what the hell is this?

Good question. But before I answer that, I have a question for you.

Did you know fun did not always mean what it means today? I definitely did not.

The word entered the English language in the late 1400s, when it meant fooling someone or making a joke at their expense. By the 1700s, it had softened into something closer to friendly teasing. Then the Industrial Revolution changed it again. People were working longer hours, and fun became less about pure enjoyment and more about finding a brief escape from all that labor.

By the twentieth century, fun had become something that could be packaged, promoted and sold. It was used to encourage entertainment, leisure and consumption.

And today, we seem almost drunk on the idea that everything has to be productive. That if something does not make money, build an audience or optimize our lives, then it is not worth doing.

I don’t buy that.

A while ago, I came across a little book of poetry that my great-grandmother, Blanche Wilbur-Hill, self-published after her divorce from my great-grandfather, George Hearst II, or G2.

She didn’t write it to build a career. She was not trying to find an audience. She wrote it because she wanted to.

So she called it For Fun.

I loved that. The simplicity of it. The complete lack of justification.

She had something she wanted to make, so she made it. She felt no obligation to explain herself beyond those two words.

That little poetry book stayed with me. Over the past year, it has spiraled into an entire film universe exploring what we choose to keep and why.

And we are calling it For Fun.