Koenigsegg Merchandise Is Watching You
We looked at Koenigsegg's official store. It peered back into our soul.
My grandmother, one of the world’s most adept restaurant-goers, always advises to “order what they’re good at.” That is, don’t get tacos at a greasy spoon; don’t pick the chicken at a steakhouse; don’t order pasta at a bistro. Were Swedish supercar-maker Koenigsegg to run a restaurant, that advice would mean always partaking of the company’s lightning-quick and thunder-loud cars and never, ever buying one of the horrifying pieces of art available for sale on its website. I have seen the underworld, and it is available in purple, red and yellow.
Tucked away at gear.Koenigsegg.com, among the usuals hats, cufflinks and embroidered bathrobes, is a corner labeled “Art.” Inside are memories of a Koenigsegg-themed acid trip, or the neon-hued products of a major Photoshop malfunction. Inexplicably, behind colorful versions of the Agera are large, probing female eyes that—in typical Scooby-Doo fashion—follow you as you move! Who’s watching whom, the paintings cackle.
Despite all urges to the contrary, we stared into the dead eyes of these paintings and sought to find their meaning.
At a robust $1,148, Purple Speed is an investment. The provided text notes that the artist is attempting to “subvert three-dimensional space.” The work destabilizes the fabric of our world with the inclusion of purple, hollow eye-sockets scribbled over in yellow, and a cartoon nose under the Koenigsegg’s headlight. Maybe it’s me, but time-space seemed fine the way it was.
An adjacent artist’s note remarks on the duality of speed, its simultaneous femininity and masculinity. I’m unsure if the art portrays such harmony; it’s a bit of a bloodbath. Red Speed looks like a stylized crime-scene photo taken after a woman in a Sixties updo ran over her hemophiliac husband in a Koenigsegg.
How “Girl From Ipanema,” you think. Tropical, jet set, breezy. The colors are pleasing, and even the Pop Art Koenigsegg, with its lime green textured bumper, is barely ugly. But look for longer than a few seconds, and the listless hideousness of that disembodied head emerges, looking like the seaweed-wrapped ghost of an heiress thrown off her yacht by an envious stepmother. You’d almost pity cherie, were she not such a vindictive spirit.