Creating Digital Realities and Posting our Authentic Selves
Originally written in 2018 for a 20th Century European Philosophy course at the University of New Hampshire
With social media and texting replacing other activities, iGen spends less time with their friends in person — perhaps why they are experiencing unprecedented levels of anxiety, depression, and loneliness — Jean Twenge
Introduction
Teens and technology persist as an iconic duo within scholarly research. As technology continues to advance, older generations worry about the social implications of integrating it into the lives of the younger generations. While the debates over determining the definitive side effects of technological integration are not often settled, Jean Twenge, a psychologist recognized for her expertise in researching generational differences, gets pretty close. Twenge, writing for The Atlantic (2017), discusses anxiety, depression, and loneliness among today’s teens, which seemingly results from a lack of interpersonal interaction, which she sees as a side effect of the twin rise of the smartphone and social media. She presents a bounty of research demonstrating the novel and abrupt shift in the mental well-beings of teens between the iGen and Millennial generations, noting for example, that “the Millennials grew up with the web as well, but it wasn’t ever-present in their lives, at hand at all times, day and night” (Twenge). Her work corroborates my perception of modern forms of the culture industry, which in today’s world is largely social media, as she laments the effects of “screen activities” on today’s youth. In this paper, I argue modern forms of the culture industry exacerbate the anxieties created and instilled by previous forms. Twenge (2017) depicts this same idea throughout, explaining that “iGen are on their phone, in their room, alone, and often distressed.”
“iGen” is the term Twenge (2017) uses to refer to the generation born between 1995 and 2012.
Whether directly or indirectly, there are many who argue that modern forms of the culture industry are worse than its predecessors (see examples in footnotes [1]). Throughout this paper, I refer to the culture industry in line with Frankfurt School theorists, Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer, who coined the phrase to represent corporate economic control of the mass media and its emphasis on advertising and business to ensure the continued obedience of the masses for market interests (as cited in Dillon 210). While the term ‘culture industry’ does not identify any specific company or group of people, it is a concept used to understand how popular culture and large corporations are intrinsically joint at the hip to enact a system of control and exploitation on a massive scale. This anonymous group appears to receive more credit than it deserves due to its cabal-like nature (i.e. seemingly independent entities benefiting mutually from their dispersion of consistent messaging). Their distribution tactics allow their unanimous suppression of anything but the norm — which they define — to remain unexamined as a collective scheme, enabling their messages to remain so thoroughly influential.
Adorno and Horkheimer identify the culture industry as having taken advantage of the greatest economic opportunity in history by stepping in to create desires for people who no longer knew what to value following the Enlightenment (Smith, 2018). In their 1947 work, Dialectic of Enlightenment, they write: “in the most general sense of progressive thought, the Enlightenment has always aimed at liberating men from fear and establishing their sovereignty…The program of the enlightenment was the disenchantment of the world: the dissolution of myths and the substitution of knowledge for fancy” (3). In other words, Adorno and Horkheimer (1947) argue that the Enlightenment failed to fulfill the promises attributed to this freedom from disillusionment. Instead of that which was meant to be freedom, there was domination over a society of people believing themselves to be more enlightened than they in fact were (as cited in Dillon 187–188), with their religious dogma replaced by materialistic goals. In short, people were in a state of confusion due to the Enlightenment. Looking towards religion to define all of their values was beginning to feel problematic in some settings. Given the vulnerability of people’s belief system at this time, Adorno and Horkheimer believed the culture industry took advantage, and along the way, offered new values to adopt.
The culture industry not only guides our values, but it also creates our anxieties. Far more subtle than mere product placement, the culture industry, in advertisements and entertainment media, emphasizes juxtapositions, playing on an insider/outsider dynamic, in order to establish our notions of good vs bad, the haves vs the have-nots, trendy vs. lame, etc. The culture industry takes hold of an individual’s life in a manner similar to that of the capabilities of carbon monoxide. Carbon monoxide is colorless, tasteless, and odorless yet extremely harmful, even lethal. The culture industry’s grip on humans is similar, as its control is disturbingly obvious yet often invisible. More nefarious than the capabilities of carbon monoxide — the presence of which can be easily monitored with the appropriate device — are those of the culture industry’s, whose nearly untraceable trail is crucial to its success at controlling the desires of people and perpetuating consumerism. Assuming this analogy fits the bill, one might wonder how this industry is able to have so much power and control over people.
Following the Enlightenment, it makes sense that a society in the process of questioning its values could be convinced by the lures of the culture industry, which seemed to promise only the best for them. Although people remain generally unsatisfied with the outcome of their attempts to follow the culture industry’s guidance, they do not lose faith in the culture industry’s promises. Instead, they blame themselves, and keep trying. With the advent of social media, however, people’s failure to match up to the culture industry’s narratives feels all the more troubling and anxiety-provoking, given everyone imagines that all of their friends do fit in — according to their social media profiles, anyway. Meanwhile, marketing has only improved in its ability to offer products specific to the individual’s supposed needs. It seems people are confronted with the reification of the culture industry’s values by our society at all times. As a consequence of the technological advances in our culture, I argue there is a blurring of lines between people’s lived experiences and the perception of their realities and there is an increasing personalization and invasiveness of marketing. In this paper I outline aspects of the modern culture industry which may contribute to the exacerbation of our anxieties.
Blurred Lines Between Realities and Narratives
I. False Sense of Intimacy
Comparing yourself to others has always been hard but the affordances and uses of social media complicate the issue. These comparisons are distorted due to the performative nature of people’s social media posts. There is increasingly personal content posted to all social media platforms, all content posted is adjusted to fit the social expectations among those who may see the post. With social media, we have access to thousands of “influencers”/fashion icons/rockstars/models and peers who we are trying to impress. Whether it be the “self-made” billionaire, Kylie Jenner, or your seemingly perfect co-worker, Janice, the more you are able to see into their lives, the more damaging the comparisons can be [2]. Prior to social media’s existence, comparing yourself to Kylie and Janice was according to what you could see and how far your imagination could take you. But with this, you were always afforded some semblance of doubt. You might know Janice in the context of how she presents herself at work and according to what other people say about her, but beyond that, it’s anyone’s guess. But with social media, and the way many people use it, one must bear witness to myriad ways in which people present themselves (at home, on vacation, at the store, shoveling the driveway, trying on clothes, the possibilities are endless).
