On this blog we often talk about the role of the prosumer, or actors that are both producers and consumers and that serve to muddy the longstanding distinction between production and consumption. For example, Jenny Davis and Nathan Jurgenson wrote on prosuming identity online, and how Web 2.0 technologies (especially social media) have allowed for the creation of new identities like transability and asexuality. Similarly, Nathan Jurgenson has written extensively on how social media has contributed to the “participatory, prosumer, dissent” of the Occupy Movement, playing into the much larger atmosphere of augmented dissent that has gripped the Middle East and other parts of the globe for some time now. And finally, Jenny Davis and I have written on the “Jailbreak the Patriarchy” Chrome Application, which allows users to genderswap the content they read on the internet.
Occupy DC encapsulates our "atmosphere of augmented dissent." Photo by Nathan Jurgenson.
Each of these examples reveals the tight association between social media and prosumption. That is, social media has greatly expanded the role of the prosumer in contemporary (augmented) society. This is because the individual voice is amplified through the digital networks of Web 2.0 technologies like Facebook, Reddit, and Twitter. Just as the Arab Spring and Occupy have changed the conversation regarding participatory democracy, prosumers are continually reworking culture through the creation of memes, identities, and new online content, blurring the distinction between the production and consumption of cultural forms. A great example of the prosumption of culture is fanfiction.
And this brings me to Star Wars. Finally.
This feature-length fanfilm titled “Star Wars Uncut” is a shot-for-shot remake of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, produced entirely from 15 second film clips sent in by fans. Casey Pugh, a 26-year-old web developer from Brooklyn created the film after posting on his blog asking for submissions. These fans each prosume Star Wars as both a brand and a cultural artefact (Bruns 2007) when they rework iconic scenes with a “twist,” allowing for the expression of new cultural forms and greater participatory expression from the larger Star Wars fan community.
The film, which won the 2010 Emmy for Interactive Media, is also an example of what Nathan Jurgenson has called “curatorial media”, where old media forms (eg: print newspapers) are augmented by new crowdsourcing capabilities of social media. The film above is an example of curatorial media because centralized gatekeepers (ie: Casey Pugh himself) selected which film clips to include. He then edited the film shot for shot, splicing together disparate scenes produced by widely different fans around the globe. I myself watched the first 45 minutes of it, mostly because I was curious and also because I was a huge Star Wars nerd as a kid.
Darth Vader and her stormtroopers.
Although the film clips can be a little jarring at times (especially when jumping from live action to crudely animated MS Paint images and back in a matter of a few seconds), it does serve as a humorous reworking of an extant cultural forms. That is, many film clips reveal anachronistic revisions to the actual film.For example, the entrance of Darth Vader onto the rebel starship (arguably one of the most iconic scenes in the original film), has been replaced by an all female squad or storm troopers, Vader himself briefly appears as a female.
Throughout the film we get several more examples of this sort of literary prosumption (Olin-Scheller and Wikstrom 2010), bolstering my claims that social media and Web 2.0 have allowed for an effervescence of collective cultural production and consumption. Fanfiction has long used extant cultural forms for the creation of new cultural forms, the homoerotic revision of Spock and Kirk’s relationship on Star Trek as but one iconic example.
Homoerotic tension between Kirk and Spock has been a treasure trove for fan fiction revisionism.
Although this film is not the first of its kind, it is a great example of participatory filmmaking. As new technologies continue to incorporate more and more social media capabilities (cell phones, tablets, etc), it is likely that we will see increasingly utility of the term “prosumer.”
You may not be a fan of the wub-wub-wubbing musical genre known as dubstep, but it is increasingly taking center stage in American popular culture. For example, a recent NorthFace advertisement uses it while a snowboarder glides down a snowy mountainscape, Britney Spears and Rihanna have both incorporated some dubstep into their recent work, teen heartthrob Justin Bieber is rumored to be working on his own dubstep album, and the teaser trailer for the new Mission Impossible film features a distinct wub-wubbing in the background. So what is dubstep anyway? And where did it come from?
Dubstep Goes to College Dubstep was conceived in the London dance music scene in the late 90s and early 00s. It takes mainly from drum and bass and grime genres, but is influenced by many different styles of music, including dancehall and hip-hop. The heavy influence of grime, the dark elements of drum and bass and the guttural bass lines give it an almost dirty sound. This along with the layer of synthesizers are what people in the scene refer to when they describe the music (or party) as “grimey.”
Dubstep entered the mainstream club scene in 2006 in great part with the release of producer Oliver Jones’ (aka Skream) debut album “Skream,” which took club culture by storm in Europe (Woolliams 2008). The album also became widely popular in the United States EDM (electronic dance music) scene.
Internet memes like this serve to articulate anxiety about perceived subcultural changes.
The EDM scene itself has grown increasingly popular in the United States, although not in the same magnitude as in London or other European cities. However, with dubstep’s increasing popularity this may soon change dramatically. Dubstep’s growing popularity seems to be the greatest among college students, especially fraternities, who have helped popularize the musical genre across college campuses in the US. This is because dubstep lends itself nicely to inebriated frat parties: one can dance or drone off to it’s characteristic throbbing bass in between shotguning beers and bouts of competitive fist-bumping.
The aggressive, wobbling bassline of dubstep, as well as its spectacular use of crazy robot “noises” translates quite seamlessly to the rambunctious college party scene. Cultural producers like MTV have certainly taken quick notice of this and are ready to market, what core members of the EDM subculture have disdainfully labeled as “brostep,” to these new consumers. Brostep incorporates a massive amount of the characteristic wobbling bass, which is exemplified in the latest work of DJs like Skrillex, Rusko, Caspa, and Borgore.
Steez promo is a good example of the use of marketing to target the mainstream college demographic. As a production company that started with underground raves and parties in downtown Baltimore, Steez Promo became a hit within the fledgling EDM subculture in the mid-late 2000s. Their early parties were thrown at band practice spaces and warehouses for $10, where you could bring in a 40 oz. or a handle of Bourbon to hang out with friends and dance the night away. In those days you could see dubstep artists like Rusko (who now collaborates with the likes of Britney Spears, Rihanna, and T.I.) in a small, cramped, non-descript space. It was still very much an underground scene.
Steez Promo, quickly realizing the growing popularity of dubstep in popular music, began to flyer college campuses like Towson University and University of Maryland. They seized the opportunity to tap into this burgeoning marketplace niche, and began throwing monthly parties at an expensive venue, Bourbon St., and expanding to Philly and then DC, where the average ticket for a show is now $25. The vibe of these shows, aptly named “Dub Nation,” is, of course, quite different from the dance parties they started with, and which are still thrown by grassroots promoters in the underground EDM scene.
