Littérature scientifique sur le sujet « Louis Printers Supply Co »

The study examines the relationships among money supply, output and prices. Quarterly data were sourced from the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis, which spanned from 1996 Q2 to 2019 Q1. Four variables were included in the study: GDP, inflation (Consumer Price Index [CPI]) and two measures of money supply (M1 and M3). The findings of the study reveal that money supply is correlated with India’s output as well as inflation. Johansen’s test of co-integration reveals the existence of a long-term relationship among the variables. Another striking finding of this study is that neither M1 nor M3 could cause output (GDP) in the short run, but both Granger-cause inflation in the short run, which may be attributed to the output growth capacity limit of the country. The monetary policy disturbance in relation to other variables was examined through a structural vector autoregressive (SVAR) model that indicates that the two measures of money supply exert a positive impact on GDP. Similarly, the finding also shows that a monetary policy shock from the two measures of money supply causes a positive and continuous increase in inflation in India. Thus, money supply measure M3 is a potential indicator of movement in India’s output; hence the monetary authority should be mindful of inflation while targeting output expansion through money supply.

Culex quinquefasciatus, one of the most significant mosquito vectors in the world, is widespread in most parts of southern China. A variety of diseases including Bancroft’s filariasis, West Nile disease, and St. Louis encephalitis could be transmitted by the vector. Mosquitoes have been shown to host diverse bacterial communities that vary depending on environmental factors such as temperature and rainfall. In this work, 16S rDNA sequencing was used to analyze the seasonal variation of midgut bacterial diversity of Cx. Quinquefasciatus in Haikou City, Hainan Province, China. Proteobacteria was the dominant phylum, accounting for 79.7% (autumn), 73% (winter), 80.4% (spring), and 84.5% (summer). The abundance of Bacteroidetes in autumn and winter was higher than in others. Interestingly, Epsilonbacteraeota, which only exists in autumn and winter, was discovered accidentally in the midgut. We speculated that this might participate in the nutritional supply of adult mosquitoes when temperatures drop. Wolbachia is the most abundant in autumn, accounting for 31.6% of bacteria. The content of Pantoea was highest in the summer group, which might be related to the enhancement of the ability of mosquitoes as temperatures increased. Pseudomonas is carried out as the highest level in winter. On the contrary, in spring and summer, the genus in highest abundance is Enterobacter. Acinetobacter enriches in the spring when it turns from cold to hot. By studying the diversity of midgut bacteria of Cx. quinquefasciatus, we can further understand the co-evolution of mosquitoes and their symbiotic microbes. This is necessary to discuss the seasonal variation of microorganisms and ultimately provide a new perspective for the control of Cx. quinquefasciatus to reduce the spread of the diseases which have notably vital practical significance for the effective prevention of Cx. quinquefasciatus.

Abstract Despite the recent approvals of CD20-targeted CD3 bispecific molecules in follicular lymphoma (Lunsumio™, mosunetuzumab) and diffuse large B cell lymphoma (Columvi™, glofitamab; and Epkinly™, epcoritamab), significant opportunities to improve patient outcomes in these indications remain. Targeted induction of T cell costimulatory receptors (signal 2) as a complement to T cell activation mediated by T cell receptor signal 1 is an attractive strategy to sustain and optimize the redirected T cell effector response to these tumors. Drug combinations of CD3-bispecifics and tumor-targeted costimulatory biologics such as CD19-41BBL and CD19-CD28 costimulatory agonists are promising approaches that have shown preclinical efficacy and are being investigated in the clinic. EVOLVE-105 is a CD20-targeted trispecific T cell engager biotherapeutic with an integrated, affinity-tuned CD3 and a CD2 co-stimulatory agonist. The advantages of physical integration include an increased probability of simultaneous T cell receptor and CD2 receptor engagement on each T cell and a simplified patient management strategy, compared to drug combinations of molecules individually targeting each receptor. EVOLVE-105 displays improved human T cell activation, increased T cell expansion, and tumor cell killing activity without a substantial increase in cytokine release compared to CD20xCD3 bispecifics with matching CD3 affinity which does not supply CD2 costimulation. EVOLVE-105 also displays superior potency compared to the CD20xCD3 clinical benchmarks mosunetuzumab, epcoritamab, and odronextamab. Importantly, the tumor-killing potency of EVOLVE-105 was within two-fold of the activity of glofitamab, while inducing less cytokine release, suggesting its potential to establish an improved therapeutic index. In cynomolgus monkeys, EVOLVE-105 demonstrated favorable tolerability and pharmacokinetics consistent with an attractive clinical developability profile. Sustained, dose-dependent B cell depletion in peripheral blood, lymph nodes, and spleen was observed. Circulating cytokine excursions, including IL-6, IFNγ, and TNFα at efficacious doses were markedly reduced by EVOLVE-105 treatment, in contrast to the circulating levels of cytokines reported for epcoritamab and glofitamab at their efficacious doses. EVOLVE-105 demonstrates favorable biophysical properties conducive to its development as intravenous and subcutaneous formulations. The emerging profile of EVOLVE-105 suggests its potential as a differentiated CD20-targeted immunotherapy capable of providing superior, more durable tumor control with a preferred cytokine release profile, compared to current CD20-targeted T cell engager therapies. Citation Format: Xingyue An, Mohosin Sarkar, Stella Martomo, Maria Hackett, Guixian Jin, Tiffany Liang, Danielle Klaskin, Tracy Lichter, Nana Adjoa Pels, Abudukadier Abulizi, Evelyn Teran, Afsana Sabrin, Oksana A. Sergeeva, Amber Fearnley, Hayden Karp, Julio Rodriguez, Eric M. Tam, Louis Matis, Jay S. Fine, Jeremy S. Myers. EVOLVE-105, a differentiated CD20-targeted CD2 co-stimulatory T cell engager engineered for the treatment of B cell malignancies [abstract]. In: Proceedings of the American Association for Cancer Research Annual Meeting 2024; Part 1 (Regular Abstracts); 2024 Apr 5-10; San Diego, CA. Philadelphia (PA): AACR; Cancer Res 2024;84(6_Suppl):Abstract nr 2369.

Thermo Fisher Scientific and Applikon Biotechnology sign bilateral supply agreement. AET BioTech and BioXpress Therapeutics to co-develop biosimilar Adalimumab. Octa Phillip Bioscience Managers announces first close on new healthcare fund. Agilent Technologies' and PREMIER Biosoft's platforms work together to advance lipidomics research. Phosphagenics licenses TPM® platform to Indian pharmaceutical company. Dr. Louis-Philippe Vézina, named as a recipient of the 2012 Prix du Quebec.

3D printing technology has opened up possibilities of product design collaborations between device providers and customers. To enable an environment of co-creation, device providers are now renting 3D printers via the 3D-as-a-Service (3DaaS) model. Although prior research has examined pricing and quality issues in the traditional manufacturing setup, these studies have not analyzed such decisions in the 3D printing supply chain setting, where end users possess the ability to customize product designs. Therefore, several important questions remain unanswered from the perspective of the 3D printing device provider. For example, what is the appropriate pricing model for providing 3DaaS? How do factors like the extent of design customization and the complexity influence the pricing strategy of the 3DaaS firm? Our analysis shows that if the customers’ impact on the product quality is relatively high or low, the pay-per-build pricing model generates a higher profit than the fixed-fee pricing model. Interestingly, we also find that if customers frequently print highly intricate product designs, the firm might choose the pay-per-build pricing model, only if the likelihood of design failure for these complex structures is low. Otherwise, the firm might opt for a fixed-fee pricing model.

