4 reasons the Yachtsman Kickstarter is so annoying

Tommy Up, opener of successful Northern Liberties bar/club/restaurant PYT, was supposed to open a tiki bar called The Yachtsman on Frankford Avenue this month, but he and his partners found themselves a few dollars short. About $36,700 short, actually. So they turned to Kickstarter: 

The Yachtsman is a project that is coming from our own hearts, our own imaginations and our own wallets. And of course, like every "crazy" project, we have hit some unforeseen snags. In our case, our building turned out to have significant structural issues that we needed to correct, before we could even start any decorative work, and a three month delay in our timeline.

The structural work is done, but this has been a big blow to our budget. Instead of bringing in some corporate money, and losing the singleness of vision we feel is important, we want to keep The Yachtsman weird.

So in the name of their bar remaining weird, they proposed that the public give them $36,700. (PYT's opening in 2009, if you recall, was also a bit rough, but not five-figures-short rough.) It's unclear whether the Yachtsman's owners can't get a loan or would just prefer not to borrow the money when they could get it for much cheaper via crowdfunding. The pitch, sung to the tune of the Gilligan's Island theme, is:

No banks! No investors! No credit lines! Not a single luxury. Instead we turned to Kickstarter, it's as simple as can be.

There have been many opinions written about crowdfunding's drift from a place for scrappy independent projects to get the startup money they wouldn't be able to get any other way — the New York Times described it in a 2009 headline as "Patrons Support Artists on the Web" — to something used by people who could get actual loans or systemic support use because loans and systemic support are annoying. (Contrast the Yachtsman Kickstarter with the Indiegogo for the Kinetic Sculpture Derby, which is trying to raise $5000.)

But there's absolutely nothing about who's allowed to use Kickstarter in what ways in their guidelines. There's only a statement that this is for "creative" projects, then this:

Everything on Kickstarter must be a project.

A project is something with a clear end, like making an album, a film, or a new game. A project will eventually be completed, and something will be produced as a result.

Every project on Kickstarter must fit into one of our categories.

Our categories are Art, Comics, Dance, Design, Fashion, Film, Food, Games, Music, Photography, Publishing, Technology, and Theater.

And that's it. The creation of a tiki bar is a project with a clear end, and will produce something, and it's in the "food" category. There is nothing wrong. Plus, this is a project that, if people are really dying for a tiki bar in their neighborhood, will give back longer-lasting rewards than just a T-shirt or a keychain or the the temporary glow of altruism.

There's just something... rankling about it, though. You can tell if you're friends with people who live in Fishtown on Facebook, and from comments on the various blog posts on the Kickstarter. Why does it rankle? We tried to analyze it, and came up with four reasons:

1. First wave vs. second wave. The Yachtsman Kickstarter taps into parallel ways that the first wave of gentrifiers tends to resent the inevitable second wave — both on Kickstarter and in gentrifying neighborhoods. The first people on Kickstarter and gentrifiers of Fishtown/Kensington were, for the most part, broke creative types. They didn't have a ton of money, but weren't impoverished in the no-safety-net way associated with, for example, longer-term Kensington residents. This first wave moved for the cheap rents and tried to get things funded on Kickstarter because they didn't have any cash, but they did have laptops and internet access and knowledge of what crowdfunding is. While the first wave of gentrification never really blends in with the original neighborhood, they usually at least make an effort to in the name of ethics or something. 

The second wave, for the most part, does not. It's starkly visible in the overgrowth of new, shiny-boxy houses slowly covering Northern Liberties like very expensive lichen, cropping up to replace the smalllish rowhomes that the original factory workers lived in.  You only have to glance at Frankford Avenue to see the same second-wave architecture and new bars and restaurants creeping up Frankford Avenue. You wouldn't have seen Tommy Up asking for $37,000 to finish a bar on Kickstarter a few years ago, nor would he have been trying to build a novelty/destination bar on Frankford. (They can say it's a neighborhood bar all they like, but it serves fucking volcano bowls.) This Yachtsman thing is a sign that crowdfunding and Fishtown are both well into their second wave, whether the originals or first wave like it or not.