The Rise of “Brostep”
The term “brostep” has been used to describe the most recent wave of popular dubstep music which gained notoriety through Best Buy, Audi, and BMW advertisements, as well as other forms of mass media exposure, and which also heavily relies on predictable rhythmic patterns obviating the need for melodic content. However, the addition of DJs who spin this type of dubstep and are “second adopters” (Postrel 2003) comes as a threat to earlier adopters of this musical genre, who have largely incorporated elements of the subculture into an overarching lifestyle project (Thornton 1996). Some of these “hardcore” members even describe EDM raves and parties as rituals of community engagement and togetherness, sites of Durkheimian effervescence and spiritual connectivity (Durkheim 1912).
The inclusion of new members is perceived as a threat to this established community order, especially since the new listeners don’t have a particular experience or ideology attached to the music. Dubstep has been abstracted from its context and a spectacle of sound has been produced in order to attract people who are not at the EDM events but are listening to the radio or their computer speakers.
As a veteran of the EDM scene and music producer himself, Dan Vibeage from Aligning Minds describes the nature of dubstep as being “more about the subtlety and the nuances between the drums, spacey atmospheres, and deep basslines.” He goes on to say,
It was music designed to be played on huge, bass heavy sound systems so that the sub bass could be re-produced and that’s how it was best experienced. A lot of the basslines were so deep that if you played them on, say, laptop speakers, you wouldn’t hear half of the music going on because the subs weren’t being reproduced. The subs are what make it ‘drop’ and create excitement, and depth and energy.
In sociological terms, this distinction between brostep and dubstep serves to divide second adopters from earlier adopters and those who identify as “core” members of the subculture (Chalmers and Arthur 2008). In this way, taste (Bourdieu 1984) comes to define one’s membership in the EDM community, with “brostep” pejoratively applied to those whose attraction to dubstep is linked to more recent artists like Skrillex or Borgore. For example, the audio track below reveals Rusko, arguably a forefather of the brostep subgenre, distancing himself from the genre.
Much like Thornton’s (1996) research on the London club scene in the early 90s, “brostep” can also serve as a moniker for “the mainstream,” the passive clients of the culture industry who do not have the refined tastes of the core subculturalist. In this way, the “brostep” label serves as a social distancing mechanism. Purists within the subculture thereby create ever more subtle distinctions in order to protect their field-dependent identities as consumers from the intrusion of new members (Arsel and Thompson 2010). This helps members of subcultural groups maintain a source of distinction from the mythologized mainstream (Thornton 1996).
However unlike Thornton’s (1996) study, where DJs themselves served as the “taste arbiters” of the community, setting the trends and helping to define the subculture’s subsequent development, in the case of “brostep” the perceived taste arbiters are mostly cultural producers and record companies, the petite bourgeoisie of the culture industry and the mass media (Featherstone 1991). In this sense, subcultural forms come to be seen as produced from afar (corporations, capitalism), rather than organic products of members of the subculture (because DJs are the creators of music, and music translates into subcultural capital in music subcultures [Thornton 1996]). To some members of the EDM community, the intrusion of brostep is a threat. Many fear their culture may be hijacked by outsiders, and some even abandon the genre altogether.
Dan Vibeage also recounts the role of Web 2.0 and new technologies in facilitating the development of brostep as a subgenre of dubstep. He states,
In 2006 we had a number of producers making this new sound with a focus on space and bass. Each producer had his own take on how to do it, but they were all making spacey, dark music for big big speakers. With a little help from the internet, the genre grew because it was so unique. But in growing, it also evolved.
The relaxed, dubby vibe got pushed aside to make way for more. More wobble, more sounds, more everything. Maximize to maximize. Along came crappy speakers. Radios, laptops and white earbuds. No point in making bass sounds for something that can’t play low frequencies. So we throw in a bunch of electronic “filth” sounds. Take the overtones of the wobble and make them the focus. Wobble noise. Wobble anything that can be heard on laptop speakers. The result? Something that sounds like dubstep, except they took out all the deep parts and replaced with immediately digestible ‘fast food’ sounds is how I would think of them.
Hence, [there is] a pretty big musical divide between dubstep (bass and space) and brostep (in your face) – a lot of the ‘depth’ is gone – but of course this is relative, it depends on what you like!
Part 2 From Screamo to Brostep: The Case of Skrillex
Much of the animosity displayed towards Skrillex (and the “brostep” musical trends he represents, as a late adopter) arises from his calculated image change between 2007 and 2008. Despite the fact that he was a young teen at this time (he began fronting From First to Last at age 15), Sonny’s stylistic change from screamo to EDM violates principles of subcultural authenticity (Thornton 1996). That is, one cannot “change” scenes without raising questions of one’s credibility. Where subcultural authenticity is so often linked to early adoption of subcultural forms (Arthur 2004; Thornton 1996), rapid stylistic changes such as those displayed by Mr. Moore come to be interpreted as evidence of inauthenticity. Furthermore, both his “First to Last” and “Skrillex” careers began when these genres (screamo/dubstep) had been around long enough to become popular and marketed by major labels of the music industry.
But this trend is also quickly becoming the norm, as David Muggleton’s (2002) research on postmodern subcultural forms suggests. As Muggleton (2002) discovers, individuals often trace their identities through various subcultural and musical groups, suggesting that just as identity is always in process, so is our sense of style and self-presentation. This is important because subcultural style and self-presentation serve as external indicators of taste that we display to others as signs. And taste is increasingly used to self-segregate into increasingly specialized taste publics (Gans 1974)
Taste and Distinctive Individualism in the Postmodern Era
Former subcultures like those associated with dubstep and EDM culture become a repository of collective aspirations for distinction in the postmodern era. David Muggleton (2002) describes contemporary identity as based on “distinctive individuality,” or a desire for uniqueness amidst larger group affiliations like subcultures (Muggleton:64). We choose to display ourselves to others through the subtle manipulation of our presentation of self, which presumes our commandment over symbolic and cultural resources like clothing, music, food, and other indicators of taste (Bourdieu 1984). All of our consumption choices, including our taste in music, come to wield symbolic influence over what we “say” to others. In essence, it is how we construct our very selves in the postmodern hyperspace (Jameson 1991), by saying to others what “type” of person we are. What is unique about distinctive individualism, however, is that it allows individuals to claim both group allegiance (ie: conformity) while simultaneously allowing space for individual deviation (ie:uniqueness).
