Living & Style HOME
outside of restaurant remodels—relics from a chapter of American history that was nearly forgotten. The tiki scene we know today has its earliest roots in Great Depression–era LA, but it didn’t truly take off until after WWII, when American soldiers returning from war in the Pacific helped spur demand for rum-soaked, faux island escapes. But with the Vietnam War and a new wave of social unrest, tiki largely fell out of favor. The fad had faded. In the following decades, many tiki collections ended up in the trash heap of history. “It's hard to believe now, but in the 1980s, tiki didn’t exist, basically,” says Sven Kirsten, the so-called “godfather of tiki.” The LA-based German transplant has written numerous books on the subject. “It was completely erased from the surface,” he says. But with the continued rise of cocktail culture and a revived appreciation for American mid-century modern style and design, a new wave of tiki lovers have found one another. High-dollar tiki bars full of Polynesian pop are opening with abandon, and San Diego’s annual Tiki Oasis festival draws thousands each year to Town & Country Resort. With this revived popularity has come questions about appropriation that are worth asking. As I understand it, tiki aims to recreate a mythological place that doesn’t exist, using objects and aesthetics found in many Pacific cultures. Begin to unpack that, and you’re faced with many more layers. Tiki is a deep well. There are lots of threads to unravel, lots of palm fronds to unbraid. In tiki, it seems, as in life, there are truths but no truth. Out in OB, I find Chris O’Leary’s backyard bar simply by walking by. Palm thatching peeking over his second story-deck got my Spidey-senses tingling, so I invited myself over. The house is one of those weathered OB minimal-traditionals with a view, which Chris’ parents bought in the late ’50s for $17,200. Inside, nautical collectables from the Queen Mary hide in corners, and a fleet of huge model ships dominates the living room, some larger than my wingspan.
But OB is all about being outside. Chris’ bar, which he calls the Kokomo Deck, is a DIY project he started putting together in 2020. So far, two palm-topped pagoda frames built by his buddy Dave Palmer provide the shade, with old buoys, life preservers, carved masks, and neon beer signs hanging everywhere.
The Headhunter could be considered a mini museum, with 25 years' worth of tiki collectables.
JUNE 2023 66
Made with FlippingBook Digital Proposal Creator