When one scrolls through the countless Instagram stories and snapchats that Kylie Jenner posts, it feels like an intimate look at her life, in real time. It’s hard to imagine that Kylie Jenner doesn’t drive to the grocery store wearing a Gucci sweat-suit in a diamond encrusted Jeep. Similarly, when Janice posts pictures of herself, whether looking adorable in her post workout selfie or simply showing off a meal she has made, the outsider accesses an inside look at her life — one that feels far more intimate than the small talk in which one engages at work. It is likely that such talk at work only tells you a fraction of what the person is like in other settings and behind closed doors. In other words, when people are in front of others, there is always some degree of performance. According to sociologist Erving Goffman’s (1959) dramaturgical analysis approach, face-to-face interaction in everyday life can be viewed as a theatrical performance in which the social actors, using impression management, attempt to play particular roles [3]. Goffman (1959) contends the success of any role performance is dependent, in part, on the specific audience — their values, beliefs, and habits.
Like actors who do not want to be booed off the stage for their performance, we, as social actors, attempt to perform convincing roles according to the expectations of whatever our setting happens to be. In other words, we try to manage our impressions. As Goffman (1959) says, “when an individual appears before others he will have many motives for trying to control the impression they receive of the situation” (16). Truly, with every performance is the hope for acceptance so it makes sense for people to attempt to present some “best” version of themselves when in the presence of others, continually tailoring their behaviors and vocabulary. Scrolling through Janice’s social media posts might bring you to the conclusion that she truly is as you feared: flawless. Within seconds you are witness to her adorable puppy, her morning workouts and meal prepping routine, her happy relationship, her fun and flirty girls’ nights, and the new book about which she is obsessed. If not for her social media posts, you might be left wondering whether her life actually is ‘perfect.’ Thanks to social media, now you know.
One might argue that comparing oneself to others and consequently feeling badly about oneself is a personal problem. Indeed, it is not healthy to constantly compare yourself to others if it is negatively affecting your well-being. Comparing ourselves to others, however, is something we all do and not something likely to go away anytime soon. Moreover, I argue social media only encourages its persistence through digitally reifying our supposed status implicit in our social media approval via the number of likes we get and followers we have. That said, it seems particularly damaging for people to compare themselves to others’ crafted lives. When there was mystery to other people’s lives outside of the context in which you knew them, there was room to assume you might never know the actuality of their life. Fine, whatever — Kylie’s rich and famous, she can do whatever she wants. But seeing Janice’s morning selfie with her boyfriend and their puppy, Pepper, in which they all look fresh off the set of a suburban Hollywood sitcom, while you lay in your bed feeling far from picture-ready, really drives that comparison home. It can make you feel as though Janice truly is perfect, especially when you feel nowhere near it.
Of course, it is not necessarily the culture industry’s fault if there are things about someone’s life that elicit jealousy. And some people may in fact have lives that are seemingly ideal in your eyes. Alternatively, that may also be because the culture industry made that life appear to be perfect. If other people reify those lifestyles whether intentionally or not, then the culture industry should at least receive partial blame for having exacerbated people’s hyper-comparison and jealousy of others, if not for having spawned it. It is problematic to think we are actually getting honest, intimate looks into the majority of people’s lives, according to their social media posts. Even if people deem their posts as honest portrayals of their lives, that is not necessarily the case. In reality, that sense of intimacy we have regarding other people’s lives can be false. Concocted. Strategic. Behind every seemingly perfect or “ideal” post is the hidden work that went into making it appear as such. Hidden work might include specific rearrangements of lighting and posture or the exclusion of certain aspects of that reality, which the post has supposedly captured.
In hiding the labor poured into a post — whether intentionally or not — Janice and Kylie are able to make the viewer feel as though they’re getting an honest, inside look into their life — a true capture of their reality, one that was effortless. Not to mention, the fact that the work that goes into the performance is hidden from us allows us to forget that it exists. As such, this level of intimacy feels genuine. When Kylie Jenner updates her Snapchat story, for example, with a close video of her new baby, you feel like you’re seeing your friend’s baby; it feels personal, intimate, and unscripted. It was entirely scripted however — by the culture industry, in order to maintain the normative social order. As Goffman (1959) says, “when an individual presents himself before others, his performance will tend to incorporate and exemplify the officially accredited values of the society, more so, in fact, than does his behavior as a whole” (35). When we do not see elements of the work that goes into a performance, it is easy to forget that these snippets were the “best-of” fragments of their lives, highlights really, or “idealized” performances, as Goffman might say. Unfortunately, when we forget that concept, we fall prey to believing we know someone on an intimate level and may end up feeling even worse about ourselves as a consequence.
It becomes difficult to imagine other people’s realities as separate from their self-presentations; because we are now seemingly privy to their actual lives. In his 2016 AEON article “Why watching people take selfies feels so awkward,” author Emmanuel Ordóñez Angulo speaks to this rise in sharing previously-deemed personal content, calling it “the selfie epidemic.” Angulo (2016) claims it is “a consequence of the increase in the number of tools for self-presentation — Facebook, Twitter and the like. That, taken together, shrinks the private sphere. If controlling what we show is an inevitable urge, social media is only an explosion of the means to satisfy it.” Viewing each post as an attempt to control one’s image, Angulo (2016) confirms Goffman’s (1959) point that an individual’s performance is more in line with the accredited values of the society than is the individual in his entirety. Given that these seemingly intimate peeks into others’ lives are also performances, Goffman’s theory still applies. That is, the individual’s specific performance does not capture the entirety of that individual. Since the time of Goffman’s (1959) writing, the types of performances in which people engage have increased (along with the number of stages on which to perform), while there have simultaneously been advances in impression management tools, which is to say, it is all too easy to get a distorted impression of other people’s lives.