Furthermore, with the fast appropriation of subcultural forms–their music, fashion, and other lifestyle indicators–for profit making, it is increasingly difficult for subcultural members to maintain these sources of distinction that once gave them a stable sense of identity. With the advent of Web 2.0 (especially file-sharing programs like KaZaA or BitTorrent), subcultures have in some sense been “opened up” and democratized. Entry into subcultural groups has become much easier, as expanded access to cultural products (think easily downloadable mp3s) lends itself to autodidactism, or a self-directed socialization of taste (Bourdieu 1984). With more information comes greater diffusion of subcultural goods and services, and thereby less chance for individual members to display cultivated knowledge or appreciation for all things underground. In “instant society” (Postrel 2003), things don’t stay within a subculture for long before they are picked up by cultural producers like MTV, appropriated, abstracted, and then commodified for sale to a much larger audience.
However, this does not mean that the principles of subcultural distinction are moot, or that subcultures are completely “dead” (Clark 2003). First, the backlash against brostep from core dubstep enthusiasts reiterates Bourdieu’s telling observation about taste, namely, that our dislikes say more about us than our actual taste preferences (Bourdieu 1984; Thornton 1996). In this way, the backlash against “bro-step” serves to identify the proclaimer as something else entirely, a different “type” of person. When someone says they like dubstep, but not “bro-step,” they are attempting to differentiate themselves from later adopters, who apparently value “the drop” over other elements of dubstep. As one critic of bro-step explains
“Valuing ‘the drop’ is a bunch of crap that has no musical value,” Georgetown University student Franco Nuschese said. “Any Jabroni (like myself) can create a sick-ass drop with free audio programs online.”
According to this logic, the true dubstep enthusiast appreciates more than simply wob-wobbling base and a nice hook.
Secondly. the derogatory label of “bro-step” serves as a social distancing mechanism for individuals who view themselves as core dubstep enthusiasts. This is similar to other findings over other subcultural groups. For example, in their research on the Harley Davidson “subculture of consumption,” Schouten and McAlexander (1995) found that core bikers used the epithet of SEWER (“suburban weekend rider”) to distance themselves from newer middle-class consumers they labeled as yuppies. Similarly, DeMello’s (2000) research into the tattoo community revealed the distinction between tattoo artists and “scratchers,” the latter serving as an epithet for working-class (ie: “biker”) tattooing.
So in actuality, the term “bro-step” largely serves as an attempt to preserve accumulated subcultural capital (Thornton 1996). Core members of the EDM community, especially those who consider themselves dubstep enthusiasts, must continually remake standards of taste in subcultural groups, in order to defend their field-dependant identities from new consumer groups attracted to their subcultural forms (Arsel and Thompson 2010). In this case, dubsteppers feel threatened by the incorporation of new members into their subcultural milieu. They react by labeling these encroachers (who happen to be largely suburban college youth) “bros” and vilifying their musical forms as “bro-step.” As stated in the first half of this paper,, this allows individuals who identify with the dubstep subculture the ability to cultivate increasingly obscure tastes, retreating into the recesses of the subculture in search of “untarnished” subcultural forms (in this case, underground dubstep music, limited releases, and underground parties).
Conclusion: Subcultural Distinction in an Era of Mass Marketization
The dub/bro-step distinction is a conflict of taste. People in the EDM scene don’t want to be seen as having the same music taste as everyone else (represented by the “bros” of the mainstream) because this would affect their status as subcultural insiders. The mass popularization of dubstep precludes the development of a perceived “unique” identity (aka: that which is alternative from the mainstream masses and hence a source of “distinctive individuality” in the postmodern cultural climate [Muggleton 2002]). It serves to obliterate the source of distinction (ie: one’s refined taste in subcultural forms; one’s active participation in the community) that made one a member of a subculture in the first place. Instead, one finds that their own unique tastes are not so unique after all. The postmodern desire for distinctive individualism, the desire for both uniqueness and affiliation, becomes readily apparent in such debates.
Dubstep is no longer a musical genre that distinguishes someone as different from the mainstream, but one that actually connects them to it. Dubstep, then, is no longer connected to a particular experience (rave/festival), way of life, or ideology, but is abstracted from its context and marketed as pop (ie: “the mainstream”), which induces subculturalists to distance themselves from the genre or to pejoratively label recent releases as “brostep.” Those who want to preserve their subcultural capital simply retreat to the musical horizons, seeking producers that are still unknown and are thus seen as legitimate–such subcultural purists are forever running from the pop charts by seeking ever-more underground DJs as a source of subcultural authenticity (Thornton 1996).
However, there are also those within the EDM community who accept that dubstep has been appropriated by the mainstream as the anthem for today’s youth. They see it as the new rock n’ roll, a generational movement in taste and self-expression, and a musical form that can bring everyone together.
We also believe the polarizing effect of brostep encapsulates a much larger tension between subcultural authenticity and mass-marketization (ie: selling out). When subcultural authenticity so often simplifies to “difference from the mainstream,” it comes as no surprise that the increasing popularity of dubstep in new social circles has exacerbated tensions within the EDM community, creating an identity crisis of sorts for early adopters of this musical genre. So the question that remains is how will subcultures survive in an era of web 2.0 and the opening up of formerly “underground” groups and scenes? With distinctions between sub/mainstream culture increasingly blurring (largely as a result of the mass marketization of subcultural forms), does it even make sense to refer to subcultures as such? Or do we need a new term for contemporary taste publics (Gans 1974) like those that surround dubstep?
Several months ago, a British police chairman called for lifting the ban against tattoos on police officers. His argument was that tattoos serve as an “icebreaker” for dealing with the public. Now this is not a new argument, but it is the first time a public official has argued for the social benefits of tattooing. The change in perspective comes as a surprise, especially given the longstanding associations between tattoos and deviance.
Tattoos have had a rough history in American services like fire, police, and the military. Although members of these professions (especially the armed services) were the original tattoo enthusiasts in the early days of Americana glory (DeMello 2000; Steward 1990), they have since found their personal expression through body art hindered by what some see as discriminatory policies. For instance the Marines have outlawed visible tattoos for some time, and the Army National Guard recently extended its tattoo ban. For may of the top brass, tattoos still mean “unprofessional.”
