Over the past few weeks, considerable media attention has been given to protestors wearing inflatable or oversized novelty suits at anti-Trump demonstrations, including the recent No Kings protests. And yes, most of the people dressed up as frogs, dinosaurs, unicorns, and chickens look like they’re having fun. But as these images circulate, it’s worth asking whether the spectacle that attracts attention might also dilute what that attention is for.
Admittedly, there are at least three main reasons why these costumes have become popular at these venues. First, they provide memorable visuals that spread across social media, increasing the protest’s reach and visibility. Second, their absurdity and the humor they create help keep the atmosphere light and nonviolent, signaling that these gatherings are meant to be peaceful and friendly. Third, the imagery helps undercut Trump and his allies’ narrative that protestors are violent extremists, because it’s difficult to take that claim seriously when the demonstrators include inflatable chickens.
These are all legitimate tactical advantages, and protest movements throughout history have used the power of humor and performance in shaping their communication strategies. For example, the Yippies’ absurdist protests in the 1960s and ACT UP’s theatrical demonstrations in the 1980s both used spectacle to dramatize the importance of their causes. Their tactics were entertaining, but the laughter served a direct political purpose.
But I wonder if something gets lost in translation. When protest images go viral primarily because they’re entertaining rather than because they communicate specific demands, there’s a risk that observers remember the spectacle without engaging with the substance. The question isn’t whether people in dinosaur suits are taking the issues seriously, but whether their chosen medium of expression helps or hinders their political message from landing with audiences who need persuading.
I’m not suggesting that protesters should abandon humor or embrace solemnity. Nor am I insisting there’s only one “correct” way to protest. Different tactics reach different audiences, and humor can make difficult political messages more accessible. But it’s worth asking: when someone sees an inflatable chicken, are they more likely to consider the protest’s demands, or do they simply keep scrolling? Does the costume invite curiosity about the cause, or does it become the entire story?
Maybe I’m overthinking this, and the protesters themselves are best positioned to judge what works. But in an attention economy, like the one we currently live with, I hope the message doesn’t get buried beneath the costume.
Image Credit
Title: No Kings Protest
(location Madison, Wisconsin, October 18, 2025
Photographer: Kevin Fager
https://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/54863553031_a29f98b455_o-scaled.jpg20482560Jeffrey Ian Rosshttps://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/jeffrey-ian-ross-logo-04.pngJeffrey Ian Ross2025-10-26 05:35:432025-10-26 05:35:43Are Inflatable Costumes Helping or Hurting the Protest Message?
Living beside a used car lot can teach you about noise, boundaries, and the limits of goodwill.
Years ago, I lived in a low-rise apartment in Toronto’s Little Portugal, right next to a small lot that sold used cars. Most of their customers were newcomers buying their first vehicle, and the salesmen hustled hard. But as neighbors, they could be… challenging.
They’d rigged the office phone to a loudspeaker outside so they wouldn’t miss calls while working the lot. Too often, they forgot to switch it off at night. We’d hear the ringing phones and fragments of messages people left long after midnight.
Friends, relatives, and former customers who were passing in front of the business would sometimes slow down (disrupting the traffic flow) and honk as they drove by. And sometimes salesmen, friends, and customers would attempt to burn rubber on the small lot in noisy and smoky displays of bravado. It was a mixed-use neighborhood, after all, but the line between liveliness and disruption blurred fast.
Occasionally, someone would steal a car. One night, under the overpowering security lighting on the lot, my neighbors and I watched a man jack up a vehicle and remove the entire transmission. I’m sure the owners had insurance, but each theft still meant paperwork, deductibles, and hassle.
The police would occasionally make the rounds, knocking on doors to ask if we’d seen anything. There was always a polite chorus of “no,” and plenty of feigned surprise.
The truth is, we saw plenty. If the car lot owner and crew had been better neighbors, if they’d kept the noise down, turned off the loudspeaker, shown a little consideration, we might have looked out for them.
But they didn’t, and we didn’t. The boundary between tolerance and indifference had long since been crossed.
