Subcultures: The Basics [2 ed.] 2022060900, 2022060901, 9781032132754, 9781032132778, 9781003228417

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S U B CU L T U RE S THE BASICS

Subcultures: The Basics is an accessible and engaging introduction to subcultures in a global context. This fully revised new edition adds new case studies and an additional chapter on the digital lives of subculturists as well as reflections on the relationships between subcultures and globalisation and the resurgence of the far-right. Blending theory and practice, this text examines a varied range of subcultures including hip hop, graffiti writing, heavy metal, punk, gamers, burlesque, parkour, riot grrrl, straight edge, roller derby, steampunk, b-boying/b-girling, body modification, and skateboarding. Subcultures: The Basics answers the key questions posed by those new to the subject, including: � � � � � � � � �

What is a subculture? What are the significant theories of subculture? How do subcultures emerge, who participates and why? How do subcultural identities interact with other aspects of self, such as social class, race, gender, and sexual identity? What is the relationship between deviance, resistance and the ‘mainstream’? How have both progressive and reactionary subculturists contributed to social change? How does society react to different subcultures? How have subcultures spread around the world? In what ways do digital technologies and social media influence subcultures? What happens when subculturists age?

Tracing the history and development of subcultural theory to the pre­ sent day, this text is essential reading for all those studying subcultures in the contexts of sociology, cultural studies, history, media studies, anthropology, musicology, and criminology. It pushes the field forward with cutting-edge theories of resistance and social change, place and space, critical race and queer studies, virtual participation, and ageing and participation across the life course. Key terms and concepts are highlighted throughout the text whilst each chapter includes boxed case studies and signposts students to further reading and resources. Ross Haenfler is Professor of Sociology at Grinnell College, USA. His interests revolve around subcultures, music, and social movements, and his research focuses on how people engage in social change via lifestyle movements. He is the author of Straight Edge: Hardcore Punk, Clean Living Youth, and Social Change (2006), and Goths, Gamers, and Grrrls: Deviance and Youth Subcultures (2012). He has published in a variety of journals, including Social Movement Studies, Journal of Contemporary Eth­ nography, Studies in Symbolic Interaction, and Cultural Sociology, and has appeared in documentaries about straight edge and incels.

T h e Ba s i c s The Basics is a highly successful series of accessible guidebooks which provide an overview of the fundamental principles of a subject area in a jargon-free and undaunting format. Intended for students approaching a subject for the first time, the books both introduce the essentials of a subject and provide an ideal spring­ board for further study. With over 50 titles spanning subjects from artificial intelligence (AI) to women’s studies, The Basics are an ideal starting point for students seeking to understand a subject area. Each text comes with recommendations for further study and gradually introduces the complexities and nuances within a subject. DIGITAL RELIGION HEIDI A. CAMPBELL AND WENDI BELLAR DRAMATURGY ANNE M. HAMILTON AND WALTER BYONGSOK CHON HINDUISM NEELIMA SHUKLA-BHATT RELIGION IN AMERICA 2e MICHAEL PASQUIER FINANCE (Fourth edition) ERIK BANKS IMITATION NAOMI VAN BERGEN, ALLARD R. FEDDES, LIESBETH MANN AND BERTJAN DOOSJE SELF AND IDENTITY MEGAN E. BIRNEY PSYCHOPATHY SANDIE TAYLOR AND LANCE WORKMAN SUBCULTURES (second edition) ROSS HAENFLER TOTALITARIANISM PHILLIP W. GRAY EVOLUTIONARY PSYCHOLOGY WILL READER AND LANCE WORKMAN

For a full list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com/ The-Basics/book-series/B

SUBCULTURES

T H E BA S I C S

SECOND EDITION

Ross Haenfler

Designed cover image: © Getty Images Second edition published by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 Ross Haenfler The right of Ross Haenfler to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Haenfler, Ross, author.

Title: Subcultures : the basics / Ross Haenfler.

Description: Second edition. | Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY :

Routledge, 2023. |

Series: The basics | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2022060900 (print) | LCCN 2022060901 (ebook) |

ISBN 9781032132754 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032132778 (paperback) |

ISBN 9781003228417 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Youth. | Subculture. | Youth--Case studies. |

Subculture--Case studies.

Classification: LCC HQ796 .H215 2023 (print) | LCC HQ796 (ebook) |

DDC 306/.1--dc23/eng/20230111

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022060900

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022060901

ISBN: 978-1-032-13275-4 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-032-13277-8 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-003-22841-7 (ebk)

DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417

Typeset in Bembo by Taylor & Francis Books

Dedication: To my family, Skadi, River, and Wren, and our wonderful, weird adventures together.

CONTENTS

List of illustrations Preface Acknowledgements 1 2

What is a Subculture? How Do Subcultures Emerge and Why Do People Participate? 3 How Do Subcultures Resist “Mainstream” Society … and are They Successful? 4 Who Participates in Subcultures and How do Subcultural Identities Interact with Other Aspects of Self? 5 Who Are the “Authentic” Subculturists and Who are the “Poseurs”? 6 How Does Society React to Subcultures? 7 Where do Subculturists Hang Out, From the Local to the Global?

xi xiii xv 1 38 55

81 111 136 162

x

CONTENTS

8

How Have Digital Technologies Influenced Subcultures? 9 What Happens to Subculturists as They “Grow Up”? Index

186 212 233

ILLUSTRATIONS

TABLE 1.1 Examples of concepts related to subculture.

29

BOXES DOING SUBCULTURE – COMMON PRACTICES Heavy Metal Muslims Subcultural Spaces as “Waker Cells” Chavs and the Markers of Class Women Emcees in Japan SuicideGirls.com – “Empowered Erotica” or Alt-Porn? Should White People Rap? Pabst Gets Hip Marketing and Subcultures Emo in Mexico, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Russia Tipper Gore and the PMRC Take on the Music Industry 6.3 Aceh Punks 7.1 Riot Grrrl Goes International 7.2 Mods Around the World

1.1 3.1 3.2 4.1 4.2 4.3 5.1 5.2 5.3 6.1 6.2

22 63 71 84 93 97 119 125 127 144 146 147 170 174

xii

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

7.3 8.1 8.2 9.1

La Sape – Fashion, Colonialism, and Resistance Will Virtual Worlds Set Us Free? Gamergate Graffiti-Writing Career

176

195

202

221

PREFACE

Thank you for reading the second edition of Subcultures: The Basics. Scholarly studies of subcultures have a rich history and seem to only be gaining steam, as people who grew up participating in scenes go on to become subcultural scholars. The topic is certainly close to my heart. Not only do I teach, research, and write about subcultures, I grew up in the punk, heavy metal, and straight edge scenes. The more I learn about the vast array of subcultures, the more I appreciate what they teach me about my own life and the larger social worlds in which I live. I hope that for students new to subcultures this book serves as a gentle but thorough introduction to a very rich and complicated field. As the title promises, you have before you its basic history and essential topics. You will see that I have organized the book in terms of common questions people raise about subcultures: how do they emerge? Why do people participate? How does society react? and so on. Perhaps just as importantly, each chapter includes a variety of citations and suggestions for further study, enabling you, I hope, to more thoroughly pursue the topics most interesting to you. Rather than include a glossary, I have bolded important terms and ideas in the text and the index to highlight particularly important concepts. In this edition, I have updated many examples, included dozens of new studies, and rewritten key sections. In particular, I have refined the introduction and added new examples and concepts to the chap­ ter on globalization. The chapter on resistance better demonstrates the connections between subcultures, social movements, and change. A new chapter on the digital lives of subculturists raises questions

xiv

PREFACE

about how social media changes subcultural participation, using fan fiction writers, gamers, and incels to explore key themes. Given the resurgence of the global far-right, several chapters acknowledge the subcultural aspects of such movements. Each chapter ends with new resources to learn more. Should this book find its way into the hands of subculturists, I hope you find something of your own lives reflected herein. A text cannot hope to fully capture the meanings, emotions, and relationships embedded in subcultural experience, but perhaps you will find new ways of thinking about your life, ways of making the familiar unfamiliar, hopefully in empowering ways.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to my colleagues at Grinnell College, and my students who continue to teach me so much. My research assistant, Elisabeth Kille, helped me navigate the ins and outs of digital communities. I am grateful to everyone at Routledge who helped shepherd this project along, including Rebecca Brennan and Chris Parry. Special thanks to my Huzzahfest brothers and to my family, especially my partner Jennifer “Skadi” Snook, for being a constant supportive presence in my life. I am also grateful to you, the reader, for picking up this book.

1 WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

I grew up in the 1980s amid a resurgence of youth subcultures, witnessing firsthand the growing concern for the fate of America’s kids. Youth, it seemed, were headed for trouble. Hippies were long gone and disco was on the decline, replaced by hip hop, hardcore, and heavy metal. Whereas hippies and disco freaks raised alarms about drugs and free love, gangsta rap allegedly sparked inner city ultraviolence, prompting kids to abandon school for guns and gang life. Ice-T and NWA gained notoriety for both their explicit sexual references and their flagrant disdain of police. Not to be outdone, heavy metal lured alienated youth into cults and devil worship, while its glam metal counterparts took the sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll lifestyle to new extremes. Iron Maiden’s song “The Number of the Beast” incensed religious leaders, as did gender-bending groups such as Poison and Mötley Crüe, who plastered themselves with makeup and teased their long hair to impossible heights. Outside the music scene, the fantasy role-playing game Dungeons & Dragons skyrocketed in popularity, players rolling oddly-shaped dice in efforts to slay imaginary goblins, orcs, and other mythical beasts. Parents and religious leaders saw the game not as fun, imagi­ native play but rather a Satanic recruitment tool that encouraged suicide, murder, and witchcraft. When youth weren’t busy joining cults or doing drugs they were wasting time on their skateboards and in video game arcades, that is until home gaming consoles meant they didn’t have to leave the comfort of their couches. Graffiti writers and gangs accelerated urban decline while in the UK football hooligans became society’s bogeymen, spreading fear throughout the terraces. DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417-1

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WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

Nazis infiltrated the punk scene and white power organizations began recruiting skinheads to their cause. Alarmed by the sheer breadth of deviant activity, authorities of various stripes formed task forces, filed lawsuits, convened legislative hearings, preached sermons, expanded surveillance and policing, fought wars against drugs, and locked young people up in record numbers. Subcultures, always suspect, were officially dangerous. To quell the growing threat, conservative governments pledged law and order even as they cut holes in the social safety net, while a resurgent religious right called for a return to moral values, fending off feminists and gay activists in an ongoing battle to rectify the spiritual lapses of the 1960s. In the decades since the 1980s, the number and variety of sub­ cultures has only increased. While many of the baby boomer and generation X cultures have gone relatively mainstream, today’s young people face concerns about their social media use, worries about their tattoos, and fears about their video games and music. Even as D&D and heavy metal have gained acceptance, Satan still haunts authorities’ imaginations. Rapping over country music in “Old Town Road,” Black, gay singer Lil Nas X created waves (and suffered racist backlash) in the country world, but it was “Montero” and its accompanying music video that pushed some critics over the edge. A song about resisting shame, the “Montero” – Lil Nas X’s given name – video ends with him descending into hell and giving Satan a lap dance, before murdering the devil to take his place. As if the music video wasn’t enough provocation, Lil Nas X collaborated with an art collective to produce an exclusive run (666 pairs) of “Satan shoes,” modified black and red Nikes complete with pentagram and a drop of human blood. South Dakota Governor Kristi Noem tweeted “Our kids are being told that this kind of product is, not only okay, it’s ‘exclusive.’ But do you know what’s more exclu­ sive? Their God-given eternal soul.” Reflecting rhetoric that I heard in my youth, Noem declared “We are in a fight for the soul of our nation.” Meanwhile, young people have come of age in the midst of climate crisis, political dysfunction, a global pandemic, digital innovation and surveillance, populist nationalism, incredible global inequality, and, in the US at least, school shootings and mass incarceration. They continue to find respite, enjoyment, and community in subcultures even as human beings, not the devil, make the future less and less certain.

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

To outsiders, subcultures can seem alternately strange and silly, mysterious and dangerous, or all of the above. They can appear as bizarre little worlds with secret signs, idiosyncratic rituals, fantastical styles, and esoteric social codes. Yet popular perceptions of sub­ cultures are often incomplete, little more than caricatures based upon half-truths or hysteria. Many subculturists are not so terribly different, leading well-adjusted, productive, and meaningful lives (at least as much as anyone can claim to do so). While certainly not saints, neither are they typically the devils the media portrayed in my youth. These alternating visions demonstrate the need for careful study, to better understand the motivations, beliefs, and practices of subcultural groups – and why so many people find solace in the company of fellow outsiders. In this chapter, I briefly map the history of subculture studies, beginning with the Atlanta and Chicago Schools and ending with contemporary work. I will outline the difficulties of defining “subculture” before offering a working definition. Finally, I discuss subcultures’ conceptual differences and similarities to other collective behavior such as gangs, social movements, and fandoms.

A BRIEF HISTORY: HOW HAVE SCHOLARS STUDIED SUBCULTURES? ATLANTA AND CHICAGO SCHOOLS – SOCIOLOGICAL THEORIES OF URBAN DEVIANCE

Sociology emerged in the midst of significant social change – urbanization, industrialization, colonialism, the rise of modern states, and revolutions in science, transportation, and communica­ tion. Early social scientists often sought to explain and remedy the social problems that seemingly went hand in hand with the “modern” world. Life in Philadelphia, Chicago, Atlanta, and other rapidly growing industrial cities was far from easy, particularly for the various immigrant and other oppressed and marginalized groups that worked long hours in factories, mills, and sweatshops. Author Upton Sinclair described immigrants’ experience of dan­ gerous, backbreaking work in a Chicago slaughterhouse in his 1906 novel The Jungle, revealing the countless hardships faced by poor families struggling to survive in their new homeland. Such

3

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WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

contexts inevitably produced a variety of social problems, including crime and delinquency. Religious leaders, urban planners, and social workers sought to understand such problems for practical reasons: knowledge of communities, including youth subcultures or gangs, would help reformers “fix” social problems and “save” people from leading lives of crime (Cavan 1983). However, many of these reformers attributed crime, poverty, and ignorance to certain groups’ inherent genetic and cultural inferiority, including immigrants, poor people, and especially Black and indigenous people. W. E. B. Du Bois, one of the founders of sociology, believed, at least early in his career, that social scientific research could chal­ lenge the racist stereotypes associating Black people with crime and poverty and thereby pave the way for beneficial policy changes. In The Philadelphia Negro, Du Bois (1906) marshalled a staggering amount of data, using interviews, public records, newspaper arti­ cles, questionnaires and surveys, and street maps to document the real, lived circumstances of Black residents in the city’s Seventh Ward. His work revealed racist structures of opportunity and con­ straint that severely limited their life chances: “There is no doubt that in Philadelphia the centre and kernel of the Negro problem so far as the white people are concerned is the narrow opportunities afforded Negroes for earning a decent living” (Du Bois 1996 [1899]:394). Excluded by racist scholars from a post at a major (white) research university, Du Bois went on to lead and work with a variety of Black scholars at the Atlanta Sociological Laboratory, convinced that systematic research would show how “sociological and economic factors … [were] the main causes of racial inequality that relegated Black people to the bottom of the social order” (Morris 2015:58). Even if subcultures per se were not their object of analysis, Du Bois and the Atlanta School leave an important legacy for subcultural studies, including: a focus on empirical evidence from a variety of sources rather than moral supposition; attention to how structural opportunities and con­ straints impact life chances and local idiocultures; a mapping of power relations and how inequalities intersect, including but not limited to social class and race; and, I would argue, a model of engaged scholarship that respects the needs and circumstances of the communities we study.