AbstractDigital manufacturing (DM) strives for the seamless manufacture of a functional device from a digital file. DM holds great potential for microfluidics, but requirements for embedded conduits and high resolution beyond the capability of common manufacturing equipment, and microfluidic systems’ dependence on peripherals (e.g., connections, power supply, computer), have limited its adoption. Microfluidic capillaric circuits (CCs) are structurally‐encoded, self‐contained microfluidic systems that operate and self‐fill thanks to precisely tailored hydrophilicity. CCs were heretofore hydrophilized in a plasma chamber, but which only produces transient hydrophilicity, lacks reproducibility, and limits CC design to open surface channels sealed with a tape. Here we introduce the additive DM of monolithic, fully functional and intrinsically hydrophilic CCs. CCs were 3D printed with commonly available light engine‐based 3D printers using polyethylene(glycol)diacrylate‐based ink co‐polymerized with hydrophilic acrylic acid crosslinkers and optimized for hydrophilicity and printability. A new, robust capillary valve design and embedded conduits with circular cross‐sections that prevent bubble trapping are presented, and complex interwoven circuit architectures created, and their use illustrated with an immunoassay. Finally, the need for external paper capillary pumps is eliminated by directly embedding the capillary pump in the chip as a porous gyroid structure, realizing fully functional, monolithic CCs. Thence, a computer‐aided design file can be made into a CC by commonly available 3D printers in less than 30 min enabling low‐cost, distributed, DM of fully functional ready‐to‐use microfluidic systems.This article is protected by copyright. All rights reserved

Background: Reperfusion following ischemia can lead to more injuries than ischemia itself especially in diabetic patients. The aim of this study was to evaluate the effect of dexmedetomidine on ischemia-reperfusion injury (IRI) in rats with have hepatic IRI and diabetes mellitus. Methodology: Twenty-eight Wistar Albino rats were randomised into four groups as control (C), diabetic (DC), diabetic with hepatic ischemia-reperfusion injury (DIR), and diabetic but administered dexmedetomidine followed by hepatic IRI (DIRD) groups. Hepatic tissue samples were evaluated histopathologically by semiquantitative methods. Malondialdehyde (MDA), superoxide dismutase (SOD), glutathion s-transpherase (GST), and catalase (CAT) enzyme levels were investigated in liver and kidney tissues as oxidative state parameters. Results: In Group DIR; hepatocyte degeneration, sinusoidal dilatation, pycnotic nucleus, and necrotic cells were found to be more in rat hepatic tissue; while mononuclear cell infiltration was higher in the parenchyme. MDA levels were significantly lower; but SOD levels were significantly higher in Group DIRD with regard to Group DIR. In the IRI induced diabetic rats’ hepatic and nephrotic tissues MDA levels, showing oxidative injury, were found to be lower. SOD levels, showing early antioxidant activity, were higher. Conclusion: The enzymatic findings of our study together with the hepatic histopathology indicate that dexmedetomidine has a potential role to decrease IRI. Key words: Hepatic ischemia reperfusion injury; Diabetes mellitus; Dexmedetomidine; Rat; MDA; SOD Citation: Sezen SC, Işık B, Bilge M, Arslan M, Çomu FM, Öztürk L, Kesimci E, Kavutçu M. Effect of dexmedetomidine on ischemia-reperfusion injury of liver and kidney tissues in experimental diabetes and hepatic ischemia-reperfusion injury induced rats. Anaesth Pain & Intensive Care 2016;20(2):143-149 Received: 21 November 2015; Reviewed: 10, 24 December 2015, 9, 10 June 2016; Corrected: 12 December 2015; Accepted: 10 June 2016 INTRODUCTİON Perioperative acute tissue injury induced by ischemia-reperfusion is a comman clinical event caused by reduced blood supply to the tissue being compromised during major surgery. Ischemia leads to cellular injury by depleting cellular energy deposits and resulting in accumulation of toxic metabolites. The reperfusion of tissues that have remained in ischemic conditions causes even more damage.1 Furthermore hepatic ischemia-reperfusion injury (IRI) demonstrates a strong relationship with peri-operative acute kidney injury.2 The etiology of diabetic complications is strongly associated with increased oxidative stress (OS). Diabetic patients are known to have a high risk of developing OS or IRI which results with tissue failure.3 The most important role in ischemia and reperfusion is played by free oxygen radicals.1 In diabetes, characterized by hyperglycemia, even more free oxygen radicals are produced due to oxidation of glucose and glycosylation of proteins.3 The structures which are most sensitive to free oxygen radicals in the cells are membrane lipids, proteins, nucleic acids and deoxyribonucleic acids.1 It has been reported that endogenous antioxidant enzymes [superoxide dismutase (SOD), glutathion s-transpherase (GST), catalase (CAT)] play an important role to alleviate IRI.4-8 Also some pharmacological agents have certain effects on IRI.1 The anesthetic agents influence endogenous antioxidant systems and free oxygen radical formation.9-12 Dexmedetomidine is a selective α-2 adrenoceptor agonist agent. It has been described as a useful and safe adjunct in many clinical applications. It has been found that it may increase urine output by considerably redistributing cardiac output, inhibiting vasopressin secretion and maintaining renal blood flow and glomerular filtration. Previous studies demonstrated that dexmedetomidine provides protection against renal, focal cerebral, cardiac, testicular, and tourniquet-induced IRI.13-18 Arslan et al observed that dexmedetomidine protected against lipid peroxidation and cellular membrane alterations in hepatic IRI, when given before induction of ischemia.17 Si et al18 demonstrated that dexmedetomidine treatment results in a partial but significant attenuation of renal demage induced by IRI through the inactivation of JAK/STAT signaling pathway in an in vivo model. The efficacy of the dexmedetomidine for IRI in diabetic patient is not resarched yet. The purpose of this experimental study was to evaluate the biochemical and histological effects of dexmedetomidine on hepatic IRI in diabetic rat’s hepatic and renal tissue. METHODOLOGY Animals and Experimental Protocol: This study was conducted in the Physiology Laboratory of Kirikkale University upon the consent of the Experimental Animals Ethics Committee of Kirikkale University. All of the procedures were performed according to the accepted standards of the Guide for the Care and Use of Laboratory Animals. In the study, 28 male Wistar Albino rats, weighing between 250 and 300 g, raised under the same environmental conditions, were used. The rats were kept under 20-21 oC at cycles of 12-hour daylight and 12-hour darkness and had free access to food until 2 hours before the anesthesia procedure. The animals were randomly separated into four groups, each containing 7 rats. Diabetes was induced by a single intraperitoneal injection of streptozotocin (Sigma Chemical, St. Louis, MO, USA) at a dose of 65 mg/kg body weight. The blood glucose levels were measured at 72 hrs following this injection. Rats were classified as diabetic if their fasting blood glucose (FBG) levels exceeded 250 mg/dl, and only animals with FBGs of > 250 mg/dl were included in the diabetic groups (dia­betes only, diabetes plus ischemia-reperfusion and diabetes plus dexmedetomidine-ischemia-reperfusion). The rats were kept alive 4 weeks after streptozotocin injection to allow development of chronic dia­betes before they were exposed to ischemia-reperfusion.(19) The rats were weighed before the study. Rats were anesthetized with intraperitoneal ketamine 100 mg/kg. The chest and abdomen were shaved and each animal was fixed in a supine position on the operating table. The abdomen was cleaned with 1% polyvinyl iodine and when dry, the operating field was covered with a sterile drape and median laparotomy was performed. There were four experimental groups (Group C (sham-control; n = 7), (Group DC (diabetes-sham-control; n = 7), Group DIR (diabetes-ischemia-reperfusion; n = 7), and Group DIRD (diabetes-ischemia-reperfusion-dexmedetomidine; n = 7). Sham operation was performed on the rats in Group C and Group DC. The sham operation consisted of mobilization of the hepatic pedicle only. The rats in this group were sacrificed 90 min after the procedure. Hepatic I/R injury was induced in Groups DIR and DIRD respectively with hepatic pedicle clamping using a vascular clamp as in the previous study of Arslan et al.