As a foreigner living in a, erm, foreign land, one of the holy grails of getting an intimate glimpse into local culture is receiving an invitation to someone’s home. Most cities feel impenetrable unless you know a local. Sometimes, they open their doors to you (The Italians offer their mothers, aunts and grandmothers and their regional Home Food to hungry visitors); sometimes they bring their domestic lives out onto the street to you (In Mumbai, the porch of a motor workshop doubles up as an airy platform for a toddler’s nap).

Driving through the residential areas of US cities, the closed fences and drawn curtains oftentimes lend an air of separation between you-the-passer-by and them-the-rooted-here. Gawking at a neighbor’s open window is rude, except during one time of the year — between Halloween and New Year’s, when carved pumpkins, Christmas trees and Hanukkiyahs are deliberately displayed at windows, a piece of the family’s private life is shared with those standing on the outside.

So, insiders and outsiders, Happy Holidays!

Some ten years ago, the impending demolition of a red-bricked building in Singapore stirred a passionate public debate about the importance of social memory, heritage conservation and cultural identity among Singaporeans. On the Urban Redevelopment Authority’s plan, the 40 year-old National Library at Stamford Road was slated to make way for a tunnel and a new university campus. Architects, academics, and newspaper editors sought to convince government authorities that the iconic building embodied the experiences that most Singaporeans had as school-going children, and that these common memories contributed to the Singapore identity. Though the building was eventually closed in 2004 and later pulled down, the episode stands as one of the most poignant public conversations on what makes Singapore feel like home.

This desire for the feeling of home is a central theme in Singapore Souvenirs, a participating exhibition in the Singapore Design Festival 2009 that seeks to replace the Merlion keychain. Perturbed by the absence of meaningful and representative souvenirs, the group of Singaporean designers behind Singapore Souvenirs went into the heartlands to search for everyday objects that symbolize the Singaporean way of life. The concepts that have grown out of this exploration are both heartfelt and reflective. From erasers made in the form of the popular handmade rice cake “Kueh Tutu” to journals with a dating system inspired by the quintessential parking coupon and to the fruit bowl resembling the discolored plastic colanders used in traditional fruit stalls, the concepts all draw from a rich and textured social memory. By tapping into everyday objects, the design team succeeds at connecting the average Singaporean’s personal experiences with a touristy token at an intimate level.

The problem with cultural identity, if there is one, is that it is evolves despite our control. The expressions of souvenirs in Singapore Souvenirs are also expressions of a moment in time. The institutions that some of the souvenirs seek to immortalize are disappearing. “Kueh Tutu” stalls are now far and few between; parking coupons are becoming obsolete as public car parks are outfitted with electronic parking systems; the once ubiquitous traditional fruit stalls are commonplace only in exotic Geylang. And as the demographic and cultural make-up of Singapore change with a new wave of immigrants, so too will its language and the objects it imbues with social and cultural significance. In other words, if souvenirs need to have longevity in addition to being socially meaningful and representative of local culture, then the memorabilia at Singapore Souvenirs have the challenge of remaining relevant through time.

But even if the answers may be temporal, the questions that Singapore Souvenirs raise remain critical: what is the essence of a souvenir, and whose meaning should it embody?

Singapore Souvenirs is on display till 30 Nov 2009

In thinking about the trends of personalization and customization, I’ve been wondering if these (marketing and strategic) categorizations accurately reflect the way we live and if these categories are still useful in allowing reinterpretation and new application. These days, you’ll find computer makers thinking about allowing customization en masse through specialized product configurations, or shoe makers installing booths in their retail stores for consumers to style a new pair of sneakers. To be sure, teenagers and adults across the world seem to enjoy participating in this process. Personalization and customization allow for individual expression, and on an utilitarian level, they also provide owner-identification in a sea of mass produced goods.

But personalization and customization not only suggest a deliberate act, but a static and final one as well. Think about a custom-made cabinet or a personalized skateboard. The changes are made, then the objects frozen. Like green peas. One could, of course, have a new set of cabinets custom-made again, or remove the bumper stickers when political allegiances change. But personalization is nonetheless a series of monologues, during which the object is acted upon and left frozen in time. It assumes that the absence of a constant interrogation between the user and the object.

Perhaps that is why the way brands are personalizing and customizing their products have little differentiation between them. Almost every major brand from detergent to printers has advertising campaigns that are singing to consumers ad nauseum “it’s all about you.” You would be hard-pressed to find a commercial break that wasn’t made out of 10 commercials telling you that there is a great product that helps you to be you. In a way, the wave of “personalization” has reached a point of stasis where the message is starting to sound banal and contrived.

Improvisation, it seems to me, could be a more useful framework in designing consumer technologies because improvisation is essentially how we behave on a daily basis. We make changes to a favorite recipe based on what we have in the fridge, and alter it again the day after. We improvise our plans as we go along. We take short-cuts when time is running out. We move in spontaneous and imprecise ways. And, like a jazz pianist playing a jazz standard or a traceur on a parkour route, we perform our routines a little differently each day. We make changes to and also because of our environment. Everyday is a new piece of performance art. Improvisation is the conversation we have everyday, between ourselves and objects, to make life work under constantly changing circumstances.

Given of the dynamic nature of technology today, companies are in a unique position where they can apply “user-improvisation” to interactive environments. There are a few products in the market that are capitalizing on this idea of improvisation. GPS systems are phenomenal at re-routing themselves when a driver goes off-course, and recipe websites are great resources for giving dinner suggestions based on what’s in your fridge and how much preparation time you have. But my sense is that this direction of thought is sorely under-utilized by product and web strategists and the like. I, for one, would be really excited to see more creative strategies and services growing out of this approach.

McDonald’s is an interesting place. The one on Rue de Passy, in the 16th arrondissement of Paris where old money lives, fascinates me. During winter, the seating area in the basement of this McDo—as the French call it—turns into a social space that usually does not exist in this wealthy neighborhood. Young children drag their grandparents who are dressed in thick fur coats into the fast-food chain; youthful backpackers tap into the free WiFi to check their emails and itineraries; and in the corner, a small group of homeless people huddle over their cups of coffee. The basement certainly doesn’t transform into a mega social networking event, but it pulls people from socially different paths and brings an alternate view to their regular field of vision.

Cities are built in ways that allow us to establish individual routines, but there also remain pockets that are capacious enough for the different corners of society to share a common space. As our daily path on the Internet become ritualized and more predictable (Gmail, check. Facebook, check. NYTimes, check), and as web portals becoming increasingly specialized to cater to consumer tribes, will there be space for a collision of unexpected social encounters? How will this alter the way we understand and experience search engines?

Above, a McDonald’s in Chicago’s theater district. The relevance of the picture? Perhaps a note to self to look beyond the theatrics of anti-corporate punching. The stuff on the ground’s usually more interesting.