II. Insecurities Exacerbated by Discrepancies
Behind that which often appears to be perfect is hidden work. This however is nothing new. While we may have more sophisticated tools in today’s society, there are similar examples from centuries ago, when tools were rudimentary compared to today’s. Nonetheless, the Library of Congress and one example of the ways in which people in the early 18th century endeavored to conceal aspects of themselves may have started with the “Gibson Girl,” who represented an idealized standard of beauty, which initially emerged in the drawings of well-known illustrator Charles Dana Gibson [4]. These seemingly “vintage” drawings by today’s standards ultimately defined the “ideal female form” for American women in the early 1900’s. This was one of the first times that a particular look had taken the entire nation by storm. As the image of the Gibson Girl was disseminated across America, her face and iconic hourglass figure became cemented in the American consciousness. Never before had such a sensationalized image been so widely circulated. Prior to the Gibson Girl, women were exposed to only that which was available in their local communities. With the advent of this idealized beauty to which women could compare themselves, a phenomenon was born. The Gibson Girl served as an example for women across the nation. She portrayed notions of beauty towards which all women should aspire and to which all men might be attracted. What is not forthcoming in this image, however is how her tiny waistline was acquired. Indeed, in order to achieve the Gibson Girl look, a device was needed that could contort a woman’s body beyond the bounds of reality. Corsets allowed women to achieve a physique that was wholly unrealistic in order to attain this idealized beauty for themselves. The popularity of the Gibson Girl is an early example of the culture industry’s narrative being at odds with most peoples’ lived experiences. The corset served as the device by which women of the day attempted to duplicate the recognized feminine ideal — one that did not align with the realities of most women’s bodies (Library of Congress, 2013; Scarbrough, 2015).
On the surface, it appears as though the strict parameters of that which the culture industry has sold as beautiful are said to have improved over time. Acceptable ideals of beauty have seemingly broadened, though upon closer investigation, it is apparent the culture industry has merely kept up with the trends. It is no longer just a corset. It is thousands of beauty products, fashion trends, hair styles, plastic surgery, tanning beds, Instagram filters, photo edits, and more. The Gibson girl was just the start of the modern-day version of an omnipresent phenomenon, that is, the representation of the standard of idealized beauty into which women attempted to mold themselves.
Even the body-positivity messages put forth by some of todays’ advertisers are limiting. With American Eagle’s #AerieReal campaign [5], for example, we see models who have neither been photoshopped, nor have their blemishes been covered up. Indeed, a stomach roll is often visible. In American Eagle’s ongoing efforts to portray themselves as inclusive, none of their models are as thin as those to whom we have grown accustomed and they have even been among the first to welcome plus-sized models. These models, however, do not resemble all plus-sized people — not by a long shot. With their body fat evenly distributed, muscles toned, smooth skin, missing cellulite, and faces that are every bit in accordance with our current standards of beauty, there remains a large population of women who cannot look at these models and feel they are being represented. This campaign has been more successful than those which ostracize most types of female bodies as they give the appearance of embracing more body types than ever before, and certainly more body types than leading competitors (e.g. Victoria’s Secret).
Perhaps for some women, who may have lost hope regarding the prospects of seeing women who look like them celebrated for their beauty, they may now feel their chances of being represented have at least improved. Whatever the case, American Eagle has successfully readjusted its grip on the people they might have otherwise lost, as they portray themselves as far more inclusive than other American advertisers. In essence however, what American Eagle has done by using girls who are conventionally pretty and touting the fact that they do not photoshop their models, is sending the message that if you look like these girls you don’t need to be retouched. Even while American Eagle attempts to convince us they are bucking the trends, the culture industry’s hold on them (and consequently, their hold on all of us) is clear. Airbrushed or not, there are beauty standards to which we look in our efforts to portray ourselves as our idealized versions of ourselves, regardless of whether those aspirations are even a remote a possibility.
Culture Industry’s Narratives Are Limiting
The overarching narrative presented above suggests that we need to be beautiful — whether naturally pretty on our own or through whatever means possible — to be successful. This mindset, in tandem with the culture industry’s presentation of the experiences and characteristics we should desire, limits many from actually feeling content or successful in their own lives. In defining our values for us, the culture industry simultaneously creates our anxieties and fears, often through portraying a juxtaposition of good/bad experiences. In other words, you’re either in because you look the right way, or you’re out. Perfect examples of these juxtapositions can be seen in advertisements and entertainment geared towards younger generations. As presented by FRONTLINE correspondent Douglas Rushkoff, who examines the tactics used in marketing to teenagers, in the documentary, Merchants of Cool:
Kids feel frustrated and lonely because they are encouraged to feel that way… You know, advertising has always sold anxiety and it certainly sells anxiety to the young. It’s always telling them that they are not thin enough, they’re not pretty enough, they don’t have the right friends, or they have no friends…they’re losers unless they’re cool. But I don’t think anybody, deep down, really feels cool enough, ever.
As put forth in the program, with marketers catering to teens, ostensibly the hottest demographic in America, rather than empowering them, we’ve left them on their own, mired in contradictory messages. While the culture industry attempts to convince us that consuming goods will make us happy (or cool), as it happens, materialism routinely disappoints. Reminiscent of the Merchants of Cool excerpt above, AEON author of “The Makeover Trap” (2017), Michael Lovelock, addresses the effects of the culture industry as resulting in the ‘makeover culture’ in which we presently exist, where no purchase ever fills a void. Although happiness is subjective, according to how each individual experiences and articulates it, the culture industry is guilty of attempting to define it for their own profit. One could say Western Culture has been defined by one’s right to pursue happiness. And certainly, America’s constitution grants us, as consumers, the right to do so. Advertisers have run with this central theme, weaving it further into American society as a means of selling products. Every product sold is supposed to bring people one step closer to that elusive happiness they believe they have the right to achieve, whether through a Snickers bar or a new toilet bowl cleaner.
Advertisers instruct us to think we should and could be happy so long as we buy their products. In their effort to make products appear as necessities, the culture industry depicts certain experiences, emotions, and characteristics (such as romance, confidence, and beauty) as attainable — as long as — we purchase said products. Even if we remain generally unsatisfied with our lives, despite all our shiny new purchases, we keep buying more, believing if we’re not there yet, maybe that next purchase will do the trick.