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

The University of Chicago housed one of the first sociology departments in the United States, including some of the early pioneers of the field. Like the Atlanta school, Chicago scholars did not employ the term “subculture” as we understand it, but their insights regarding social problems, crime and deviance, immigra­ tion, urban life, and research methodology continue to be relevant to subcultural studies today. According to the Chicago School theorists, crime and poverty were the result not of individuals’ personal, moral, or psychological failings per se, but rather products of the social environment. Deviance was a symptom of social pro­ blems, especially the inequality produced by rapid social change (including urbanization), and especially in “transition zones” in which disadvantaged groups are often forced to live (Shaw and McKay 1942). For example, W. I. Thomas and Florian Znaniecki’s study of Polish immigrants addressed the “tendency to dis­ organization of the individual under the conditions involved in a rapid transition from one type of social organization to another” (Thomas and Znaniecki 1918–1920:viii). This insight is central to subcultural studies in that “deviant” behavior – whether stealing a car or piercing one’s lip – exists in the context of larger social arrangements. Only by understanding the greater context in which subcultures exist can we more closely grasp subculturists’ motivations and experiences. Early Chicago scholars Robert Park and Ernest W. Burgess (1922) saw cities as organic entities, developing a theory of human ecology that compared social life to biological organisms. Much like an organism, social groups are composed of various parts that more or less function together for the stability of the whole. Competition and conflict produce accommodation, whereby people adjust to new conditions and return to “equilibrium” (Park and Burgess 1922:664). Rapid migration, industrialization, political upheaval, technological innovation, and economic change disrupt that equilibrium and the social control societies provide. In other words, social disorganization produces deviance and street crime – city “zones” with high unemployment, poverty, and population turnover produce higher crime rates than more stable areas, regardless of which group of people lives there. So gangs and groups of delinquent boys were products of their environment rather than irredeemable sinners or hopeless criminals with

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inherent imperfections. For criminologists then, “subculture” was (and sometimes still is) used to describe a delinquent or criminal gang to be stopped or reformed by various authorities. Other scholars connected with the Chicago School contributed important ideas to subculture studies and refined the ethnographic methods many contemporary scholars employ. An early advocate for working-class immigrants, Jane Addams founded Hull House, a community-building and resource center, using studies of the neigh­ borhood to guide her social reforms (Deegan 1988). Nels Anderson published The Hobo (1923), a field study of Chicago’s homeless population, building on the tradition of studying the problems of marginalized groups. Observing Chicago gangs, Frederic Thrasher (1927) highlighted the importance of gangs as communities emerging from the ordeals of living in downtown slums, and Paul Cressey (1932) observed taxi-dancers, women who danced with men for money. Later, William Foote Whyte lived for three and a half years in an Italian neighborhood (“Cornerville”) in Boston’s North End, even learning to speak Italian as he investigated youth gangs, social clubs, criminal organizations, and political machines. He found that see­ mingly “disorganized” slums actually have a complicated social structure: “Cornerville’s problem is not lack of organization but fail­ ure of its own social organization to mesh with the structure of the society around it” (Whyte 1955[1943]:273). Edward Franklin Frazier wrote the groundbreaking The Negro Family in the United States (1939), highlighting how the social conditions of slavery and Jim Crow echoed into the future, impacting personal identity, Black families, and social problems. Significant social changes, including Prohibition, the Great Depression, and eventually World Wars I and II pushed some into petty crime and racketeering. STRAIN, LABELING, AND STIGMA THEORIES

The (now) basic idea that social conditions play a role in producing delinquency and crime is still relevant today, although authorities, politicians, and much of the public still rely primarily on individualistic explanations of deviance. In 2005, a series of riots rocked Paris, per­ petrated primarily by North African immigrant youth living in poor banlieues (low-income suburbs). Rather than vilifying these youth as evil purveyors of random mayhem, a more social explanation would

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

look to their marginalized status in French society – for example, high unemployment, police harassment, and racism. Similarly, as US cities experienced deindustrialization and white flight since the 1960s, gangs thrived among inner city youth. Attempting to explain deviance, Robert Merton (1938) suggested that denied legitimate access to socie­ ty’s cultural goals (e.g. wealth, status, power) some individuals will inevitably turn to illegitimate means of achievement, including crime. The psychological strain imposed by the disconnection between cul­ turally proscribed aspirations and lack of legitimate opportunity pro­ voked deviance and even, at times, rebellion. Albert Cohen followed up on this idea in his enormously influential book Delinquent Boys (1955), but saw strain in more social terms, suggesting that deviant subcultures emerged as a reaction against status frustration, or blocked opportunities. If society’s goals seemed out of reach, youth turned instead to deviant goals, substituting subcultural achievements for notions of conventional success. These early theories closely tied subculture to delinquency, crime, and, often, their intersection with social class, race, and ethnicity. Hence the preoccupation with explaining “lower class culture” (Miller 1958), “delinquent gangs” (Yablonsky 1959), “criminal subcultures” (Irwin and Cressey 1962), and the activities of immigrant and racialized young men, a trend that persists to some degree today (e.g. Ren et. al. 2016). Another wave of American scholars, often inspired by early Chicago sociology, hugely influenced the contemporary study of subcultures. Howard Becker’s (1963) labeling theory proposed that deviant acts and people are not inherently deviant but only become deviant once people label them so. The degree to which authorities deem subculturists strange or their way of life threa­ tening influences the societal response and, subsequently, how subculturists view themselves. Thus deviance is a social phenom­ enon involving an often-unequal contest over the meanings of non-normative behaviors and identities. Similarly, Erving Goffman’s (1963) work on social stigma – discrediting attributes whereby others judge us as untrustworthy or incompetent – and on stigma management — how people attempt to control or manage others’ judgments – is enormously helpful in understanding subculturists’ relationship to dominant society (see Chapter 6). Subcultures are defined not only by subculturists, but by the reaction they provoke in a given social context.

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Studying small groups such as Little League baseball teams, Gary Fine (1979:734) developed the notion of idioculture, defined as “a system of knowledge, beliefs, behaviors, and customs shared by members of an interacting group to which members can refer and employ as the basis of further interaction.” While applicable to all sorts of small groupings, idioculture reminds us that, rather than being static “things” or formal “groups,” subcultures consist of ongoing, observable interaction. For Fine, subcultures share “common interests or background,” “a bounded network of groups with a shared, if diffuse, culture” (Fine 2012:143–144). Building on symbolic interac­ tionist theory and Fine and Kleinman’s (1979) use of idioculture, Patrick Williams (2011:39) sees subcultures as “culturally bounded, but not closed, networks of people who come to share the meaning of specific ideas, material objects, and practices through interaction.” These early waves of American scholarship made a number of important advances relative to subculture studies, including: � � �

the importance of systematic study, especially fieldwork and participant observation and including seeking subculturists’ subjective understandings of what they do; the insight that subcultures emerge from social circumstances rather than psychological failings or group pathologies; authorities often label subculturists a criminal or moral threat, leading to broader stigmatization.

While both the theoretical and methodological insights of the Chicago School continue to resonate in subculture studies, social ecology is too deterministic, suggesting that subcultural participa­ tion is a direct result of social surroundings. Additionally, the focus on crime, social disorganization, and delinquency paints subcultures as social problems rather than diverse, meaningful social spaces. Symbolic interactionist theory, however, continues to be strongly relevant, as I demonstrate below. BIRMINGHAM SCHOOL – STYLE AND SOCIAL CLASS

Like the Atlanta and Chicago Schools, the Birmingham School recognized the importance of social context in deviant behaviour and the formation of subcultures. In the decades following World War II,

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

youth cultures exploded in numbers for a variety of reasons: expan­ sions in education created greater space between youth and adult responsibilities; the growth of film, television, and music industries increased youths’ exposure to pop culture and alternative ideas; an expanding middle class led to greater disposable income and leisure time; and marketers and parents came to see “teenagers” as a leisure class. Yet not all youth shared in the prosperity of middle-class families and wealth and income disparities persisted (and often grew). The relative expansion of the middle class in the postwar years quickly gave way to de-industrialization, white flight, and urban decline, and eventually the conservative regimes of Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan would undermine the social safety net and accelerate freemarket capitalism. In the UK, scholars associated with the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies (CCCS) at the University of Birmingham studied youth during this time of transition, including many of the “classic” subcultures such as mods and punks. Social class is perhaps the central theme of CCCS subcultural studies. Working-class youth (mainly boys) join together by virtue of their marginalization from and resistance to the class structure. Subcultures therefore are primarily working-class phenomena, a reworking of the class struggle that had been occurring for gen­ erations. In fact, the history of subcultures follows the evolution of working-class styles and identities in the UK, beginning with the teddy boys and leading to the mods and the rockers, skinheads, punks, and football hooligans. Anticipating the decline of traditional working-class life, these subculturists engaged in an ideological battle. Capitalist society produces not only economic exploitation and domination, but cultural domination. The capitalist class dominates workers not via force of arms (although when necessary they do that, too) but through cultural hegemony, in effect creating an ideology that legitimizes their lofty social position and wealth (Gramsci 1971). For example, the notion that one may suffer indignities on earth but find salvation in the afterlife, or the depiction of immigrants as the “enemy” of domestic-born workers serves the interests of the capitalist class, keeping workers’ focus anywhere but on the source of their exploitation. Most especially, the belief that people suc­ ceed or fail by their own merits, that the wealthy have earned their riches honestly and the poor simply have not tried hard enough, makes class inequality seem natural.

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For the CCCS, subcultural identities and resistance were most visi­ ble through spectacular youth styles and rituals. Theories of “mass culture” suggested that prefabricated, shallow, homogenizing, lowest­ common-denominator cultural forms pacify people into complacency or even submission, reinforcing the hegemony I just discussed (Adorno 1991). In contrast, the CCCS held that people take and remake cul­ tural texts as a form of resistance. A pivotal book to emerge from the CCCS was Stuart Hall and Tony Jefferson’s edited collection Resistance Through Rituals (1976), an examination of the various post war British subcultures such as teddy boys, mods, skinheads, rude boys, and people who use drugs. Working-class subculturists consumed various ele­ ments of pop culture, yes, but they twisted the meanings in subversive ways (see Chapter 3). Another of the important books to emerge from the CCCS, indeed one of the most cited works in all of subcultural studies, is Dick Hebdige’s 1979 Subculture: The Meaning of Style. Hebdige saw sub­ cultural style as a bricolage, or combination and remaking of various cultural objects; subculturists took ordinary items and transformed their meaning, a famous example being the safety pin that for a punk becomes a lip- or ear-piercing. As the title implies, style – in the form of clothing, but also demeanor and argot – constitutes subcultures’ distinguishing feature. Subcultures became associated with “specta­ cular” styles, adherents intentionally making a spectacle of themselves. Stylistic codes simultaneously served two purposes, to set participants apart from “normal” society (and other subcultures) and to establish a particular subcultural identity. Thus, understanding subcultures involved decoding their style. Subcultural style follows a certain homology, or a synergy with a group’s values and behavior – skin­ heads’ steel-toed boots, shaved heads, masculine posturing, and love of beer naturally “fit” with their working-class origins and the context of economic decline. Punk style was essentially meaningless “noise,” reflecting their “no future” attitude (Hebdige 1979). Style continues to be significant for many subculturists, an immediately visual way to set oneself apart, whether it be via a Fred Perry shirt (Strübel and Sklar 2022) or an “X-rated” Swatch brand watch (Sklar, Strübel, and Haenfler 2022). Other CCCS scholars such as Stanley Cohen (2002[1972]) care­ fully studied public responses to subcultures, developing the concept of moral panic to explain the media-generated over-reaction to

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

subcultural “threats” (more on this in Chapter 6). Subculturists became folk devils, blamed for a variety of social ills and symbolizing moral decline. Paul Willis (1977) made important ethnographic and theoretical contributions, studying how the structural position of working-class “lads” led them to disdain academics and screw around in school, ultimately ensuring they would remain in working-class jobs. Angela McRobbie and Jennie Garber (1976) explored the worlds of young women pop music fans and how they built mean­ ingful communities as they listened to music and pored over teen magazines in “bedroom cultures.” The key contributions in subcultural studies made by British scholars during this period include: � � � � �

subcultures emerge primarily among working-class youth col­ lectively resisting structural impediments to upward mobility; spectacular styles held ideological meaning beyond mere fashion; such styles constituted a symbolic form of resistance; authorities and the media create moral panics; and finally such resistance is largely ineffectual, as subcultural style itself is eventually coopted and commodified.

However, the CCCS became the foil for new generations of scholars who critiqued these tenets for their overemphasis on class, excessive focus on and misreading of style, lack of attention to women and girls’ experience, and armchair theorizing of youth with whom they had little direct contact (with some exceptions such as Paul Willis (1977, 1978)). What, in fact, do subculturists do and how do they make sense of their lives? POST-SUBCULTURE STUDIES – CLUBCULTURES, SCENES, AND TRIBES

By the early 1990s, many of the classic “underground” subcultures – skinhead, punk, metal – seemed to be hollow representations of their original incarnations, replaced by “grunge” scenes and a resurgence of dance cultures. Raves, all-night underground electronic dance music parties fuelled by drugs such as ecstasy, brought together diverse crowds focused more on hedonistic escape than class resistance (see Anderson 2009). In fact, social class, gender, and race seemed less salient, less central to the formation of such scenes. Likewise, rave

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styles drew from many sources and did not cohere into a rave “uni­ form.” Finally, while rave certainly spawned communities, they seemed diffuse when compared to gangs of mods or groups of punks. In this context, scholars such as Steve Redhead of Manchester Metropolitan University saw subcultures through a postmodern lens, critiquing the “heroic” vision of subculturists as culture warriors. The post-subcultural generation blended all sorts of music and fashion as individuals consumed and created their own styles (Redhead 1997), shopping for fashions and identities in a supermarket of style (Polhemus 1998). Youth groupings, in the form of scenes or neo­ tribes, emerge amid a fragmented culture in which identity becomes unhitched from family, geography, and tradition (see Chap­ ter 2). In a postmodern world, individuals consume and create their own styles. They are less interested in adopting a collective identity, more passionate about pursuing their own creativity and pleasure, drawing from a variety of sources to patch together their own lifestyles (Chaney 2004). In fact, what we call mainstream society is simply a collection of lifestyle clusters, eliminating the difference between so-called subcultures and the rest of society: “[T]he once-accepted distinction between ‘sub’ and ‘dominant’ culture can no longer be said to hold true in a world where the so-called dominant culture has fragmented into a plurality of lifestyle sensibilities and preferences” (Chaney 2004: 47). Reflecting their postmodernist bent, clubculture and post-sub­ culture theories critiqued the very idea of stable, coherent, recog­ nizable subcultures, suggesting that youth formations are fragmented and fluid, better described as scenes (Straw 1991; Miles 2000). Scenes are “places devoted to practices of meaning making through the pleasures of sociable consumption” (Silver et al. 2010). “Alternative” music, especially grunge, claimed to eschew style entirely, and few talked about grunge as a subculture – in fact, there were few, if any, self-identified “grungers!” The boundaries between scenes are quite porous. In other words, scenes share styles, interests, music, and so on, making it difficult if not impos­ sible to identify distinct groups such as “punks” and “goths.” Jug­ galos, diehard fans of the hardcore rap duo Insane Clown Posse, sometimes have a distinct style, including ICP clothing, tattoos, braids, and the group’s trademark scary clown face paint. They share basic values revolving around enjoying life and being good to

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

one another, and they gather for concerts and festivals. But in many ways, Juggalos are an amalgam of various scenes – hip hop, metal, goth, punk, emo, even, in some ways, hippies. While they describe themselves as a “family” and unite around their shared alienation from dominant culture, Juggalos are otherwise very diverse. Furthermore, participation is less consistent. Rather than calling such cultural groupings subcultures, Andy Bennett (1999, 2005) suggests they are better described as neo-tribes, diffuse collections of people that gather intermittently, primarily to have a good time, and share some sense of collective identity. This notion seems to perfectly capture rave and other dance cultures – people gather, but do not share much in the way of an underlying identity or ideology. A variety of contemporary cultural groupings seem to fit the post-subculturist depiction of youth scenes. Even with the decline of classic raves, electronic dance music scenes continue to thrive, both in clubs and at periodic gatherings such as the Electric Daisy Carnival, an annual festival drawing hundreds of thousands of people (Connor and Katz 2020). Burning Man, a yearly event held in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert, features eclectic art, music, and styles, as 50,000 attendees plan, build, and then dismantle a radical community, complete with a “temple” and a giant wooden effigy (the burning man). They cooperatively build large art projects and structures, make music, and trade goods – organizers allow no monetary exchange. While participants share principles of creativ­ ity, inclusivity, self-reliance, and decommodification, they do not share a particular subcultural identity. The same might be said of jamband scenes such as Deadheads and Phishheads, diehard fans of jam band Phish, some of whom follow the band from concert to concert, much like previous generations of Deadheads did for the Grateful Dead. They may naturally forge meaningful relationships, but they may not form the consistent, stable bonds or ongoing communities implied in the CCCS vision of subcultures. Still, some Phishheads do constitute a subcultural community, deeply embedded in the scene and deriving significant shared meaning from the identity depending upon their roles (e.g. festie, vendor, stoner) (Hunt 2008). Post-subculture theorists emphasize even more than the CCCS the centrality of consumption and leisure in alternative cultures;

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consuming a lifestyle trumps politics or a coherent worldview for many participants. Japan’s kogal culture involves young women who in many respects resemble California’s “Valley girls” of the 1980s: sun-tan, miniskirt, platform shoes, designer handbags, and lots of makeup. The media often dismisses kogals – defined by their conspicuous consumption – as a meaningless fashion trend, even as the girls challenge norms of young Japanese femininity and propriety (Miller 2004). The steampunk subculture, a retro-futurist fandom of Victorian science fiction, professes little in the way of core values beyond a critique of our relationships to contemporary technology and an appreciation for simpler mechanical devices. Participants re-enact an anachronistic version of possible futures as seen through the eyes of the Victorian era, combining corsets, top hats, and goggles with clockwork devices, brass gears, and dials and gauges (VanderMeer 2011). Participants promote an inclusive community, so much so that they struggle even to define steampunk (Cohan 2012). Some identify with a philosophical reinter­ pretation of technology or DIY activism, but many simply enjoy the aesthetic, constructing DIY costumes and retrofitting contemporary technology (e.g. cell phones, keyboards) with brass and gears. Rather than an easily-defined, consistent, coherent subculture of workingclass youth defined by their resistance, steampunks are more a neo­ tribe of shared interests, defined in large part by their consumption (Strübel 2014). The central contributions to subcultural (or scene) studies made by scholars during this period include: �

� � �

contemporary scenes emerge into a postmodern context, a fragmented culture in which identity is “unmoored” from ascribed characteristics such as race, class, family, and place. Scenes reflect trends towards multiculturalism, commodifica­ tion, accelerated change, and diffuse boundaries present in the larger world; subcultural participation is more a matter of choice than a result of structurally determined social positions; scene identity and participation are fluid; few people “commit” to a subcultural identity for any length of time; consumerism, rather than resistance, and pleasure, rather than politics, better characterize contemporary scenes;

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

�

there is no coherent, identifiable “mainstream” culture, no clear boundary between scenes and a “hegemonic” social order.

