// boroughing //
Fall 2016
A Train Ride to the Beginning of Time:
A Review of Evolution
Miriam Lichtenberg & Estie Berkowitz
Have you been aimlessly wandering the streets of New York, wondering where you can finally purchase a raccoon penis bone? Even in a metropolitan area filled with thousands of stores, it can be hard to find just the right place. We set out to explore one such place, “Evolution,” the self-described “premiere retail destination for science and natural history collectibles” in New York City. It lured us in with promises of strange taxidermy, weird fossils, and other oddities.
We ventured out of the subway, past drugstores and retail chains, expecting to be transported to another world overflowing with ancient artifacts, a place where we might accidentally bump into a human skeleton, either because it would be hard to see or just because there would be so many strewn about that it would be impossible not to bump into one. Instead of the expected—a dimly-lit, dusty antique store—we entered a polished room, filled with objects that, though whimsical, were neatly and precisely organized. While the store was full of skulls, crystals, and meteorites, it actually seemed almost normal.
For a store that advertised products selected “through a unique scientific lens unlike any other in the industry,” its lighting and set-up lent a familiar, commercial vibe. Due to rent issues, the store has recently moved from SoHo to the more consumer-friendly neighborhood of the West Village, and we were quickly assured that the old store had the more rustic feel we had been expecting, one more harmonious with the contents lining its walls. Perhaps our lofty assumptions revealed our biases as consumers. We didn't go solely for the merchandise, we went for some holistic, transportive experience.
As our eyes adjusted to the bizarre items around us, we began to appreciate the contents and layout of the store. The front window displayed a stuffed two-headed calf and the skeleton of a prehistoric cave-bear (currently Evolution’s most expensive item, priced at over $30,000). The walls were lined with stuffed animals heads (boar, zebra, and others), antlers, fossils, and mounted insect displays. One display case was stocked with a mixture of dead animals, some freeze-dried (rats and a rattlesnake), others only mounted skeletons. On the opposite wall, a somehow more eclectic case showcased a jar filled with $19 human rib bones, nestled between full human skeletons. Behind the same glass, one could find decorated ostrich eggs, a large variety of stuffed birds, and fossils (megalodon teeth, whale inner ear bones, and an ancient buffalo jawbone were among the more notable pieces on display). Evolution does not settle for simply meeting a taxidermy fan’s expectations—it strives to exceed them.
The pieces in the store come from various trade shows around the country and some long-time trusted suppliers, such as a woman who has been supplying skulls, bones, and alligator heads for the past 17 years. Though this line of work seemed, to us, an extremely odd one to pursue, collections like hers are par for the course in the world of Evolution. Trade shows are often filled both with professionals—paleontologists, geologists—and people who are not "scientifically educated," as the store-owner put it, but are in it for the thrill of collecting. Though they accrue most of their merchandise from these sources, the store employees themselves often undertake the bone rearticulation (the process of setting up the skeletons) and the construction of insect mounts. However, for those more involved collectors who enjoy assembling the mounts themselves, Evolution sells loose specimens. They store these in a closet at the back of the shop, an extraordinary cabinet of curiosities enclosing mountains of seemingly identical, iridescent butterflies for these custom orders.
As we observed more and more of the store’s confounding contents, we began to wonder how such a place ever came to be. Luckily, the founder and owner, Bill Stevens, strolled into the store as we were perusing the $44 coyote skulls. For Stevens, this unique hobby arose as a family affair. He began amassing his collection at a young age, starting with the natural history collectibles his father would bring back from his business trips around the world. After the market crash of ‘87, Stevens decided to turn this hobby of collecting nature-related antiques into a career. He had already curated a large collection of taxidermy specimens in his house upstate, and easily found a friend to help him open his first shop in SoHo. In the years since then, the business has grown to include a separate upstate location where much of the rearticulation is done, run by Stevens’ daughter Julie. As the store’s recent location change indicates, owning a small business in Manhattan is never an easy feat; nevertheless, Stevens told us that he has been enjoying the ride.
As we examined the store’s merchandise, we wondered who our fellow examiners were--what brings someone to such a niche place? Evolution has a wide range of customers, from NYU student foot-traffic to tourists from around the world, sometimes even serving as a visitor’s first destination within Manhattan. This group of Evolution enthusiasts either come scouring for a specific item or purposelessly perusing the vast collection. We spoke with a former mineral scientist who has been stopping by the store for years just to admire the merchandise, though she admitted to never buying anything except an ant lollipop (one of the store's more popular items). She appreciates the old location more, and commented that the new one feels a bit capitalistic.
We left Evolution discussing our spoils, passing store after store as we made our way to lunch. While the monetary value of our purchases was equitable to a pair of pants from a neighboring shop, the intrinsic value of owning something with so much history was far greater. The diversity of the two items within our bag spoke multitudes about Evolution as a store. We left with a quirky poster and a small piece of history, a museum-quality fossilized tooth from a Spinosaurus unearthed in Morocco. The woman behind the register had checked us out without batting an eye, as if purchasing a piece of a 100-million-year old dinosaur were a standard Friday activity.