The story of Cinderella is centered around her transformation from a lowly house maid to a beautiful princess, illustrated with all the requisite accoutrement and demonstrative of the ways in which material things can bring about the happiness we are seeking. From a young age, American children are taught the social norms of love and romance through nursery rhymes and fairy tales, of which Cinderella was but one. While we may recognize that Cinderella’s transformation occurs because of a fictitious fairy godmother, that is not to say we cannot imagine another means to the same end. Perhaps more importantly, we also see that Cinderella’s transformation provides her access to the ball where she can finally meet her prince charming. This story is a classic rags-to-riches tale in American culture, in which we learn at a very deep level, the norms of society. While this story is not selling a product, per se, it is selling an experience comprised of the type of love and romance we learn we should want and that we might attain — if only. If only we can look the right way, wear the right clothes, have the right hair color, we can become someone irresistible enough to deserve the right experience. The advertising industry provides those moments in which the consumer can see the possibility of their ‘fairy god mother.’ Or at least they can see the pathway to their transformation into their ‘true’ selves, in which they will be capable of attracting whatever version of a prince charming they seek. This ‘true’ self, however, is an ideal version of oneself which they imagine they could become because that version is tied up with their industry-designed values and goals
While this message may provide hope for people driven by the anxieties implanted by the culture industry, it actually limits many from participating in the acquisition of real happiness or genuine relationships. With this notion in mind, Lovelock (2017) scrutinizes how femininity is conceived in the makeover culture:
Conformity to the feminine ideal was measured by how well (or how poorly) women could use the tools of the fashion and beauty industries. Naturally, this meant femininity was inaccessible to those who didn’t have the money or time to be active consumers. This is why, even today, the denigration of working-class women and women of colour often centres on their perceived failure to embody feminine beauty.
Lovelock’s analysis suggests consumers who cannot participate in the consumption habits encouraged by the culture industry and reified by society, are exiled from, for example, enjoying the same experiences the way they understand one should enjoy them. That is to say, should a person — according to industry standards — be in what seems like a fairytale romance or already be beautiful, or seemingly fulfilled in their personal lives, messages from the culture industry suggest she could be experiencing that romance even better, appear more beautiful, or feel more fulfilled for the ‘right’ reasons. When people purchase products filled with promise, however, rarely are those expectations met. Does anyone find their prince charming because of that new dress?
Just as Cinderella went to the ball in her new gown to meet her Prince Charming, for many, going to bars and clubs serves as the opportunity to wear an outfit that ostensibly makes them feel attractive as these are the ways in which people are encouraged to try and meet a potential romantic partner. People want to feel confident while doing this, which has long been associated by the culture industry with products. That is, confidence, sexiness, and the degree to which someone is unique, alternative, or interesting, are all designed to be things one can achieve with the right look. Ironically, an interesting marketing strategy utilized to sell happiness is put forth as revealing one’s ‘authenticity’ through the purchase of cool clothes, niche brands of makeup, and hair products, and so forth. Meanwhile those same commodities are being mass produced for countless others who are also attempting to reveal their authenticity. But, of course, the authentic, true version of oneself that everyone wants to be is an idealized version of oneself that is socially defined. Adorno and Horkheimer (1947) scrutinize them for this, claiming “pseudo individuality is rife… The defiant reserve or elegant appearance of the individual on show is mass-produced like Yale locks, whose only difference can be measured in fractions of millimeters” (154). The measure of individuality from one person to another is in fractions of millimeters rather than any significant unit. In other words — the individuality that we do gain from having marginally different tastes and fashions than other people are predicated upon minute, ultimately insignificant differences. While Adorno and Horkheimer are right, this fact is also necessary in maintaining demand for the products helping people to further ‘stand out,’ as they will rarely be able to completely distinguish themselves from others with the same purchasing options.
This irony is the key to the culture industry. While we are convinced that happiness is attainable — not just any happiness, rather fairytale, Hollywood-type happiness — acquiring it is out of reach for most (if not all) consumers, as this ‘happiness’ has been concocted. Featured in The Persuaders (2004), Naomi Klein, author of No Logo, points out the ability of ads to persuade and get us to genuinely believe that their products can change our lives. As Adorno and Horkheimer (1947) allude, the culture industry creates our anxieties and then offer us the antidotes (i.e. products and lifestyles). But, Klein notes, “in the end, it is, you know, a laptop and a pair of running shoes. And they might be great, but they’re not actually going to fulfill those needs, but which serves them very well because, of course, that means that you have to go shopping again.” Indeed, the culture industry convinces us to consume as the means by which we might be able to grasp that which we know in our hearts, is not possible. As put forth by Adorno and Horkheimer (1947), “the triumph of advertising in the culture industry is that consumers feel compelled to buy and use its products even though they see through them” (emphasis added; 167).
According to the New Dream organization, there is much evidence suggesting materialism does not positively influence our psyches. In their video, “The High Price of Materialism,” psychologist Tim Kasser narrates their compiled research and synopsis thereof, explaining how people could feel more fulfilled with their lives if not for the culture industry “encouraging them to organize their lives around higher salaries and owning more stuff.” Their studies confirm that people concentrate more heavily on material things as a side effect of feeling insecure (Kasser). I’m curious whether people would associate their need to boost their confidence in the aforementioned bars and clubs if not for the culture industry scaring them with depictions of all the ways in which they might ruin their chances of meeting anyone, be rejected, or be profoundly embarrassed. For every Cinderella moment to which we are exposed, there is always another at the ready, of someone failing in their efforts to attract someone by whom they are enchanted. We understand Cinderella moments occur for those who have made the instructed purchases and we know failure comes in the form of appearance, bad breath, body odor, clumsiness, awkwardness, social anxiety, etc. Any fool can conclude, having seen the results of these contrasting depictions time and again, that we should want to be the Cinderella of the story, not the person who ends up embarrassed and rejected.