However, in many ways the post-subculture argument goes too far. Many people do identify with particular cultural groupings and do consistently participate, self-identifying as goths, emos, punks, skaters, and so on (see Hodkinson 2002). While the CCCS over­ emphasized social class, class does remain a significant element of at least some subcultural participation, and although the CCCS overplayed subcultures’ potential political significance, post-sub­ culturists often go too far in the opposite direction (Shildrick and MacDonald 2006). Subcultures may be consumerist, but that does not eliminate their potential for resistance (Blackman 2005). CONTEMPORARY WORK – GOING FORWARD

While the scholarly debate around subcultural and post-subcultural theory addressed important questions, the two perspectives may not be incompatible (see Dimou 2014) and they are not the only game in town. A new generation of scholars came of age in the 1980s and 90s as many subcultures – punk, metal, goth, riot grrrl, rave, hip hop, skating, and so on – were emerging or undergoing a resurgence of popularity. Often equipped with firsthand experi­ ence in youthful scenes, they pursued advanced degrees in the midst of deepening critiques of the CCCS and the emergence of post-subculture studies. Working in a variety of academic dis­ ciplines, many such scholars conducted ethnographies among the groups in which they grew up or participated. To name but a few, Paul Hodkinson’s and Dunja Brill’s studies of goths; Benjamin Woo’s work on nerds, geeks, and fans; S. Craig Watkins, Su’ad Abdul Khabeer, and Anthony Kwame Harrison’s analyses of hip hop; Lauraine Leblanc, Kirsty Lohman, and Paula Guerra’s studies of punk; Erik Hannerz on punk and graffiti; Tammy Anderson’s work on electronic dance music/rave; Keith Kahn-Harris’s study of extreme metal; Mimi Nguyen and Kristin Schilt’s work on riot grrrl; Christine Feldman-Barrett’s examination of mods; Ryan Moore’s analysis of contemporary US music scenes and Rupa Huq’s engagement of bhangra and britpop; Mary Fogarty on breaking and hip hop dance; David Lane’s ethnography of tattoo

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artists; and my, J. Patrick Williams, Francis Stewart, and João Bit­ tencourt’s work on straight edge, a clean-living subculture with origins in hardcore punk. Bound neither by the CCCS focus on class and marginalization nor by the post-subculturist notion that distinct, coherent subcultures may not exist, these scholars seek a deep understanding of subculturists’ experiences from participants’ subjective points of view, studying via interviews, historical analysis, media studies, and participant observation what subculturists actu­ ally do. While often sympathetic to subculturists’ efforts to “resist” the mainstream, they also offer critical analyses of the contra­ dictions and inequalities reproduced in scenes. Moving beyond an exclusive focus on social class, they often explain how participants challenge and reinforce social norms surrounding gender, race, and sexuality. Subcultures become strategies, sets of micro-level prac­ tices embedded within social structures (more on this in Chapter 2). Further, given the rise of digital media, such scholars have paid special attention to the virtual and mediated aspects of subcultures. Finally, while the connections between subculture studies and music/pop culture remain strong, some writers are deploying sub­ cultural concepts in new territories, including Jeff Kidder’s (2011) study of bike messengers, Adele Pavlidis and Simone Fullagar (2016) on roller derby, Claire Nally’s (2019) study of steampunk, and Amy Best’s (2006) work on car cultures. Many US scholars, especially, draw upon the theoretical tradi­ tions developed by Chicago School-inspired theorists such as Howard Becker, Herbert Blumer, and Erving Goffman, adopting a symbolic interactionist approach to investigating and under­ standing subculturists’ lived experiences. Ironically writing around the same time as Dick Hebdige (1979), Gary Alan Fine and Sherryl Kleinman (1979) anticipated many of the post-subculture scholars’ critiques of the CCCS. Rather than stable groups with recogniz­ able “members,” clear boundaries, and universal core values, sub­ cultures are meaning systems that constantly change, have diverse participants, and are among the many micro-cultures participants inhabit. As far back as 1970, David Arnold argued for a “process model of subcultures,” warning against turning subculture “into a supposed picture of reality, of taking vague boundary lines and going over them with a heavy crayon” (Arnold 1970:82). The various participants do not themselves constitute the subculture, as

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

Arnold (ibid.:114) points out: “While subcultures grow out of the interaction of groups of people, they are not themselves those groups, nor are the participants in a given subculture exactly the same as the membership of the segment from which it arose.” Subcultural meanings and identities will have different salience to particular people and that salience will likely change, waxing and waning for them over time. Some will be “all in” all of the time, others less so. An interactionist model of subculture does not forsake the importance of social structure, as Arnold (ibid.:114) claims that structure “might be better viewed as facilitating and setting limits upon interaction.” The CCCS’s highlighting of resistance and the cultural, economic, and political contexts shaping youth subcultural experience and the post-subcultural focus on fluidity, heterogeneity, leisure, and consumption remain vital to subculture studies, but we should not feel compelled to pick a side, especially when an interpretative framework addresses the shortcomings of both. Contemporary work on subcultures does not constitute a coherent “school” of thought, but draws upon the strengths of each previous strand of scholarship. Some of the main themes in current research include: �

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attention to participants’ subjective understandings of their activities, often through ethnographic or interview studies, while recognizing how social structure fosters opportunities and constraints for action; focus on the nuanced and multiple meanings subculturists construct, reflecting the symbolic interactionist emphasis on everyday lived experience, and likewise viewing subcultural involvement as an intentional, reflexive strategy to grapple with personal and collective challenges; further attention to how race, class, gender, ability, and sexuality shape subcultural experience; attending to the role of digital media, as subculturists increas­ ingly participate partly or completely online, and to how the local and global intersect; increasing interest in disconnecting subculture from youth and instead examining subcultural activity across the life course.

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Of course this latest round of thinking no doubt has its own shortcomings, weaknesses that will gradually become more appar­ ent. Despite the diversity of contemporary subculture studies, one might argue that scholars remain too focused on youth and on music (especially from the West), that they neglect rural scenes in favor of urban, and that at times are too focused on micro-interactions and meanings at the expense of grasping larger structural contexts.

A WORKING DEFINITION: WHAT “COUNTS” AS A SUBCULTURE? Despite the title of this chapter and my students’ (and others’) desire to know if a specific cultural toolkit or social grouping “counts” as a subculture, I have no intention of offering a per­ fectly-satisfying definition. Are surfers a subculture? Sex workers? Immigrants? Cosplayers? Perhaps as scholar Michael Clarke (1974) once suggested, the concept has been used so indiscriminately and uncritically that it may be useless. Part of the struggle with defining an object of study is striking a balance between employing a con­ cept too narrowly or, alternately, too broadly. In other words, too narrow a concept may exclude phenomena and miss the diversity of human experience, but defined too broadly a concept quickly becomes irrelevant or meaningless. “Subcultures” are not static “things” but rather a way we describe and understand the ongoing, patterned processes of shared meanings and moments of social life. Employing a very broad understanding of subcultures, we might think of them simply as smaller “pieces” of a larger culture or society, “a sub-division of a national culture” (Gordon 1947:40), perhaps differing in some way from “mainstream” culture. Fol­ lowing this line of thinking, knitting circles and skinheads might both qualify, as would broader categories based on social class, region, and ethnicity. However, such an inclusive definition is not very useful. First, cultures are not “blocks” of people and their ways of life, to be broken up into smaller sections, but rather everchanging symbolic blueprints that guide and give meaning to people’s beliefs, values, behaviors, and material things. Second, such a wide-ranging conceptualization of subculture includes social experiences and groups so diverse that they bear little resemblance to one another; Buddhists and gun collectors might be empirically

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

different enough that one concept cannot adequately explain them. Finally, if we describe any social grouping as a subculture, the concept does become virtually useless. A concept is most useful when it offers some way of describing, comparing, and distinguishing social phenomena from one another. Placing too narrow boundaries around the concept of subculture also comes with pitfalls. Are vegans a subculture, social movement, lifestyle, or counterculture? Depending upon what aspect(s) of vegan­ ism one deems significant, one could make an argument for each of these concepts. And various vegans may describe themselves, their identities, and their practices in ways that fit any of these categories, or even more than one. The point: concepts will overlap, and social phenomena may cut across our definitions. Rather than identifying concrete criteria by which we judge a social grouping a subculture or not, it is more useful to use the concept as a guide in studying and theorizing a grouping’s “subcultureness.” Following Herbert Blumer, we can use subculture as a “sensitizing concept,” a reference point that aids in our understanding of social interaction. In other words, the value of subculture “is not to be found in formal theorizations of the concept, but in its everyday uses which sensitize us to the practical production of subcultural identities” (Woo 2015:18). Subculture helps us observe and raise questions about commonalities amongst social phenomena, for example similarities in gendered practices amongst gamers and skateboarders, while also demanding we account for the distinctiveness of any particular grouping, thereby avoiding stuffing each empirical case into a conceptual “box” (see Blumer 1954). So, a working conceptualization that sensitizes us to commonalities amongst subcultural groupings distinguishing them from other groups, that will provide points of departure for subcultural studies: SUBCULTURE: A relatively diffuse cultural network having a shared identity, distinctive meanings around certain ideas, practices, and objects, and a sense of marginalization from or resistance to a perceived “conventional” society. Let’s briefly examine each element of this definition. Diffuse cultural networks. First, subculture describes the patterns of experience and the connections between people engaged in ongoing interaction. They have symbolic boundaries, but as early

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interactionist and post-subculture theorists insist, those boundaries are diffuse, with individuals coming and going and with few absolute markers of belonging (Hodkinson 2002). Subcultures (or scenes, or neo-tribes) have relatively little (if any) formal leadership, bureaucratic organizational structure, membership lists, or rationally-planned, legitimated rules as compared to conventional businesses, schools, political parties, and civic groups. Shared identity. Similarly, participants in a particular subculture identify with one another and see themselves as different from others, including, often, other subculturists. In other words, they recognize one another, even if not immediately, and they feel some connection to a subcultural identity, other subculturists, or both. Behaviors and styles alone do not constitute a subculture; not just anyone with a tattoo is part of the body modification subculture, which suggests those tattoos to be a central part of one’s identity and that one interacts with elements of tattoo culture. Subcultures are significant sites of “identity work,” spaces where participants actively, intentionally, and reflex­ ively fashion individual selves and collective identities as an ongoing process (see Best 2011). Shared distinctive meanings. Subculturists share ideas (e.g. values and beliefs), practices (e.g. rituals and leisure), and objects (e.g. skateboards, steel-toed boots) (Williams 2011). Subculturists do not simply inherit or “join” a preexisting set of meanings, but actively create them. Not at all does this mean that all adherents of a particular subculture share identical understandings of these things; in fact, parti­ cipants regularly contest meanings. Still, they recognize these objects’ significance and the subcultural meanings they entail. To some degree, these meanings are distinct from widely accepted norms and values, that is they deviate from the norm, making them different from “life­ styles” (see below). Subcultures are in some way non-normative, thus encouraging us to pay attention to the ways participants actively distinguish themselves from others, whether that be parents, authorities, other subculturists, or some notion of a “mainstream.” Resistance. Relatedly, subculturists tend to offer, either passively or actively, some sort of resistance to “mainstream,” dominant, or hegemonic culture (see Chapter 3). As I showed above and return to in Chapter 3, scholars hotly debate the importance of resistance.

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

To varying degrees, subcultures foster an oppositional conscious­ ness or even an “intentionally antagonistic relationship with normal society” (Williams 2011:3). Subculturists “band together based on a shared set of values or beliefs and deny, resist, or stray from those commonly held by the mainstream culture overall” (Greenberg 2007:xvi). Some, but certainly not all, go so far as to actively and self-consciously resist “regimes of normalization,” the institutiona­ lized and internalized mechanisms of surveillance and domination that enforce certain conduct and punish deviation (Foucault 1995 [1977]). Men’s fraternal organizations such as the Elks or Lions may share meanings and identity, but they hardly oppose dominant practices (and in fact, likely reinforce patriarchy and class differences). Again, not every grouping, let alone every participant, engages in active, radical resistance, but subculture sensitizes us to consider the “counter” ele­ ments of subcultural activities (see Williams and Hannerz 2014). Marginalization. Finally, and significantly, subculturists share a degree of outsider or in-between status even as they are almost never completely distinct or separate from other social groups. Marginality may include having different access to social status and material rewards (Gordon 1947); occupying a liminal space between groups or identities (Shibutani 1961); or systematic exclusion based on iden­ tities. Normativity constitutes a “charmed circle” of respectability and acceptance for those who conform to commonly accepted identities and practices, marking those who deviate as pathological, unclean, or even dangerous (Rubin 2011[1984]). As Benjamin Woo suggests of “Nerds, Geeks, Gamers, and Fans”: Some are politically or symbolically excluded, while others may elect to exclude themselves. Whether by choice or not, a heightened selfconsciousness – or sensitivity – of their distinction from the common culture is the hallmark of the groups we have conventionally called subcultures. (Woo 2015:32)

Some contemporary subculturists are structurally marginalized while others, in a sense, enforce marginalization via their non-normativity. Presumably, no one forces someone to adopt a goth, emo, or shamate aesthetic, yet that chosen identity marks one as an outsider, even

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potentially generating social stigma. Cheerleaders might constitute diffuse networks of young people, certainly share meanings around certain objects and practices, but are rarely marginalized. Again, a subculture is not a “thing,” not an immediately recog­ nizable “group,” but rather describes diverse meanings and prac­ tices that change over time. The athletes at US universities may have a distinctive lifestyle and may even be marginalized (particu­ larly athletes of color). However, subculture is likely not the best framework to understand them, at least under my conceptualiza­ tion. Athletes are not a non-normative category of people; while there may be trends and patterns among athletes, by and large their values and motivations mirror those of the dominant culture. Likewise, police may inhabit idiocultures replete with distinctive norms and practices, but their investment in the dominant social order – upholding laws, a primary expression of dominant values – excludes them from my conceptualization. That is not to say that subculture theory has nothing to say about these and other more normative groups, only that it is likely not the most useful concept overall. BOX 1.1

DOING SUBCULTURE – COMMON PRACTICES

In addition to the basic characteristics outlined above, many sub­ cultures also share:

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Specialized vocabulary: many subcultures have a distinctive, shared vernacular of idioms and symbols that demonstrate belonging and insider knowledge, marking those “in the know” from outsiders. For example, graffiti writers commonly talk about crews, bombing, tags, throw-ups, to get up, burn, and wildstyle. Style and music: many, but not all, subcultures feature connec­ tions to particular music styles and fashions. Both serve as vehicles of self-expression and collective opposition. Subcultural history or lore: most subculturists have a sense of their history (in fact, knowing about a subculture’s “roots” can be a way of performing and judging authenticity). Certain events

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

become legendary – the bank holiday riots in the UK, the Woodstock and Altamont rock concerts in the US, the first Wacken Open Air metal festival in Germany. Subcultural history, like history in general, is often written around people of significance – heroes, innovators, and pioneers. The body modification and “modern primitive” scenes honor Fakir Musafar as an early inspiration, while “Sailor Jerry” Collins, a prominent tattoo artist in Hawaii until his death in 1973, remains a legend in the tattoo world. � Social support system: due to their deviant identities and prac­ tices, many subcultures serve as social support systems, refuges or “homes” where likeminded people feel accepted. Subculturists may even become chosen families, forming significant, long-term bonds.

BUT WHAT ABOUT GANGS? SUBCULTURES IN RELATION TO OTHER SOCIAL GROUPINGS Even with a sense of subculture as a sensitizing concept and despite my cautioning against strict definitions, you still might wonder just what “counts” as a subculture and what does not. Conceptually, subcultures have much in common with other social groupings, including countercultures, gangs, social movements, lifestyles, new religious movements, and fan cultures. Scholars (and sometimes participants) hotly contest the meaning and usefulness of all of these concepts, but each of them potentially has an element of subcultureness. LIFESTYLES

A lifestyle is “any distinctive … mode of living” (Sobel 1981:3) including people’s tastes, the way they dress and talk, what they buy, their dietary choices, their hobbies or other interests and so on. A lifestyle encompasses one’s personal self-expression, an attempt to distinguish oneself from others (Chaney 2004). Those advocating a post-subculture conceptualization emphasize the apolitical leisure and consumerist orientation of youth scenes – kids just want to have fun! Clearly subculturists are practicing various

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lifestyles, but conceptually, subcultural norms, values, and practices are more oppositional or deviant than the average lifestyle. People living an “upper class” lifestyle might decorate their home with expensive antiques, drink fine wine, and drive expensive cars, but they are hardly subcultural. Likewise, a regular practitioner of yoga might learn its history and philosophy in addition to difficult poses, thereby identifying deeply with yoga and other yoga devotees, but yoga is widely accepted by the general public and not so different from other efforts at self-improvement. SOCIAL MOVEMENTS

Broadly speaking, social movements are organized, collective, manifestly political, public challenges made against “authority structures,” typically government bodies (McAdam et al. 2001). Discussions of social movements evoke images of activists parading through the streets, committing civil disobedience, or clashing with police as they struggle for new corporate or government policies – anti-war, environmental, human rights, global democracy, France’s Yellow Vest protests, the Umbrella Movement in Hong Kong, and the “Arab Uprising” movements serving as prime examples. Still, social movements and subcultures share common ground. Like subcultures, “new” social movements such as animal rights, feminist, and queer movements contest dominant cultural norms in addition to fighting for political rights. Yet social movement scholars focus most on “contentious politics,” collective protest efforts to change public policy. Certainly subculturists do participate in protest movements – Occupy protests against economic inequality from New York to Sydney included street punks and other sub­ cultural youth alongside more conventional students and others. However, relative to subcultures, social movements feature greater organization, more consistent focus on social change, more frequent (often contentious) public interactions with the state, and often (although not always) a more coherent political worldview, including specific goals and a vision for the future (more on this in Chapter 3). Social movements influence subcultures; the #MeToo and Black Lives Matter movements pushed some subculturists to redouble efforts to make their scenes inclusive, anti-sexist, and anti-racist. Likewise, subcultures often play a role in social movements; anti­

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

fascist struggles have strong connections to punk and skinhead, while white supremacist movements recruit from those same scenes. COUNTERCULTURES

Countercultures involve extra-institutional challenges to cultural authorities. Theodor Roznak (1969/1995) used the term counter­ culture to describe the youth cultures of the 1960s. Counterculture seems to fill the conceptual gap between social movement and subculture, more culturally oriented and less formally organized than many movements, but more change oriented and opposi­ tional than many subcultures (see Haenfler 2013). J. Milton Yinger (1960) distinguished between “contracultures” in conflict with dominant society and subcultures, groups with distinctive norms that may or may not openly conflict with the larger culture. They place a premium on individuality, having perhaps even less coherence than many subcultures. Observing “The Counterculture” of the 1960s, Roznak noted a broad rejection of “technocratic society” and championing of creativity and self-fulfillment, exemplified by the hippies. NEW RELIGIOUS MOVEMENTS

Some religious groups that fall outside the mainstream world faiths seem subcultural, including Falun Gong, a contemporary Chinese movement known for its slow, meditative exercises and peaceful philosophy, and Wicca, a pagan faith whose practitioners perform ceremonial magic in honor of both a goddess and a god. New religious movements (NRMs) are contemporary religious, spiri­ tual, or philosophical entities that differ significantly from (but are often related to) the world’s major established religions (Cowan and Bromley 2007). Like subcultures, members of NRMs have distinctive norms and practices and are therefore often margin­ alized; political and religious authorities often brand them as “cults.” For example, the Chinese government severely persecuted Falun Gong, even torturing some adherents to death, and Hare Krishnas, whose devotees are recognizable by their orange robes and topknot of hair, have faced accusations of brainwashing recruits. However, NRMs are often somewhat more organized

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than subcultures, and more importantly, their emphasis on the spiritual or supernatural make them distinctive enough to warrant their own concept. GANGS