(17) After an ischemic period of 45 min, the vascular clamp was removed. A reperfusion period was maintained for 45 min. In Group DIRD, dexmedetomidine hydrochloride 100 μg/kg, (Precedex 100 μg/2 ml, Abbott®, Abbott Laboratory, North Chicago, Illinois, USA) was administrated via intraperitoneal route 30 minutes before surgery. All the rats were given ketamine 100 mg/kg intraperitoneally and intracardiac blood samples were obtained. Preserving the tissue integrity by avoiding trauma, liver and renal biopsy samples were obtained. Biochemical Analysis: The liver and renal tissues were first washed with cold deionized water to discard blood contamination and then homogenized in a homogenizer. Measurements on cell contest require an initial preparation of the tissues. The preparation procedure may involve grinding of the tissue in a ground glass tissue blender using a rotor driven by a simple electric motor. The homogenizer as a tissue blender similar to the typical kitchen blender is used to emulsify and pulverize the tissue (Heidolph Instruments GMBH & CO KGDiax 900 Germany®) at 1000 U for about 3 min. After centrifugation at 10,000 g for about 60 min, the upper clear layer was taken. MDA levels were determined using the method of Van Ye et al,(20) based on the reaction of MDA with thiobarbituric acid (TBA). In the TBA test reaction, MDA and TBA react in acid pH to form a pink pigment with an absorption maximum at 532 nm. Arbitrary values obtained were compared with a series of standard solutions (1,1,3,3-tetraethoxypropane). Results were expressed as nmol/mg.protein. Part of the homogenate was extracted in ethanol/chloroform mixture (5/3 v/v) to discard the lipid fraction, which caused interferences in the activity measurements of T-SOD, CAT and GST activities. After centrifugation at 10.000 x g for 60 min, the upper clear layer was removed and used for the T-SOD, CAT, GST enzyme activity measurement by methods as described by Durak et al21, Aebi22 and Habig et al23 respectively. One unit of SOD activity was defined as the enzyme protein amount causing 50% inhibition in NBTH2 reduction rate and result were expressed in U/mg protein. The CAT activity method is based on the measurement of absorbance decrease due to H2O2 consumption at 240 nm. The GST activity method is based on the measurement of absorbance changes at 340 nm due to formation of GSH-CDNB complex. Histological determinations: Semiquantitative evaluation technique used by Abdel-Wahhab et al(24) was applied for interpreting the structural changes investigated in hepatic tissues of control and research groups. According to this, (-) (negative point) represents no structural change, while (+) (one positive point) represents mild, (++) (two positive points) medium and (+++) (three positive points) represents severe structural changes. Statistical analysis: The Statistical Package for the Social Sciences (SPSS, Chicago, IL, USA) 20.0 softwre was used for the statistical analysis. Variations in oxidative state parameters, and histopathological examination between study groups were assessed using the Kruskal-Wallis test. The Bonferroni-adjusted Mann-Whitney U-test was used after significant Kruskal-Wallis to determine which groups differed from the others. Results were expressed as mean ± standard deviation (Mean ± SD). Statistical significance was set at a p value < 0.05 for all analyses. RESULTS There was statistically significant difference observed between the groups with respect to findings from the histological changes in the rat liver tissue (hepatocyte degeneration, sinüsoidal dilatation, pycnotic nucleus, prenecrotic cell) determined by light microscopy according to semiquantitative evaluation techniques (p < 0.0001). In Group DIR, hepatocyte degeneration was significantly high compared to Group C, Group DC and Group DIRD (p < 0.0001, p < 0.0001, p = 0.002, respectively), (Table 1, Figure 1-4). Similarly, sinüsoidal dilatation was significantly higher in Group DIR (p < 0.0001, p = 0.004, p = 0.015, respectively). Although, pcynotic nucleus was decreased in Group DIRD, it did not make a significant difference in comparison to Group DIR (p = 0.053), (Table 1, Figure 1-4). The prenecrotic cells were significantly increased in Group DIR, with respect to Group C, Group DC and Group DIRD (p < 0.0001, p = 0.004, p < 0.0001, respectively), (Table 1, Figure 1-4). Table 1. The comparison of histological changes in rat hepatic tissue [Mean ± SD)] p**: Statistical significance was set at a p value < 0.05 for Kruskal-Wallis test *p < 0.05: When compared with Group DIR Figure 1: Light microscopic view of hepatic tissue of Group C (control). VC: vena centralis, *: sinusoids. ®: hepatocytes, k: Kupffer cells, G: glycogen granules, mc: minimal cellular changes, Hematoxilen & Eosin x 40 Figure 2: Light-microscopic view of hepatic tissue of Group DC (diabetes mellitus control) (G: Glycogen granules increased in number, (VC: vena centralis, *:sinusoids. ®:hepatocytes, k:Kupffer cells, G: glycogen granules, mc: minimal cellular changes; Hematoxylin & Eosin x 40) Figure 3: Light-microscopic view of hepatic tissue of Group DIR (Diabetes Mellitus and ischemia-reperfusion) (VC: vena centralis, (H) degenerative and hydrophic hepatocytes, (dej) vena centralis degeneration (centrolobar injury) (*): sinusoid dilatation. (←) pycnotic and hyperchromatic nuclei, MNL: mononuclear cell infiltration, (¯) congestion, K: Kupffer cell hyperplasia, (­) vacuolar degeneration (Hematoxylin & Eosin x 40) Figure 4: Light-microscopic view of hepatic tissue of Group DIRD (Diabetes Mellitus and ischemia-reperfusion together with dexmedetomidine applied group) (VC: vena centralis, (MNL) mononuclear cell infiltration, (dej) hydrophilic degeneration in hepatocytes around vena centralis, (conj) congestion, G: glycogen granules, (←) pycnotic and hyperchromatic nuclei, sinusoid dilatation (*) (Hematoxylin & Eosin x 40) Besides, in liver tissue parenchyma, MN cellular infiltration was a light microscopic finding; and showed significant changes among the groups (p < 0.0001). This was significantly higher in Group DIR, compared to Group C, DC, and DIRD (p < 0.0001, p=0.007, p = 0.007, respectively), (Table 1, Figure 1-4). The enzymatic activity of MDA, SOD and GST in hepatic tissues showed significant differences among the groups [(p = 0.019), (p = 0.034). (p = 0.008) respectively]. MDA enzyme activity was significantly incresed in Group DIR, according to Group C and Group DIRD (p = 0.011, p = 0.016, respectively), (Table 2). In Group DIR SOD enzyme activity was lower with respect to Group C and Group DIRD (p = 0.010, p = 0.038, respectively), (Table 2). The GST enzyme activity was significantly higher in Group DIR, when compared to Group C, DC and DIRD (p = 0.007, p = 0.038, p = 0.039, respectively), (Table 2). Table 2. Oxidative state parameters in rat hepatic tissue [Mean ± SD] p**: Statistical significance was set at a p value < 0.05 for Kruskal-Wallis test *p < 0.05: When compared with Group DIR The enzymatic activity of MDA, SOD in renal tissues, showed significant differences among the groups [(p < 0.0001), (p = 0.008) respectively ]. MDA enzyme activity was significantly incresed in Group DIR, according to Group C and Group DIRD (p < 0.0001, p < 0.0001, respectively). Also MDA enzyme activity level was significantly increased in Group DC, in comparison to Group C and Group DIRD (p = 0.003, p = 0.001, respectively), (Table 3). In Group DIR SOD enzyme activity was lower with respect to Group C and Group DIRD (p = 0.032, p = 0.013, respectively), (Table 3). The GST enzyme activity was significantly higher in Group DIR than the other three groups, however; CAT levels were similar among the groups (Table 3). Table 3: Oxidative state parameters in rat nephrotic tissue [Mean ± SD)] p**: Statistical significance was set at a p value < 0.05 for Kruskal-Wallis test *p < 0.05: When compared with Group DIR DISCUSSION In this study, we have reported the protective effect of dexmedetomidine in experimental hepatic and renal IRI model in the rat by investigating the MDA and SOD levels biochemically. Besides, hepatic histopathological findings also supported our report. Ischemic damage may occur with trauma, hemorrhagic shock, and some surgical interventions, mainly hepatic and renal resections. Reperfusion following ischemia results in even more injury than ischemia itself. IRI is an inflammatory response accompanied by free radical formation, leucocyte migration and activation, sinusoidal endothelial cellular damage, deteoriated microcirculation and coagulation and complement system activation.1 We also detected injury in hepatic and renal tissue caused by reperfusion following ischemia in liver. Experimental and clinical evidence indicates that OS is involved in both the pathogenesis and the complications of diabetes mellitus.25,26 Diabetes mellitus is a serious risk factor for the development of renal and cardiovascular disease. It is also related to fatty changes in the liver.27 Diabetes-related organ damage seems to be the result of multiple mechanisms. Diabetes has been associated with increased free radical reactions and oxidant tissue damage in STZ-induced diabetic rats and also in patients.26Oxidative stress has been implicated in the destruction of pancreatic β-cells28 and could largely contribute to the oxidant tissue damage associated with chronic hyperglycemia.29 A number of reports have shown that antioxidants can attenuate the complications of diabetes in patients30 and in experimental models.28,31 This study demonstrated that diabetes causes a tendency to increase the IRI. There is a lot of investigations related to the pharmacological agents or food supplements applied for decreasing OS and IRI. Antioxidant agents paly an important role in IRI by effecting antioxidant system or lessening the formation of ROS. It has been reported that anesthetic agents too, are effective in oxidative stress.1 During surgical interventions, it seems rational to get benefit from anesthetic agents in prevention of OS caused by IRI instead of using other agents. It has been declared that; dexmedetomidine; as an α-2 agonist with sedative, hypnotic properties; is important in prevention of renal, focal, cerebral, cardiac, testicular and tourniquet-induced IRI.13-18 On the other hand Bostankolu et al. concluded that dexmedetomidine did not have an additional protective role for tournique induced IRI during routine general anesthesia.32 In this study; we have shown that dexmedetomidine has a reducing effect in IRI in diabetic rats. Some biochemical tests and histopathological evaluations are applied for bringing up oxidative stress and IRI in the tissues. Reactive oxygen species (ROS) that appear with reperfusion injury damage cellular structures through the process of the lipid peroxidation of cellular membranes and yield toxic metabolites such as MDA.33 As an important intermidiate product in lipid peroxidation, MDA is used as a sensitive marker of IRI.34 ROS-induced tissue injury is triggered by various defense mechanisms.35 The first defence mechanisms include the antioxidant enzymes of SOD, CAT, and GPx. These endogenous antioxidants are the first lines of defence against oxidative stres and act by scavenging potentially damaging free radical moieties.36 There is a balance between ROS and the scavenging capacity of antioxidant enzymes.1-8 In this study, for evaluation of oxidative damage and antioxidant activity, MDS, SOD, GST and CAT levels were determined in liver and kidney tissues. MDA levels in hepatic and renal tissues were higher in Group DIR compared to Group C and Group DIRD. GST levels were higher in Group DIR compared to all the other three groups. When the groups were