Maniace was well into his 37-year hairstyling career when some of the neighborhood’s more prolific taggers were still playing with their own rubber ducks. He has a fairly nuanced view of what’s vandalism and what’s not, but what really ruffles his proverbial feathers are street artists who don’t play by the rules of the street.
“You didn’t mess with churches. You didn’t mess with personal property. You didn’t mess with small businesses,” he said of his misspent youth. “Have some pride in what you do, and be an artist about it instead of just a little vandal.”
Art inspires people to make more art, and a duck wall inspires people to take selfies in front of a duck wall—or treat it like a rock-climbing gym. Maniace is down with all of it. He insists he’s just having fun.
As a shop, J.P. Kempt practices what Maniace preaches. He hires and trains a lot of skaters, because he sees skateboarders as the new punks. And any dissatisfied customer has a weeklong grace period to come back and leave again looking their best—water off a duck’s back, as it were. But apart from the challenges of running a business in a tough city, Maniace has another problem on his hands.
“People are just bringing me ducks,” he said.