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Welcome to Back of the Napkin, musings from Serviette for the cultured world.
As of late, crowds have been flocking to Bryant Park to witness the shimmying of the American Woodcocks. The brown birds, best known for their distinctive, almost comic “dance,” have made quite the impression on New Yorkers; making a brief stop in Manhattan on their migratory journey, the Woodcocks’ presence seems to signal the beginning of spring. Such a cute dance has led us, rather naturally, to birdsong—a recent obsession that has been cultivated in part by TikTok’s @thebirdman222. Though these songs serve a variety of functional purposes, their staggering beauty and complexity certainly feel, in this writer’s opinion, like a sly expression of taste.
To the uninitiated, these ecologically—and melodically—diverse calls may simply fade into the background. But any experienced birder or nature enthusiast can attest to their singularity. Identification becomes a kind of vernacular poetry, aided by a canon of mnemonics both charming and absurd: the California quail, for example, has a clear, three-part cry that sounds alarmingly like “Chi-ca-go!”, while the Barred owl boldly asks, “Who cooks for you?”
But even these clever mnemonics are vast oversimplifications. Like humans, birds have regional accents. Ornithologists dedicated to the study of birdsongs in the ’70s and ’80s determined that in the Bay area alone, a single species might contain over ten distinct dialects. The White-crowned Sparrow deep in Washington’s Olympic National Park croons “Who me—busy, busy me?”, the coastal Sparrow less than 60 miles away lilts, “Who me—busy, busy, busy…” trailing off as if lost in thought. (For any birding neophytes looking to whet their curiosity on the go, Serviette highly recommends Cornell’s Merlin Bird ID app: think of it as Shazam for birdsongs.)
Recent studies have shown that birdwatchers have denser brain tissue and are capable of greater cognition, strengthening neural pathways and allowing for improved memory, attentiveness, and perception. And much like learning to identify a bird by ear, developing one’s personal taste and the quest for the perfect signature scent are ongoing pursuits that take time, energy, and attention. Even amongst wearers of the same scent, differences in skin chemistry give way to uniquely personal results, a signature (not unlike a bird’s regional “accent”) that subtly betrays one’s singularity for those who listen—or in this case, smell—closely enough.
How do you choose to distinguish yourself from the crowd? Does Byronic Hero’s dramatic, rosy oud call to you as the Gray Catbird’s operatic cry does? Or perhaps you find Ruche’s piquant, photorealistic raspberry note as resounding as the Kookaburra’s whimsical laugh. Either way, we thank you for reading this week’s newsletter and wish you luck as you continue to expand and explore the bounds of your personal taste. May it continue to lead you to new and unexpected places.