I imagine I am not alone in my susceptibility to the ploys of the culture industry. Like many others, I find myself desperate to achieve that Hollywood-level happiness through the purchase of the ‘right’ thing, no matter how disappointed I may be when that new dress doesn’t land prince charming in my lap. It is in these moments I turn my analysis of another failed attempt at happiness inward, blaming myself, rather than realizing a dress does not have the capacity to make me happy. While my sense of security continues to dwindle, coinciding with more materialistic aspirations, the culture industry is accomplishing its goal. This phenomenon of purchasing items in the hope of becoming the Cinderella of our story, only to be consistently disappointed by the non-existent causal relationship has only been amplified by modern forms of the culture industry. Not only do we understand we need to buy product X in order to be happy, but we know we need to present ourselves in a particular way online too. But most of us can agree that we never quite feel like Cinderella, that we never quite achieve our fairytale, no matter how close we appear to get.
When We Don’t Feel Like We Fit the Culture Industry’s Narratives, We Feel Anxious
Unfortunately, as Lovelock (2017) suggests, the narrative provided by the culture industry is at odds with most people’s lived experiences. Rarely does that new product actually achieve the results we hope it will. And the people we idolize, those who have the lives most of us strive for, are not actually as happy and satisfied as we imagine them to be. Regardless, most of us keep shopping. We feel like we have to keep shopping because we have to keep in line with the culture industry’s narratives if we ever want to be happy because our conception of being happy will occur if we become that idealized self… or so we have been convinced. Not only do we keep shopping, however, we also keep posting.
The ways in which people post on social media are associated with those values instilled in us by the culture industry. Post-worthy images have been clearly defined for us — we understand what to post on our social media accounts. Why do we know to post some things and not others? We follow the protocol, which has been clearly laid out for us, reifying those values and beliefs we have come to know and obey. We’re performing, but on another platform (a virtual one). We consider the ways in which we understand we are supposed to behave in various contexts in-person (e.g. in front of friends, co-workers, family members, strangers, bosses, etc.) and apply those strategies to our new platforms. In other words, we endeavor to create online personas of ourselves for others that, ideally, fit the narrative we’re trying to construct. Ultimately, we design our online personas to portray the kind of mother, sibling, girlfriend, student, daughter (you name it) we wish we were. We do this by acquiring certain products, adhering to the most current social trends, and looking or acting in a particular way that is consistent with our idealized version of ourselves, or a combination of all of the above. Unless we fit that narrative designed by the culture industry, however, we feel anxious.
In general, when we don’t feel as though we’re matching up to be the kind of person we would like to be, we may feel inadequate as a result, perhaps disappointed. We also feel inadequate when we see other people succeed at acquiring various components of the life we’d like to have, perhaps also envious. When this phenomenon extends into the social media platform, it feels much worse, simply because we have access to seemingly endless examples of people who hold components of their lives of which you feel jealous. Your neighbor not only has a house you’d rather live in but they also just bought the couch that’s out of your budget range. Your boss obviously makes more money than you but they also have a seemingly perfect marriage, according to social media.
Regrettably, because the culture industry creates our desires and presents us with the types of lifestyles for which we strive, our values are in line with those narratives. When we fail to fit a script encouraged by the culture industry, we feel insecure because our behavior seems to be out of line with our personal values and belief system. This state of psychological stress is referred to as cognitive dissonance — the mental discomfort triggered by a situation wherein a person is confronted with facts which contradict their personal beliefs, ideals, and values [6]. In A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance (1957), Leon Festinger proposed that humans make great efforts to achieve internal psychological consistency in order to mentally function in the world. While Goffman did not refer to cognitive dissonance per se, it was to this idea he was referencing when he spoke about the feelings of distress that can arise when people are concerned that their performances are inauthentic. According to Goffman (1959), not only must our performances appear to be authentic, we must also experience that authenticity, otherwise, we feel alienated from ourselves. By virtue of performing a role in the first place, Goffman (1959) reasons, the potential exists to experience feelings of insincerity, which can result in wanting to distance oneself from the role one is playing in an effort to keep from becoming cynical. To this end, one has much invested in believing in their performance, which is to say, it is important that one’s performance is at least in line with the person they wish themselves to be. Indeed, the closer to reality one’s performance is, the less discomfort the social actor feels.
While Goffman’s writing of these experiences of dissonance may not be specific to modern forms of the culture industry, I argue the culture industry exacerbates the potential to experience cognitive dissonance. Because people are both performing themselves and tend to have distorted perceptions of other people’s realities, imagining everyone’s posts are more sincere than their own and consequently, forgetting the extent of the work put into others’ performances, they are subject to making very damaging comparisons. The modern-day culture industry’s narrative engenders continual comparisons with others’ performances. While it has always made people uncomfortable to feel as though their performance is insincere, the comparisons which are exacerbating that feeling never used to be quite so unavoidable and perhaps never had such negative implications for so many. I argue that people would be far more satisfied with their own lives if not for being constantly subjected to the highlight reels of other people’s performed lives that are masquerading as their everyday lived experiences.
Feelings of anxiety are common when there are discrepancies between your narrative and your reality (i.e. the way you are seen by others vs the way you see yourself). With more social media platforms come more opportunities to curate and mold one’s self presentation. So too does the public sphere grow and the private sphere have the appearance of shrinking. With social media comes the need to please others, to be accepted by others. As a person who over-analyzes every move I make in my real life, I most certainly follow suit in my virtual life. Every post I have ever made has centered around my consideration of how it will be received and by whom. What are the potential benefits of posting this? Potential disadvantages? Of my friends/followers, who might be made to feel uncomfortable by this post (e.g. previous boss, ex-boyfriend’s mother, mother’s friends, relatives, etc.)? Should I care? Do I care? The answer to these questions determines whether or not I post something. More frequently, however, the existence of these questions I cannot help but consider deter my posting anything, usually leaving hundreds of edited photos by the wayside for fear of their not being perfect enough to make my profile (because if they were actually post-worthy, I imagine I would not be questioning the decision so heavily…or so I think).