arranged from highest to lowest order, with respect to CAT levels, the order was; Group DIR, Group DIRD, Group DC and Group C. However, the difference was not significant. The acute phase reactant MDA, as a marker of OS, was found to be high in Group DIR and low in Group DIRD. This could be interpreted as the presence of protective effect of dexmedetomidine in IRI. IRI developing in splanchnic area causes injury also in the other organs.35 Leithead et al showed that clinically significant hepatic IRI demonstrates a strong relationship with peri-operative acute kidney injury.2 In our experimental research that showed correlation to that of research by Leithead et al. After hepatic IRI in diabetic rats renal OS marker MDA levels were significantly more in Group DIR than Group DIRD. In our study, we observed histopathological changes in the ischemic liver tissue and alterations in the level of MDA, SOD, GST and CAT levels which are OS markers. Histopathological changes of the liver tissues are hepatocyt degeneration, sinusoidal dilatation, nuclear picnosis, celluler necrosis, mononuclear cell infiltrationat paranchimal tissue. These histopathological injury scores were significantly lower in the Group DIRD than those in group DIR. LIMITATION Study limitation is there was no negative control group, as this type of surgical intervention is not possible in rats without anesthesia. CONCLUSION The enzymatic findings of our study together with the hepatic histopathology indicate that dexmedetomidine has a potential role to decrease ischemia-reperfusion injury. Conflict of interest and funding: The authors have not received any funding or benefits from industry or elsewhere to conduct this study. Author contribution: ŞCS: Concept, conduction of the study work and manuscript editing; BI: the main author to write the article; MB & MK: biochemical analysis; MA: manuscript writing; FMÇ: helped us with experimental study; LÖ & EK: collection of data REFERENCES Collard CD, Gelman S. Pathophysiology, clinical manifestations, and prevention of ischemia-reperfusion injury. Anesthesiology. 2001;94(6):1133. [PubMed] [Free full text] Leithead JA, Armstrong MJ, Corbett C, Andrew M, Kothari C, Gunson BK, et al. Hepatic ischemia reperfusion injury is associated with acute kidney injury following donation after brain death liver transplantation. Transpl Int. 2013;26(11):1116. doi: 10.1111/tri.12175. [PubMed] [Free full text] Panés J, Kurose I, Rodriguez-Vaca D, Anderson DC, Miyasaka M, Tso P, et al. Diabetes exacerbates inflammatory responses to ischemia-reperfusion. Circulation. 1996;93(1):161. [PubMed] [Free full text] Touyz RM. 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IntroductionTasmania hangs from the map of Australia like a drop in freefall from the substance of the mainland. Often the whole state is mislaid from Australian maps and logos (Reddit). Tasmania has, at least since federation, been considered peripheral—a region seen as isolated, a ‘problem’ economically, politically, and culturally. However, Tasmania not only cleaves to the ‘north island’ of Australia but is also subject to the gravitational pull of an even greater land mass—Antarctica. In this article, we upturn the political conventions of map-making that place both Antarctica and Tasmania in obscure positions at the base of the globe. We show how a changing global climate re-frames Antarctica and the Southern Ocean as key drivers of worldwide environmental shifts. The liquid and solid water between Tasmania and Antarctica is revealed not as a homogenous barrier, but as a dynamic and relational medium linking the Tasmanian archipelago with Antarctica. When Antarctica becomes the focus, the script is flipped: Tasmania is no longer on the edge, but core to a network of gateways into the southern land. The state’s capital of Hobart can from this perspective be understood as an “Antarctic city”, central to the geopolitics, economy, and culture of the frozen continent (Salazar et al.). Viewed from the south, we argue, Tasmania is not a problem, but an opportunity for a form of ecological, cultural, economic, and political sustainability that opens up the southern continent to science, discovery, and imagination.A Centre at the End of the Earth? Tasmania as ParadoxThe islands of Tasmania owe their existence to climate change: a period of warming at the end of the last ice age melted the vast sheets of ice covering the polar regions, causing sea levels to rise by more than one hundred metres (Tasmanian Climate Change Office 8). Eleven thousand years ago, Aboriginal people would have witnessed the rise of what is now called Bass Strait, turning what had been a peninsula into an archipelago, with the large island of Tasmania at its heart. The heterogeneous practices and narratives of Tasmanian regional identity have been shaped by the geography of these islands, and their connection to the Southern Ocean and Antarctica. Regions, understood as “centres of collective consciousness and sociospatial identities” (Paasi 241) are constantly reproduced and reimagined through place-based social practices and communications over time. As we will show, diverse and contradictory narratives of Tasmanian regionality often co-exist, interacting in complex and sometimes complementary ways. Ecocritical literary scholar C.A. Cranston considers duality to be embedded in the textual construction of Tasmania, writing “it was hell, it was heaven, it was penal, it was paradise” (29). Tasmania is multiply polarised: it is both isolated and connected; close and far away; rich in resources and poor in capital; the socially conservative birthplace of radical green politics (Hay 60). The weather, as if sensing the fine balance of these paradoxes, blows hot and cold at a moment’s notice.Tasmania has wielded extraordinary political influence at times in its history—notably during the settlement of Melbourne in 1835 (Boyce), and during protests against damming the Franklin River in the early 1980s (Mercer). However, twentieth-century historical and political narratives of Tasmania portray the Bass Strait as a barrier, isolating Tasmanians from the mainland (Harwood 61). Sir Bede Callaghan, who headed one of a long line of federal government inquiries into “the Tasmanian problem” (Harwood 106), was clear that Tasmania was a victim of its own geography:the major disability facing the people of Tasmania (although some residents may consider it an advantage) is that Tasmania is an island. Separation from the mainland adversely affects the economy of the State and the general welfare of the people in many ways. (Callaghan 3)This perspective may stem from the fact that Tasmania has maintained the lowest Gross Domestic Product per capita of all states since federation (Bureau of Infrastructure Transport and Regional Economics 9). Socially, economically, and culturally, Tasmania consistently ranks among the worst regions of Australia. Statistical comparisons with other parts of Australia reveal the population’s high unemployment, low wages, poor educational outcomes, and bad health (West 31). The state’s remoteness and isolation from the mainland states and its reliance on federal income have contributed to the whole of Tasmania, including Hobart, being classified as ‘regional’ by the Australian government, in an attempt to promote immigration and economic growth (Department of Infrastructure and Regional Development 1). Tasmania is indeed both regional and remote. However, in this article we argue that, while regionality may be cast as a disadvantage, the island’s remote location is also an asset, particularly when viewed from a far southern perspective (Image 1).Image 1: Antarctica (Orthographic Projection). Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons, Modified Shading of Tasmania and Addition of Captions by H. Nielsen.Connecting Oceans/Collapsing DistanceTasmania and Antarctica have been closely linked in the past—the future archipelago formed a land bridge between Antarctica and northern land masses until the opening of the Tasman Seaway some 32 million years ago (Barker et al.). The far south was tangible to the Indigenous people of the island in the weather blowing in from the Southern Ocean, while the southern lights, or “nuyina”, formed a visible connection (Australia’s new icebreaker vessel is named RSV Nuyina in recognition of these links). In the contemporary Australian imagination, Tasmania tends to be defined by its marine boundaries, the sea around the islands represented as flat, empty space against which to highlight the topography of its landscape and the isolation of its position (Davies et al.). A more relational geographic perspective illuminates the “power of cross-currents and connections” (Stratford et al. 273) across these seascapes. The sea country of Tasmania is multiple and heterogeneous: the rough, shallow waters of the island-scattered Bass Strait flow into the Tasman Sea, where the continental shelf descends toward an abyssal plain studded with volcanic seamounts. To the south, the Southern Ocean provides nutrient-rich upwellings that attract fish and cetacean populations. Tasmania’s coast is a dynamic, liminal space, moving and changing in response to the global currents that are driven by the shifting, calving and melting ice shelves and sheets in Antarctica.Oceans have long been a medium of connection between Tasmania and Antarctica. In the early colonial period, when the seas were the major thoroughfares of the world and inland travel was treacherous and slow, Tasmania’s connection with the Southern Ocean made it a valuable hub for exploration and exploitation of the south. Between 1642 and 1900, early European explorers were followed by British penal colonists, convicts, sealers, and whalers (Kriwoken and Williamson 93). Tasmania was well known to polar explorers, with expeditions led by Jules Dumont d’Urville, James Clark Ross, Roald Amundsen, and Douglas Mawson all transiting through the port of Hobart. Now that the city is no longer a whaling hub, growing populations of cetaceans continue to migrate past the islands on their annual journeys from the tropics, across the Sub-Antarctic Front and Antarctic circumpolar current, and into the