Our generation’s defining subculture, or lack thereof, is derivative and soulless. 

Previous generations had real, inspired subcultures that people still draw from and identify with today. Punks, emos, scene kids, goths, hippies and so on continue to carry out the pop culture legacies of their times. 

Nowadays, while there is more than enough countercultural rhetoric, we have no real outlet for any of it that’s serious, authentic or original. Individuals with inclinations toward alternative values or differing aesthetic preferences either adopt one of the previous subcultures’ values or file themselves under a weird miscellaneous indie category that doesn’t mean all that much. 

The closest Generation Z has come to producing anything resembling an original subculture is the coquette aesthetic, but even that is just the evolution of aesthetics from Tumblr blogs and riot grrrl bands, which way precede any of us zoomers. 

Our blatant lack of originalism is evident in our captivation by individuals who wear a certain indie, yet ultimately mainstream style. What was a way to make fun of young men for blatantly catering to what they think are female interests, in a rather hollow or shallow manner, has become a contrived lookbook or how-to guide. 

The essence of the modern-day poser, or “performative” individual, has been boiled down to the sum of its parts. Labubu on the tote bag, matcha in hand, jorts and Clairo in the headphones. 

Even this aesthetic is not original. It’s based upon styles and silhouettes that are typically vaguely vintage, most often nodding to ‘90s and early 2000s street style. 

However, people who genuinely partake in these consumer behaviors to varying extents use this newly named trope to poke fun at themselves. There are two virtually indiscernible camps here: the performative and the authentic. 

It’s increasingly difficult to draw the line between these two categories of consumers, if they’re even distinguishable at all. 

After all, it’s not exactly like there’s a real subculture that all of this is adjacent to or parodical of, other than being widely understood as vaguely indie and Gen Z-coded. 

It’s not as if any discerning behaviors separate the performative, so-called fake indie consumer from the supposed real one. Both shop at the same stores, drink the same drinks, purport to be reading the same books and buy the same records. 

The difference is in their intent, or authenticity, which is not objective or easily spotted. 

Those making fun of the more performative individuals lay claim to their self-expression and cast others out as if to say, “Yes, we look the same, but I am in fact the true consumer and more righteous inhabitant of the aesthetic.” 

Subcultures and countercultures are generally formed upon individuals meeting to signify their shared values. Whether it be political or philosophical, these values unite individuals beyond just their appearances or media consumption, more or less. 

Typically, the values and interests of these groups would be what aesthetics and music trends would stem from, and these trends would generally be in flux depending on the changing norms and meanings dictated by the sub or counterculture in question. 

Our generation is flipping it inside out. What you see is kind of all you get. This semi-indie catch-all we’ve now deemed performative and disingenuous is all we have to show for ourselves.

It’s a weird hoarder-esque amalgamation of different consumer behaviors and so-called niche references. It’s a desperate clamor to be the most referential and in-the-know while being understood with just a passing glance. 

Incredibly postmodern, in a way that can only be approximated by the iGen, we communicate and express ourselves through references and curated “if you know, you know” aesthetic recreations and nods. 

This isn’t necessarily bad, or even particularly contrived, when done right. 

Fourth-year student Sofia Jerney said curation gives people room to breathe in the face of stifling trend cycles, allowing for more creativity. 

“As humans, we like putting things in boxes,” Jerney said. “The thing with curation is that there’s no real rules to it, so rules can change over time.”

You really can’t buy culture, though, and we’re seeing this. 

People want to buy into the newest fads. Generations prior had Cartier bracelets and frozen yogurt. That wasn’t all they had, though. 

Popular music is shaped by and influences mainstream culture. What does it tell us that two of this summer’s biggest stars are so highly artificial?

While Addison Rae and Benson Boone are both more or less astroturfed and debatably industry plants, it’s undeniable that Rae has seen far more critical acclaim and positive sentiment from the public. 

Second-year student Thomas Schmutterer said singer and actress Addison Rae’s blatant high artifice makes her seem more earnest, especially when compared to Boone. 

“With the case of Addison Rae, she’s kind of leaning into it,” Schmutterer said. “I feel like that makes her kind of, not endearing, but almost respectable, because it’s so obvious that she’s kind of like, fake, I guess, and she leans into it.”

Both are highly referential, but Rae infuses some semblance of meaning into her music and lyricism, generally pointing to a birds-eye view on fame, girlhood and performance in a postmodern world. 

In addition, her brand of hyperpop, while not exactly original, resembles something different and mainstream, with unconventional early aughts style visuals.

Boone, on the other hand, despite his recent and honestly quite funny self-jabs, makes no real point. He blatantly rips his vaguely groovy persona and wardrobe off of Harry Styles and Conan Gray, who themselves ripped from a plethora of ‘70s artists, most notably David Bowie and Freddie Mercury. 

His sound is unoriginal, and the formulaic nature of his lyrical content gives it an almost AI-generated quality. Most recently, his hit “Mystical Magical” has become somewhat of a laughingstock online, particularly the nonsensical meaning behind the lyrics “moonbeam ice cream.”

While neither artist is perfect, and it’d be a stretch to call either objectively good or original, Rae at least approaches subversion and gives us a glimmer of hope for true postmodern pop culture innovation. 

The intentional use of signs and symbols beyond their mere presence is something we need desperately in pop culture. 

It’s possible this absorption of subculture was inevitable, making us all doomed to an existence of poserdom. I find this highly unlikely and needlessly pessimistic, though. 

More importantly, I don’t think any of us want jorts and Clairo merch to become to the 2020s what flannels and Nirvana were to the 1990s. 

Our cultural legacy is at stake.