Typically composed of marginalized youth who form communities for protection and criminal enterprise, gangs are in many ways subcultural. After all, Chicago School researchers such as Frederic Thrasher and William Foote Whyte (and later, Albert Cohen) studied delinquent youth often described as gangs. Gang members have norms, codes, and practices that distinguish them from the more conventional world. Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13), a gang with tens of thousands of members in Central and North America, has a secretive language composed of hand signs and uses tattoos to dif­ ferentiate members from other gangs. Gangs, like subcultures, spend a good bit of their time pursuing leisure (e.g. partying) and engaging in various types of deviance. Still, grouping a violent criminal organization such as MS-13, known for kidnapping, human trafficking, and brutal murders, with a spectacular sub­ culture such as goth stretches the utility of both concepts. Some gangs, particularly those engaged in ongoing criminal activities, have more formal structure than most subcultures. The Yakuza in Japan have elaborate subcultural rituals and tattoos but their strict, formal hierarchy means they are better described as an organized criminal group than a subculture. Further, despite being national and even international, at the local level gangs often have a greater focus on territoriality than many contemporary subcultures. Finally, while scholars argue about the centrality of crime in defi­ nitions of gangs, many agree that criminality is a central feature of contemporary gangs, and this is even truer in popular discourse and among law enforcement. While participants in subcultures may occasionally break the law, crime is less central to their existence. The distinction between gangs and subcultures is particularly important given how often people assume subcultures are crim­ inal/delinquent and criminals/delinquents are part of subcultures. Overemphasizing the differences between subculturists and con­ ventional society risks pathologizing people engaged in deviant activity, criminal or otherwise, as well as perpetuating untrue

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

assumptions about the normativity of so-called conventional society (see Matza 1964). FAN CULTURES/FANDOMS

Finally, subcultures certainly overlap with fan cultures or fan­ doms, described by Henry Jenkins as communities who share a deep interest in some object of popular culture and who translate their love into cultural activity with other fans. Fandoms are par­ ticipatory cultures, that is rather than being passive media con­ sumers fans appropriate the object of their fandom, creating their own stories, films, and fashions, often with subversive twists (Jen­ kins 2006). Participatory cultures tend to have relatively low bar­ riers to participation, strongly support making and sharing one’s own creations, a degree of social connections, often including mentorship, and a belief that one’s contributions matter (Jenkins 2006). Fans of Star Trek, Star Wars, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Sailor Moon, Harry Potter, and Bollywood or martial arts films might make their own fan films, write fan fiction, or create costumes. Fandoms and subcultures share much in common: non-normative or deviant activities; an emphasis on authenticity among participants (e.g. “true” fans, and “true” punks); and an amateur, often underground network for sharing creativity (e.g. fan fiction sites and ‘zines) (see Hills 2002). Some fan cultures are quite subcultural. Football (soccer) clubs’ sup­ porters (fans) around the world share an almost tribal identity, not just attending matches together but fighting other clubs’ fans (firms) and creating general mayhem in the terraces (Frosdick and Marsh 2005). Such supporters, called “football hooligans” by the press, are not your everyday fans; in many ways, being part of a football firm is a deviant way of life. Other fandoms might cross over into subcultural territory, as with Netflix series Stranger Things, as characters play Dungeons & Dragons and, in the case of Eddie Munson, expose fans to heavy metal culture. Still other fandoms seem too benign to be accurately described as subcultures. Fans of the Twilight series may, on average, be relatively less deviant than many subculturists; they are hardly marginalized or resistant, their difference ending with an abiding interest in pop culture. I’ll make one last warning against insisting on too limiting a definition of subculture and for recognizing that many of the

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concepts I’ve just discussed overlap. Skateboarding is variously a professional sport, a commodified lifestyle, and, particularly in its less visible forms, a subculture, despite its inclusion in the Olympic Games (see Bäckström and Blackman 2022). Not every person who skates identifies with the skater subculture; an otherwise conventional kid may enjoy skating but not relate to skaters’ more subversive values. But for some, skating infuses much of their lives beyond riding a skateboard, influencing their friendship circles, music, and fashion, but also encouraging an anti-authoritarian ethos and opposition to commodified skating (see Schwier and Kilberth 2020). OTHER RELATED IDEAS

Other concepts, rarely invoked by subcultural insiders, may also be useful to theorizing subcultures. Yinger’s (1960) “counterculture” encompassed the broad questioning of dominant social norms and institutions emergent in the 1960s, emphasizing conflict with the parent culture, often in the form of deviant lifestyles. Holland and Spracklen (2018:2) suggest “alternativity,” which “represents the people and places, the practices and objects and ideologies, which are actively designed to resist mainstream popular culture and mainstream society.” Stewart (2017) demonstrates that subcultures such as straight edge may constitute an “implicit religion,” forming a meaningful, moral community that guides conduct without necessarily centering a belief in the divine. Williams (2009) proposes understanding “deviant leisure” such as consensual sadomasochism and radical body modification not simply as “behavior that violates criminal and noncriminal moral norms” (ibid.:208) but rather as “legitimate, healthy leisure experience” (ibid.:211). Each of these concepts has some relevance to or relationship with subculture studies.

WHY STUDY SUBCULTURES? Subcultures may sometimes seem weird, gross, dangerous, or silly, but I believe we should take them seriously and that they deserve serious study. Subcultures have ushered generations of youth into adulthood, providing affirming spaces for kids who otherwise feel

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

Table 1.1 Examples of concepts related to subculture. Lifestyle

Social movement

Counter­ culture

New religious move­ ment

Gang

Fan culture

Sub­ culture

Fitness

Civil rights

Commu­ nes

Wicca

Crips/ Bloods

Anime

Surfing

Feminist

kibbutz

Asatru

Raw food diet Back­ packers

Peace

Hippies

Animal rights

Green living

Scien­ tology Falun Gong

Wah Ching MS-13

Labour

Queer Cultures New age

Harry Potter BTS ARMY Marvel/ True Believers Star Wars/ Star Trek

Skin­ head/ mod graffiti writers Skaters

Vegetar­ ians Swingers

Environ­ mental

Bahá‘í Hare Krishna

Aryan

Broth­ erhood Yardie gangs

Punk/ straight edge Riot Grrrl

like aliens among their peers and fostering non-normative values they often take with them as they grow. Sometimes adults forget just how brutal middle and high school can be on kids whom for one or another reason don’t fit in. Rather than causing problems, subcultures often provide solutions for disadvantaged or margin­ alized kids in the form of meaningful community. And subcultures, while often associated with youth, are not just for kids. People engage in subcultural communities and meaning-making across the life course (see Chapter 8). Subcultures may also question social relations and inequalities more broadly. I can certainly attest to subcultures’ transformative potential. Punk rock gave me permission, even encouragement, to question everything and to regard authority with suspicion. The metalheads in my high school made it OK that I couldn’t afford trendy clothes, while the music changed my thinking about war, political power, and fundamentalist religion. Rap group NWA’s infamous track “Fuck tha Police” was more than a naughty song, it alerted me to police brutality and urban violence, while Public

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Enemy’s “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos” taught me something about racism and the prison industrial complex. Seeing queercore bands Tribe 8 and Spitboy aggressively challenge homophobia and patriarchy blew my mind and gave me a sense of responsibility to fight oppressions of all kinds. It is no exaggeration to say that hardcore and straight edge profoundly impacted my diet, my style, my friendship circles, even my career path. American rapper Logic’s anti-suicide song “1–800–273–8255” – the title of which is the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline telephone number – increased calls to the center, and increased calls seems to have led to fewer than expected suicides (BMJ 2021). And yes, each of these scenes was fun! As subculturists age, they carry some of their sub­ cultural ideas and practices with them. Subcultural identities often resonate into adulthood, and many of those adults go on to shape other social institutions, becoming teachers, businesspeople, artists and musicians, even politicians. They get jobs, vote, and have children of their own. In short, subcultures impact our larger social worlds. Subcultures are also important because they tell us something about societies at large. In their opposition, they reflect back at us our hypocrisies, forcing us to ask “oppositional to what?” Con­ formity? Racism? Intolerance? Violence? Hyper-consumption? Beauty standards? Subculturists may not be heroes, but if we listen, they may teach us something.

KEY INSIGHTS �

�

Subcultures do not objectively exist; they are not coherent, easily identifiable groups with stable memberships and clear boundaries. Subculture is simply a concept we use to describe ongoing cultural meanings and social relationships and the sig­ nificance people give to the experiences and objects involved. Therefore while we use the term subculture for ease of dis­ cussion, it may be more accurate to think of such phenomena as subcultural. While giving a strict conceptual definition of subculture is neither possible nor desirable, several common characteristics encapsulate subcultural experience. Importantly, subculturists share a sense of marginalization from or resistance to a perceived “conventional” society.

WHAT IS A SUBCULTURE?

� �

Subcultures can have much in common with – but are con­ ceptually distinct from – lifestyles, social movements, counter­ cultures, new religious movements, gangs, and fandoms. Scholars have framed subcultures by social class (participants are working-class), gender (male), age (youth), race (immigrant, ethnic, minority), and delinquency (engaged in criminal activity). As I will argue in later chapters, none of these characteristics defines subculture as a concept. Region, occupation, religion, and other aspects of social identity also do not generally constitute subcultures in and of themselves.

EXPLORING FURTHER Subcultural Theory: Traditions and Concepts, by J. Patrick Williams, 2011 (Polity). This book offers a more advanced discussion of subcultural theory for readers who really want to wrestle with the nuances of the field. The Post-Subcultures Reader, edited by David Muggleton and Rupert Weinzierl, 2003 (Berg). These essays explore various international scenes from the post-subculture critique, offering a thorough expla­ nation of post-subculture studies. Getting a Life: The Social Worlds of Geek Culture, by Benjamin Woo, 2018 (McGill-Queen’s University Press). This book demonstrates how “geeks” relate to pop culture media, especially in “geek spaces” such as comic and gaming shops, offering important insight into how we might use subculture as a “sensitizing concept” rather than a label with rigid conceptual boundaries. The Subcultural Imagination: Theory, Research and Reflexivity in Con­ temporary Youth Cultures, edited by Shane Blackman and Michelle Kempson, 2016 (Routledge). Includes chapters on a variety of subcultures, examining the notion of subculture through the lens of C. Wright Mills’ “sociological imagination,” the relationship between biography and history, agency and structure. Subculture: The Meaning of Style, by Dick Hebdige, 1979 (Methuen). While many of Hebdige’s ideas have received intense criticism, this book remains a key touchstone in subculture studies.

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Club Cultures: Music, Media, and Subcultural Capital, by Sarah Thornton, 1995 (Polity). One of the most important subculture studies of the 1990s, taking an insider perspective to explore how subculturists enact distinction. Youth Cultures: Scenes, Subcultures, and Tribes, edited by Paul Hod­ kinson and Wolfgang Deicke, 2007 (Routledge). A collection of papers on a variety of subcultures/scenes addressing a range of issues across the theoretical schools discussed in this chapter. The Bloomsbury Handbook of Popular Music and Youth Culture, edited by Andy Bennett, 2022 (Bloomsbury). An overview of con­ temporary subcultural questions and topics, including theory, method, history, identity, media, place, and music-making. The Story of Skinhead, directed by Don Letts, 2015. BBC Doc­ umentary about skinhead, digging into the style, history, and ethos of this multicultural subculture. Illuminates the CCCS approach to subculture, locating skins in the larger political and economic context. Available on YouTube. Electric Daisy Carnival Experience, directed by Kevin Kerslake, 2011. Documentary about the Electric Daisy electronic dance music fes­ tival in Southern California. Illustrates the “neo-tribal” nature of some music cultures.

REFERENCES Adorno, T. (1991) The Culture Industry: Selected Essays on Mass Culture, ed. J. M. Bernstein. London: Routledge. Anderson, N. (1923) The Hobo: The Sociology of the Homeless Man. Chicago: University Of Chicago Press. Anderson, T. (2009) Rave Culture: The Alteration and Decline of a Philadelphia Music Scene. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Arnold, D. O. (1970) The Sociology of Subcultures. Berkeley, CA: The Glen­ dessary Press. Bäckström, Å. and S. Blackman (2022) “Skateboarding: From Urban Spaces to Subcultural Olympians.” Young 30 (2): 121–131. Becker, H. (1963) Outsiders: Studies in the Sociology of Deviance. New York: Free Press. Bennett, A. (1999) “Subcultures or Neo-Tribes? Rethinking the Relationship Between Youth, Style, and Musical Taste.” Sociology 33 (3): 599–617.

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Bennett, A. (2005) “In Defence of Neo-Tribes: A Response to Blackman and Hesmondhalgh.” Journal of Youth Studies 8 (2): 255–259. Bennett, A. (2022) The Bloomsbury Handbook of Popular Music and Youth Cul­ ture. New York, NY: Bloomsbury. Best, A. (2006) Fast Cars, Cool Rides: The Accelerating World of Youth and Their Cars. New York: New York University Press. Best, A. (2011) “Youth Identity Formation: Contemporary Identity Work.” Sociology Compass 5 (10): 908–922. Blackman, S. (2005) “Youth Subcultural Theory: A Critical Engagement with the Concept, its Origins and Politics, from the Chicago School to Post­ modernism.” Journal of Youth Studies 8 (1): 1–20. Blackman, S. and M. Kempson (2016) The Subcultural Imagination: Theory, Research and Reflexivity in Contemporary Youth Cultures. London: Routledge. Blumer, H. (1954) “What is wrong with social theory?” American Sociological Review 19: 3–10. BMJ (2021) “Association of Logic’s hip hop song ‘1–800–273–8255’ with Lifeline Calls And Suicides In The United States: Interrupted Time Series Analysis.” 375: e067726. Cavan, R. S. (1983) “The Chicago School of Sociology, 1918–1933.” Urban Life 11: 407–420. Chaney, D. (2004) “Fragmented Culture and Subcultures.” in A. Bennett and K. Kahn-Harris (eds) After Subculture: Critical Studies in Contemporary Youth Culture. Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave, pp. 36–48. Clarke, M. (1974) “On the Concept of ‘Subculture’.” The British Journal of Sociology 25 (4): 428–441. Cohan, M. (2012) “The Problem of Gears and Goggles: Managing Member­ ship Boundaries and Identities in the Steampunk Subculture.” Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Pacific Sociological Association, San Diego, CA, March 22–25. Cohen, A. (1955) Delinquent Boys. New York: The Free Press. Cohen, S. (2002 [1972]) Folk Devils and Moral Panics: The Creation of the Mods and the Rockers. London: Routledge. Connor, C. and N. Katz (2020) “Electronic Dance Music: From Spectacular Subculture to Culture Industry.” YOUNG 28 (5):445–464. Cowan, D. E. and D. G. Bromley (2007) Cults and New Religions: A Brief History. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Cressey, P. (1932) The Taxi-Dance Hall: A Sociological Study in Commercialized Recreation and City Life. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Deegan, M. J. (1988) Jane Addams and the Men of the Chicago School, 1892– 1918. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Dimou, E. (2014) “An Exploration of Deviance, Power and Resistance Within Contemporary Cuba: The Case of Cuban Underground Rap,” in

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Subcultures Network (eds.) Subcultures, Popular Music and Political Change. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publisher. Du Bois, W. E. B. (1996[1899]) The Philadelphia Negro: A Social Study. Phila­ delphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Fine, G. A. and S. Kleinman (1979) “Rethinking Subculture: An Interac­ tionist Analysis.” American Journal of Sociology 85 (1): 1–20. Fine, G. A. (2012) Tiny Publics: A Theory of Group Action and Culture. New York: Sage. Foucault, M. (1995 [1977]). Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (6th edition). New York: Vintage Books. Frazier, E. F. (1939) The Negro Family in the United States. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Frosdick, S. and P. Marsh (2005) Football Hooliganism. Devon, UK: Willan Publishing. Goffman, E. (1963) Stigma: Notes on the Management of a Spoiled Identity. New York: Simon & Shuster. Gordon, M. M. (1947) “The Concept of the Sub-Culture and its Application.” Social Forces 26 (1): 40–42. Gramsci, A. (1971) Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, ed. and trans. G. Smith and Q. Hoare. New York: International Publishers Co. Greenberg, A. (2007) Youth Subcultures: Exploring Underground America. New York: Pearson-Longman. Haenfler, R. (2013) “Countercultures.” In D. A. Snow, D. Della Porta, B. Klandermans, and D. McAdam (eds) The Wiley-Blackwell Encyclopedia of Social and Political Movements. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Hall, S. and T. Jefferson (eds) (1976) Resistance Through Rituals: Youth Subcultures in Post-War Britain. London: Hutchinson. Hebdige, D. (1979) Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Methuen. Hills, M. (2002) Fan Cultures. New York and London: Routledge. Hodkinson, P. (2002) Goth: Identity, Style and Subculture. Oxford: Berg. Hodkinson, P. and W. Deicke (eds) (2007) Youth Cultures: Scenes, Subcultures and Tribes. New York: Routledge. Holland, S. and K. Spracklen (2018) Subcultures, Bodies and Spaces: Essays on Alternativity and Marginalization. Bingley: Emerald Publishing. Hunt, P. M. (2008) “From Festies to Tourrats: Examing the Relationship between Jamband Subculture Involvement and Role Meanings.” Social Psychology Quarterly 71 (4): 356–378. Irwin, J. and D. R. Cressey (1962) “Thieves, Convicts and the Inmate Cul­ ture.” Social Problems 10: 142–155. Jenkins, H. (2006) Fans, Bloggers, and Gamers: Exploring Participatory Culture. New York: New York University Press.

