Comedian, writer, and star of “This Is Where I Leave You” Ben Schwartz tells the story of how he became a triple-threat, including an improv movie pitch.
Great things have come from Quirky and its community of inventors. but their biggest project, Aros, strained everyone.
Garthen Leslie is an IT consultant and looks the part. He’s geeky, quiet, and middle-aged, sporting a long, untucked white polo, khakis, and wire-framed glasses. But today, very suddenly, he is also the face of a new ideal—a symbol of how invention itself is being reinvented.
Google is betting big on Nest CEO Tony Fadell, who helped invent the iPod and iPhone. Here, a look inside his design revolution.
How a culture of creative collaboration has helped the company maintain its brand voice amid rapid growth.
The last two years have seen Vice’s (vicenews) growth go into hyperdrive. Such rapid expansion is a strain on any company’s culture, and when your brand has been so inextricably tied to the young, cool and dangerous, flirting with Rupert Murdoch could put a serious cramp in your style. But after 20 years catering to the tastes of youth culture, Vice has arguably held on to its brand and identity, something it sees as its most valuable asset. In fact, in many ways, the edges have been sharpened—see projects like its recent, much-discussed five-part documentary providing an unprecedented look inside terrorist group ISIS. As chief creative officer Eddy Moretti has said, despite its sizable audience and ability to monetize, “the only thing we really have at the end of the day is our brand, if we screw that up we have nothing.”
As Stephen Colbert or any great satirist will tell you, a key to satire is to always stay in character. In The Onion’s case, that “character” is an absurd, alternative world invented to comment on the real one. Every aspect of the fake world has to ring true for the trick to work. That includes the visuals. When nothing you publish is real, every single image has to be made from scratch. “We want to make sure that we’re making our Onion-world fully realized and very real,” says Ben Berkley, managing editor of The Onion. It’s all in service of the joke.
Coffee crusaders, backed by caffeine-buzzed venture capitalists, are taking aim at Starbucks with a $7 cup of joe. And you might even consider buying it.
The designer has built a $3 billion global brand by creating stylish, wearable clothing that always includes a piece of herself.
A 40-year tradition of fantasy gaming wants to claim back its throne.
Jack Dorseys dazzling startup promised to transform the credit and finance industry. After losing $100 million, has his company lost its edge?
Real-estate developer Jamestown has perfected the art of creating the Next Hot Neighborhood. This is its formula—and where you fit in.
It is Sunday in Brooklyn, the July air oppressive. You get on the subway, heading for the depths of the borough, someplace no one you know lives—yet.
Off the train, phone and maps app in hand, you walk toward the pedestrian underpass of the noisy Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, meandering through a mix of residential buildings, bodegas, factories, and abandoned buildings. And then you find it: a huge, shady courtyard between two towering manufacturing buildings, strung with twinkling lights and tricked out with bars serving sangria, a taco stand, a dance floor, and most importantly, a DJ table.
You’ve arrived at Mister Sunday, one of the best daytime dance parties in New York. A sweaty, multi-ethnic tangle of scantily clad twenty- and thirtysomethings in barely-there rompers and jorts rub shoulders and butts on the dance floor with young parents with babies on their hips and aging disco-era veterans.
This throbbing, vibrant scene will play out each Sunday afternoon through the fall at a place called Industry City, a hulking 16-building industrial complex that had fallen on hard times since peaking in the mid-1900s manufacturing boom.
The hundreds of people who show up each week to party at Mister Sunday are out for a good time. What the carefree fun-seekers likely do not realize is that they are also a part of a powerful real-estate developer’s plan to remake Industry City—and the Sunset Park community in which it sits—into the Next Hot Property (with rents, of course, to match).
At Vidcon, thousands of teenagers line up to see their favorite YouTube celebs—and learn how to be more like them.
Susan Wojcicki built Google into a $55 billion advertising giant. Now she’s running YouTube. Her job: Do it again.
When Susan Wojcicki took over YouTube in February, she received almost as much unsolicited advice as there are YouTube videos. One open letter not-so-subtly pleaded with Wojcicki, ”So please, I’m begging you, please, please, please, don’t f*** it up.”
Can Jim Mason solve the developing world’s power problems with a temperamental machine that runs on garbage?
It is a challenge just to find the door to All Power Labs, an upstart alternative-energy concern in the industrial wastelands of far west Berkeley, California, and it’s not unusual for visitors to circle the block several times before realizing that the only way in is through a rolling gate with a small sign. Beyond that is what appears to be a scrap yard filled with old shipping containers and rusty hunks of metal. Welding torches spark and flare; walnut fragments litter the ground. And all around are iterations of APL’s main product, the Power Pallet, a contraption consisting of a large silver barrel on top of various other metal parts, all connected with pipes and hoses. It looks like something you’d use to cook meth. In reality, the Power Pallet is a small refinery, which converts biomass (nutshells, wood chips, corncobs) to hydrogen-rich gas, attached to a four-cylinder engine, which burns the gas to generate electricity. The weirdest part: It is, potentially, the most important and transformative energy product that no one has heard of.