Fantastic ad for auひかり (au Hikari), a high-speed optical internet service in Japan.
Throughout the 1870s, inventors sought to improve on the basic design. One featured a plunger system for mixing six tumblers at once; another had air vents. But none of these took. Then in 1884, Edward Hauck of Brooklyn patented the three-part metal shaker with a built-in strainer and a little top — a configuration that has remained essentially unchanged to this day. It came to be known as the cobbler shaker (the sherry cobbler, made of sherry, sugar, ice and orange or lemon, was among the most popular cocktails of the era). When stainless steel was invented in the early 20th century, it quickly became the shaker material of choice, an honor it continues to enjoy.
How did we come to care so much about creativity? The language surrounding it, of unleashing, unlocking, awakening, developing, flowing, and so on, makes it sound like an organic and primordial part of ourselves which we must set free—something with which it’s natural to be preoccupied. But it wasn’t always so; people didn’t always care so much about, or even think in terms of, creativity. In the ancient world, good ideas were thought to come from the gods, or, at any rate, from outside of the self. During the Enlightenment, rationality was the guiding principle, and philosophers sought out procedures for thinking, such as the scientific method, that might result in new knowledge. People back then talked about “imagination,” but their idea of it was less exalted than ours. They saw imagination as a kind of mental scratch pad: a system for calling facts and images to the mind’s eye and for comparing and making connections between them. They didn’t think of the imagination as “creative.” In fact, they saw it as a poor substitute for reality; Hobbes called it “decayed sense.”