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Jenkins, H., with R. Purushotma, M. Weigel, K. Clinton, and A. J. Robison (2009) Confronting the Challenges of Participatory Culture. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Kidder, J. L. (2011) Urban Flow: Bike Messengers and the City. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Matza, D. (1964) Delinquency and Drift. New York: Wiley. McAdam, D., S. Tarrow, and C. Tilly (2001) Dynamics of Contention. Cam­ bridge: Cambridge University Press. McRobbie, A. and J. Garber (1976) “Girls and Subcultures: An Explanation.” In S. Hall and T. Jefferson (eds) Resistance Through Rituals. London: Rou­ tledge, pp. 209–222. Merton, R. (1938) “Social Structure and Anomie.” American Sociological Review 3 (5): 672–682. Miles, S. (2000) Youth Lifestyles in a Changing World. Maidenhead, Berkshire, UK: Open University Press. Miller, L. (2004) “Those Naughty Teenage Girls: Japanese Kogals, Slang, and Media Assessment.” Journal of Linguistic Anthropology 14 (2): 225–247. Miller, W. B. (1958) “Lower Class Culture as a Generating Milieu of Gang Delinquency.” Journal of Social Issues 14 (3): 5–19. Morris, A. D. (2015) The Scholar Denied: W.E.B Du Bois and the Birth of Modern Sociology. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Muggleton, D. and R. Weinzierl (eds) (2003) The Post-Subcultures Reader. London: Berg. Nally, C. (2019) Gender, Subculture & the Neo-Victorian. New York, NY: Bloomsbury. Park, R. and E. W. Burgess (1922) Introduction to the Science of Sociology. Chi­ cago: University of Chicago Press. Pavlidis, A. and Fullagar, S. (2016) Sport, Gender and Power: The Rise of Roller Derby. New York and London: Routledge. Polhemus, T. (1998) “In the Supermarket of Style.” In S. Redhead, D. Wynne, and J. O’Connor (eds) The Clubcultures Reader. Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 148–151. Redhead, S. (1997) The Clubcultures Reader: Readings in Popular Cultural Stu­ dies. Oxford: Blackwell. Ren, L., H. Zhang, J. S. Zhao, and R. Zhao (2016) “Delinquent Subculture and Juvenile Offenders’ Attitudes Toward the Police in China.” Police Quarterly 19 (1): 87–110. Roznak, T. (1969/1995) The Making of a Counterculture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society and Its Youthful Opposition. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rubin, G. (2011[1984]) “Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality.” In G. Rubin (ed) Deviations: A Gayle Rubin Reader. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, pp. 137–181.

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2 HOW DO SUBCULTURES EMERGE AND WHY DO PEOPLE PARTICIPATE? Adults often treat youth as a problem to be managed, alternating efforts to curb underage drinking, teen-pregnancy, and juvenile delinquency with prescriptions to cure depression, eating disorders, and low self-esteem. A headline in the satirical newspaper The Onion reads “Area Teen Up to Something,” the story noting “Signs that the teenager may be up to no good have so far inclu­ ded his hunched over posture, the way he keeps looking around with his eyes, and the fact that he probably owns a number of those violent video games.” The article pokes fun at adults’ ten­ dency to view “strange” young people with a mixture of wonder, suspicion, and even fear, but the satire works because many times this is the case. Given that most people associate subcultures with youth, the same wariness applies, compounded by media stereo­ types of subculturists as troubled, alienated, delinquent, or violent kids. Thus a central concern for adults, including many scholars, has been to explain just why young people would “join” subcultures, often with the aim of curtailing deviance and delinquency. Nearly as pressing is why adults might begin or continue their subcultural identifications, “inappropriately” hanging onto their youth and not acting their age. Given their deviant nature, subcultures seem to need explaining, sometimes in ways that more conventional activities and identities do not. For example, in many contexts, people take participation in sports for granted, whereas furries – a fandom centered on anthropomorphic animal characters – need explanation due to the DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417-2

SUBCULTURAL EMERGENCE AND PARTICIPATION

collective anxieties they provoke. Examined through the eyes of an “alien observer,” American football might seem as strange (or stranger) than a heavy metal mosh pit, and perhaps even more violent. Likewise, the Greek system on many US universities likely causes more problems than BDSM groups, yet by virtue of their relatively high status and alignment with conventional norms the existence of (historically white) fraternities and sororities goes unquestioned. In this chapter, I take on several related questions. First, how do subcultures emerge? What social contexts and time periods facil­ itate subcultural activities and identities? Then, at the individual level, I ask, “Why do people participate,” challenging popular conceptions of subculturalists as universally alienated, delinquent, or psychologically troubled youth. Later, in Chapter 4, I dig more deeply into who exactly participates, focusing especially on race, class, gender, and other meaningful social categories.

HOW DO SUBCULTURES EMERGE? When social groups were smaller and more homogenous, there were fewer subcultures as we understand them today. My parents grew up during the 1950s in a small South Dakota town called Avon of about 600 people. While there were certainly cliques and interest groups, the community was very homogenous. People shared basic values, went to Protestant churches on Sunday, were mostly white people of German descent, and many farmed or were in other ways connected to agriculture. The internet and cable television didn’t exist; entertainment revolved around family gath­ erings, school functions, church events, and the occasional drive-in movie. The smallness of the community meant everyone knew everyone else, making the cost of deviance high. If you broke the rules or stood out in any sort of negatively-perceived way, there was nowhere to hide. Geographic isolation and general conformity left little room for subcultures. The same could be said of con­ temporary hunter-gatherer societies whose survival may depend upon a strong collective conscience that ensures that vital tasks get done. While societies have always had subgroups of a sort – warrior classes, guilds, religious sects, kinship clans, even gangs – most of

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what we now think of as subcultures emerged in the twentieth century, and the emergence of new subcultures seems to have accelerated after World War II. What sorts of changes prompted this explosion of subcultural activity? MODERNIZATION: HOW DO SUBCULTURES RELATE TO THE MODERN WORLD?

For starters, small, close-knit communities like Avon are increas­ ingly giving way to cosmopolitan, multicultural cities. Whereas my grandparents began their lives without automobiles, telephones, or TVs, rarely travelled more than 30 miles from home, and lived their entire lives in one place, I have moved numerous times, tra­ velled around the world, and in some ways carry the entire world in my pocket on my smartphone. For more than a century, social theorists have sought to explain the social changes associated with modernization, suggesting that the Enlightenment and Industrial Revolution ushered in a new age that radically transformed societies. Among the many massive social shifts include: increasing democracy; a focus on human rights; increasing individualism; science and rational planning replacing religion; and the movement of masses of people from rural to urban areas. Each of these changes, as well as the accel­ erated pace and greater depth of change, has facilitated the social conditions in which subcultures emerge and thrive. Most generally, modernization creates more space for people to experiment with a variety of identities (Giddens 1991b). In other words, our identities are in some ways less ascribed, that is, less determined by the families, communities, and societies in which we are born. As an example, if you had been born a serf in med­ ieval Europe, you would remain a serf, your identity and your life more or less proscribed by your social position. Likewise, the caste system of India left little room for social mobility. Religious stric­ tures and political rules made sure people knew their “place.” Relatively speaking, in the modern world, our identities have become unmoored from stable social roles (Gergen 2000). Com­ pared to the past, contemporary life (particularly in rich countries) is fluid; people change jobs, religions, homes, nationalities, hus­ bands/wives/partners, lifestyles, and political ideas (Bauman 2000). This relatively newfound freedom is both gift and burden, a gift in

SUBCULTURAL EMERGENCE AND PARTICIPATION

that we are freer to “invent” ourselves, a burden in the sense that who we are, what we become, rests totally on our shoulders. Ulrich Beck and Elizabeth Beck-Gernsheim (2002) argue that individuals in contemporary societies are increasingly responsible for constructing their own lives. This process of individuali­ zation makes identity work not only possible but also an impera­ tive. If you are not successful, it’s a result of your personal short­ comings. Dissatisfied with your body? Go to the gym or get a makeover. If you are unhappy, it’s up to you to find a way to be happy. You should work to develop a positive self-image. People constantly think about and tinker with their sense of self, picking clothes that reflect a certain image, choosing hairstyles, and consulting professionals or self-help books to be “better” people. The “self” is a reflexive, ongoing, intentional process as well as a project (Sandstrom et al. 2009). Is it any wonder that in this context people would find meaning and connection in subcultural identities? Modernization also facilitated the expansion of “youth” into a life stage (see Furlong 2012). While I take care to point out that sub­ cultures are not exclusively the domain of the young, many people do begin their subcultural explorations at a young age. We take the notion of “youth” for granted, but it is a relatively modern invention. In the past, children took on adult responsibilities at much younger ages, often apprenticing in a trade or helping out on the family farm early in life. There was little space between childhood and adulthood. Child labor laws, public education, greater productivity and an expansion of the middle classes meant for some an increase in leisure time, allowing new generations both the time and money to explore subcultural activities. American marketers created the entire notion of “teenagers” as a new consumer niche after WWII, selling the right to self-determination and pleasure. Now, many parents expect, even encourage, their teens to explore various identities and activities while developing their own sense of self. Psychologists see such play as an important stage in the development of independence and a personal self-concept (see Santrock 2011). Subcultures thrive in the liminal space between childhood and adulthood. I think it is worth noting that the changes of late modernity didn’t just “happen” as a result of larger social forces, but that increasing numbers of people began intentionally questioning and challenging the status quo. The 1960s provided the context for an expansive

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youth counterculture fostering “broad criticism or rejection of cultural imperatives – conformity, consumerism, sexual mores, gender roles, religious doctrine” (Haenfler 2013:1). Self-exploration and spiritual seeking associated with the “new age” movement became more acceptable. Simultaneously, students and other young people protested from London to Paris, Mexico City to San Francisco, as anti­ war and other social movements escalated. Minority groups demanded political rights but also vehemently asserted their basic right to be. Gay Pride, Black Power, and Women’s Liberation all paved the way for increasing numbers of “deviant” subcultures. In the modern world, everyday life is a cultural battleground, a struggle for who we are col­ lectively and individually, a fight for self-determination (Touraine 1981). That struggle takes the form of countercultures, new social movements, and yes, subcultures. As neoliberalism – the privatization, deregulation, and market fundamentalism characteristic of contemporary capitalism – infil­ trates all aspects of life, austerity, precarity, and risk become the norm, even for many who once enjoyed relatively stable, pre­ dictable incomes. Automation and globalization eliminate jobs or move them to more profit-friendly labor markets and conservative governments erode social safety nets now much as they did in the early 1980s and 1990s. Some channel that economic unease – in concert with other fears around race, gender, sexuality, religion, and migration – into right-wing, reactionary politics in the form of political parties (e.g. Brothers of Italy, the Sweden Democrats, and increasingly, US Republicans). Others identify with right-leaning subcultures such as incels, pick up artists, men going their own way, militias, or various white supremacist groups. Still others may turn to subcultures for social and economic support, communities of meaning in the face of challenging circumstances. POSTMODERNITY: ARE SUBCULTURES SIMPLY COMMODIFIED IMAGES?

Postmodern theorists argue that the changes brought on by mod­ ernity have instigated a profound break from the past characterized by fragmentation, commodification, incoherence, and the primacy of image and spectacle. There may be no coherent explanation for the emergence of subcultures. All we might say is that they are part of a larger social fragmenting and a recycling of the past into

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meaningless bricolage. Postmodernity inundates us with images and visual images take on ever-greater importance (Baudrillard 1995). In a prescient foreshadowing of the hyperreal future to come, British new wave group The Buggles’ recording of “Video Killed the Radio Star” – on their appropriately-titled postmodern record The Age of Plastic – was the first song aired by MTV in 1981. The ability to sing seems almost secondary to the image a singer must now construct, forging herself into a visually appealing, marketable brand. In fact, everything is a brand – political parties, religious institutions, universities – and everything is for sale. In such a context, subcultures emerge as simply another set of images, part of the larger pop culture spectacle amplified by the mass media. The proliferation of subcultures coincides with the triumph of the image. In fact, the media, authorities, and market forces help “create” subcultures in the first place (Thornton 1995). Have you ever heard someone call himself a hipster? Probably not (or only ironically!). Yet according to the media, hipsters are everywhere. Perhaps so-called hipsters constitute a marketing demo­ graphic, a set of images for consumption. Consumption is, as both the CCCS and post-subcultural theorists agree, an important part of subcultural experience. We shop for shoes, cars, handbags, and mobile phone cases – why not identities? Religions? News? And why not off-the-rack subcultural personas complete with ready-made rituals and mass-produced accessories available at your local shopping mall? In a postmodern, consumerist culture, subcultures emerge as hollow, manufactured marketing ploys designed to sell images of rebellion – all style and no substance. Of course we might also suggest that subcultures emerge as a response to the conditions of postmodernity, sites of meaningmaking and searching for something genuine in a plastic world. In the era of influencers, dime-a-dozen pop stars, and celebrities famous for nothing – Kim Kardashian, Paris Hilton, Lele Pons, the cast of Love Island – subcultures may be efforts of resistance. SOCIAL CONTRADICTIONS: DO SUBCULTURES ATTEMPT TO RESOLVE SOCIETY’S HYPOCRISIES?

By several measures, the twentieth century witnessed an incredible rise in many people’s standard of living – better sanitation and

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medicine produced increased health and longevity, while rising incomes and educational levels created new opportunities for lei­ sure. Yet not everyone shared equally in the gains of the last cen­ tury and in fact rising expectations were coupled with tremendous inequality. Subcultures arise in response to such contradictions in their “parent” cultures (Brake 1985). For example, the class-based resistance of the Birmingham School (discussed in Chapter 1) sug­ gests that working-class youth turn to subcultures in societies that hold out the promise of equal opportunity and affluence while reproducing rampant inequalities. Skinheads valorized the working-class even as their way of life declined in the midst of globali­ zation and deindustrialization. We could read graffiti-writing as a response to the contradictions of urban space; modern cities are supposed to be the pinnacle of civilization, yet can also be sterile, ugly, even cruel places. Subcultures emerge to “solve” (even if in an illusory fashion) tensions or problems in society. They teach us something about the flaws of the societies in which they emerge. Returning to Cohen’s (1955) early work, perhaps subcultures emerge in response to collectively experienced problems, as “group problem-solving.” Contemporary societies are rife with contradictions related to youth. Parents and educators tell young people to pursue higher education while politicians cut public support for universities. Democratic nations extol equal opportunity, yet wealth inequality continues to expand. In the US, politicians regularly flaunt their pro-family values, using childhood innocence to frame their agen­ das even as they do relatively little to support pro-family policies such as maternity/paternity leave, flexible work schedules, and workplace daycare. In fact, the rise of many subcultures since the 1970s coincides with expanding neoliberal policies that champion the free market, deregulation, and privatization against all other values (Moore 2010). The result, as the 2008 global financial crisis so painfully showed, is market volatility, increased uncertainty, and downward mobility, for both working and middle class youth. “[T]he gap between the expectations created by an individualistic culture and the reality of a declining middle class is especially acute for the younger generations” (Moore 2010:17–18). While punks sang about anarchy, “the true source of anarchy in contemporary society is unrestrained capitalism” (Moore 2010:18). COVID-19

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further exposed vast inequalities, as low-income and marginalized communities often bore the brunt of the pandemic. SHARING, BORROWING, AND REJECTING: SUBCULTURES EMERGE IN REACTION TO OTHER SUBCULTURES?

CCCS scholars saw a more or less chronological lineage shared by working-class youth subcultures. Punks came from skinheads, skinheads from mods, and mods from teddy boys. In other words, each youth subculture emerged, more or less, from the ashes of the old. Such a linear progression is too simplistic – subcultures emerge from a variety of influences and many persist over time – yet sub­ cultures interact with and react to one another. For example, skinheads and punks typically despised and defined themselves in opposition to hippies. New subcultures emerge not only from larger social contradictions but also as responses to subcultural con­ tradictions (Haenfler 2006). Hardcore and straight edge emerged as offshoots of a punk scene viewed as too hedonistic and apolitical. Extreme metal (e.g. death metal, black metal) rejected the flam­ boyant glam or “hair metal” scenes of the mid-1980s. New sub­ cultures, or even new variations, may be subcultural innovations in which participants try to improve upon the old, especially attempting to be more “authentic,” “original,” or “real.” Within broad subcultures such as hip hop there are many subgroups, with different but overlapping styles, values, practices, and music. Under­ ground, “conscious” scenes may define themselves against more com­ mercial, sexist, consumerist scenes. And as post-subculture theorists point out, scenes borrow extensively from one another, calling into question the very notion of distinct subcultures. Skateboarding, for example, borrows punk, stoner, hip hop and other aesthetics.

WHY DO PEOPLE PARTICIPATE? I’m not sure my parents ever really understood why as a teenage metalhead I would want to grow my hair longer, listen to bands with names like “Megadeth” and “Slayer,” or wear torn jeans and black t-shirts depicting zombies butchering innocent people. No doubt many outsiders wonder why subculturalists do the things they do, from writing graffiti and using drugs, to piercing and

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tattooing body parts that in their view should be left well alone. The answer to the question “Why do people participate in subcultures?” is as complicated as why they emerge in the first place, but some explanations are better than others. PSYCHOLOGICAL EXPLANATIONS: ARE SUBCULTURISTS PSYCHOLOGICALLY DISTURBED?

By virtue of subculturists’ “deviant” practices, people commonly believe they are somehow psychologically different from “normal” people – not just different, but damaged. Why else would some­ one pierce the length of their body with hooks and then suspend themselves by the skin from the ceiling, as participants in the “modern primitive” movement have long done (see Vale and Juno 1989)? Common sense might dictate that they and other sub­ culturists suffer from depression, mood disorders, childhood neglect, or an unhealthy desire for attention. However, when it comes to subcultures, common sense often makes little sense. Even in the case of the most “extreme” subcultures, participants often have fairly rational motivations. Imagine self-identified vampires who derive pleasure from drinking human blood. Not the sparkling fictional vampires popularized by the Twilight book and movie series, or the sun­ garlic-and-cross-fearing creatures from old movies, but real people who drink blood from small incisions made on (willing) donors (see Laycock 2009). Many would find the practice revolting and judge the “vampires” psychologically disturbed, likely suggesting they seek serious therapy. Yet scholar and psychotherapist D. J. Williams’ (2008) study of human vampires revealed that most par­ ticipants were relatively healthy, well-adjusted people who have an interest in “deviant leisure.” The subculture, also known as the “Sanguinarium,” has a code of ethics (the “Black Veil”) centered around safety, consent, valuing diversity, and respecting elders. While drinking blood may seem like a strange way to explore creativity, spirituality, and play, Williams (2009) suggests partici­ pants do not act out of psychopathological motivations. As with many subcultures, the Sanguinarium challenges our notions of “normalcy”; in other words, it may not be the vampires who have a problem, but those who rush to prematurely judge them. For

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perspective, compare the real harm done by a few cuts verses the prevalence of American football players’ debilitating head injuries, hurts that until recently players, coaches, and fans took completely for granted as simply “part of the game.” While some subculturists certainly face psychological challenges, savvy psychologists question the notion that subcultures cause antisocial behavior. There is some evidence that subculturists actually find respite from social stigma among their peers, that participation makes them feel better about themselves. The 1990s saw a panic that lis­ tening to heavy metal music led some youth to die by suicide (see Chapter 6). While heavy metal fans may be more likely to attempt suicide, Scheel and Westefeld (1999:269) report in a study of metalheads that: Another compelling focus of further efforts to clarify the relationship between heavy metal music and increased vulnerability to suicide is not the effects of fans’ music listening, but broader features of their lives – their families, abilities, hopes, and aspirations, or lack thereof – that may attract some to such negative music.