south polar region, while southern species such as leopard seals are occasionally seen around Tasmania (Tasmania Parks and Wildlife). Although the water surrounding Tasmania and Antarctica is at times homogenised as a ‘barrier’, rendering these places isolated, the bodies of water that surround both are in fact permeable, and regularly crossed by both humans and marine species. The waters are diverse in their physical characteristics, underlying topography, sea life, and relationships, and serve to connect many different ocean regions, ecosystems, and weather patterns.Views from the Far SouthWhen considered in terms of its relative proximity to Antarctic, rather than its distance from Australia’s political and economic centres, Tasmania’s identity undergoes a significant shift. A sign at Cockle Creek, in the state’s far south, reminds visitors that they are closer to Antarctica than to Cairns, invoking a discourse of connectedness that collapses the standard ten-day ship voyage to Australia’s closest Antarctic station into a unit comparable with the routinely scheduled 5.5 hour flight to North Queensland. Hobart is the logistical hub for the Australian Antarctic Division and the French Institut Polaire Francais (IPEV), and has hosted Antarctic vessels belonging to the USA, South Korea, and Japan in recent years. From a far southern perspective, Hobart is not a regional Australian capital but a global polar hub. This alters the city’s geographic imaginary not only in a latitudinal sense—from “top down” to “bottom up”—but also a longitudinal one. Via its southward connection to Antarctica, Hobart is also connected east and west to four other recognized gateways: Cape Town in South Africa, Christchurch in New Zealand; Punta Arenas in Chile; and Ushuaia in Argentina (Image 2). The latter cities are considered small by international standards, but play an outsized role in relation to Antarctica.Image 2: H. Nielsen with a Sign Announcing Distances between Antarctic ‘Gateway’ Cities and Antarctica, Ushuaia, Argentina, 2018. Image Credit: Nicki D'Souza.These five cities form what might be called—to adapt geographer Klaus Dodds’ term—a ‘Southern Rim’ around the South Polar region (Dodds Geopolitics). They exist in ambiguous relationship to each other. Although the five cities signed a Statement of Intent in 2009 committing them to collaboration, they continue to compete vigorously for northern hemisphere traffic and the brand identity of the most prominent global gateway. A state government brochure spruiks Hobart, for example, as the “perfect Antarctic Gateway” emphasising its uniqueness and “natural advantages” in this regard (Tasmanian Government, 2016). In practice, the cities are automatically differentiated by their geographic position with respect to Antarctica. Although the ‘ice continent’ is often conceived as one entity, it too has regions, in both scientific and geographical senses (Terauds and Lee; Antonello). Hobart provides access to parts of East Antarctica, where the Australian, French, Japanese, and Chinese programs (among others) have bases; Cape Town is a useful access point for Europeans going to Dronning Maud Land; Christchurch is closest to the Ross Sea region, site of the largest US base; and Punta Arenas and Ushuaia neighbour the Antarctic Peninsula, home to numerous bases as well as a thriving tourist industry.The Antarctic sector is important to the Tasmanian economy, contributing $186 million (AUD) in 2017/18 (Wells; Gutwein; Tasmanian Polar Network). Unsurprisingly, Tasmania’s gateway brand has been actively promoted, with the 2016 Australian Antarctic Strategy and 20 Year Action Plan foregrounding the need to “Build Tasmania’s status as the premier East Antarctic Gateway for science and operations” and the state government releasing a “Tasmanian Antarctic Gateway Strategy” in 2017. The Chinese Antarctic program has been a particular focus: a Memorandum of Understanding focussed on Australia and China’s Antarctic relations includes a “commitment to utilise Australia, including Tasmania, as an Antarctic ‘gateway’.” (Australian Antarctic Division). These efforts towards a closer relationship with China have more recently come under attack as part of a questioning of China’s interests in the region (without, it should be noted, a concomitant questioning of Australia’s own considerable interests) (Baker 9). In these exchanges, a global power and a state of Australia generally classed as regional and peripheral are brought into direct contact via the even more remote Antarctic region. This connection was particularly visible when Chinese President Xi Jinping travelled to Hobart in 2014, in a visit described as both “strategic” and “incongruous” (Burden). There can be differences in how this relationship is narrated to domestic and international audiences, with issues of sovereignty and international cooperation variously foregrounded, laying the ground for what Dodds terms “awkward Antarctic nationalism” (1).Territory and ConnectionsThe awkwardness comes to a head in Tasmania, where domestic and international views of connections with the far south collide. Australia claims sovereignty over almost 6 million km2 of the Antarctic continent—a claim that in area is “roughly the size of mainland Australia minus Queensland” (Bergin). This geopolitical context elevates the importance of a regional part of Australia: the claims to Antarctic territory (which are recognised only by four other claimant nations) are performed not only in Antarctic localities, where they are made visible “with paraphernalia such as maps, flags, and plaques” (Salazar 55), but also in Tasmania, particularly in Hobart and surrounds. A replica of Mawson’s Huts in central Hobart makes Australia’s historic territorial interests in Antarctica visible an urban setting, foregrounding the figure of Douglas Mawson, the well-known Australian scientist and explorer who led the expeditions that proclaimed Australia’s sovereignty in the region of the continent roughly to its south (Leane et al.). Tasmania is caught in a balancing act, as it fosters international Antarctic connections (such hosting vessels from other national programs), while also playing a key role in administering what is domestically referred to as the Australian Antarctic Territory. The rhetoric of protection can offer common ground: island studies scholar Godfrey Baldacchino notes that as island narratives have moved “away from the perspective of the ‘explorer-discoverer-colonist’” they have been replaced by “the perspective of the ‘custodian-steward-environmentalist’” (49), but reminds readers that a colonising disposition still lurks beneath the surface. It must be remembered that terms such as “stewardship” and “leadership” can undertake sovereignty labour (Dodds “Awkward”), and that Tasmania’s Antarctic connections can be mobilised for a range of purposes. When Environment Minister Greg Hunt proclaimed at a press conference that: “Hobart is the gateway to the Antarctic for the future” (26 Apr. 2016), the remark had meaning within discourses of both sovereignty and economics. Tasmania’s capital was leveraged as a way to position Australia as a leader in the Antarctic arena.From ‘Gateway’ to ‘Antarctic City’While discussion of Antarctic ‘Gateway’ Cities often focuses on the economic and logistical benefit of their Antarctic connections, Hobart’s “gateway” identity, like those of its counterparts, stretches well beyond this, encompassing geological, climatic, historical, political, cultural and scientific links. Even the southerly wind, according to cartoonist Jon Kudelka, “has penguins in it” (Image 3). Hobart residents feel a high level of connection to Antarctica. In 2018, a survey of 300 randomly selected residents of Greater Hobart was conducted under the umbrella of the “Antarctic Cities” Australian Research Council Linkage Project led by Assoc. Prof. Juan Francisco Salazar (and involving all three present authors). Fourteen percent of respondents reported having been involved in an economic activity related to Antarctica, and 36% had attended a cultural event about Antarctica. Connections between the southern continent and Hobart were recognised as important: 71.9% agreed that “people in my city can influence the cultural meanings that shape our relationship to Antarctica”, while 90% agreed or strongly agreed that Hobart should play a significant role as a custodian of Antarctica’s future, and 88.4% agreed or strongly agreed that: “How we treat Antarctica is a test of our approach to ecological sustainability.” Image 3: “The Southerly” Demonstrates How Weather Connects Hobart and Antarctica. Image Credit: Jon Kudelka, Reproduced with Permission.Hobart, like the other gateways, activates these connections in its conscious place-branding. The city is particularly strong as a centre of Antarctic research: signs at the cruise-ship terminal on the waterfront claim that “There are more Antarctic scientists based in Hobart […] than at any other one place on earth, making Hobart a globally significant contributor to our understanding of Antarctica and the Southern Ocean.” Researchers are based at the Institute for Marine and Antarctic Studies (IMAS), the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO), and the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD), with several working between institutions. Many Antarctic researchers located elsewhere in the world also have a connection with the place through affiliations and collaborations, leading journalist Jo Chandler to assert that “the breadth and depth of Hobart’s knowledge of ice, water, and the life forms they nurture […] is arguably unrivalled anywhere in the world” (86).Hobart also plays a significant role in Antarctica’s governance, as the site of the secretariats for the Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) and the Agreement on the Conservation of Albatrosses and Petrels (ACAP), and as host of the Antarctic Consultative Treaty Meetings on more than one occasion (1986, 2012). The cultural domain is active, with Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery (TMAG) featuring a permanent exhibit, “Islands to Ice”, emphasising the ocean as connecting the two