWorks. Often, the attraction is their witty assaults on pop culture: one group, Achy Breaky, specialises in dolls with mullet hairstyles; others parody hip-hop culture with ice-cool DJs battling over breakbeats. The most sought-after rarities sell for thousands of pounds.
The phenomenon started in the late Nineties. Michael Lau, a Hong Kong artist, made a name for himself customising GI Joe action figures to reflect street fashions, turning soldiers into skateboarders and surfer dudes. Lau quickly attracted a devoted following as the trend spread to Japan, Australia and North America. If you can find one of Lau's dolls on eBay, you may just have yourself a little pension pot.
Today at Kidrobot, an American retail chain that specialises in urban vinyl, you can buy smoking Chairman Mao dolls, Oyster Boy figures designed by Tim Burton, and teddy bears redesigned in homage to Kill Bill 2. As Kidrobot's online store warns, these are not toys for children - "they're the centrepieces of a full-blown movement with its own language, celebrities and diehard fans". Follow the dolls' stylistic development, it suggests, and you can monitor the shifting faces of fashion, music and art.
So where does Britain fit in? "Demand here is blowing up," according to Rob Manley, co-owner of the London-based PlayBeast label. "Hong Kong and Japan are both now bit-part players. But here, we keep getting inquiries from cool little boutique stores that want to stock our figures."
Manley's bestseller is the Monsterism range, by Pete Fowler, the UK's leading star. He claims to have sold half a million of Fowler's pieces, at £5 to £30. So who is buying? "Mostly males, 14 to 35 years old, who are into music, fashion and film," Manley says. "Actually, a lot of kids we're hearing from are getting into it via their dads."
The appeal, he explains, lies in each designer's unpredictable play on pop culture. "The toy world is run by the big sharks, but this is us lot doing something completely different," he says. "And if you're clever about it, the toys can be the first step towards a big entertainment product."
Next stop Hollywood, then? "Actually, we're hoping more for Channel 4 or BBC3," Manley says matter-of-factly. "We're talking to some big broadcasters about Monsterism. And Disney is knocking our door down at the moment." Disney? Doesn't that rather defeat the anti-corporate ethos? "Yeah," he says. "Flattering though it is, I'm not jumping on the next plane to strike a deal."
(The Times Magazine, May 28 2005)
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