Photo courtesy of New York Post
If ever I were to buy a teapot that looks like Adolf Hitler, surely it would be this teapot. Clearly, its cutesy, abbreviated mustache top and swooping combover handle offer security of liquid containment and optimal pouring comfort when one desires a fresh cup of Nazi java. The teapot is professionally attired in black-tie, raising a gold whistle bell salute to der Fürher, and ready for the cover of a quippy New Yorker cover.
A magnificent marketing scheme, J.C. Penney. Perhaps, I should not judge this editing mishap. Maybe the time is right for a new line of hip, minimalist teapots designed in the likeness of deceased dictators. A stand mixer wobbling with Stalin's military garb and pot belly? Or, a slow-cooker with receding hairline glasstop resembling Kim Jong-il? Who's with me?
I wonder if the teapot still looks like Hitler when turned spout forward or if it is just pareidolia.
Oh, Adolfo, how you have managed to stay with us for nearly 70 years! You are the nutty great-grandfather no one wants to invite to family functions but who inevitably manages to arrive, always whining about the Jews and wearing the same sweater from last year's Christmas and the same style of facial hair, just a little thinner. You have left little bits of posthumous memorabilia and, even generations later, we cannot seem to abolish your ghost from our daily lives. If, now, we see you in teapots, tomorrow we may see you in our coffee mugs, our favorite reading chairs, the printed text we read, even our stool. This is societal post-traumatic stress of epic proportions and we just might need a giant dose of talk therapy to help regulate our emotions.