places; the Mawson’s Huts Replica Museum aiming (among other things) to “highlight Hobart as the gateway to the Antarctic continent for the Asia Pacific region”; and a biennial Australian Antarctic Festival drawing over twenty thousand visitors, about a sixth of them from interstate or overseas (Hingley). Antarctic links are evident in the city’s natural and built environment: the dolerite columns of Mt Wellington, the statue of the Tasmanian Antarctic explorer Louis Bernacchi on the waterfront, and the wharfs that regularly accommodate icebreakers such as the Aurora Australis and the Astrolabe. Antarctica is figured as a southern neighbour; as historian Tom Griffiths puts it, Tasmanians “grow up with Antarctica breathing down their necks” (5). As an Antarctic City, Hobart mediates access to Antarctica both physically and in the cultural imaginary.Perhaps in recognition of the diverse ways in which a region or a city might be connected to Antarctica, researchers have recently been suggesting critical approaches to the ‘gateway’ label. C. Michael Hall points to a fuzziness in the way the term is applied, noting that it has drifted from its initial definition (drawn from economic geography) as denoting an access and supply point to a hinterland that produces a certain level of economic benefits. While Hall looks to keep the term robustly defined to avoid empty “local boosterism” (272–73), Gabriela Roldan aims to move the concept “beyond its function as an entry and exit door”, arguing that, among other things, the local community should be actively engaged in the Antarctic region (57). Leane, examining the representation of Hobart as a gateway in historical travel texts, concurs that “ingress and egress” are insufficient descriptors of Tasmania’s relationship with Antarctica, suggesting that at least discursively the island is positioned as “part of an Antarctic rim, itself sharing qualities of the polar region” (45). The ARC Linkage Project described above, supported by the Hobart City Council, the State Government and the University of Tasmania, as well as other national and international partners, aims to foster the idea of the Hobart and its counterparts as ‘Antarctic cities’ whose citizens act as custodians for the South Polar region, with a genuine concern for and investment in its future.Near and Far: Local Perspectives A changing climate may once again herald a shift in the identity of the Tasmanian islands. Recognition of the central role of Antarctica in regulating the global climate has generated scientific and political re-evaluation of the region. Antarctica is not only the planet’s largest heat sink but is the engine of global water currents and wind patterns that drive weather patterns and biodiversity across the world (Convey et al. 543). For example, Tas van Ommen’s research into Antarctic glaciology shows the tangible connection between increased snowfall in coastal East Antarctica and patterns of drought southwest Western Australia (van Ommen and Morgan). Hobart has become a global centre of marine and Antarctic science, bringing investment and development to the city. As the global climate heats up, Tasmania—thanks to its low latitude and southerly weather patterns—is one of the few regions in Australia likely to remain temperate. This is already leading to migration from the mainland that is impacting house prices and rental availability (Johnston; Landers 1). The region’s future is therefore closely entangled with its proximity to the far south. Salazar writes that “we cannot continue to think of Antarctica as the end of the Earth” (67). Shifting Antarctica into focus also brings Tasmania in from the margins. As an Antarctic city, Hobart assumes a privileged positioned on the global stage. This allows the city to present itself as central to international research efforts—in contrast to domestic views of the place as a small regional capital. The city inhabits dual identities; it is both on the periphery of Australian concerns and at the centre of Antarctic activity. Tasmania, then, is not in freefall, but rather at the forefront of a push to recognise Antarctica as entangled with its neighbours to the north.AcknowledgementsThis work was supported by the Australian Research Council under LP160100210.ReferencesAntonello, Alessandro. “Finding Place in Antarctica.” Antarctica and the Humanities. Eds. Peder Roberts, Lize-Marie van der Watt, and Adrian Howkins. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. 181–204.Australian Government. 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Introduction In December 2010, Nespresso, the world’s leading brand of premium-portioned coffee, opened a flagship “boutique” in Sydney’s Pitt Street Mall. This was Nespresso’s fifth boutique opening of 2010, after Brussels, Miami, Soho, and Munich. The Sydney debut coincided with the mall’s upmarket redevelopment, which explains Nespresso’s arrival in the city: strategic geographic expansion is key to the brand’s growth. Rather than panoramic ubiquity, a retail option favoured by brands like McDonalds, KFC and Starbucks, Nespresso opts for iconic, prestigious locations. This strategy has been highly successful: since 2000 Nespresso has recorded year-on-year per annum growth of 30 per cent. This has been achieved, moreover, despite a global financial downturn and an international coffee market replete with brand variety. In turn, Nespresso marks an evolution in the coffee market over the last decade. The Nespresso Story Founded in 1986, Nespresso is the fasting growing brand in the Nestlé Group. Its headquarters are in Lausanne, Switzerland, with over 7,000 employees worldwide. In 2012, Nespresso had 270 boutiques in 50 countries. The brand’s growth strategy involves three main components: premium coffee capsules, “mated” with specially designed machines, and accompanied by exceptional customer service through the Nespresso Club. Each component requires some explanation. Nespresso offers 16 varieties of Grand Crus coffee: 7 espresso blends, 3 pure origin espressos, 3 lungos (for larger cups), and 3 decaffeinated coffees. Each 5.5 grams of portioned coffee is cased in a hermetically sealed aluminium capsule, or pod, designed to preserve the complex, volatile aromas (between 800 and 900 per pod), and prevent oxidation. These capsules are designed to be used exclusively with Nespresso-branded machines, which are equipped with a patented high-pressure extraction system designed for optimum release of the coffee. These machines, of which there are 28 models, are developed with 6 machine partners, and Antoine Cahen, from Ateliers du Nord in Lausanne, designs most of them. For its consumers, members of the Nespresso Club, the capsules and machines guarantee perfect espresso coffee every time, within seconds and with minimum effort—what Nespresso calls the “ultimate coffee experience.” The Nespresso Club promotes this experience as an everyday luxury, whereby café-quality coffee can be enjoyed in the privacy and comfort of Club members’ homes. This domestic focus is a relatively recent turn in its history. Nestlé patented some of its pod technology in 1976; the compatible machines, initially made in Switzerland by Turmix, were developed a decade later. Nespresso S. A. was set up as a subsidiary unit within the Nestlé Group with a view to target the office and fine restaurant sector. It was first test-marketed in Japan in 1986, and rolled out the same year in Switzerland, France and Italy. However, by 1988, low sales prompted Nespresso’s newly appointed CEO, Jean-Paul Gillard, to rethink the brand’s focus. Gillard subsequently repositioned Nespresso’s target market away from the commercial sector towards high-income households and individuals, and introduced a mail-order distribution system; these elements became the hallmarks of the Nespresso Club (Markides 55). The Nespresso Club was designed to give members who had purchased Nespresso machines 24-hour customer service, by mail, phone, fax, and email. By the end of 1997 there were some 250,000 Club members worldwide. The boom in domestic, user-friendly espresso machines from the early 1990s helped Nespresso’s growth in this period. The cumulative efforts by the main manufacturers—Krups, Bosch, Braun, Saeco and DeLonghi—lowered the machines’ average price to around US $100 (Purpura, “Espresso” 88; Purpura, “New” 116). This paralleled consumers’ growing sophistication, as they became increasingly familiar with café-quality espresso, cappuccino and latté—for reasons to be detailed below. Nespresso was primed to exploit this cultural shift in the market and forge a charismatic point of difference: an aspirational, luxury option within an increasingly accessible and familiar field. Between 2006 and 2008, Nespresso sales more than doubled, prompting a second production factory to supplement the original plant in Avenches (Simonian). In 2008, Nespresso grew 20 times faster than the global coffee market (Reguly B1). As Nespresso sales exceeded $1.3 billion AU in 2009, with 4.8 billion capsules shipped out annually and 5 million Club members worldwide, it became Nestlé’s fastest growing division (Canning 28). According to Nespresso’s Oceania market director, Renaud Tinel, the brand now represents 8 per cent of the total coffee market; of Nespresso specifically, he reports that 10,000 cups (using one capsule per cup) were consumed worldwide each minute in 2009, and that increased to 12,300 cups per minute in 2010 (O’Brien 16). Given such growth in such a brief period, the atypical dynamic between the boutique, the Club and the Nespresso brand warrants closer consideration. Nespresso opened its first boutique in Paris in 2000, on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. It was a symbolic choice and signalled the brand’s preference for glamorous precincts in cosmopolitan cities. This has become the design template for all Nespresso boutiques, what the company calls “brand embassies” in its press releases. More like art gallery-style emporiums than retail spaces, these boutiques perform three main functions: they showcase Nespresso coffees, machines and accessories (all elegantly displayed); they enable Club members to stock up on capsules; and