What these controversies represent is a watershed change in the social acceptability of tattoos. I believe we are beginning to see a paradigm shift regarding the use of body art in public life. Ian Pointon, the British police chairman mentioned above, rightly states that the stigmatization of tattoos and body art is largely a generational gap in attitudes. Where youth are laudatory towards tattoos and other body modifications, older Americans find them distasteful, largely because of what these inscriptions used to “say” about the bearer.
That is, for our parents’ generation tattoos maintained a largely homologous relationship with deviant behavior. That is, having a tattoo was a pretty tell-tale sign that you were likely to have engaged in other deviant activities. At this point in time, prior to the “Tattoo Renaissance” of the 1970s (Rubin 1988), tattooing was almost solely practiced by working class groups, miscreants, and the social underbelly of America. However, despite claims to the contrary (Koch, Roberts, Armstrong, and Owen 2010), this direct connection between tattoos and deviance appears to be weakening. Having a tattoo (or two or three) no longer serves as an accurate predictor of deviant behavior. This is because tattooing has diffused to nearly all class and racial groups (some might say gender as well, however, there remains strong gender differences in tattoo coverage, content, and visibility, largely because of the social “costs” of body modification are much higher for women). People from a variety of social backgrounds now choose to modify their bodies through indelible inks. A recent Pew survey reveals that the 18-29-year-olds are by far the most tattooed generation in American history, 38% having a tattoo compared to 32% a generation before them. And among the tattooed, youth are more likely to become heavily tattooed than ever before!
Ian Pointon’s observation above, that tattoos may not serve as a liability but an asset to organizations like the police who must deal with the public (often a public that does not look like them), is a welcomed reframing of tattoos and tattooing. I myself have called for a “prosocial” definition of tattoo, one that sees tattoos not necessarily as an expression of social disaffection, but also as an expression of good will, meaningful social ties, and identity work (Strohecker 2010). The skin adorned becomes not a prison, but a proclamation of one’s sociality. It serves as a “second skin” that connects the individual to the larger social body (D’Costa 2012). Let us not deny the positive, communicative potential of body markings. Tattoos need not be seen as signs of social distance, but of connection.
I have already written about QR code tattoos before on this blog, so again, I will keep this brief. The video above shows the latest QR code tattoo to gain public attention, this time for generating random .gifs, tweets, and videos. I find these tattoos fascinating because of the way the flesh is made to transmit digital information (“LONG LIVE THE NEW FLESH?!”), in essence augmenting the human body with digitally-encoded information (or are we augmenting the digital with the corporeal?). But many have found these trends disheartening (D’Costa 2012), in part because of the permanence of such body markings.
In a culture that is fast approaching lightspeed (both technologically and culturally), many see the permanence afforded by tattoos and other body modifications as attractive. For many enthusiasts, tattoos have become a source of stability in the postmodern era, a way for individuals to “ground” their identities in an era of whirlwind change (Oksanen and Turtiainen 2005; Sweetman 1999).
But whereas traditionally tattoos have had relatively stable meanings, the tattoo displayed above resists such trends, in part because of the ephemeral nature of the content it displays (“random” implies that the chances of you reaching the same link twice are slim). In this sense, it represents the ultimate in semiotic bricolage (Hewer 2004). It deliberately resists interpretation until the tattoo is scanned. But this doesn’t mean the tattoo is “empty” of meaning because tattoos themselves are pregnant with meaning.
Bosch’s QR code tattoo serves as a sign in the traditional sense in that it clearly sends a message to others: “I am not a biker. This is not an ordinary tattoo.” Or, alternatively, “I am a techie. This tattoo represents my fascination with technology.” In Bosch’s case he is a marketing director specializing in the blurring of the digital and the material (or what we might like to call it on this blog, “augmented marketing”). His tattoo encapsulates this identity.
Fred Bosch's new QR code tattoo generates random content from the web each time you scan it.
So increasing numbers of people (especially youth) are turning to the needle to say something about themselves, confirming that tattoos are in fact a “social skin” wrapped in meaning (Schildkrout 2004; Turner 1980), located at the interstices of self and society.
As I have written before , tattoos are more than anti-social statements of difference (Strohecker 2010). They are also “pro-social” statements that connect the individual to the larger group. In the words of D’Costa (2012):
Tattoos aren’t necessarily a way to break from the social order—as has been the fear—but can be a way to establish a deeper connection to a social group, as they have been used elsewhere historically. They are a way of of publicly sharing one’s interests, and the artistic quality of tattoos today does much to dispel the notion that they are ugly, antisocial tools. That is not to say that some people don’t get tattoos to be different, but this act of public display (even if it is only a representative display typically covered by an article of clothing) is an act of sharing an element of self and creating a personal brand. Individuals with multiple tattoos are engaged in creating a rich symbology weaving together meaning and experience utterly unique to them that may grant them access to multiple social groups.
In an earlier post I posed the question as to whether or not QR code tattoos may emerge as a form of self branding. That is, will individuals begin tattooing QR codes onto their bodies rather than the standard Kanji symbols representing standard tropes of love, strength, and honor? It seems that QR codes would serve as a powerful symbolic identifier, one that is uniquely individualistic (there is no threat of “misreading” the tattoo when it links directly to one’s Facebook or MySpace account) and lends itself to personal branding: The corporeal self linked directly to the digital self.
Perhaps the reason why so many see QR code tattoos as disheartening lies in the perceived ephemerality of technology. Many aren’t willing to take the plunge and get tattooed with an image that may just be a passing fad. And even more fear that tattooing is a passing fad in and of itself. But alas, only time will tell. For those of us who decide the risk is worth the cost, there will always be new identifiers and technologies to inscribe into our flesh. And for many of us, this is how we make ourselves known. Hear our voice: LONG LIVE THE NEW FLESH!
Much of the animosity displayed towards Skrillex (and the “brostep” musical trends he represents, as a late adopter) arises from his calculated image change between 2007 and 2008. Despite the fact that he was a young teen at this time (he began fronting From First to Last at age 15), Sonny’s stylistic change from screamo to EDM violates principles of subcultural authenticity (Thornton 1996). That is, one cannot “change” scenes without raising questions of one’s credibility. Where subcultural authenticity is so often linked to early adoption of subcultural forms (Arthur 2004; Thornton 1996), rapid stylistic changes such as those displayed by Mr. Moore come to be interpreted as evidence of inauthenticity. Furthermore, both his “First to Last” and “Skrillex” careers began when these genres (screamo/dubstep) had been around long enough to become popular and marketed by major labels of the music industry.