I eventually moved away. In time, both the apartment building and the car lot fell to the developer’s wrecking ball, and with them, the noise.
https://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/Screenshot-2025-10-12-at-5.11.17-PM.png9701754Jeffrey Ian Rosshttps://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/jeffrey-ian-ross-logo-04.pngJeffrey Ian Ross2025-10-12 21:58:212025-10-13 00:10:17The Used Car Lot Next Door
Ever since the emergence of contemporary graffiti and street art, the surfaces where it has been applied and the methods by which it has been disseminated have evolved.
In New York City, for example, graffiti writers began by tagging and bombing walls in their neighborhoods but eventually expanded to similar surfaces in different parts of the city.
Soon thereafter, writers started “getting up” in subway stations, tunnels, and cars. When graffiti was placed on the outside of trains, it enabled writers to go “all city.”
This activity, along with the places where graffiti appeared, morphed into freight and passenger trains, which helped disseminate the writers’ work across regions, the country, and in some cases, internationally.
Along the way, other mobile surfaces like box vans and delivery trucks were increasingly hit.
The shift from static walls to means of transportation introduced a crucial idea: mobility could serve as a medium, expanding both the audience and reach of graffiti and street art.
Now, in the contemporary city, dockless bikes and scooters are increasingly becoming sites for graffiti and street art.
Stickers and tags placed on these mobile platforms extend the same logic that animated early train graffiti: visibility through circulation.
This evolving relationship between graffiti/street art and urban mobility reveals how writers and artists continually adapt to changes in society to keep their work in motion and in public view.
That being said, it’s important to acknowledge that not only do surfaces present opportunities, but they also present constraints. In the case of bikes and scooters, the size is small, and because of the construction, certain types of graffiti and street art are better suited. Thus, in many cases, stickers may be the easiest to apply.
So what?
This development matters primarily for its cultural significance, technological relevance, and political communication.
First, mobile graffiti/street artchallenges the static, property-based logic of the city. It asserts presence where the writer/artist might otherwise be excluded.
Second, by targeting new mobility systems (e.g., bikes and scooters), graffiti and street art are increasingly part of the digital economy and the so-called “smart city.” It turns corporate tools of efficiency into carriers of unregulated expression.
Third, this mobility transforms both authorship and audience. Finally, by using shared mobility platforms as canvases, artists reclaim space in a city increasingly privatized by technology companies. It is a subtle, yet potent, form of resistance.
https://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/IMG_9431-1.jpg384774Jeffrey Ian Rosshttps://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/jeffrey-ian-ross-logo-04.pngJeffrey Ian Ross2025-10-05 16:52:042025-10-05 16:56:23Graffiti, Street Art & Dockless Mobility
Are Inflatable Costumes Helping or Hurting the Protest Message?
/by Jeffrey Ian RossOver the past few weeks, considerable media attention has been given to protestors wearing inflatable or oversized novelty suits at anti-Trump demonstrations, including the recent No Kings protests. And yes, most of the people dressed up as frogs, dinosaurs, unicorns, and chickens look like they’re having fun. But as these images circulate, it’s worth asking whether the spectacle that attracts attention might also dilute what that attention is for.
Admittedly, there are at least three main reasons why these costumes have become popular at these venues. First, they provide memorable visuals that spread across social media, increasing the protest’s reach and visibility. Second, their absurdity and the humor they create help keep the atmosphere light and nonviolent, signaling that these gatherings are meant to be peaceful and friendly. Third, the imagery helps undercut Trump and his allies’ narrative that protestors are violent extremists, because it’s difficult to take that claim seriously when the demonstrators include inflatable chickens.
These are all legitimate tactical advantages, and protest movements throughout history have used the power of humor and performance in shaping their communication strategies. For example, the Yippies’ absurdist protests in the 1960s and ACT UP’s theatrical demonstrations in the 1980s both used spectacle to dramatize the importance of their causes. Their tactics were entertaining, but the laughter served a direct political purpose.
But I wonder if something gets lost in translation. When protest images go viral primarily because they’re entertaining rather than because they communicate specific demands, there’s a risk that observers remember the spectacle without engaging with the substance. The question isn’t whether people in dinosaur suits are taking the issues seriously, but whether their chosen medium of expression helps or hinders their political message from landing with audiences who need persuading.
I’m not suggesting that protesters should abandon humor or embrace solemnity. Nor am I insisting there’s only one “correct” way to protest. Different tactics reach different audiences, and humor can make difficult political messages more accessible. But it’s worth asking: when someone sees an inflatable chicken, are they more likely to consider the protest’s demands, or do they simply keep scrolling? Does the costume invite curiosity about the cause, or does it become the entire story?