they offer excellent customer service, which invariably equates to detailed production information. The brand’s revenue model reflects the boutique’s role in the broader business strategy: 50 per cent of Nespresso’s business is generated online, 30 per cent through the boutiques, and 20 per cent through call centres. Whatever floor space these boutiques dedicate to coffee consumption is—compared to the emphasis on exhibition and ambience—minimal and marginal. In turn, this tightly monitored, self-focused model inverts the conventional function of most commercial coffee sites. For several hundred years, the café has fostered a convivial atmosphere, served consumers’ social inclinations, and overwhelmingly encouraged diverse, eclectic clientele. The Nespresso boutique is the antithesis to this, and instead actively limits interaction: the Club “community” does not meet as a community, and is united only in atomised allegiance to the Nespresso brand. In this regard, Nespresso stands in stark contrast to another coffee brand that has been highly successful in recent years—Starbucks. Starbucks famously recreates the aesthetics, rhetoric and atmosphere of the café as a “third place”—a term popularised by urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg to describe non-work, non-domestic spaces where patrons converge for respite or recreation. These liminal spaces (cafés, parks, hair salons, book stores and such locations) might be private, commercial sites, yet they provide opportunities for chance encounters, even therapeutic interactions. In this way, they aid sociability and civic life (Kleinman 193). Long before the term “third place” was coined, coffee houses were deemed exemplars of egalitarian social space. As Rudolf P. Gaudio notes, the early coffee houses of Western Europe, in Oxford and London in the mid-1600s, “were characterized as places where commoners and aristocrats could meet and socialize without regard to rank” (670). From this sanguine perspective, they both informed and animated the modern public sphere. That is, and following Habermas, as a place where a mixed cohort of individuals could meet and discuss matters of public importance, and where politics intersected society, the eighteenth-century British coffee house both typified and strengthened the public sphere (Karababa and Ger 746). Moreover, and even from their early Ottoman origins (Karababa and Ger), there has been an historical correlation between the coffee house and the cosmopolitan, with the latter at least partly defined in terms of demographic breadth (Luckins). Ironically, and insofar as Nespresso appeals to coffee-literate consumers, the brand owes much to Starbucks. In the two decades preceding Nespresso’s arrival, Starbucks played a significant role in refining coffee literacy around the world, gauging mass-market trends, and stirring consumer consciousness. For Nespresso, this constituted major preparatory phenomena, as its strategy (and success) since the early 2000s presupposed the coffee market that Starbucks had helped to create. According to Nespresso’s chief executive Richard Giradot, central to Nespresso’s expansion is a focus on particular cities and their coffee culture (Canning 28). In turn, it pays to take stock of how such cities developed a coffee culture amenable to Nespresso—and therein lays the brand’s debt to Starbucks. Until the last few years, and before celebrity ambassador George Clooney was enlisted in 2005, Nespresso’s marketing was driven primarily by Club members’ recommendations. At the same time, though, Nespresso insisted that Club members were coffee connoisseurs, whose knowledge and enjoyment of coffee exceeded conventional coffee offerings. In 2000, Henk Kwakman, one of Nestlé’s Coffee Specialists, explained the need for portioned coffee in terms of guaranteed perfection, one that demanding consumers would expect. “In general”, he reasoned, “people who really like espresso coffee are very much more quality driven. When you consider such an intense taste experience, the quality is very important. If the espresso is slightly off quality, the connoisseur notices this immediately” (quoted in Butler 50). What matters here is how this corps of connoisseurs grew to a scale big enough to sustain and strengthen the Nespresso system, in the absence of a robust marketing or educative drive by Nespresso (until very recently). Put simply, the brand’s ascent was aided by Starbucks, specifically by the latter’s success in changing the mainstream coffee market during the 1990s. In establishing such a strong transnational presence, Starbucks challenged smaller, competing brands to define themselves with more clarity and conviction. Indeed, working with data that identified just 200 freestanding coffee houses in the US prior to 1990 compared to 14,000 in 2003, Kjeldgaard and Ostberg go so far as to state that: “Put bluntly, in the US there was no local coffee consumptionscape prior to Starbucks” (Kjeldgaard and Ostberg 176). Starbucks effectively redefined the coffee world for mainstream consumers in ways that were directly beneficial for Nespresso. Starbucks: Coffee as Ambience, Experience, and Cultural Capital While visitors to Nespresso boutiques can sample the coffee, with highly trained baristas and staff on site to explain the Nespresso system, in the main there are few concessions to the conventional café experience. Primarily, these boutiques function as material spaces for existing Club members to stock up on capsules, and therefore they complement the Nespresso system with a suitably streamlined space: efficient, stylish and conspicuously upmarket. Outside at least one Sydney boutique for instance (Bondi Junction, in the fashionable eastern suburbs), visitors enter through a club-style cordon, something usually associated with exclusive bars or hotels. This demarcates the boutique from neighbouring coffee chains, and signals Nespresso’s claim to more privileged patrons. This strategy though, the cultivation of a particular customer through aesthetic design and subtle flattery, is not unique. For decades, Starbucks also contrived a “special” coffee experience. Moreover, while the Starbucks model strikes a very different sensorial chord to that of Nespresso (in terms of décor, target consumer and so on) it effectively groomed and prepped everyday coffee drinkers to a level of relative self-sufficiency and expertise—and therein is the link between Starbucks’s mass-marketed approach and Nespresso’s timely arrival. Starbucks opened its first store in 1971, in Seattle. Three partners founded it: Jerry Baldwin and Zev Siegl, both teachers, and Gordon Bowker, a writer. In 1982, as they opened their sixth Seattle store, they were joined by Howard Schultz. Schultz’s trip to Italy the following year led to an entrepreneurial epiphany to which he now attributes Starbucks’s success. Inspired by how cafés in Italy, particularly the espresso bars in Milan, were vibrant social hubs, Schultz returned to the US with a newfound sensitivity to ambience and attitude. In 1987, Schultz bought Starbucks outright and stated his business philosophy thus: “We aren’t in the coffee business, serving people. We are in the people business, serving coffee” (quoted in Ruzich 432). This was articulated most clearly in how Schultz structured Starbucks as the ultimate “third place”, a welcoming amalgam of aromas, music, furniture, textures, literature and free WiFi. This transformed the café experience twofold. First, sensory overload masked the dull homogeny of a global chain with an air of warm, comforting domesticity—an inviting, everyday “home away from home.” To this end, in 1994, Schultz enlisted interior design “mastermind” Wright Massey; with his team of 45 designers, Massey created the chain’s decor blueprint, an “oasis for contemplation” (quoted in Scerri 60). At the same time though, and second, Starbucks promoted a revisionist, airbrushed version of how the coffee was produced. Patrons could see and smell the freshly roasted beans, and read about their places of origin in the free pamphlets. In this way, Starbucks merged the exotic and the cosmopolitan. The global supply chain underwent an image makeover, helped by a “new” vocabulary that familiarised its coffee drinkers with the diversity and complexity of coffee, and such terms as aroma, acidity, body and flavour. This strategy had a decisive impact on the coffee market, first in the US and then elsewhere: Starbucks oversaw a significant expansion in coffee consumption, both quantitatively and qualitatively. In the decades following the Second World War, coffee consumption in the US reached a plateau. Moreover, as Steven Topik points out, the rise of this type of coffee connoisseurship actually coincided with declining per capita consumption of coffee in the US—so the social status attributed to specialised knowledge of coffee “saved” the market: “Coffee’s rise as a sign of distinction and connoisseurship meant its appeal was no longer just its photoactive role as a stimulant nor the democratic sociability of the coffee shop” (Topik 100). Starbucks’s singular triumph was to not only convert non-coffee drinkers, but also train them to a level of relative sophistication. The average “cup o’ Joe” thus gave way to the latte, cappuccino, macchiato and more, and a world of coffee hitherto beyond (perhaps above) the average American consumer became both regular and routine. By 2003, Starbucks’s revenue was US $4.1 billion, and by 2012 there were almost 20,000 stores in 58 countries. As an idealised “third place,” Starbucks functioned as a welcoming haven that flattened out and muted the realities of global trade. The variety of beans on offer (Arabica, Latin American, speciality single origin and so on) bespoke a generous and bountiful modernity; while brochures schooled patrons in the nuances of terroir, an appreciation for origin and distinctiveness that encoded cultural capital. This positioned Starbucks within a happy narrative of the coffee economy, and drew patrons into this story by flattering their consumer choices. Against the generic sameness of supermarket options, Starbucks promised distinction, in Pierre Bourdieu’s sense of the term, and