Social networks provided the platform for the culture industry to spawn this vicious cycle in which people take turns posting and creating jealousy with tailored, glamorized depictions of their life. The power of the culture industry is demonstrated further by creating in people a vision of how they want their lives to not only be, but also appear (e.g. on social media platforms) like a sort of fetish for a certain kind of lifestyle:
Since, with the end of free exchange, commodities lost all their economic qualities except for fetishism, the latter has extended its arthritic influence over all aspects of social life. Through the countless agencies of mass production and its culture the conventionalized modes of behavior are impressed on the individual as the only natural, respectable, and rational ones. He defines himself only as a thing, a static element, as success or failure. His yardstick is self-preservation, successful or unsuccessful approximation to the objectivity of his function and the models established for it (Adorno and Horkheimer, 28).
Adorno and Horkheimer (1947) are depicting the effects of the culture industry on the individual in terms of measuring oneself using scales provided by the latter. The standards by which we estimate our success or failure are unavoidable due to the advent of social media and how we use it. As explained earlier, however, these comparisons can be distorted and therefore more damaging. Indeed, as Twenge (2017) alludes and many studies confirm, e.g. Tromholt’s (2016) Copenhagen study [7], symptoms of depression and decreased life satisfaction are attributed to unrealistic social comparison on social media platforms. The fact that Instagram and Google, for example, have incorporated usage features [8] on their apps, for the purpose of helping users to recognize when they are overly using the apps, just suggests enough people in our society are concerned about their reliance on social media. That a company should feel urged to take such action suggests enough of our society is well-aware of potential negative side effects of social media usage on users’ mental well-being.
The aforementioned distorted comparisons between others’ crafted lives and our lived realities are certainly a negative side effect of social media use. The false sense of intimacy we have regarding other people’s lives is a consequence of the ways in which we use social media and the expansion of the public sphere. Because it is easy to forget that other people’s posts are, in fact, also performances, in line with the culture industry’s values, we are desperate to appear authentic on our social media platforms. That is, authentic in our attempts to present the idealized version we have for ourselves. When it appears as though many others are living the lifestyles we idolize, our expectations for ourselves and others become unattainable. As a consequence, we are particularly hard on ourselves when our performances do not match how we want other people to see us and how we want to see ourselves. Discrepancies between our perceived self and our lived experiences are, however, easy to identify because the culture industry’s narratives, with which we align ourselves, are limiting. Fortunately, we have more platforms on which to act, as though we are as satisfied with our lives. In the end, the sources of distorted comparison against which we base ourselves contribute to the overarching theme that we will never feel satisfied the way the culture industry has convinced us we should want to feel.
More Personal and Invasive Marketing
I. Friends Reify the Culture Industry’s Values
I can certainly post whatever I want to post, so long as I am indifferent to how well received my post will be. There may be an alternative to the culture industry but I am unsure whether that alternative is better if it still means being surrounded by others who maintain materialistic goals and abide by the established trends. I can decide to make a post that is not in line with the norms of the culture industry but that just means I should anticipate few likes. The number of likes is really a quantified depiction of how socially acceptable your post is and, therefore, how socially accepted you are. Adorno and Horkheimer (1947) argue the culture industry is the lens through which society experiences their realities, “the old experience of the movie-goer, who sees the world outside as an extension of the film he has just left (because the latter is intent upon reproducing the world of everyday perceptions), is now the producer’s guideline” (126). In other words, the events in my life and the lives of others are manipulated by the culture industry. Insofar as what I post, my perception of what is ‘post-worthy’ has been completely scripted for me and everyone else. When my activities do not resemble those that have been scripted, I find myself thinking I must be missing out on something, something important.
As a person who over-analyzes every move I make in my real life, I most certainly follow suit in my virtual life. Every post I’ve ever made has centered around my consideration of how well it will be received and by whom. What are the potential benefits of posting this? Potential disadvantages? Of my friends/followers, who might be made to feel uncomfortable by this post (e.g. previous boss, ex-boyfriend’s mother, mother’s friends, relatives, etc.)? Should I care? Do I care? The answer to these questions determines whether or not I post something. More frequently, however, the existence of these questions I cannot help considering deter my posting anything, usually leaving hundreds of edited photos by the wayside for fear of their not being perfect enough to make my profile (because if they were actually post-worthy, I assume I would likely not be questioning the decision so heavily…or so I think).
The type of life the culture industry has trained me to desire is exactly what I find looking through my Instagram, Snapchat, and Facebook feeds. I scroll past smiling faces, tanned, glistening bodies, delectable snacks, breathtaking Spring break vacation scenery, beautiful furnishings, all artistically enhanced images (with today’s technological innovations), such that the nuance captured sends the clear message that I am inadequate. According to my social media profiles, I have yet to do anything interesting in months, I have yet to look attractive in just as long, or indulge in treats or appreciate the world. It is in these few minutes of scrolling past other people’s tailored virtual representations of their lives that I feel increasingly critical of my own. It’s not just Kylie Jenner “doing brunch” and vacationing in trendy bikinis, it’s all my friends too. This is, of course, no coincidence. All my friends exist under the same guise of the culture industry of which Kylie is a part. They are all getting their ideal image from the same source and this image is merely recreated over and over again.
The extent to which other people are aligning with the values of the culture industry appears larger than we previously had evidence of (i.e. because we see the foods they eat, the shows they watch, the politics they support, & other things they value). Not only do I see Kylie Jenner wearing certain clothes, or wearing them in a certain way, owning certain material objects, participating in certain activities, listening to certain music, posing for pictures in certain ways, and having pictures with a certain quality, but I see my friends doing those things, owning those things, if not just aspiring to do and own those things. While it may have been easier to accept that my life would never match up to Kylie’s, social media offers people the platform to demonstrate the extent to which they can successfully participate in similar behaviors, i.e. successfully embody the qualities of those we are made to understand are desirable in our culture. Therefore, what we are really doing is attempting to attach ourselves to certain lifestyles and thus reifying the narratives told to us by the culture industry.