2. This comes close on the heels of another couple harbingers of what Philebrity recently deemed "the New Fishtown Horrible-ness." What is that? I'd say they're talking about the second wave. It's visible in last week's selfie video of an uptalking, newly minted Fishtownie complaining that vestiges of pre-gentrification Fishtown still exist as if this news will be a surprise to all listening. It's in the warm-weather crowds at Frankford Hall drunkenly giggling while blocking traffic at Frankford and Girard. It's in statements like "It's been our secret dream to bring an authentic, and authentically fun, tiki bar to our hometown." 

(Because: That is a depressingly mundane secret dream, not to mention that the phrase "authentic tiki bar" is ridiculous, particularly when a couple paragraphs later the writer signs off with "Maloha" instead of either "Mahalo" or "Aloha" and it might as well be named "Rich White Guy on a Boat That Costs More Than Your House." And speaking of that...) 

3. Manufactured exclusivity. Fishtown, like most of Philly, hasn't exactly been into velvet ropes or the "exclusive!" or "members-only!" vibe, either historically or during its first wave of gentrification in the last decade or so. Philadelphia, outside of a small but growing crowd, is not a particularly status-focused city. This is why, we'd assume, the Piazza and the North Shore Swim Club, while doing OK, never quiiiiiiiiiite caught on fire the way they were supposed to, and attempts at bottle service clubs don't stay open long.

There's elements of exclusivity built into the Yachtsman, right from the beginning. The press for the bar generally mentions plans for separate bathrooms for members and little-people bathrooms; access to the former are being offered in exchange for a $75 donation:

Your own "Fishtown Yacht Club" limited edition membership complete with official keychain. ... Your Fishtown Yacht Club membership gets you a 5-course tasting of our Poi Dog-created "tiki street food" menu, preferred entry everytime you come and a key to the Fishtown Yacht Club "Officer's Only" restroom.

"Preferred entry" implies an expectation of a wait to get in, and lines outside. For $200 or more you get that plus:

You and a fellow officer of your choosing are gonna tiki soooo hard at our private backers opening, before we open to the public.

And for $950 or more:

We will have your name engraved on a brass plaque on your very own barstool in The Yachtsman, giving you the right to ALWAYS be able to claim your bar stool at any time of day or night.

Essentially, you can buy the ability to be that asshole who can tap someone on the shoulder and say "Excuse me — you're in my seat" with impunity. Which, if that happened to me, would really piss me off. It costs the Yachtsman nothing, though — they're selling irritation-of-average-bar-patron futures off for a thousand bucks a pop.

4. The second-wave assumption that everyone finds them super charming. It's decently summed up by a sentence from Complex Magazine's survey of the 25 douchiest bars in Philadelphia, ranking Tommy Up's NoLibs bar/club PYT #15:

The joint gives off the oppressive atmosphere of believing that they are doing you a favor just by being open.

The Yachtsman's Kickstarter page similarly gives the impression that they think they're going to be doing everyone a favor just by existing. Where most Kickstarter pages essentially put on a job-interview suit and tie, this one gives the impression that it was thrown together in about 20 minutes, from spelling it "Yachstman" more than a few times to the video starting with Tommy Up's pre-third-take giggle of "We're gonna be awesome at this!" 

It's that blind "we're charming and awesome and doing such obviously great things" sense of entitlement that really taps into a well of pent-up irritation — particularly on Fishtown message boards. You get the idea from Tommy Up that that he thinks the Yachtsman is not just is not just in his own financial interest, no. It is a public service that deserves everyone's gratitude, love, commendations, thanks, high-fives, respect. And, in this case, financial support. The dismissal of opinions inherent in "Oh, of course you love us!" is, we think, what really rankles in both gentrification and in crowdfunding.

As we hit post, the Yachtsman has raised a little less than 10% of their goal, with 31 backers and 27 days to go. Let's see if the second wave is strong enough to make an authentic tiki bar happen.