diversity in its coffee offerings. For Greg Dickinson, the Starbucks experience—the scent of the beans, the sound of the grinders, the taste of the coffees—negated the abstractions of postmodern, global trade: by sensory seduction, patrons connected with something real, authentic and material. At the same time, Starbucks professed commitment to the “triple bottom line” (Savitz), the corporate mantra that has morphed into virtual orthodoxy over the last fifteen years. This was hardly surprising; companies that trade in food staples typically grown in developing regions (coffee, tea, sugar, and coffee) felt the “political-aesthetic problematization of food” (Sassatelli and Davolio). This saw increasingly cognisant consumers trying to reconcile the pleasures of consumption with environmental and human responsibilities. The “triple bottom line” approach, which ostensibly promotes best business practice for people, profits and the planet, was folded into Starbucks’s marketing. The company heavily promoted its range of civic engagement, such as donations to nurses’ associations, literacy programs, clean water programs, and fair dealings with its coffee growers in developing societies (Simon). This bode well for its target market. As Constance M. Ruch has argued, Starbucks sought the burgeoning and lucrative “bobo” class, a term Ruch borrows from David Brooks. A portmanteau of “bourgeois bohemians,” “bobo” describes the educated elite that seeks the ambience and experience of a counter-cultural aesthetic, but without the political commitment. Until the last few years, it seemed Starbucks had successfully grafted this cultural zeitgeist onto its “third place.” Ironically, the scale and scope of the brand’s success has meant that Starbucks’s claim to an ethical agenda draws frequent and often fierce attack. As a global behemoth, Starbucks evolved into an iconic symbol of advanced consumer culture. For those critical of how such brands overwhelm smaller, more local competition, the brand is now synonymous for insidious, unstoppable retail spread. This in turn renders Starbucks vulnerable to protests that, despite its gestures towards sustainability (human and environmental), and by virtue of its size, ubiquity and ultimately conservative philosophy, it has lost whatever cachet or charm it supposedly once had. As Bryant Simon argues, in co-opting the language of ethical practice within an ultimately corporatist context, Starbucks only ever appealed to a modest form of altruism; not just in terms of the funds committed to worthy causes, but also to move thorny issues to “the most non-contentious middle-ground,” lest conservative customers felt alienated (Simon 162). Yet, having flagged itself as an ethical brand, Starbucks became an even bigger target for anti-corporatist sentiment, and the charge that, as a multinational giant, it remained complicit in (and one of the biggest benefactors of) a starkly inequitable and asymmetric global trade. It remains a major presence in the world coffee market, and arguably the most famous of the coffee chains. Over the last decade though, the speed and intensity with which Nespresso has grown, coupled with its atypical approach to consumer engagement, suggests that, in terms of brand equity, it now offers a more compelling point of difference than Starbucks. Brand “Me” Insofar as the Nespresso system depends on a consumer market versed in the intricacies of quality coffee, Starbucks can be at least partly credited for nurturing a more refined palate amongst everyday coffee drinkers. Yet while Starbucks courted the “average” consumer in its quest for market control, saturating the suburban landscape with thousands of virtually indistinguishable stores, Nespresso marks a very different sensibility. Put simply, Nespresso inverts the logic of a coffee house as a “third place,” and patrons are drawn not to socialise and relax but to pursue their own highly individualised interests. The difference with Starbucks could not be starker. One visitor to the Bloomingdale boutique (in New York’s fashionable Soho district) described it as having “the feel of Switzerland rather than Seattle. Instead of velvet sofas and comfy music, it has hard surfaces, bright colours and European hostesses” (Gapper 9). By creating a system that narrows the gap between production and consumption, to the point where Nespresso boutiques advertise the coffee brand but do not promote on-site coffee drinking, the boutiques are blithely indifferent to the historical, romanticised image of the coffee house as a meeting place. The result is a coffee experience that exploits the sophistication and vanity of aspirational consumers, but ignores the socialising scaffold by which coffee houses historically and perhaps naively made some claim to community building. If anything, Nespresso restricts patrons’ contemplative field: they consider only their relationships to the brand. In turn, Nespresso offers the ultimate expression of contemporary consumer capitalism, a hyper-individual experience for a hyper-modern age. By developing a global brand that is both luxurious and niche, Nespresso became “the Louis Vuitton of coffee” (Betts 14). Where Starbucks pursued retail ubiquity, Nespresso targets affluent, upmarket cities. As chief executive Richard Giradot put it, with no hint of embarrassment or apology: “If you take China, for example, we are not speaking about China, we are speaking about Shanghai, Hong Kong, Beijing because you will not sell our concept in the middle of nowhere in China” (quoted in Canning 28). For this reason, while Europe accounts for 90 per cent of Nespresso sales (Betts 15), its forays into the Americas, Asia and Australasia invariably spotlights cities that are already iconic or emerging economic hubs. The first boutique in Latin America, for instance, was opened in Jardins, a wealthy suburb in Sao Paulo, Brazil. In Nespresso, Nestlé has popularised a coffee experience neatly suited to contemporary consumer trends: Club members inhabit a branded world as hermetically sealed as the aluminium pods they purchase and consume. Besides the Club’s phone, fax and online distribution channels, pods can only be bought at the boutiques, which minimise even the potential for serendipitous mingling. The baristas are there primarily for product demonstrations, whilst highly trained staff recite the machines’ strengths (be they in design or utility), or information about the actual coffees. For Club members, the boutique service is merely the human extension of Nespresso’s online presence, whereby product information becomes increasingly tailored to increasingly individualised tastes. In the boutique, this emphasis on the individual is sold in terms of elegance, expedience and privilege. Nespresso boasts that over 70 per cent of its workforce is “customer facing,” sharing their passion and knowledge with Club members. Having already received and processed the product information (through the website, boutique staff, and promotional brochures), Club members need not do anything more than purchase their pods. In some of the more recently opened boutiques, such as in Paris-Madeleine, there is even an Exclusive Room where only Club members may enter—curious tourists (or potential members) are kept out. Club members though can select their preferred Grands Crus and checkout automatically, thanks to RFID (radio frequency identification) technology inserted in the capsule sleeves. So, where Starbucks exudes an inclusive, hearth-like hospitality, the Nespresso Club appears more like a pampered clique, albeit a growing one. As described in the Financial Times, “combine the reception desk of a designer hotel with an expensive fashion display and you get some idea what a Nespresso ‘coffee boutique’ is like” (Wiggins and Simonian 10). Conclusion Instead of sociability, Nespresso puts a premium on exclusivity and the knowledge gained through that exclusive experience. The more Club members know about the coffee, the faster and more individualised (and “therefore” better) the transaction they have with the Nespresso brand. This in turn confirms Zygmunt Bauman’s contention that, in a consumer society, being free to choose requires competence: “Freedom to choose does not mean that all choices are right—there are good and bad choices, better and worse choices. The kind of choice eventually made is the evidence of competence or its lack” (Bauman 43-44). Consumption here becomes an endless process of self-fashioning through commodities; a process Eva Illouz considers “all the more strenuous when the market recruits the consumer through the sysiphian exercise of his/her freedom to choose who he/she is” (Illouz 392). In a status-based setting, the more finely graded the differences between commodities (various places of origin, blends, intensities, and so on), the harder the consumer works to stay ahead—which means to be sufficiently informed. Consumers are locked in a game of constant reassurance, to show upward mobility to both themselves and society. For all that, and like Starbucks, Nespresso shows some signs of corporate social responsibility. In 2009, the company announced its “Ecolaboration” initiative, a series of eco-friendly targets for 2013. By then, Nespresso aims to: source 80 per cent of its coffee through Sustainable Quality Programs and Rainforest Alliance Certified farms; triple its capacity to recycle used capsules to 75 per cent; and reduce the overall carbon footprint required to produce each cup of Nespresso by 20 per cent (Nespresso). This information is conveyed through the brand’s website, press releases and brochures. However, since such endeavours are now de rigueur for many brands, it does not register as particularly innovative, progressive or challenging: it is an unexceptional (even expected) part of contemporary mainstream marketing. Indeed, the use of actor George Clooney as Nespresso’s brand ambassador since 2005 shows shrewd appraisal of consumers’ political and cultural sensibilities. As a celebrity who splits his time between Hollywood and Lake Como in Italy, Clooney embodies the glamorous, cosmopolitan lifestyle that Nespresso signifies. 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