Metalheads suggest their music helps them deal with their anger (Arnett 1996). Thus rather than identifying with a subculture because they are unwell people choose these communities to cope with or escape from stresses in other parts of their lives. STRAIN AND SOCIAL DISORGANIZATION: DO SUBCULTURISTS COME FROM BAD BACKGROUNDS? ARE THEY UP TO NO GOOD?

So, broadly speaking, most subculturists likely do not suffer any more psychological challenges than the general population, and in any case, psychological trauma is not a reliable predictor of subcultural participa­ tion. But perhaps social disruptions – lack of opportunities, run-down schools, “broken” families – contribute to deviant behavior. Returning to our question of why people participate in deviant subcultures, recall from Chapter 1 that the Chicago School found that social disorganiza­ tion caused by rapid migration and urbanization led to higher rates of deviance and crime. Poverty, run-down neighborhoods, high divorce rates might all lead to social disorganization that pushes people into non-normative communities such as subcultures.

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Similarly, people might join gangs and participate in subcultures as a result of status frustration – they see few legitimate oppor­ tunities for upward mobility towards success and society’s rewards, as the Chicago School and strain theory suggested in the previous chapter. Subcultures then become spaces for disadvantaged youth (or, presumably, older people as well) to come together and to celebrate their deviant characteristics. Skinheads provide the classic example. Economically marginalized with little hope for a better future, they nevertheless glorify their working-class roots, making toughness, aggression, and manual labor the hallmarks of “real” manhood. From the outset, scholars and authorities associated subcultures with crime. In fact, in some contexts subcultural affiliation auto­ matically garners the attention of law enforcement, as in the case of Juggalos in the US, some punks in Indonesia, or gopniks in Russia (more on this in Chapter 6). Some subcultures, such as graffitiwriting, do revolve around what is technically criminal activity. Others, such as soccer hooligans and “ultras,” engage in violence. Certainly drugs and alcohol play a large role in many (both youth and adult) lives, but there is no denying their special significance in certain scenes such as hippie, jamband, and rave. Mods took copious amounts of Quaaludes, and so did disco freaks. So perhaps people are drawn to subcultures in order to engage in crime. Subcultures may teach the techniques of crime (e.g. how to con someone) as well as offering a justification, or rationalization, for criminal activity (Sutherland and Cressey 1978). Despite these important insights, views of subcultures as criminal enterprises or products of social disorganization are flawed in several respects. First, while it is certainly true that subcultures may be particularly attractive to people already socially margin­ alized (e.g. working-class youth), people from stable communities and in supportive, “normative” families still find joy and meaning in subcultural participation. Subcultures are more than simply reactions to larger structural forces. Second, subculturists may be deviant, but they are not always delinquent or criminal. Authorities connect subcultures too closely to delinquency and crime despite the fact that many subculturists are basically law-abiding. Sub­ cultures may share characteristics with gangs, may even overlap with gangs, but as I explained in Chapter 1 they differ in

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significant ways. Finally, these sorts of explanations suggest that subcultural participation is abnormal, an aberration, a product of dysfunctional relationships and a disorganized society. I will emphasize throughout this book that subculturists, while deviant, are typically not the folk devils that inhabit reformers’ imaginations. Similarly, casting subcultures as havens for anti-social delinquents reinforces the dubious notion that “mainstream” society is auto­ matically good/functional/beneficial/better or even that a “normal” society exists in the first place. DISTINCTION: DO PEOPLE JUST WANT TO BE DIFFERENT?

Many of us can probably recall a time where we wanted to stand out from the crowd, perhaps even remembering the strategies we used to show just how “different” we were. Most people want at once to feel accepted and part of a community while also feeling different; the focus on individualistic expression is especially pre­ valent, even pushed, in contemporary Western societies. Given the individualization associated with modernity that I discussed earlier, it comes as little surprise that people might identify with sub­ cultures to feel unique when in fact in most significant ways we are not. Just as importantly, subcultures help define who we are not. In his classic book Distinction, Pierre Bourdieu (1984) shows how people of different social classes distinguish themselves from one another. The upper classes create an aesthetic different from and largely unavailable to others, amassing cultural capital such as designer clothes and expensive jewelry, but also titles, activities, and ways of speaking. While this sort of distinction reinforces class hierarchies, subculturists also seek distinction, cultivating sub­ cultural capital in the form of tattoos, records, and insider knowledge (Thornton 1995). Subcultures may also reflect a basic desire to be different from another “class” of people, often con­ structed as “the mainstream.” At times, outsiders may find sub­ culturists’ efforts at distinction tedious and self-absorbed, or even narcissistic desires to get attention. I would argue that rather than reflecting some personal flaw, the desire of some subculturists to stand out reflects the broader social imperative of modernity to carefully craft a desirable self – albeit in sometimes a more spectacular fashion!

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LEISURE SPACES: SUBCULTURISTS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN?

One of the simplest explanations for why people participate in subcultures is also among the best: perhaps people participate in subcultures to enjoy themselves, whether by listening to music or skateboarding. Recall from Chapter 1 that the clubculture and post-subculture theories suggest just that, claiming that diffuse scenes come together to have a good time, absent much of an overt political agenda. The “Soulies” of England’s Northern Soul scene loved dancing to their beloved American soul artists while using amphetamines (Wilson 2007). Traceurs – practitioners of the urban gymnastics known as parkour – find joy in leaping across cityscapes (Kidder 2012). Riot grrrls have fun making music and printing ’zines, and otaku love collecting, watching, and sharing anime and manga. Subcultures, then, are leisure spaces. While leisure certainly plays a significant role in subcultures, the contemporary world offers many ways to have fun. The question remains why people pursue subcultural leisure, which often carries greater social (and sometimes physical) risks than participating in sports, social clubs, or more conventional hobbies. It seems as if people seek ever new, more extreme ways of having fun and expressing themselves. One does not tattoo one’s face simply for fun, nor does one casually leap from the top of one building to another. While daily survival remains a struggle for much of the world’s population, there are many who live predictable, routine, mundane, even “safe” lives. Perhaps certain subcultures respond to the predictability, even the boredom of contemporary life? Edgework describes “a clearly observable threat to one’s physical or mental well-being or one’s sense of an ordered existence,” undertaken voluntarily (Lyng 1990:857), that provides the opportunity for “creative, skilful, self-determining action” (ibid:877). Institutions increasingly regulate, monitor, even constrain our lives, resulting in alienation and a feeling of lacking control over one’s life. Some people crave the freedom and sense of control found in exploring the boundaries between order and disorder, normality and deviance. Subcultures with a high degree of bodily risk – bike messengers, parkour, roller derby, BASE jumping – clearly illus­ trate edgework, involving an embodied excitement, a rush that comes from using one’s skills to overcome challenges, from being

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so in the moment that the rest of the world fades into the back­ ground (Kidder 2006). Not as obvious may be the risks associated with less physically dangerous deviant identities and practices such as burlesque and goth. Yet many subculturists willingly take on risks of judgment or even ostracism and violence, as they stretch the boundaries between acceptance and stigma. Why, you may wonder, would someone tattoo her face, presumably knowing the difficulties face tattoos might pose to getting a job? While psychological expla­ nations may be tempting – she is disturbed or was abused – we might also see such body modification as rational edgework. Willingly stepping outside social norms can provide a sort of “rush,” a sense of satisfaction unavailable via more conventional avenues.

SUBCULTURES AS STRATEGIES? PROBLEM SOLVING The vast variety of subcultures makes explaining their emergence in one neat and tidy theory nearly impossible. And the great diversity of subculturists poses a challenge to finding a perfect theory of partici­ pation. At a minimum, we can examine subcultures as strategies participants use to respond to their social surroundings and tackle everyday concerns and problems. Such an approach encompasses many of the points I make in this chapter. If our “self” is a project and a performance, a work in progress, then subcultures become ideal strategies for crafting identities, achieving distinction, and having fun. Subculturists are not necessarily alienated or marginalized, although they may be. Subculturists do not simply or automatically respond to structural changes and social problems such as modernization in predictable, predetermined ways. Rather, they bring a degree of agency and creativity to their participation. Rather than focusing on subcultures as relatively homogenous class-and style-based groupings (à la the CCCS) or fluid consumption-based scenes (post-subculturists), our focus should turn to the substance of such groupings (Pilkington and Omel’chenko 2013). What do participants do, and what do they think about what they do? Most importantly, and perhaps contrary to conventional wisdom, subcultural participation is, by and large, rational, that is, reasoned and intentional. Subcultures offer strategies to overcome the meaninglessness of post/modernity. They enable subculturists to join with likeminded others to carve out “safe,” affirming spaces in

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which they can find solidarity and share their interests. Subcultures can be strategic places for people to experiment with identities not necessarily accepted in other contexts. Finally, subcultures may be strategies to explore and express discontent with the parent culture, government and other authorities, more typical peers, and even other subcultures (more on this in Chapters 3 and 4).

KEY INSIGHTS �

�

� �

The explosion of subcultures over the last century reflects a plethora of changes associated with industrialization, modernity, and globalization. Especially relevant are the rise of consumer culture, the unmooring of identity, the creation of “youth” as a life stage, and the expansion of media access. There is no evidence that subculturists, broadly speaking, are more apt to have psychological or emotional problems than other, more conventional, groups. Put simply, people do not participate in “strange” subcultures simply because they them­ selves are labelled strange. However, it’s likely that the stigma and potential harassment subculturists face may contribute to depression and other problems. Participation in and identification with subcultures is fairly rational. Subcultures meet individuals’ social needs, provide leisure spaces, and form “safe” places for people who fall outside the norm. Subcultural participation also provides strategies to experiment with identities, connect with likeminded people, and explore “taboo” subjects and activities.

EXPLORING FURTHER Sells Like Teen Spirit: Music, Youth Culture, and Social Crisis, by Ryan Moore, 2010 (New York University Press). Explores how the eco­ nomic, political, and cultural changes of the twentieth century pro­ duced the punk, metal, alternative/grunge, riot grrrl, retro and other music scenes. No Future: Punk, Politics and British Youth Culture, 1976–1984, by Matthew Worley, 2017 (Cambridge University Press). An historical account of early British punk and its emergence in the midst of economic and political instability and rapid social change.

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Northern Soul, directed by Elaine Constantine, 2014. A feature film depicting the British Northern Soul scene at its peak in the 1970s. Enchanted by underground American soul music, “Soulies” culti­ vated a unique dance style, fashion sense, and club scene that remains influential today. My Playground, directed by Kaspar Astrup Schroder. Documentary explaining how parkour transforms urban spaces, breathing life into otherwise disenchanted spaces. Features freerunners from Den­ mark, Japan, China, and the US and UK. Dream World, directed by Frank, Sauer, 2012. A short film captur­ ing the freedom, friendship, and fulfilment experienced by several freerunners. Available at Vimeo.com.

REFERENCES Arnett, J. J. (1996) Metalheads: Heavy Metal Music and Adolescent Alienation. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Baudrillard, J. (1995) Simulacra and Simulation, trans. S. F. Glase. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Bauman, Z. (2000) Liquid Modernity. Cambridge, UK, and Malden, MA: Polity. Beck, U. and E. Beck-Gernsheim (2002) Individualization: Institutionalized Individualism and its Social and Political Consequences. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Bourdieu, P. (1984) Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste, trans. R. Nice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Brake, M. (1985) Comparative Youth Culture: The Sociology of Youth Culture and Youth Subculture in America, Britain, and Canada. London: Routledge and Keegan Paul. Cohen, A. (1955) Delinquent Boys. New York: The Free Press. Furlong, A. (2012) Youth Studies: An Introduction. New York and London: Routledge. Gergen, K. (2000) The Saturated Self: Dilemmas of Identity in Contemporary Life. New York: Basic Books. Giddens, A. (1991b) Modernity and Self-Identity. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford Uni­ versity Press. Haenfler, R. (2006) Straight Edge: Clean Living Youth, Hardcore Punk, and Social Change: Piscataway, Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Haenfler, R. (2013) “Countercultures.” In D. A. Snow, D. Della Porta, B. Klandermans, and D. McAdam (eds) The Wiley-Blackwell Encyclopedia of Social and Political Movements. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell.

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Kidder, J. L. (2006) “‘It’s the Job That I Love’: Bike Messengers and Edgework.” Sociological Forum 21 (1): 31–54. Kidder, J. L. (2012) “Parkour, The Affective Appropriation of Urban Space, and the Real/Virtual Dialectic.” City & Community 11 (3). Laycock, J. P. (2009) Vampires Today: The Truth About Modern Vampirism. Westport, CT: Praeger. Lyng, S. (1990) “Edgework: A Social Psychological Analysis of Voluntary Risk-Taking.” American Journal of Sociology 95(4): 876–921. Moore, R. (2010) Sells Like Teen Spirit: Music, Youth Culture, and Social Crisis. New York: New York University Press. Pilkington, H. and E. Omel’chenko (2013) “Regrounding Youth Cultural Theory in Post-Socialist Youth Cultural Practice.” Sociology Compass 7 (3): 208–224. Sandstrom, K. L., D. D. Martin, and G. A. Fine (2009) Symbols, Selves, and Social Reality: A Symbolic Interactionist Approach to Social Psychology and Sociology. New York and London: Oxford University Press. Santrock, J. (2011) Adolescence, 14th edition. Columbus, OH: McGraw-Hill.

Scheel, K. R. and J. S. Westefeld (1999) “Heavy Metal Music and Adolescent

Suicidality: An Empirical Investigation.” Adolescence 34 (134): 253–273.

Sutherland, E. H. and D. R. Cressey (1978) Principles of Criminology (10th edition). Philadelphia, PA: Lippencott. Thornton, S. (1995) Clubcultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press. Touraine, A. (1981) The Voice and the Eye: An Analysis of Social Movements. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vale, V. and A. Juno (eds.) (1989) Re/Search #12: Modern Primitives: An Investigation of Contemporary Adornment & Ritual. San Francisco, CA: Re/ Search Publications. Williams, D. J. (2008) “Contemporary Vampires and (Blood-Red) Leisure: Should We Be Afraid of the Dark?” Leisure 32 (2): 513–539. Williams, D. J. (2009) “Deviant Leisure: Rethinking ‘The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly’.” Leisure Sciences 31 (2): 207–213. Wilson, A. (2007) Northern Soul: Music, Drugs and Subcultural Identity. Portland: Willan. Worley, M. (2017) No Future: Punk, Politics and British Youth Culture, 1976–1984. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

3 HOW DO SUBCULTURES RESIST “MAINSTREAM” SOCIETY … AND ARE THEY SUCCESSFUL? In early 2012, then-former Russian President Vladimir Putin was poised to retake the presidency amid accusations of election fraud and abuse of power. Protestors crowded city streets calling for fair elec­ tions and other reforms, chanting “Russia without Putin!” and demanding freedom for political prisoners. Having been appointed Prime Minister by his successor, Dmitry Medvedev, Putin’s election, which he eventually won, would add at least four more years to his already 12 years in power. Amid the discontent, a feminist punk col­ lective known as Pussy Riot staged several illegal protest events, clad in brightly colored dresses and tights, faces masked by matching balaclavas. Members of the collective, who largely remain anon­ ymous, had earlier orchestrated protests in subways and outside a prison where authorities held an opposition leader, filming and post­ ing their actions on YouTube. Moscow authorities arrested, detained, and fined the women for performing an anti-Putin song titled “Putin Pissed Himself” in snowy Red Square (Flintoff 2012). In March, the collective offered a punk rock “prayer” for Putin’s removal, playing “Virgin Mary, Mother of God, Expel Putin!” at the altar in the Cathedral of Christ the Savior. Convicted of hooliganism, a Moscow judge sentenced two women to two years in a penal colony with a reputation for harsh treatment. While some members of the Ortho­ dox church pled for leniency, the church Patriarch called the band’s actions sacrilegious, claiming “the devil laughed at us” (Elder 2012). Inspired by the feminist politics and DIY creativity of the 1990s riot grrrl movement in the US, Pussy Riot carries on a long DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417-3

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tradition of subculturists who challenge the status quo. In 2022, following the Russian invasion of Ukraine, bands such as eclectic punk Gogol Bordello, led by Ukrainian-born Eugene Hütz, use their concerts and other platforms to speak out and raise money for the besieged country. Yet not all subculturists engage in politics, commit civil disobedience, or even actively seek to challenge authority; in some ways, Pussy Riot is the exception, not the rule. Still, most subculturists profess some sort of resistance to the “mainstream.” Whether any sort of coherent “mainstream” exists is beside the point; subculturists con­ struct a vision of an oppressive/conformist/boring culture to which they contrast themselves. In this chapter, I consider subcultures’ potential to offer meaningful resistance to the status quo. Put bluntly, do subcultures simply offer spaces for kids to listen to music, play dressup, and maybe occasionally shock their elders or do they challenge society in some meaningful way? Are subculturists truly rebellious or rebels without a cause?

