Will this camera cost Kai Neville, Joe G., Blake Kueny, et. al. their jobs? Probably yes!
If this doesn’t amaze you then you are a drug abuser in the throes of withdrawal because, even for the crustiest of souls, this is amazing. You throw it in the air. It follows you. It can get wet. It lands in your hand when finished. And it shoots 1080p high definition images of you doing your thang.
The 7th Bomber Wing, in the United States Air Force, has the motto “Death From Above.” The Lily Camera, with cute eyes winking, is “Narcissism From Above.”
And guess what Narcissism From Above costs? A mere $500 United States dollars. So accessible! I will admit, even though I own GoPro, that every time I see a motherfucker surfing with a camera mounted on surfboard nose I try to burn. But if I saw a motherfucker surfing with a Lily whirring overhead I would recognize his or her superiority and maybe paddle in.
Do you want to own Narcissism From Above? What would you film? How quickly would you get arrested for filming that?
I mean of course what the already-frequently-overcrowded
action sports arenas around the world badly need is a swarm of
smiley-face-painted-but-actually-much-more-sinister sky-lords overhead while
their humanoid earthling puppets fight tooth and nail to impress them, for
likes. It’s essentially narcissism, weaponised.
Picture the exact scenario in the clip for example. Except
everyone in the lineup has a wristband on and their own Battlestar Gatwatica
screeching about some feet above. In that specific instance you’ve basically
got a 21st-century re-enactment of the battle of Midway, only
without Josh Hartnett. An already overcrowded, overtestosteronated lairy bunch
of Hawaiians would be showered with shrapnel and aviation fuel (or battery
acid, I didn’t really pay much attention during the promo vid, so not sure what
the power supply sitch is) as the Battle of Shitain unfolded overhead. Aloha at
the Banzai Pipline bitches!
This is a Hawaii-specific example of course, but the same
would be effectively replicated in a number of other once-sacred Shangri-las of
shred around the world. Just thinking about the Aiguille du Midi first bin on a
powder day with this fuckery taking place overhead makes me want to puke. The
cable-car, one of the most incredible feats of human engineering, would be
reduced to looking like dustbin lorry in downtown Mogadishu, encircled by a
swarm of flies as it fought its way up the ‘Midi, apparently likely to run out
of petrol/vegetable oil at any moment.
The“action sports”, whose practitioners represent these
things’ target markets, are supposed to be about getting away from the bollocks
and enjoying the natural world in its most rarefied places and ephemeral
moments. I mean sure, if you’re doing something rad, why not document it (or
better yet have someone else do it for you). But be less of a fuckwit about it.
Be a Narc if you insist but stay sort-of-inside the closet. Fake boobs are only
funny when you pretend they’re real. Keep your giant top-trumps life/avatar cards close to your
chest. Having my freshly-ground cup of Sumatran Kopi Luwak with a cool milk
designer froth knocked out of my paw by a fucking selfy-stick while I check the
surf at my favourite Spanish pointbreak is bad. This thing though, which will
effectively mutate the most majestic outdoor pursuits into glorified
L.A.I.R.E/battle re-enactment doesn’t even bear thinking about.
Chainmail, helmets and shields in the 21st century belong in the bedroom and
nowhere else.
I love the passion but wouldn’t surfing be funner, for a minute, if the line-up turned into Mad Max scenario you so beautifully describe?
Yes, provided Tom is there. He’s at once rugged and sophisticated, and would be my pick to star in the next Hollywood surf massacre f’sure.