We ventured out of the subway, past drugstores and retail chains, expecting to be transported to another world overflowing with ancient artifacts, a place where we might accidentally bump into a human skeleton, either because it would be hard to see or just because there would be so many strewn about that it would be impossible not to bump into one. Instead of the expected—a dimly-lit, dusty antique store—we entered a polished room, filled with objects that, though whimsical, were neatly and precisely organized. While the store was full of skulls, crystals, and meteorites, it actually seemed almost normal.
For a store that advertised products selected “through a unique scientific lens unlike any other in the industry,” its lighting and set-up lent a familiar, commercial vibe. Due to rent issues, the store has recently moved from SoHo to the more consumer-friendly neighborhood of the West Village, and we were quickly assured that the old store had the more rustic feel we had been expecting, one more harmonious with the contents lining its walls. Perhaps our lofty assumptions revealed our biases as consumers. We didn't go solely for the merchandise, we went for some holistic, transportive experience.
As our eyes adjusted to the bizarre items around us, we began to appreciate the contents and layout of the store. The front window displayed a stuffed two-headed calf and the skeleton of a prehistoric cave-bear (currently Evolution’s most expensive item, priced at over $30,000). The walls were lined with stuffed animals heads (boar, zebra, and others), antlers, fossils, and mounted insect displays. One display case was stocked with a mixture of dead animals, some freeze-dried (rats and a rattlesnake), others only mounted skeletons. On the opposite wall, a somehow more eclectic case showcased a jar filled with $19 human rib bones, nestled between full human skeletons. Behind the same glass, one could find decorated ostrich eggs, a large variety of stuffed birds, and fossils (megalodon teeth, whale inner ear bones, and an ancient buffalo jawbone were among the more notable pieces on display). Evolution does not settle for simply meeting a taxidermy fan’s expectations—it strives to exceed them.
The pieces in the store come from various trade shows around the country and some long-time trusted suppliers, such as a woman who has been supplying skulls, bones, and alligator heads for the past 17 years. Though this line of work seemed, to us, an extremely odd one to pursue, collections like hers are par for the course in the world of Evolution. Trade shows are often filled both with professionals—paleontologists, geologists—and people who are not "scientifically educated," as the store-owner put it, but are in it for the thrill of collecting. Though they accrue most of their merchandise from these sources, the store employees themselves often undertake the bone rearticulation (the process of setting up the skeletons) and the construction of insect mounts. However, for those more involved collectors who enjoy assembling the mounts themselves, Evolution sells loose specimens. They store these in a closet at the back of the shop, an extraordinary cabinet of curiosities enclosing mountains of seemingly identical, iridescent butterflies for these custom orders.
As we observed more and more of the store’s confounding contents, we began to wonder how such a place ever came to be. Luckily, the founder and owner, Bill Stevens, strolled into the store as we were perusing the $44 coyote skulls. For Stevens, this unique hobby arose as a family affair. He began amassing his collection at a young age, starting with the natural history collectibles his father would bring back from his business trips around the world. After the market crash of ‘87, Stevens decided to turn this hobby of collecting nature-related antiques into a career. He had already curated a large collection of taxidermy specimens in his house upstate, and easily found a friend to help him open his first shop in SoHo. In the years since then, the business has grown to include a separate upstate location where much of the rearticulation is done, run by Stevens’ daughter Julie. As the store’s recent location change indicates, owning a small business in Manhattan is never an easy feat; nevertheless, Stevens told us that he has been enjoying the ride.
As we examined the store’s merchandise, we wondered who our fellow examiners were--what brings someone to such a niche place? Evolution has a wide range of customers, from NYU student foot-traffic to tourists from around the world, sometimes even serving as a visitor’s first destination within Manhattan. This group of Evolution enthusiasts either come scouring for a specific item or purposelessly perusing the vast collection. We spoke with a former mineral scientist who has been stopping by the store for years just to admire the merchandise, though she admitted to never buying anything except an ant lollipop (one of the store's more popular items). She appreciates the old location more, and commented that the new one feels a bit capitalistic.
We left Evolution discussing our spoils, passing store after store as we made our way to lunch. While the monetary value of our purchases was equitable to a pair of pants from a neighboring shop, the intrinsic value of owning something with so much history was far greater. The diversity of the two items within our bag spoke multitudes about Evolution as a store. We left with a quirky poster and a small piece of history, a museum-quality fossilized tooth from a Spinosaurus unearthed in Morocco. The woman behind the register had checked us out without batting an eye, as if purchasing a piece of a 100-million-year old dinosaur were a standard Friday activity.
\\MIRIAM LICHTENBERG is a sophomore in Barnard College and Deputy Features Editor of The Current. She can be reached at [email protected]. \\ESTIE BERKOWITZ is a sophomore in Columbia College. She can be reached at [email protected].
Photo courtesy of the authors.
Photo courtesy of the authors.