WHAT IS RESISTANCE – WHAT COUNTS? When we think of significant, intentional efforts to change the world we often look to social movements: environmental group Greenpeace organizing a public demonstration in Japan against whaling practices; Occupy activists protesting global inequality by taking over public spaces; democracy advocates taking to the streets in Hong Kong and Myanmar; #MeToo organizing against sexual violence; anti-racist demonstrations in Ferguson, Missouri, and around the world; and Extinction Rebellion’s struggle for climate justice. Often inspired or led by charismatic leaders such as Nelson Mandela, Wangari Maathai, Malala Yousafzai, Greta Thunberg, or Martin Luther King, Jr., social movements seem to be everything subcultures are not: organized, externally focused, collective, and political. In contrast, subcultures might seem diffuse, self-centered, individualistic opportunities for personal expression, thus marking movements as serious contenders for social change and subcultures as trivial in comparison. “Real” efforts towards change, or “real” resistance to power, then, equals professional social movement organizations and activists organizing public protest campaigns. Despite this grim portrayal of the prospects of subcultural defi­ ance, the dichotomy between leisure and politics misses important,

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but less visible, acts of resistance. Power is a social relationship wherein one party influences or compels another to think, act, or feel in a certain way. Power relations exist between nations, gov­ ernments and their people, corporations and their consumers and so forth, but they also exist among smaller groups and individuals. At the most basic level, subculturists often attempt to subvert inequalities of power by challenging dominant social ideas and practices. Punks’ outlandish hairstyles, obnoxious music, panhand­ ling, and anarchy patches initially shocked more conventional standards of beauty, art, productive work, and social order. Sub­ culturists undermine the hegemonic, or dominant, social meanings and power relationships that in many ways govern our lives, hence subculture’s connections to notions of counterculture. Hegemony is both political and cultural (Gramsci 1971), manufacturing a degree of consensus whereby dominated groups assent to the “leadership” of elites who benefit from their subordination (see Martin 2022). Politicians (and other power brokers) such as Vladi­ mir Putin seem to have a monopoly on political power, especially the legitimate use of violence. But power wielded at the barrel of a gun can be expensive and messy; cultural (or ideological) hege­ mony makes power seem invisible, justifying inequities and even making them seem natural. The ultimate expression of hegemony occurs when people come to believe and enforce the ideas of the powerful, in effect doing the “work” of the powerful for them. For example, some lower-income or working-class people oppose tax increases on the rich because they are convinced people get their just rewards – rich people are smart, have worked hard, and thus deserve their wealth, while less-fortunate folk must be irre­ sponsible, less capable, or less hardworking. Likewise, women often reinforce sexist, patriarchal culture by holding one another to impossible beauty standards; they have absorbed the rules of the gender “game” created and enforced by men. Both of these examples illustrate how ideology legitimates the privilege and power of one group over another. So in some sense, countering hegemonic ideas (or frames) perpetuated by powerful people and institutions is a significant act of resistance. In theorizing resistance, we might begin with wondering how subcultures disrupt or counter hegemony. Hegemony is never total, in fact is precarious; people can and do, usually through great

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struggle and organizing, withdraw their support and question the relations of domination. This means that meaningful resistance does not always have to be revolutionary, in the sense of radically altering the social order. Resistance is not always directed towards the state, nor does it always take the form of public protest; it can be demonstrating new and different ways of life that lead to greater human flourishing (Wright 2010). While sometimes quite direct, subcultural resistance is often more subtle than protest politics, participants engaging in intentional non-normativity (Williams and Hannerz 2014). In any case, we are interested in not only what subculturists think but (perhaps more importantly) in what they do. Queer cabaret – including “drag, spoken word, dance, song, comedy, and burlesque” – engages in “intersectional prefigurative politics [as] a means of creating protest spaces in the image of a society built upon social justice” (Gouweloos 2021:242–243). Par­ ticipants deliberately choose and shape cabaret spaces, clearly wel­ coming diverse performers and audiences. They also center marginalized people and demand that events be accessible, safe, and caring, both in terms of infrastructure but also by adopting a “pay what you can” admission structure. These efforts at unsettling hegemonic power relations address the shortcomings of wellintentioned progressive movements as well as prefiguring a differ­ ent world (see below). BIRMINGHAM SCHOOL: IS RESISTANCE ILLUSORY?

Resistance as a theoretical concept gained popularity with the CCCS/Birmingham School. Scholars in this tradition saw sub­ culturists as more than delinquent kids. Working-class youth, especially, resisted conformist, hegemonic culture through their style and rituals (Hall and Jefferson 1976). Mods, rockers, skin­ heads, and especially punks shocked adults with their spectacular fashions, offensive music, and rowdy behavior. Their style (for example, skinheads’ shaved heads, boots, and braces) and their rituals (such as punks’ slam dancing) symbolized their rejection of middle-class, bourgeois lifestyles. In a sense, working-class sub­ cultural youth were semiotic warriors, meaning they challenged the status quo through their signs or symbols. Denied a legitimate chance at well-paid jobs, disadvantaged youth fought back with

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the only resources at their disposal, their style, leisure, and con­ sumptive practices. However, according to the CCCS, such resis­ tance was largely “magical,” or illusory, changing little and often reinforcing the very status hierarchies they presumably sought to undermine. Resistance rarely, if ever, led to better access to edu­ cation, healthcare, good salaries, and so on. Thus skinheads, in championing working-class identity and jobs further ensured their exploitation (see Willis 1977). Such views likely echo popular conceptions of subcultures as mildly subversive, but ultimately lei­ sure-oriented spaces where kids drink, smoke, have sex, listen to music, and occasionally commit petty crimes. Some critique the CCCS for portraying working-class youth as making a heroic (if ineffectual) stand against an oppressive hege­ monic culture – casting subculturists as heroes and adult culture as monolithic are both empirically suspect. Furthermore, not all sub­ culturists are young, working-class men responding to inequality. Alternately, the CCCS is perhaps too pessimistic in suggesting that youth resistance was ultimately illusory, due in part to the over­ emphasis on class struggle – there are more ways to make change than challenging economic forces, though racism, sexism, and class exploitation are inextricably intertwined (Schwalbe 2014). POST-SUBCULTURE: KIDS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN?

Regarding the first critique of the CCCS, post-subculture theorists have been critical of the entire notion of resistance, focusing even more on the consumerist aspects of youth culture. David Muggle­ ton and Rupert Weinzierl (2003) acknowledge the political/cul­ tural significance of youth while cautioning against reinforcing a “heroic” image of subcultural youth. After all, subcultural youth such as those present in the rave scene would rather do drugs and dance than change the world – or so the thinking goes. Thus Ted Polhemus (1998) suggests youth cultures may be hedonistic, apo­ litical, consumerist escapes, youth focused more on identity shop­ ping and personal fulfillment than social resistance. Indeed, at first glance a large part of subcultural experience is consuming items given particular subcultural meanings – a rave DJ purchases a rare record, a Kustom Kar aficionado buys expensive rims for his hot rod, or an Otaku obsessively collects manga, anime, and video

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games. Muggleton (1997:200) suggests that post-subculturists emphasize “the surface qualities of the spectacle at the expense of any underlying ideologies of resistance.” What’s more, perhaps the more conventional public have simply become accustomed to all manner of weird groups and strange lifestyles. Steve Redhead (1990) is critical of the meta-narrative of the “liberation of youth,” claiming that subcultures have lost their shock value in the postpunk world, often reflecting the mainstream or a nostalgia for the past. Rather than offering meaningful resistance, contemporary subcultures seek to reincarnate – through their consumption – a mythical era of “authentic” subcultures. The number of 16-year-olds sporting t-shirts from 1970s bands such as Black Sabbath, the Ramones, the Sex Pis­ tols, and the Misfits, or even later groups such as Run DMC, Metal­ lica, or Nirvana, may bolster this argument. In any case, subcultures focus more inwardly, are perhaps more self-absorbed than engaged in meaningful social criticism. Sarah Thornton (1995) suggests that internal subcultural politics of authenticity and a focus on differ­ ence simply create new hierarchies reflective of those present in the mainstream world subcultures propose to defy – similar to the CCCS analysis of resistance, but without even the intimation of social resistance. Finally, while acknowledging “neo-tribes” as spaces providing “sovereignty over one’s own existence,” Maffesoli (1996:42, 51) also worries that the “festive dimension” of neo-tribal resistance is oriented “less at changing the world than getting used to and tinkering with it.” Even more critically, Joseph Heath and Andrew Potter (2004:6) argue that “countercultural rebellion has reinvigorated consumer capitalism” and detracted from the more effective reform efforts of social movements: Having fun is not subversive, and it doesn’t undermine any system. In fact, widespread hedonism makes it more difficult to organize social movements, and much more difficult to persuade anyone to make a sacrifice in the name of social justice. IT’S COMPLICATED: HOW DO SUBCULTURES SIMULTANEOUSLY CHALLENGE AND REINFORCE DOMINANT SOCIAL IDEAS AND RELATIONS?

So the CCCS may have exaggerated subculturists’ focus on resis­ tance, engaging in a bit of wishful thinking. And post-subculture

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theorists rightly point out that many subculturists focus more on partying and having a good time than on politics. But does that mean resistance is futile? Contemporary scholars have thought about resistance in new ways, acknowledging the post-subculture critiques of the Bir­ mingham School while examining resistance from subculturists’ point of view. Laurain Leblanc (1999) in her study of women punks asserts that participants’ subjective understanding of their involvement reveals a more nuanced understanding of resistance. She found that punk girls recognized the sexism in the punk scene, but still found meaning in consciously defying the “femininity game,” dominant standards of feminine beauty and manners. They might not always be challenging the structural disadvantages women face (such as wage discrimination), but these punk women still found personal empowerment in their resistance. My own work on straight edge (Haenfler 2004b) demonstrates there are different meanings (individual and collective), sites (micro, meso, and macro), and methods (personal and political) of resistance. Most straight edgers experience intensely personal meaning in abstaining from alcohol and tobacco; for some, the identity is part of a personal quest to deal with past addiction or to reject an abusive family history. Yet many also see straight edge as a collective challenge to cultural norms of excess, a community of shared values. Resistance is also contextual, occurring in a variety of sites. At the micro level, straight edgers might challenge abuse at home and conformity at school or work. At the meso level, they seek to challenge a perceived intoxicated youth culture, including other youth subcultures such as punk; often subcultural youth are resisting/challenging other youth as much as they are thinking of the larger society. And at the macro level, straight edgers resist the largely unquestioned assumption that alcohol be part of most social situations, suggesting even that drugs and alcohol constitute one way to pacify people into larger patterns of conformity. They cri­ tique alcohol, tobacco, and pharmaceutical companies for know­ ingly marketing harmful products, as revealed by a variety of successful lawsuits. Finally, straight edgers employed both personal and political methods of resistance. As I’ve suggested, subcultures often offer a less overt challenge to power than do social move­ ments. Straight edgers typically seek to lead by personal example,

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living out the values they profess by (often literally) wearing their politics on their sleeves. Anyone can refuse drugs and alcohol. What sets straight edgers apart is their emphasis on public display of drug-free living, their professed lifetime commitment, and their crafting of an identity around abstinence. These practices symbolize for many a greater, more political rejection of mainstream culture, leading some straight edgers to vegetarianism, veganism, anti­ fascism, anti-sexism, peace, environmental, and other causes (see Kuhn 2010, 2019). Many straight edgers self-consciously understand their personal resistance as part of a greater political challenge (Haenfler 2006). J. Patrick Williams (2009, 2011) further consolidates recent thinking about resistance, discussing three dimensions of resis­ tance, each existing on a continuum. First, he notes that resis­ tance can be relatively passive or active, based upon subculturists’ intention to resist. As I discussed above, the CCCS largely viewed subculturists’ efforts as passive – youth were consuming deviant fashions, twisting dominant styles to their own purposes, but were doing little to challenge the social class structure or to really improve their lot in life. However, as the more contemporary ethnographic studies I discuss here have shown, subculturists (such as Leblanc’s punk women) regularly report more active, thoughtful, and intentional efforts at change, in turn challenging some of the post-subculturists’ view of youth scenes as apolitical, hedonistic escapes. That doesn’t mean they always get the results they seek, nor does it mean we must judge their resistance as effective (effects are difficult to measure anyway). Recognizing subculturists’ motivations behind and interpretations of their actions does suggest we take subcultural resistance seriously, if not uncritically. Second, active resistance can occur between the micro and macro levels, based upon subculturists’ “targets.” Again, attention to subculturists’ subjective understandings and lived experiences is crucial. At the micro level, Mexican “emo” kids may adopt the emo/goth style and identity as a sort of social psychological selfdefense against the popular kids who torment them. At the meso level, they may challenge the gender norms in local youth scenes or “jock” culture at their schools, while at the macro level they call attention to government corruption or drug violence. Likewise on

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the more macro end of the continuum, African hip hoppers use their music to critique the excesses of globalization (Ntarangwi 2009), just as the 1960s counterculture offered a wide-ranging critique of the dominant culture and an alternative way of life. Third, resistance can be overt and/or covert, based upon whe­ ther subculturists intend for their actions to be interpreted as resis­ tance and if outsiders do in fact recognize resistance as such (see Hollander and Einwohner 2004). Overt resistance is typically easy to spot – a long-haired black metal guy wearing an inverted cross and a “Fuck Me Jesus” t-shirt while walking down a main thor­ oughfare in Stockholm isn’t exactly being subtle. A crust punk running her own “distro” (a small-scale, DIY distribution outlet for underground records, ’zines, and other subcultural para­ phernalia) at a show in defiance of capitalism engages in a more covert form of resistance. Her efforts likely go unnoticed by out­ siders. Even while critical of dominant institutions, some sub­ cultural activity is meant primarily for insiders. Organizers of Philadelphia’s Break Free Fest center BIPOC hardcore punk artists and bands, holding space in largely white scenes. Yet resistance can be both covert and overt; Japanese subcultures serve, in part, as resistance to the archetypical rule-following, conformist “salary man” who works exhausting hours at a dull job, unquestioningly devoted to his work (see Chen 2012). Their subcultural activities may often be inward-directed, but outsiders recognize their pursuit of creative and expressive activities as a real alternative to the cor­ porate grind. BOX 3.1 HEAVY METAL MUSLIMS Heavy metal, punk, and hip hop have a strong presence in pre­ dominately Muslim countries, from Morocco and Pakistan to Palestine and Indonesia. In some of these contexts, professing subcultural/counter-hegemonic ideas is especially subversive. When women rap in Morocco or Indonesian metal bands criticize Islamist authorities, they take a significant risk and often provoke a harsh response. It would be hard to argue that such resistance is totally “illusory.”

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Returning to the question of whether or not subcultures end up resisting or reinforcing dominant power relations, a number of scholars have done interesting work on the complexity of resistance. Both Dunja Brill’s (2008) and Amy Wilkins’ (2004) studies of goths showed that the scene provides women a space to reject “passive” femininity and engage in “active sexuality” as well as opportunities for men to enact more androgynous gender displays. Yet Wilkins notes the compulsion for women to dress sexily and be sexually available for men, while Brill writes of a “cult of femininity” for both sexes that in many ways preserves dominant gender ideologies and practices as men are given more room for gender play. Similarly, my own work on straight edge revealed two contradictory faces of straight edge mascu­ linity. The progressive, or self-styled “positive” face encouraged youth to reject many of the markers of young manhood such as drinking and sexual conquest, even homophobia, violence, and eating meat. The so-called “militant” branch of the scene encouraged hypermasculine behavior, creating judgmental, violent “tough guys.” Finally, while many have noted the hedonism and drug use in rave cultures, Angela McRobbie (2000) interpreted raves as symbolic, pleasurable escape from the mundane. Brian Wilson (2002) notes that many participants in Canadian raves translated the PLUR ethos – peace, love, unity, and respect – into their daily lives outside rave parties, suggesting that some ravers saw their activities as “tactical resistance.” All of this is to say that scholars are finding ways to think about resistance that neither inappropriately cast youth as heroic cultural revolutionaries nor reduce participants’ experiences to ineffectual consumerism. Williams (2011:94) writes, “examples or moments of resistance cannot easily be placed into boxes” and that “subcultural youths have the ability to act within their everyday environments, even in the face of limited resources and ideological hegemony.” Resistance, unsurprisingly, is not all or nothing – subcultures both resist and reinforce dominate social relations and inequalities.

POLITICS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS: HOW DO SUBCULTURISTS ENGAGE DIRECTLY IN SOCIAL CHANGE? As I discussed near the beginning of this chapter, subcultures can seem like relatively trivial, escapist fashion shows, leaving “real”

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change to protesters and politicians. However, some subculturists take on active, overt resistance against meso and macro level tar­ gets, fusing their subcultural identities with direct efforts at change. They pursue social change in a variety of ways such as raising aware­ ness about critical social issues, supporting charities and nonprofits, participating in protest movements, and even entering the political arena. For instance, hip hop heads have been involved in registering people to vote, skateboarders raise money for underprivileged kids, and anarchist subcultures have utilized the “black bloc” tactic in anti-globalization and other protests around the world. RAISING AWARENESS, CHALLENGING DISCOURSE, CONTESTING KNOWLEDGE

Subcultures can be important sites for participants to engage with counterhegemonic ideas. Many (most) people do not have access to higher education or may not be privy to activist communities. In combining leisure, community, and identity, subcultures pro­ vide access to knowledge that might otherwise be inaccessible. Some subculturists become public intellectuals, raising awareness in their communities and encouraging cultural change. Commonly understood, public intellectuals are formally educated and cre­ dentialed people (often university professors) who happen to share their work in more accessible ways outside of academia, often in an effort to influence public opinion or shape policy. However, sub­ culturists without formal credentials also create and share important knowledge based upon direct, lived experience in their communities (Fatsis 2018). Trans-feminist hardcore punk band G.L.O.S.S., amongst other groups, brought increased awareness of trans identities to the scene. Led by Diné vocalist Tish Rico, vegan straight edge band With War speaks to the genocide of the native people of North America, introducing audiences to concepts such as settler colonialism and land theft, about which most hardcore kids might otherwise remain ignorant. Subcultures can foster “hidden transcripts,” offering messages of resistance relatively concealed from dominant groups and autho­ rities (Scott 1992). Rap music and hip hop culture have been platforms for “marginalized groups [to] develop their own resistive or hidden transcripts” that “take place in disguised form and tend to include critiques of the predominate culture” and that provide

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“a forum from which [B]lack youth can portray what it means to be young and [B]lack in America and protest against it” (Stapleton 1998:221–222; see also Rose 1994). Fantasy and comic book cul­ ture may be dominated by white geeks, yet Afrofuturist science fiction and Black superheroes such as Black Panther and Storm can provide, for Black readers, a respite from anti-Blackness and a reference point for imagining different futures (Scott 2022). CHARITIES AND NONPROFITS

Rather than fitting the stereotypical image of anti-social misfits or disorganized hellraisers, some subculturists undertake distinctly prosocial activities, volunteering their time or raising money in support of charitable causes. The Patriot Guard Riders are motorcycle afi­ cionados who attend (at the family’s invitation) funerals for military personal, firefighters, and police officers, sheltering the grieving family from protest groups such as the anti-gay Westboro Baptist Church, known for picketing soldiers’ funerals, claiming their deaths are God’s retribution for cultural immorality. Cosplayers – participants in a fandom who enjoy creating and wearing costumes – often visit children’s hospitals or collect money for schools. Such work not only provides a social benefit but also legitimates subculturists’ “deviant” behavior; dressing up as Ms. Marvel, She-Hulk, Katniss Everdeen, or Darth Vader seems less strange when done to entertain sick children. Skateboarders harassed for skating in urban areas shine up their public image by raising money for a skate park. PREFIGURATIVE POLITICS AND LIFESTYLE MOVEMENTS