But this trend is also quickly becoming the norm, as David Muggleton’s (2002) research on postmodern subcultural forms suggests. As Muggleton (2002) discovers, individuals often trace their identities through various subcultural and musical groups, suggesting that just as identity is always in process, so is our sense of style and self-presentation. This is important because subcultural style and self-presentation serve as external indicators of taste that we display to others as signs. And taste is increasingly used to self-segregate into increasingly specialized taste publics (Gans 1974)
Taste and Distinctive Individualism in the Postmodern Era
Former subcultures like those associated with dubstep and EDM culture become a repository of collective aspirations for distinction in the postmodern era. David Muggleton (2002) describes contemporary identity as based on “distinctive individuality,” or a desire for uniqueness amidst larger group affiliations like subcultures (Muggleton:64). We choose to display ourselves to others through the subtle manipulation of our presentation of self, which presumes our commandment over symbolic and cultural resources like clothing, music, food, and other indicators of taste (Bourdieu 1984). All of our consumption choices, including our taste in music, come to wield symbolic influence over what we “say” to others. In essence, it is how we construct our very selves in the postmodern hyperspace (Jameson 1991), by saying to others what “type” of person we are. What is unique about distinctive individualism, however, is that it allows individuals to claim both group allegiance (ie: conformity) while simultaneously allowing space for individual deviation (ie:uniqueness).
Furthermore, with the fast appropriation of subcultural forms–their music, fashion, and other lifestyle indicators–for profit making, it is increasingly difficult for subcultural members to maintain these sources of distinction that once gave them a stable sense of identity. With the advent of Web 2.0 (especially file-sharing programs like KaZaA or BitTorrent), subcultures have in some sense been “opened up” and democratized. Entry into subcultural groups has become much easier, as expanded access to cultural products (think easily downloadable mp3s) lends itself to autodidactism, or a self-directed socialization of taste (Bourdieu 1984). With more information comes greater diffusion of subcultural goods and services, and thereby less chance for individual members to display cultivated knowledge or appreciation for all things underground. In “instant society” (Postrel 2003), things don’t stay within a subculture for long before they are picked up by cultural producers like MTV, appropriated, abstracted, and then commodified for sale to a much larger audience.
However, this does not mean that the principles of subcultural distinction are moot, or that subcultures are completely “dead” (Clark 2003). First, the backlash against brostep from core dubstep enthusiasts reiterates Bourdieu’s telling observation about taste, namely, that our dislikes say more about us than our actual taste preferences (Bourdieu 1984; Thornton 1996). In this way, the backlash against “bro-step” serves to identify the proclaimer as something else entirely, a different “type” of person. When someone says they like dubstep, but not “bro-step,” they are attempting to differentiate themselves from later adopters, who apparently value “the drop” over other elements of dubstep. As one critic of bro-step explains
“Valuing ‘the drop’ is a bunch of crap that has no musical value,” Georgetown University student Franco Nuschese said. “Any Jabroni (like myself) can create a sick-ass drop with free audio programs online.”
According to this logic, the true dubstep enthusiast appreciates more than simply wob-wobbling base and a nice hook.
Secondly. the derogatory label of “bro-step” serves as a social distancing mechanism for individuals who view themselves as core dubstep enthusiasts. This is similar to other findings over other subcultural groups. For example, in their research on the Harley Davidson “subculture of consumption,” Schouten and McAlexander (1995) found that core bikers used the epithet of SEWER (“suburban weekend rider”) to distance themselves from newer middle-class consumers they labeled as yuppies. Similarly, DeMello’s (2000) research into the tattoo community revealed the distinction between tattoo artists and “scratchers,” the latter serving as an epithet for working-class (ie: “biker”) tattooing.
So in actuality, the term “bro-step” largely serves as an attempt to preserve accumulated subcultural capital (Thornton 1996). Core members of the EDM community, especially those who consider themselves dubstep enthusiasts, must continually remake standards of taste in subcultural groups, in order to defend their field-dependant identities from new consumer groups attracted to their subcultural forms (Arsel and Thompson 2010). In this case, dubsteppers feel threatened by the incorporation of new members into their subcultural milieu. They react by labeling these encroachers (who happen to be largely suburban college youth) “bros” and vilifying their musical forms as “bro-step.” As stated in the first half of this paper,, this allows individuals who identify with the dubstep subculture the ability to cultivate increasingly obscure tastes, retreating into the recesses of the subculture in search of “untarnished” subcultural forms (in this case, underground dubstep music, limited releases, and underground parties).
Conclusion: Subcultural Distinction in an Era of Mass Marketization
The dub/bro-step distinction is a conflict of taste. People in the EDM scene don’t want to be seen as having the same music taste as everyone else (represented by the “bros” of the mainstream) because this would affect their status as subcultural insiders. The mass popularization of dubstep precludes the development of a perceived “unique” identity (aka: that which is alternative from the mainstream masses and hence a source of “distinctive individuality” in the postmodern cultural climate [Muggleton 2002]). It serves to obliterate the source of distinction (ie: one’s refined taste in subcultural forms; one’s active participation in the community) that made one a member of a subculture in the first place. Instead, one finds that their own unique tastes are not so unique after all. The postmodern desire for distinctive individualism, the desire for both uniqueness and affiliation, becomes readily apparent in such debates.
Starscape 2011, photo credit Max Glanville
Dubstep is no longer a musical genre that distinguishes someone as different from the mainstream, but one that actually connects them to it. Dubstep, then, is no longer connected to a particular experience (rave/festival), way of life, or ideology, but is abstracted from its context and marketed as pop (ie: “the mainstream”), which induces subculturalists to distance themselves from the genre or to pejoratively label recent releases as “brostep.” Those who want to preserve their subcultural capital simply retreat to the musical horizons, seeking producers that are still unknown and are thus seen as legitimate–such subcultural purists are forever running from the pop charts by seeking ever-more underground DJs as a source of subcultural authenticity (Thornton 1996).
However, there are also those within the EDM community who accept that dubstep has been appropriated by the mainstream as the anthem for today’s youth. They see it as the new rock n’ roll, a generational movement in taste and self-expression, and a musical form that can bring everyone together.
We also believe the polarizing effect of brostep encapsulates a much larger tension between subcultural authenticity and mass-marketization (ie: selling out). When subcultural authenticity so often simplifies to “difference from the mainstream,” it comes as no surprise that the increasing popularity of dubstep in new social circles has exacerbated tensions within the EDM community, creating an identity crisis of sorts for early adopters of this musical genre. So the question that remains is how will subcultures survive in an era of web 2.0 and the opening up of formerly “underground” groups and scenes? With distinctions between sub/mainstream culture increasingly blurring (largely as a result of the mass marketization of subcultural forms), does it even make sense to refer to subcultures as such? Or do we need a new term for contemporary taste publics (Gans 1974) like those that surround dubstep?