II. Big Data
Ignoring the mainstream advertising attempts of the culture industry may have been more feasible prior to the emergence of big data and its uses. Now, however, companies are able to narrow their scope and personalize their advertising attempts to you. Think of it this way, marketing during the age when Adorno and Horkheimer were writing could be comparable to using one type of bait on all the different fish in a pond. Marketing now, however, is more along the lines of using the favorite types of bait for each individual fish and placing them right in front of the corresponding fish. During Adorno and Horkheimer’s time, there were plenty of fish who weren’t keen on the type of bait being used and it didn’t attract them. Now it seems there is no such fish who can escape the lures of the present-day culture industry, as there exists a bait for seemingly every and all fish. With more personal and catered advertising, the culture industry more effectively deposits its ideas to our society. These social narratives to which we aspire are ever-present today and far less easy to ignore.
For example, HBO’s suspenseful drama, Black Mirror, tackles and illustrates techno-paranoia in the modern world. In the episode, “Nosedive,” the main character, Lacie, is touring the apartment building she wants desperately to move into, the apartment presents her with a highly-personalized look into how her life might ideally change, should she move in. This includes a virtually produced hologram of herself and a romantic partner, appearing happy, while in the apartment. While Lacie leaves the neighborhood, her and that romantic partner are cast onto a billboard, looking happily into each other’s eyes over a romantic dinner. The further she gets from the neighborhood, however, she begins to fade out of the image. Her experience serves to illustrate the culture industry’s knack for creating both our desires and anxieties. Her fading out of the image suggests that experience will not come to fruition if she does not live in that neighborhood.
Big data amasses not just your demographic data and purchasing history but your data exhaust as well, meaning the trail of data left by all of one’s digital or online activities [9]. This information can be very revealing about an individual, which in turn, can make it extremely valuable to the advertiser. Perhaps according to Lacie’s data exhaust the apartment company was able to gather that Lacie is single, potentially lonely, potentially interested in the neighborhood for the sake of meeting people (as was advertised). Maybe she spends a little extra time when scrolling past a photo of a couple. Given that Lacie was actually interested in finding a romantic partner, the holographic boyfriend really pulls at her heartstrings during the apartment showing. ad she not been interested in finding romance, that tactic may not have convinced her she needed the apartment badly enough to put a down payment on it before she could even ensure her ability to afford it. Because the attempt was targeted specifically at Lacie’s interests and needs, not just any given potential consumer’s needs, it was successful. Knowing her specific interests and needs was made possible by the insights derived from her data exhaust.
“Just Opt Out”
Should you take such issue with this system, some suggest opting out of it. This might consist of any combination of the following: deleting social media accounts, getting rid of your smartphone, simply not posting in the way you know you’re expected to post, not rewarding others’ posts when their posts are in line with the culture industry’s expectations, only being online friends with people who claim to opt out too, not centering your life around higher salaries and Instagram followers, not having a LinkedIn account, not using online dating services, etc. While that may seem like a feasible option, it is not as easy as one might think. The majority of our society operates under the premise that success, for example, looks a certain way & should feel a certain way. How can you opt out of a society in which you’d like to succeed? Do you not want love? Do you not want happiness? Do you not want friendship? Well, if you don’t care about those things, you are in luck! Opting out is much easier if you don’t care about those things. Black Mirror takes this a step further in their “Nosedive” episode: opting out if you aren’t concerned about financial stability, then you’re in luck, because opting out is much easier if you are fine to live without love, happiness, success, friendship, and monetary comfort. For those of us who have stakes in the aforementioned experiences, the choice to opt out does not exist.
Some people may think they can reject the ploys of the culture industry. However, even if someone thinks they are different and are not buying into capitalism, they’re just buying into another narrative influenced by the culture industry and consuming accordingly (e.g. consumers of Patagonia vs. Forever 21 vs. thrift shoppers). They have not “escaped” the influence of the culture industry, but rather, they have merely been drawn to another aspect of it that may not completely align with the mainstream. Without participating in the system, you’re not merely avoiding trickery. You’re also excusing yourself from the privileges most people deeply desire. If our friends, colleagues, acquaintances, romantic partners, and families buy into this system, it becomes difficult to avoid participating. For example, as explained in a 2018 Vox explainer video titled “Why you keep using Facebook, even if you hate it,” Facebook is not just useful but actually “integral to daily life” when considering the network effect — i.e. a phenomenon whereby a product or service gains additional value as more people use it — and the volume of users (Vox). In our system, opting out is not as severe as is illustrated in “Nosedive.” Imagine if our offline lives were blended with our social media personas. We could rate each other using the same constructs of social acceptance on social media outlets. Plastered above everyone’s heads would be an average rating accumulated from every social interaction you have. Although this idea seems entirely impossible, it is not too far from our reality. “Nosedive” brings this idea to life.
Just like Instagram, people are rated from one to five stars with a public display of their average rating for all to see. Unlike Instagram, however, these ratings follow people everywhere they go, into the physical world, and affect all of their interactions. Not only do people’s interactions depend on their rating, but so too does their access to employment, commodities, housing, services, etc. Taken further, with such importance placed on these ratings, one’s monetary status, social status, location-based opportunities, independence and social support would all be affected. In this moment, we are still separated from reality and reality once removed (i.e. social media). This separation allows us to interact differently in person than we might online. “Nosedive” captures a world in which this distinction is not an option — suddenly the two realms become one.
“Nosedive” depicts a futuristic look into where social media and ‘likes’ are taking us, i.e. a world in which we are always performing (according to the officially accredited values of the society, of course). This episode illustrates deep concerns about the commodification of people. The culture industry does not intend to associate certain life experiences that supposedly make life worth living with just any average rating. To incentivize people to continue trying to sell themselves to others, to achieve a quality rating, there is a division of social class and an obvious reward system for those that reside higher up on the social ladder. There is structural inequality inherent in the system when there are limited opportunities due to one’s social rank. Her social circle, income, living situation, and access to resources are all poker chips in this gamble for social acceptance. As many of us do, Lacie desperately wants to have a fulfilling love life, a rewarding job, and a satisfying social circle. None of these things are necessarily unavailable to Lacie on the basis of her average rating. Technically, Lacie could opt out of her system, i.e. she could worry less about her ratings, however, she would be missing out on the opportunities afforded to those who compete within that system. If she decides not to participate, she is just going to be ostracized and lose the chance to compete, therefore making it even more difficult for her to interact with the majority of others who do participate. If she wants to meet her soulmate, she certainly does not want to limit her chances of love by having poor ratings. So she might as well dive head first into the system she may despise (or the system of which she is oblivious) and behave how she is ‘supposed to.’
