Patrick Mohr Sunglasses

 – by Emily Segal These Patrick Mohr sunglasses look like a slide rule or a piece of motherboard. They’re just a rectangle of black plastic with two legs that hook over the eyes. Layered on top is a grid of eight red discs, like traffic lights muted mid-warning; be alarmed, they seem to say, but don‘t look. Or go ahead, stare: the kind of ambiguous challenge that typifies Patrick Mohr’s design strategy. Take Mohr’s famous clothes-hanger dresses that suspended outfits from the necks of the models walking down the catwalk – geometric armatures that acted out the idea of fashion while preventing it from actually touching the body. In contrast, these sunglasses are like snug armor for your forehead. And how does one see through the techno-mask? Through two sets of rough pin-prick holes that look like they were made by a garlic press. The whole experience feels like looking through the peephole of a camera obscura. But like Mohr’s clothes-hanger dresses, the sunglasses play a game with you: they look so enticingly ominous, you can‘t wait to put them on, but then you need to take them off again, to relieve the blindness and behold your toy anew. ◊

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