Maybe I’m overthinking this, and the protesters themselves are best positioned to judge what works. But in an attention economy, like the one we currently live with, I hope the message doesn’t get buried beneath the costume.
Image Credit
Title: No Kings Protest
(location Madison, Wisconsin, October 18, 2025
Photographer: Kevin Fager
The Used Car Lot Next Door
/by Jeffrey Ian RossLiving beside a used car lot can teach you about noise, boundaries, and the limits of goodwill.
Years ago, I lived in a low-rise apartment in Toronto’s Little Portugal, right next to a small lot that sold used cars. Most of their customers were newcomers buying their first vehicle, and the salesmen hustled hard. But as neighbors, they could be… challenging.
They’d rigged the office phone to a loudspeaker outside so they wouldn’t miss calls while working the lot. Too often, they forgot to switch it off at night. We’d hear the ringing phones and fragments of messages people left long after midnight.
Friends, relatives, and former customers who were passing in front of the business would sometimes slow down (disrupting the traffic flow) and honk as they drove by. And sometimes salesmen, friends, and customers would attempt to burn rubber on the small lot in noisy and smoky displays of bravado. It was a mixed-use neighborhood, after all, but the line between liveliness and disruption blurred fast.
Occasionally, someone would steal a car. One night, under the overpowering security lighting on the lot, my neighbors and I watched a man jack up a vehicle and remove the entire transmission. I’m sure the owners had insurance, but each theft still meant paperwork, deductibles, and hassle.
The police would occasionally make the rounds, knocking on doors to ask if we’d seen anything. There was always a polite chorus of “no,” and plenty of feigned surprise.
The truth is, we saw plenty. If the car lot owner and crew had been better neighbors, if they’d kept the noise down, turned off the loudspeaker, shown a little consideration, we might have looked out for them.
But they didn’t, and we didn’t. The boundary between tolerance and indifference had long since been crossed.
I eventually moved away. In time, both the apartment building and the car lot fell to the developer’s wrecking ball, and with them, the noise.
Graffiti, Street Art & Dockless Mobility
/by Jeffrey Ian RossEver since the emergence of contemporary graffiti and street art, the surfaces where it has been applied and the methods by which it has been disseminated have evolved.
In New York City, for example, graffiti writers began by tagging and bombing walls in their neighborhoods but eventually expanded to similar surfaces in different parts of the city.
Soon thereafter, writers started “getting up” in subway stations, tunnels, and cars. When graffiti was placed on the outside of trains, it enabled writers to go “all city.”
This activity, along with the places where graffiti appeared, morphed into freight and passenger trains, which helped disseminate the writers’ work across regions, the country, and in some cases, internationally.
Along the way, other mobile surfaces like box vans and delivery trucks were increasingly hit.
The shift from static walls to means of transportation introduced a crucial idea: mobility could serve as a medium, expanding both the audience and reach of graffiti and street art.
Now, in the contemporary city, dockless bikes and scooters are increasingly becoming sites for graffiti and street art.
Stickers and tags placed on these mobile platforms extend the same logic that animated early train graffiti: visibility through circulation.
This evolving relationship between graffiti/street art and urban mobility reveals how writers and artists continually adapt to changes in society to keep their work in motion and in public view.
That being said, it’s important to acknowledge that not only do surfaces present opportunities, but they also present constraints. In the case of bikes and scooters, the size is small, and because of the construction, certain types of graffiti and street art are better suited. Thus, in many cases, stickers may be the easiest to apply.
So what?
This development matters primarily for its cultural significance, technological relevance, and political communication.
First, mobile graffiti/street art challenges the static, property-based logic of the city. It asserts presence where the writer/artist might otherwise be excluded.
Second, by targeting new mobility systems (e.g., bikes and scooters), graffiti and street art are increasingly part of the digital economy and the so-called “smart city.” It turns corporate tools of efficiency into carriers of unregulated expression.
Third, this mobility transforms both authorship and audience. Finally, by using shared mobility platforms as canvases, artists reclaim space in a city increasingly privatized by technology companies. It is a subtle, yet potent, form of resistance.