Throughout the episode, Lacie acts with self-serving goals in mind, i.e. depicting her narrative in a manner that makes her audience perceive her as likable and deserving of five stars. This culture values certain behaviors and appearances in accordance with societal standards which have been manipulated by the culture industry. This is to say the script for likeable-ness and five-star-ness has been provided; people in “Nosedive” do not need to think deeply about the ratings they distribute, for they can quickly recognize the categories into which people fall, thanks to the provided scripts. For this reason, Lacie attempts to match her narrative to the one everyone recognizes as five-star quality. Lacie’s narrative is also her reality almost all of the time. Even in instances in which she is alone she is simply spending her time pampering her narrative, prepping for performances. This complication resembles our society and how we tell our narratives via social media, just slightly more extreme. Our accounts certainly follow us into our realities, but we are not yet dictated by the perceptions of our narratives.
With so much control over what we see, the culture industry nearly provides us a script for how to identify things like ‘falling in love’ to the point where other ways of pursuing and experiencing love are non-options. They seem foreign. However, not only do these scripts describe, define, and instruct us about such experiences, but they also lead us to believe these ideas are inborn and authentic to our own unique experiences. Who is to say how we should fall in love or what love is supposed to feel like? Such a subjective construct should not be generalized to the public, yet that’s what the culture industry does. Not just with love though, with everything.
Looking Ahead
While “Nosedive” may seem too extreme to ever happen, scarily similar systems are now in place in China. Indeed, according to Mara Hvistendahl, author of WIRED’s cover story article, “Inside China’s Vast New Experiment in Social Ranking,” access to resources and luxuries are determined by one’s overall social ranking, “those deemed ‘seriously untrustworthy’ can expect to receive substandard services.” This overt attempt at social control not only exists in a futuristic sci-fi television show but also in a country that, currently, just so happens to have the largest population in the world and is creeping up on the United States in terms of overall power. While this paper explores ways in which social media exacerbates the anxieties created by Adorno and Horkheimer’s conception of the culture industry, further research should consider why this is problematic.
In our vulnerable states of not knowing what to value (which inevitably translates into “what to post”) we tend to draw from the culture industry’s guidance, whether we realize it or not. Like carbon monoxide, the culture industry slyly sneaks its ideologies down our throats, up our noses, in front of our eyes, directly into our ear canals, and nestles them deeply within our unconscious conceptions of ‘cool’ and ‘current,’ all to the effect of leading us to believe we chose what to post online. Realistically, however, we had a very specific set of instructions already imprinted in our brains — social scripts to follow. Analogously, at least the invisibility of carbon monoxide simply contributes to one’s death, rather than infecting their life for an extended period of time. The culture industry, similarly invisible, encourages one to live a façade of individuality in which one truly thinks they are authentic and making their own choices based on their own desires. At least one can buy a carbon monoxide detector, as opposed to having no real means of determining the extent to which our lives have any authenticity whatsoever, or we are merely products of the effects of the culture industry, which we are just beginning to uncover.
In this paper, I demonstrate ways in which modern forms of the culture industry — social media — exacerbate the anxieties created and instilled by previous forms. From the Gibson Girl to Kylie Jenner, a mere corset to thousands of photoshopping tools, from billboard advertisements to holographic crushes, technological innovations have enabled the persistence of the anxieties created by Adorno and Horkheimer’s culture industry. The only difference now is that we have more platforms on which we feel the need to perform and maintain our persona. We know the only personas that are socially acceptable have been designed by the culture industry. As such, we tailor our performances and conceal the behind-the-scenes-work that goes into portraying ourselves in a particular way. Cinderella provides a classic scenario in which a makeover — usually involving the consumption of various products — is the way to bring one’s deepest desires to fruition. Cinderella must undergo a makeover and conceal her blemishes, must become her ‘idealized self,’ in order to achieve the happiness she wants in life. While a Prince Charming outcome is surely ideal, it is undoubtedly rare.
As the public sphere grows and the private sphere appears to shrink, it becomes difficult to imagine others’ realities as separate from their self-presentations, because each post is still a performance, one which maintains the normative social order by aligning with the values of the culture industry. When we see others aligning with those personas, at seemingly every level, the urge to fit the culture industry’s narrative is only confirmed. In addition to friends reifying the culture industry’s narratives, marketing tactics are also more personal and invasive thanks to big data. Between the unavoidable constant sources of distorted comparison and more effective marketing strategies, the culture industry remains successful in creating and exploiting our anxieties. To a friend who wants to “opt out,” remind them of the negative consequences. It is not merely missing out on a Facebook invitation. Instead, it might mean being denied housing for having missed that invite. Although worrying about the impacts of technology on future generations is nothing new, the implications this time around, as conceived in “Nosedive” and executed in China, cannot be ignored.
Comment for my full list of references.
[FOOT NOTES]
[1] E.g. Scholarly articles by Twenge; Tromholt; Muise; Marwick; Krasnova (see references and bibliography sections for full citations)
[2] Natalie Robehmed’s Forbes article: “How 20-Year-Old Kylie Jenner Built A $900 Million Fortune In Less Than 3 Years.”
[3] The word “roles” refers specifically to the role in a play but also roles associated with particular social situations (e.g. the role of a “teacher” is expected in a school but not in front of a group friends).
[4] Information about the Gibson Girl derived from The Library of Congress exhibit (2013) and Scarbrough (2015) references.
[5] Body image campaign launched in 2014 marking the company’s decision to discontinue their showcasing of supermodels and digital retouching software in order to promote body positivity and representation of more women.
[6] Festinger, L. (1957). A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
[7] Tromholt, Morten. “The Facebook experiment: Quitting Facebook leads to higher levels of well-being” (2016).
[8] Usage features include showing users how they spend their time on the app and when they have spent enough time on the app (Constine, 2018). Google has developed similar features for Android users to promote “meaningful engagement” (Lynley, 2018).
[9] Definition from “What Is Data Exhaust?” (Techopedia).