Below is the first of a two-part essay exploring the popularity of dubstep, a musical genre formerly associated with the underground EDM (electronic dance music) scene.
Part 1
You may not be a fan of the wub-wub-wubbing musical genre known as dubstep, but it is increasingly taking center stage in American popular culture. For example, a recent NorthFace advertisement uses it while a snowboarder glides down a snowy mountainscape, Britney Spears and Rihanna have both incorporated some dubstep into their recent work, teen heartthrob Justin Bieber is rumored to be working on his own dubstep album, and the teaser trailer for the new Mission Impossible film features a distinct wub-wubbing in the background. So what is dubstep anyway? And where did it come from?
Dubstep Goes to College Dubstep was conceived in the London dance music scene in the late 90s and early 00s. It takes mainly from drum and bass and grime genres, but is influenced by many different styles of music, including dancehall and hip-hop. The heavy influence of grime, the dark elements of drum and bass and the guttural bass lines give it an almost dirty sound. This along with the layer of synthesizers are what people in the scene refer to when they describe the music (or party) as “grimey.”
Dubstep entered the mainstream club scene in 2006 in great part with the release of producer Oliver Jones’ (aka Skream) debut album “Skream,” which took club culture by storm in Europe (Woolliams 2008). The album also became widely popular in the United States EDM (electronic dance music) scene. MusicCritic did not miss to write a review on the album. It was a very steady climb since that point and everyone is wondering what the genre is.
Internet memes like this serve to articulate anxiety about perceived subcultural changes.
The EDM scene itself has grown increasingly popular in the United States, although not in the same magnitude as in London or other European cities. However, with dubstep’s increasing popularity this may soon change dramatically. Dubstep’s growing popularity seems to be the greatest among college students, especially fraternities, who have helped popularize the musical genre across college campuses in the US. This is because dubstep lends itself nicely to inebriated frat parties: one can dance or drone off to it’s characteristic throbbing bass in between shotguning beers and bouts of competitive fist-bumping.
The aggressive, wobbling bassline of dubstep, as well as its spectacular use of crazy robot “noises” translates quite seamlessly to the rambunctious college party scene. Cultural producers like MTV have certainly taken quick notice of this and are ready to market, what core members of the EDM subculture have disdainfully labeled as “brostep,” to these new consumers. Brostep incorporates a massive amount of the characteristic wobbling bass, which is exemplified in the latest work of DJs like Skrillex, Rusko, Caspa, and Borgore.
Steez Promo presents Borgore in Philadelphia, Dec 8, 2011. Photo credit: Joe Norris
Steez promo is a good example of the use of marketing to target the mainstream college demographic. As a production company that started with underground raves and parties in downtown Baltimore, Steez Promo became a hit within the fledgling EDM subculture in the mid-late 2000s. Their early parties were thrown at band practice spaces and warehouses for $10, where you could bring in a 40 oz. or a handle of Bourbon to hang out with friends and dance the night away. In those days you could see dubstep artists like Rusko (who now collaborates with the likes of Britney Spears, Rihanna, and T.I.) in a small, cramped, non-descript space. It was still very much an underground scene.
Steez Promo, quickly realizing the growing popularity of dubstep in popular music, began to flyer college campuses like Towson University and University of Maryland. They seized the opportunity to tap into this burgeoning marketplace niche, and began throwing monthly parties at an expensive venue, Bourbon St., and expanding to Philly and then DC, where the average ticket for a show is now $25. The vibe of these shows, aptly named “Dub Nation,” is, of course, quite different from the dance parties they started with, and which are still thrown by grassroots promoters in the underground EDM scene.
The Rise of “Brostep”
The term “brostep” has been used to describe the most recent wave of popular dubstep music which gained notoriety through Best Buy, Audi, and BMW advertisements, as well as other forms of mass media exposure, and which also heavily relies on predictable rhythmic patterns obviating the need for melodic content. However, the addition of DJs who spin this type of dubstep and are “second adopters” (Postrel 2003) comes as a threat to earlier adopters of this musical genre, who have largely incorporated elements of the subculture into an overarching lifestyle project (Thornton 1996). Some of these “hardcore” members even describe EDM raves and parties as rituals of community engagement and togetherness, sites of Durkheimian effervescence and spiritual connectivity (Durkheim 1912).
Bordore performs in Philadelphia, Dec 8, 2011.
The inclusion of new members is perceived as a threat to this established community order, especially since the new listeners don’t have a particular experience or ideology attached to the music. Dubstep has been abstracted from its context and a spectacle of sound has been produced in order to attract people who are not at the EDM events but are listening to the radio or their computer speakers.
As a veteran of the EDM scene and music producer himself, Dan Vibeage from Aligning Minds describes the nature of dubstep as being “more about the subtlety and the nuances between the drums, spacey atmospheres, and deep basslines.” He goes on to say,
It was music designed to be played on huge, bass heavy sound systems so that the sub bass could be re-produced and that’s how it was best experienced. A lot of the basslines were so deep that if you played them on, say, laptop speakers, you wouldn’t hear half of the music going on because the subs weren’t being reproduced. The subs are what make it ‘drop’ and create excitement, and depth and energy.
In sociological terms, this distinction between brostep and dubstep serves to divide second adopters from earlier adopters and those who identify as “core” members of the subculture (Chalmers and Arthur 2008). In this way, taste (Bourdieu 1984) comes to define one’s membership in the EDM community, with “brostep” pejoratively applied to those whose attraction to dubstep is linked to more recent artists like Skrillex or Borgore. For example, the audio track below reveals Rusko, arguably a forefather of the brostep subgenre, distancing himself from the genre.
Much like Thornton’s (1996) research on the London club scene in the early 90s, “brostep” can also serve as a moniker for “the mainstream,” the passive clients of the culture industry who do not have the refined tastes of the core subculturalist. In this way, the “brostep” label serves as a social distancing mechanism. Purists within the subculture thereby create ever more subtle distinctions in order to protect their field-dependent identities as consumers from the intrusion of new members (Arsel and Thompson 2010). This helps members of subcultural groups maintain a source of distinction from the mythologized mainstream (Thornton 1996).
