Subcultural Commodification
By Ariel Meadow Stallings
Published in Lotus Magazine, May 1999
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It’s all around you. It’s happening to dancers as we speak--just like it happened to hippies, rappers, grunge fans, and countless other counter-culture movements. You can turn on the radio, turn on the TV, look in the paper, flip through a magazine, walk through a mall and there it is: your life, on sale.

This process of commodification -- turning something we view as a lifestyle into a product -- has happened countless times to countless communities. Now it’s our turn. We live in a media-dominated society (Need proof? You’re reading this magazine, aren’t you?) and the media is a machine whose purpose ideally is to inform but realistically, is to sell. Encouraging people to buy necessitates a constant influx of new hip products, cool ideas and exciting lifestyle equipment. Where better to look than the edge? The media has consistently searched the outer limits of society to find products to pasteurize, repackage and sell to the mainstream. Subcultural Commodification bears examination because if you understand it, you can choose your own path through it.

Most of us find something in dancing and raving that we just can’t find anywhere else. There’s an element missing from mainstream society that we find in the dark din of a warehouse. Simply put, our needs are not met by the "normal" world, so we create our own temporary autonomous zones, little havens where we are free to express ourselves as we choose. An identity evolves from this removal -- an identity built on pride of creation, expression and a bit of rebellion. We feel like we’re part of something special, right? We’re proud of who we’ve become and what we’ve created and we want to share it. We invite our non-raving friends to dance with us, we share our mix tapes with whoever will listen, we gush lovingly about the utopia we’ve created.

At some point, someone notices. Society starts to recognize the subculture and explore it a little. Think of record label execs going to rock shows in Seattle in the late '80s to check out what the hullabaloo is about Mudhoney and that grumpy band Nirvana. Think of fashion designers sneaking into political protests in the ‘60s to check out those strange clothes all the longhaired protesters are wearing. Think of a marketing director picking up this magazine at the Winter Music Conference. Somehow, someone notices something different, something that just might be of interest to the rest of the country. What gets noticed is what’s easy to see and easy to sell: a new look, a new sound, a few innovative accessories.

This recognition is exciting. There’s a sense within our community (and all communities who experience commodification) of well-deserved validation. Finally, we’re noticed for what we’ve worked so hard to create! Soon however, the media’s attention becomes co-optation. More often than not, capitalists notice that the American public is interested in these people -- these ravers, these rockers in Seattle, these rap stars -- and if people are interested, they must be willing to spend money! The music gets sold first. Compilations of trip-hop and electronica start appearing at chain stores. To many Americans to purchase is to understand, and if they can see a segment on 20/20 and buy a piece of you at Wal-Mart, they assume they know what your culture is about.

Suddenly, the attention is not quite as dreamy as we’d anticipated. The spotlight is a little bit hot, and no one seems to be playing by our rules. The music is the first thing to be co-opted and sold, then come the accessories. For ravers, this has meant phat pants on sale at Ross and Target, everybody wearing Adidas and carrying record bags, walking through the mall and seeing 10-year-olds wearing the look the you thought you invented 5 years ago. For Seattle rock fans in the early '90s, this meant watching people in Texas and Florida start wearing flannel and long johns in sweltering heat. For rap enthusiasts this has meant watching white kids from the suburbs call each other "Homie." For hippies 30 years ago (and us today) it means the look being reproduced around the world, without any of the ideals behind it.

Most of the members of the exploited subculture respond with disbelief and attempts at righting the world’s image. How many times have you tried to explain that raves aren’t just about doing "X" (who calls it that, anyway?) and wearing Day-Glo jewelry? How many people stereotyping you as "one of those ravers" have you had to defend yourself against?

Inevitably, this leads to a withdrawal. This is our utopia, damnit, and you can’t buy it at the mall. No matter how many repackaged raver products a person owns, you can’t really know what the culture is about until you feel it. This is the point at which we all experience a communal period of self-reflection. Our community is about inclusion and respect, about allowing people to freely express themselves and explore the limits of dance and music in a supportive environment. You can’t sell that. And, conversely, you absolutely cannot buy it.

Now is when the true underground begins to develop. Now we’re not just resisting against dominant society, we’re resisting against our own exploitation. We’ve learned some lessons, having survived being The Next Big Thing. Innovation functions at a faster pace than co-optation. Faster than the pop culture machine that tries to rip of us, we’re reinventing ourselves, collectively evolving. But despite our constant fluctuation of personal re-creation, Subcultural Commodification is an ongoing process. Be aware of it and muse over a few words of advice:

Think for yourself! We’ve said this so many times at Lotus that it’s almost starting to sound silly. Educate yourself from as many different sources as possible. But don’t take our word for it. We’re the media. Explore, live, read, talk to people, keep an open mind, educate yourself.

Money is power, so spend yours wisely. Buy local and close to the source. Buy your clothes from the person who made them, get your music from the run-by-old-ravers record store. Remember that every time you spend a dollar you are voicing your support for not only what you’re buying but also the process the product went through to get from the maker’s hands to yours. Use your money to voice your opinions.

Or, don’t buy at all! Make your own clothes, create your own fashion. Don’t buy your image from someone else. Nurture and grow it yourself. One thing the deadheads had right was making their own clothes and jewelry. They created a self-sufficient little culture shop and ensured that if anyone was making money off of "the hippy look" it would be the hippies themselves.

Be patient. Lucky for us, the mass media has a short attention span. As soon as everyone’s got one of whatever’s being sold, it’s on to the next product. Now it’s swing dancing. Trade in those phat pants for a pair of suspenders and a derby hat, Daddy-O! Forget techno, now it’s the Lindy-Hop! [Update, 2003: Now it's Indie Rock. Go White Stripes!] This leaves raving back in the hands of those who love it, not those that saw it on TV and wanted to try it.

Diversify. It’s hard to pigeonhole ravers if we’re a community built of people with varied ideas, images, passions and hobbies. Wouldn’t it be nice of people couldn’t classify ravers as "Young kids in phat pants wearing bright colors and furry backpacks?" Only we can change that impression, and a big part of that is staying true to your own identity instead of a collective template. Be YOU first, raver second. · Underground for Life! There’s some peace in knowing that what we have created, what we share and love so dearly is meant to stay underground. Raves shouldn’t be on TV. Raves are about feeling and experiencing the truth for yourself, not buying someone else’s visions. Stay true, and we’ll see you on the dance floor.

Recommended reading:

The Conquest of Cool: Business Culture, Counterculture, and the Rise of Hip Consumerism
"The story of hip's mutation from native language of the alienated to that of advertising." Thomas Frank hits the nail on the head with this one.

Commodify Your Dissent: Salvos from the Baffler
These essays analyze the ways in which this Culture Trust has co-opted the power of dissent by appropriating the language and symbolism of nonconformist youth culture, from hippie slang to grunge fashion; in other words, when the media markets rebellion, it becomes just another consumer choice.

On sale at Old Navy: Cool clothes for identical zombies
Article from Salon.com about Thomas Frank.

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[© 1999-2003 Ariel Meadow Stallings]