However unlike Thornton’s (1996) study, where DJs themselves served as the “taste arbiters” of the community, setting the trends and helping to define the subculture’s subsequent development, in the case of “brostep” the perceived taste arbiters are mostly cultural producers and record companies, the petite bourgeoisie of the culture industry and the mass media (Featherstone 1991). In this sense, subcultural forms come to be seen as produced from afar (corporations, capitalism), rather than organic products of members of the subculture (because DJs are the creators of music, and music translates into subcultural capital in music subcultures [Thornton 1996]). To some members of the EDM community, the intrusion of brostep is a threat. Many fear their culture may be hijacked by outsiders, and some even abandon the genre altogether.
Dan Vibeage also recounts the role of Web 2.0 and new technologies in facilitating the development of brostep as a subgenre of dubstep. He states,
In 2006 we had a number of producers making this new sound with a focus on space and bass. Each producer had his own take on how to do it, but they were all making spacey, dark music for big big speakers. With a little help from the internet, the genre grew because it was so unique. But in growing, it also evolved.
The relaxed, dubby vibe got pushed aside to make way for more. More wobble, more sounds, more everything. Maximize to maximize. Along came crappy speakers. Radios, laptops and white earbuds. No point in making bass sounds for something that can’t play low frequencies. So we throw in a bunch of electronic “filth” sounds. Take the overtones of the wobble and make them the focus. Wobble noise. Wobble anything that can be heard on laptop speakers. The result? Something that sounds like dubstep, except they took out all the deep parts and replaced with immediately digestible ‘fast food’ sounds is how I would think of them.
Hence, [there is] a pretty big musical divide between dubstep (bass and space) and brostep (in your face) – a lot of the ‘depth’ is gone – but of course this is relative, it depends on what you like!
A few of us here at Cyborgology have a running joke going about #HipsterStudies, so I thought I would compile a couple comics that likewise intellectualize this subcultural movement. The first, sent in by reader Letta Wren Page, is a comic by Dustin Glick:
Dustin Glick's "Theory of Hipster Relativity"
This image does a great job illustrating the inherent relativity of the hipster label. That is, as a largely pejorative label, one can only be deemed a hipster by comparison. Much like Thornton (1996) discovered in her study of UK youth raves, where club kids used pejorative labels to denote the bounds of group membership, the hipster as label serves to undermine attempts to mimic subcultural forms (and hence, it serves as a way to deny these actors any semblance of subcultural capital).
In Thornton’s (1996) study, “Sharon and Tracy” (a stand in for “the mainstream”) display their outsider status when they “dance with their handbags” at the local rave. That is, they interacted with the music in the wrong way and failed to display the proper forms of subcultural capital, outing themselves to others. These patrons were seen as the antithesis to “core” members of the club subculture, because they were attracted to the scene only after the press began sensationalizing these raves as dangerous, drug-induced frenzies.
However, unlike Thornton’s (1996) conception of “Sharon and Tracy”, who were seen as not informed enough, not involved enough, and not “down” with the subcultural norms, the hipster as pejorative label applies to those who appear too informed, too involved, and especially too concerned with appearance, status, and distinction. So in an era where subcultures have been “opened up” by the proliferation of web 2.0 and internet content (that is, increasing accessibility to subcultural forms and knowledges), displaying excessive concern for distinct subcultural forms becomes a blemish of character (Goffman 1963). It is the mark of a poser, a sham, and a fabrication. Hence, the meaning of authenticity is turned inside out.
So have subcultural distinctions been turned inside out? Perhaps. Although this second comic by Jeph Jacques takes the “underground = subcultural” thesis one step farther. Although the author conflates indie with hipster (which some disagree with), it does reveal a commonly observed sentiment about “indie” music. And he comes to a similar conclusion: That being a hipster is relative and in the eye of the beholder.
Jeph Jacques' "Hipster Theory"
What does it mean when the “long tail” (Anderson 2003) of music, fashion, and subcultural forms suddenly becomes visible through internet and new media? Does this mark the “death of subcultures” as we now know them? Will subcultural groups find new marks of distinction measured not by one’s knowledge of subcultural forms, but by commitment to “pure” subcultural content? How can one measure subculture in an age of increasing digital visibility? Will subcultural groups simply move offline to protect the integrity of their cultural forms?
Since these hipster blog posts are generating so much great discussion I thought I would bring you another example of the subculture. I came across this website after my girlfriend attempted to get me to listen to some folk bands or something that she liked. I can’t exactly recall how it happened, but I do recall her sending this website to me.
The entire website for Plan-It-X Records is a simple .jpg image seen above.
Plan-It-X records in an independent, DIY record label started in 1994 by Chris Johnston and Sam Dorsett. They have had many notable releases, including such punk, folk, and indie bands as Against Me!, Antsy Pants, Defiance, Ohio, Ghost Mice, Japanther, and This Bike is a Pipe Bomb, among others. They are widely recognized as one of the premiere DIY labels operating today, made famous by their mail-in $5 cassettes and CDs.
I focus on Plan-It-X only as an exemplary case, not because they were the first or last to use the DIY ethic for music distribution. After all, the punk movement and musical genre largely emerged through such channels, eschewing the more mainstream and popular channels of distribution (O’Connor 2008). For punks, this was a mark of authenticity, just as it is now is for hipsters.
In the case of Plan-It-X (and other DIY record labels), technological regression serves as a source of distinction (Bourdieu 1984), a way to partition oneself off from the “masses” pejoratively decried (Thornton 1996). The advent of Web 2.0 sites like Myspace and LastFM have given new meaning to the concept of “the long tail” (Anderson 2008), increasing the accessibility of many of the most “underground” musical acts and thereby destroying any semblance of subcultural distinction. So in this sense, it is all about status. The status of being “underground” or “in-the-know.” Displaying knowledge and appreciation for particular musical acts becomes a source of subcultural capital for hipsters (Thornton 1996), who are often so keen on recounting their “first” experience with any particular band or genre [Eg: “I liked them before they were cool.”] These personalized “founding narratives” (as I like to call them) serve to establish the individual hipster with the subcultural capital (ie: the cultural authority) to be the creative taste arbiter over those around them. It also serves as a micro-level form of symbolic violence(Bourdieu 1991), essentially putting others down and discounting their views.
Don’t like the hipsters who now attend the shows you enjoy? Why not cut them down with some “I liked them when they were underground” logic? In this way, the hipster accomplishes several things: 1) Establishing oneself as a taste arbiter or cultural authority on some given topic, band, or object of interest, 2) Securing the subcultural capital of being the “in-the-know” and thereby securing the requisite status amongst one’s peers, and 3) Maintaining an air of elitism and superiority over those less “culturally-refined” as oneself. And all three of these provide subcultural status to the bearer.
And this is the nature of most subcultural groups, is it not? When local means “real” and “authentic,” that which is mass produced and/or distributed almost be nature becomes tainted or stigmatized, a lesser form reserved for the passive. And this is antithetical to hipsters, who privilege the existential, the journey of self-discovery, the creation of a unique identity and sense of self, and the collection of rare or antiquated knick-knacks and memories in the process.
Hipster denial flowchart courtesy of reader Samuel Tettner--tettner.com
But some words need to be said regarding the hipster-indie relationship. Although these two “scenes” are not entirely equatable, they often correlate together quite nicely in practice. Not all hipsters like indie, and not everyone who likes indie is a hipster (especially given the mainstream acceptance of formerly “indie” bands and labels). For instance, Arsel and Thompson (2011) recently published a paper describing the hipster as a devaluing marketplace myth that individual consumers of “indie” must continually confront, decry, and deny in order to protect their identity investments in the field of indie consumption.
The anonymous WordPress blogger “the girl” distinguishes between “hipsters” and “indie” people this way:
To summarise rather crudely, ‘indies’ are the genuine product, whereas ‘hipsters’ are just elitist posers. Interestingly, ‘indies’ who level these very accusations risk being themselves being accused of possessing elitist, poser traits for caring enough to comment, and for being judgemental (an intrinsically ‘hipster’ quality). In this sense, if the ‘indie’ is engaging in genuine indie subcultural traits such as listening to independent and lesser known artists, wearing recycled clothes, and consuming ethically all because they harbour anti-capitalist, counter-culture ideals, then it could be argued that they validate the notion of subcultures as empowering and generally ‘good’. On the other hand, if the ‘hipster’ only attends the gigs of indie bands (and later brags about it) for the sake of being accepted into the scene, and buys expensive American Apparel reproductions of vintage clothing in an attempt to look the part, then this version of a subculture appears to subscribe more to ideals surrounding dominant culture; that which is oppressive and generally ‘bad’.
However, hipsters and indie certainly do seem to have a lot in common. For instance, an emphasis on aesthetics (think form over content), a predilection towards nostalgic revivalism, and a desire for all things “authentic” serve to draw these two groups together, often lending towards conceptual confusion (I myself am not entirely sure where the line can be drawn). What do you all think?
This post is somewhat of a stretch, but I think it remains applicable nonetheless. Below I have embedded three video clips, each dealing with “the hipster” as a relatively recent subcultural form and social type.
First, we have the “Hipster Olympics,” a viral video that made the rounds a few years back. The video makes a parody of the hipster, mocking their supposed elitism, pretension, dependency on new technologies, and obsession with authenticity as a source of subcultural distinction (note the subtle play on Pabst Blue Ribbon).
Second, we have a short clip from the “2 Broke Girls” a new CBS television series focusing on the epicenter of the hipster subculture, the gentrified Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn, NY. In the clip we see the confluence of hipsters and homelessness, which ultimately serves to as a satire on the “Poor Chic” fashion trends of New York’s urban hipsters (Halnon 2002). We also notice the association between hipsters and personal hygiene (or lack thereof), a stereotype that has also been foisted upon the #Occupy protestors.
And last we have a trailer for the recent feature film “I Am Not a Hipster,” which is currently making the rounds at Sundance, the premiere site of “indie” film. This film is being touted as the premiere image of the hipster/indie subculture.
Based on these three pieces of media, it appears the hipster has finally made it into the comedic rounds of popular culture. And it’s only taken ten years. Since the “origin” of the hipster at the turn of the century, we have seen the subculture diffuse outward from its original birthplace in Brooklyn, NY to encompass nearly all urban centers of America (Weeks 2011; n+1). The subculture (and its related musical genre “indie”) has become solidified as a product of the post-9/11 consumer zeitgeist.
Stanley Cohen, writer of Folk Devils and Moral Panics (1972) coined the term “folk devil” to refer to the deviantization of particular subcultural groups in the 1960s, specifically the Teddy Boys, Mods, and Rockers of British youth culture. These groups were seen as a threat to the prevailing moral order, and were attributed as the cause of the decline of youth culture. The “moral panic” that surrounded these groups was largely a product of media spectacle, exaggeration, and moral entrepreneurialism. In the words of Cohen:
“But groups such as the Teddy Boys and the Mods and Rockers have been distinctive in being identified not just in terms of particular events (such as demonstrations) or particular disapproved forms of behavior (such as drug-taking or violence) but as distinguishable social types. In the gallery of types that society erects to show its members which roles should be avoided and which should be emulated, these groups have occupied a constant position as folk devils: visible reminders of what we should not be” (Cohen 2002:2).
This quote demonstrates nicely how folk devils become a distinct social type, a piece of public property that many individuals and groups draw from in order to symbolize what not to be. So here is what I propose: The hipster is the folk devil we all love to hate. We attribute to the hipster all the worst excesses of consumer culture at the turn of the century.And they supposedly represent all that is wrong with American youth: entitlement, rebellion, vanity, and naïve romanticism (Campbell 1987). They are positioned as the downfall of culture and art, the epitome of facile self-promotion, excess, and inherited privilege–those trend-chasing pseudo-bohemians that value aesthetic forms over content. Hence the traction such comedic mockeries of the hipster receive. Apparently nobody likes a hipster. And the lack of positive media about the hipster only solidifies its status as a “folk devil” of the new millennium.
However, where the Mods and Rockers actually had staunch followers, militant youth who identified with the label and associated subcultural forms, I have yet to find a very strong identification with the hipster label (hence the self-referential title of the film “I Am Not a Hipster”). Although many people seem to fit the hipster mold, none seek to identify with it (except those who seek to do so ironically, as the penultimate hipster move). This is because the hipster itself is largely a semantic label, or in the words of Weber, and “ideal type” against which many subcultural groups define themselves. It works similar to the concept of “the mainstream,” which is so often used by subculturalists as an expression of what they are not (Thornton 1996). So the use of the hipster as folk devil serves as a foil against which we can all proclaim our integrity and authenticity as creative individuals. “Hipster” becomes a deviant label to apply to those we denigrate as “posers” or “dandies.” It allows us each to safely proclaim with confidence, “I am not a hipster.”
About Cyborgology
We live in a cyborg society. Technology has infiltrated the most fundamental aspects of our lives: social organization, the body, even our self-concepts. This blog chronicles our new, augmented reality.