Some subculturists forge political identities in the midst of their involvement, making subcultures a form of prefigurative politics. Prefigurative politics include activists’ efforts to live out the more ideal world they envision, laying the cultural and/or tactical ground­ work for an eventual challenge to the government or other power structures (Breines 1989). Thus movements such as anarchism that seek to undermine hierarchies of all kinds organize their groups around consensus decision-making or participatory democracy. Anti­ capitalist punks circumvent capitalism as much as possible as they create their own DIY music and art. White power movements have

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long used punk and skinhead subcultures as recruiting grounds, turning Nazi skinheads into race warriors (Blazak 2001). The 1989 solidarity movements in Central Europe built upon informal youth networks, including underground punk, that paved the way for more direct political confrontation (Kenney 2003). Thus subcultures can help sow and nurture seeds of discontent that eventually grow into political dissent. In apartheid-era South Africa, youth rocked the status quo by forming multi-racial punk and reggae bands (e.g. National Wake) while integrated UK ska acts such as Madness and The Specials promoted unity and respect (Jones and Maas 2012). While not necessarily engaging directly in anti-racist politics (e.g. street protests, petitions), the mere presence of multi-racial bands made a powerful social statement that contributed to the ongoing shift in race relations, prefiguring a different future. Riot grrrl “zine­ sters” view their ’zine-making as both personal empowerment and political challenge. Grrrls use ’zines as opportunities to express ideas that would elsewhere be marginalized, resisting, in the lyrics of riot grrrl band Bikini Kill (1994), “psychic death.” But ’zines also serve as “border spaces” where women can practice participatory democracy, build alliances, and organize around feminist and queer issues (Schilt and Zobl 2008). Relatedly, subcultures often overlap with lifestyle movements, “loosely bound collectivities in which participants advocate lifestyle change as a primary means to social change, politicizing daily life while pursuing morally coherent ‘authentic’ identities” (Haenfler et al. 2012:14). Less organized than traditional social movements, lifestyle movements encourage individuals to make changes in their everyday lives in an effort to enact cultural change. Many straight edgers not only abstain from alcohol but also adopt and promote vegetarian or vegan lifestyles, believing that their individual efforts collectively make a difference. Riley, Griffin, and Morey (2010) argue that even seemingly hedonistic electronic dance music fans engage in “everyday politics”; not engaging with official political institutions constitutes an “active aloofness” that denies legitimacy to power structures while creating communities where participants can live out alternative values. Likewise, anarchist subcultures see anti-consumption as tactical resistance even as they use it to express their anarchist identity, bond with likeminded others, and distin­ guish themselves from typical consumers. They refuse many of the

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goods associated with middle-class life – a stable home, a car, sty­ lish clothes, meat, even beauty and body-care products – as part of a larger rejection of oppressive and environmentally destructive industries (Portwood-Stacer 2012). Subcultures often align with lifestyle movements, as both combine expressive identities, cultural challenge, and personal and social transformation. Lifestyle move­ ments and their subcultural participants can even serve as “collec­ tive action reservoirs,” that is pools of likeminded people not regularly politically active who may be mobilized for a particular protest action or political campaign (Haenfler et al. 2012); both the global democracy and Occupy movements drew punks and other subculturists into their struggle (Ruggero 2012). SOCIAL MOVEMENTS AND POLITICS

Some subculturists engage directly in what we more traditionally think of as social movements. Punks, for example, used their DIY independent media to help mobilize participants in the Rock Against Racism movement in the UK and the peace movement in the US (Roberts and Moore 2009; Goddyer 2003). Punk music and culture actually shaped these movements’ tactics and messages, becoming a “mobilizing structure” that helped protestors organize. DIY ideology and, more importantly, DIY skills provided punks the means to mobilize support; punk shows and ’zines were forums to build anti-racist and peace activism. And of course music has long been a staple of protest movements, from the folk rock of the 1960s to rap today (see Eyerman and Jamison 1998). How do subcultures and movements interact? First, as I discussed above, subcultures can act as prefigurative politics, even free spaces, places relatively removed from (and safe from the surveillance of) dominant groups in which activists can build collective identity and even develop tactics (Evans and Boyte 1992; Goodwin and Jasper 2009). Free spaces can be actual places (e.g. churches in the Civil Rights movement, prisons in apartheid-era South Africa), but can also be subcultural communities. They can be places of respite, offering a reprieve from scrutiny, stigma, even surveillance (Gamson 1996). Authorities by and large likely do not see fixed gear bicyclists as political, but communities of DIY cyclists develop “bike activism” in events such as Critical Mass rides to resist car

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culture (Furness 2010). Subcultures act as submerged networks (Melucci 1989) “in which experiments in life are carried on, new experiences created, and collective identities forged in everyday life” (Nash 2010: 113). For instance, BD/SM, polyamory, and other sexual subcultures may help nurture a queer collective iden­ tity and counter-hegemonic political ideology even while existing primarily for leisure and friendship. Similarly to being potential collective action reservoirs, subcultures may also serve as abeyance structures, networks in which activists keep a movement alive through an unfavorable political climate, ensuring movement con­ tinuity even when the situation seems bleak (Taylor 1989). Protest movements typically occur in waves, or cycles of protest, including moments of significant activity and momentum and times of “abeyance” when activity wanes. The US women’s movement has included several waves of protest where participation and activism peaks and declines. Between such cycles, when commentators often declare feminism “dead,” supporters keep feminism alive in music festivals, feminist/queer bookstores, ’zines, blogs, social and other media, and yes, subcultures. The combination of deeply-held (often deviant) values with leisure and friendship networks helps some subcultures effectively play all of these roles in social movements. Acting as free spaces, submerged networks, and abeyance structures in which dissident ideas and practices can ferment, subculturists become potential constituencies ripe for mobilization. Some social movement leaders see subcultures as fertile recruiting grounds. Tom Metzger, founder of White Aryan Resistance in the US, co-opted a variety of youth music scenes into his movement, including skin­ heads, punks, and metalheads (Moore 1993; Burghart 1999). Like­ wise, the far-right National Front and British Movement in the UK saw punk as fertile ground for recruits in the late 1970s and 1980s (Worley and Copsey 2016). Racist movements have long used white power music to bolster their cause. Ugo Corte and Bob Edwards (2008:7) report that especially prior to the spread of the internet, “White Power music played an integral role in spreading and inter­ nationalizing a highly fragmented racist movement” across Western Europe and North America, as touring bands, record labels, and ’zines gave some sense of coherence to disparate scenes. Racist movements used music subcultures to recruit new adherents, foster a common (collective) identity, and raise money. People who might not

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otherwise be interested in traditional politics or protest may appreci­ ate the emotional pull of music and the camaraderie of a subculture. In the process, they come into contact with movement activists and ideologies in the context of a meaningful community, potentially adopting aspects of a movement’s worldview. Each of these connections between subcultures and movements foster oppositional identities and shared meanings. Straight edge kids around the world connect their straight edge identity to social change. Dutch straight edge band Manliftingbanner promoted communist and anti-fascist politics with hardcore music through­ out the 1990s. Similarly, Sweden’s Refused incorporated radical social critique into their hardcore and straight edge identities, including manifestos with their records addressing topics as varied as alienation, media domination, corporate imperialism, and MTV. Believing in the revolutionary potential of music, they wrote, “The art produced by Refused is a weapon in the service of the struggle and an inseparable part of it” (Refused n.d.). Some straight edgers engage in nonviolent direct action campaigns. Israeli anar­ chist Jonathan Pollak cofounded Anarchists Against the Wall, an activist collective that, among other things, works in solidarity with Palestinian organizations. Arrested many times and severely injured in demonstrations against the West Bank barrier, he explains how his subcultural and activist passions intersect (Kuhn 2010:112): The need to extract oneself from society, so prevalent in Straight Edge, is fuelled by the desire to see and live a different reality; a desire that can’t subsist in the clubs, cafes and drug culture of main­ stream society. Both my Straight Edge and my activism are strongly rooted in this passion …

Because they often serve as such important sources of meaning and identity, subcultures offer a variety of resources (e.g. music, ’zines, websites) with which to “frame” issues, that is to intentionally communicate and shape the meanings surrounding a group of people, a set of circumstances, or an event (see Snow et al. 1986). So progressive punks might frame capitalism as oppressive and dehu­ manizing; straight edge kids frame alcohol as a poison used by those in power to pacify those they exploit; and White Power subcultures frame immigrants as criminals and invaders that “pollute” the white

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race. Subcultures, then, can serve as a cultural resource mobilized by social movements across the political spectrum. Egyptian rappers Arabian Knightz song “Not Your Prisoner” framed the Mubarak regime and others like it as unjust, oppressive, even evil, fueling and capturing the spirit of the revolution during the January 2011 revolt. Rapper El General’s arrest resulting from his song critical of Tunisian President Ben Ali played some role in the Tunisian revolution and in turn transformed hip hop from a music supposedly for thugs and gangsters into a cultural sensation (Ulysses 2012). And just as subculturists may help inspire uprisings, so to do social movements inspire scenes; the Arab uprisings fueled new political consciousness in Libyan, Egyptian, and Tunisian hip hop, for example (Barone 2019). While the complete role of hip hop in the uprisings remains unclear (and outsiders should avoid transposing their own hopes onto the scene), the connections between hip hop and protest around the world are real. At times, subculturists participate in more conventional politics, trying to influence elections or using subcultural capital to mobilize efforts to change policy. The Rock Against Racism campaign in the UK inspired US punks to Rock Against Reagan in the early 1980s (see Mattson 2001). In 2004, “Fat Mike” of punk label Fat Wreck Chords and band NOFX spearheaded a Rock Against Bush campaign to oppose the re-election of George W. Bush. Using concerts, compilation records, and a web site (PunkVoter), pro­ minent punk bands raised more than $1 million for voter registra­ tion drives as well as spreading a pro-peace/anti-Bush message. Australian punks did likewise, organizing in opposition to Prime Minister John Howard. Racist, anti-immigrant right-wing parties in Italy, Germany, and Sweden have not only capitalized on the prefigurative and social movement activities of White Power sub­ cultures but have even incorporated such groups into their recruitment campaigns (Corte and Edwards 2008). BOX 3.2 SUBCULTURAL SPACES AS “WAKER CELLS” Even as subcultures “are increasingly experienced through capitalist and internet mediations,” subcultural spaces can serve as “waker cells,” semi-autonomous and often temporary places where

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participants can “plot spontaneity, life, communalism, anarchism, and autonomy” (Clark 2004:453, 454). For example, anarchist squats, clubs, and coffee houses provide places for subculturists to practice their ideals (prefigurative politics) and plot political resistance. Dylan Clark (2004) describes the Black Cat Cafe – a cooperatively owned and run restaurant in 1990s’ Seattle populated primarily by anarcho­ punks – as an imminently political space. Its exterior – painted black and marked by the anarchist black cat – shielded an interior covered with radical posters and flyers for punk shows. Leftist books and pamphlets provided ample reading material and patrons argued politics as they enjoyed the vegetarian menu. While the café eventually closed, many regulars joined in the “Battle of Seattle” street demonstrations of 1999, a significant moment in the global justice movement.

Subculturists organize periodically for a variety of causes. In the UK, subculturists rallied against the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act of 1994 which increased restrictions and penalties on “alternative” cultures such as rave, squatting, and new age travelers as well as joining activities such as fox hunt disruptions (McKay 1996). A decade later, grime artists fought back against Form 696, targeting underground music scenes (Fatsis 2018; see Chapter 6). The “anti-globalization” movement, known for massive protests between 1999 and 2003 in places such as Seattle, Quebec, London, Genoa, and Athens, brought together a variety of protesters, including many subculturists. While lacking clear leadership and organization, this “movement of movements” demonstrated that “subcultures are now a genuine political force” (Paris and Ault 2004:404). Defined by their antagonism to neoliberalism (rather than their style or music), they can become “new protest formations,” practicing radical democracy internally and sometimes coalescing into disruptive street demonstrations (Marchart 2004). In an important sense, subcultures mediate between individual, micro-level experiences and societal, macro-level changes, foster­ ing group-level arenas of dialogue, innovation, conflict, and experimentation. Small groups form the foundation of social life and “networks of groups” comprise subcultures (Fine 2012:143). Existing “between self and society,” groups constitute “a local field in which meaning is created and in which action is possible”

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(ibid.:32). Put another way, subcultures become sites where people negotiate meanings, influenced by larger cultural happenings but also influencing those happenings. They are laboratories where people encounter new ideas, put them into practice, make mis­ takes, find affirmation, and continue to learn and change while interacting with significant others. #MeToo and Black Lives Matter movements have prompted widespread (macro-level) dialo­ gue about systemic racism and sexism, but have also prompted sub­ culturists to critically examine (and push for change in) their own scenes. Ideas such as settler colonialism, structural racism, gatekeeping, and privilege enter some subcultures’ lexicons, coming from other social arenas but put into (usually imperfect) practice in local scenes. On the other side of the political spectrum, the elections of populist, right-wing leaders such as Donald Trump have encouraged other subculturists to double down on reactionary politics and more openly express their grievances. And of course these social and political movements prompt changes amongst their subcultural opponents, as incels react to #MeToo and white nationalist groups respond to BLM. Importantly, subcultures have simultaneously influenced pos­ sibilities at the macro and micro levels – often as part of free spaces, prefigurative politics, and lifestyle movements – not merely reflecting or responding to larger forces but also being politically meaningful in their own right. Again, subcultures can offer space for dialogue and critique that both reflect and inform larger cultural conversations, as well as helping individuals more clearly understand their experiences in systems of power and inequality. Some steampunks, for example, wrestle with the colonialism, racism, sexism, and classism of the Victorian era, debating the meanings of style associated with empire (Ferguson 2011). The same is true of steampunk depictions of gender and Victorian asylums (Nally 2019). Queer VietnameseAmerican author, editor, and scholar Diana M. Pho created an important venue for these discussions and for highlighting multi­ cultural steampunk on her blog “Beyond Victoriana: A Multicultural Perspective on Steampunk.” As described in the next chapter, fan fiction subcultures, far from being isolated or disconnected from their larger social and political context, allow participants to push gender and sexual boundaries and, I would argue, influence those ideologies more broadly.

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SUCCESS? Hopefully you now have a sense of the breadth of subcultural resistance. But are subculturists “successful” in resisting cultural and political hegemony? While it is unlikely that subcultures will form the vanguard of a massive, radical revolution, I am not so cynical to believe that they can’t be transformative for individuals, scenes, communities, and, at times and in concert with other social groupings, societies. It is important to neither overestimate nor underestimate their significance. In the article “Did Punk Matter?” Kevin Mattson (2001:74) argues that punk and riot grrrl were successful “experiments in alternative production and distribution of cultural products” in defiance of a corporate entertainment cul­ ture and that punks impacted politics in significant ways, especially at the local level. Successful resistance may be difficult to define, let alone measure, but many subculturists are certainly more than nihilistic hooligans or “harmless buffoons” (Hebdige 1979:2). Rather than evaluating success by narrow policy-based or political criteria, better to consider impact or influence in a variety of spheres, including cultural impacts, whether we are talking about subcultures or social movements (see Amenta 2013; Amenta and Polletta 2019).

KEY INSIGHTS �

� � �

Not all subculturists engage in active, overt resistance. Still, many subculturists challenge “the mainstream” through their music, styles, rituals, or via politicized lifestyles, and some engage directly in the political process as part of their subcultural identity. Some subculturists’ beliefs and behaviors actually reinforce dominant ideologies and relationships. Subcultural resistance is complex and many-layered. Resistance occurs at the individual and societal levels, is experienced personally and collectively, and can be overt and/or covert. Subculturists rarely, if ever, seek to overthrow a government or to overturn the fundamental structures of society. However, neither should subcultures be dismissed as trivial fashion shows with no political significance.

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EXPLORING FURTHER Muslim Cool: Race, Religion, and Hip Hop in the United States, by Su’ad Abdul Khabeer, 2016 (New York University Press). This book explores the relationship between Islam, Blackness, and hip hop, demonstrating the importance of music and youth culture in resisting anti-Blackness. Punk Record Labels and the Struggle for Autonomy: The Emergence of DIY, by Alan O’Connor, 2008 (Lexington Books). An insightful look into the business practices of “independent” record labels in Spain, Canada, and the US. Demonstrates how punks navigate between their anti-capitalist ideals and the capitalist world in which they live. Fight Back: Punk, Politics, and Resistance, edited by The Subcultures Network, 2014 (Manchester University Press). A collection of essays exploring the many dimensions of punk resistance. Youth Culture and Social Change: Making a Difference by Making a Noise, edited by The Subcultures Network, 2017 (Palgrave). Chapters use a variety of case studies to examine how youth use subcultural experience to rebel. “The Multidimensionality of Resistance in Youth-Subcultural, Studies,” by J. Patrick Williams, 2009 (The Resistance Studies Magazine 1: 20–33). A nice summary of the thinking around subcultural resis­ tance. Available online. “Subcultures and Political Resistance,” edited by Jeffrey Paris and Michael Ault, 2004. This special issue of Peace Review col­ lects a variety of essays on subcultural politics and their connection to social movements. Sounds Like a Revolution, directed by Summer, Love and Jane, Michener, 2010. Documentary exploring the connections between music, youth scenes, and activism. Features interviews with and live footage of a variety of musician activists in the folk, punk, hip hop, rock, and country genres. Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer, directed by Mike Lerner and Maxim Pozdorovkin, 2013. This documentary chronicles the rise of fem­ inist guerilla theater band/collective Pussy Riot, from their antiPutin protests through several members’ arrest and incarceration.

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Taqwacore: The Birth of Punk Islam, directed by Omar, Majeed, 2009. Documentary following the exploits of Islamic punk rockers as they tour the US, singing out against the excesses of both global capitalism and conservative Islam. Available on YouTube. Heavy Metal in Baghdad, directed by Suroosh, Alvi and Eddy, Moretti, 2007. Documents the struggles of Iraqi metal band Acrassicauda as they pursue their musical passions in the midst of war. VICE “Decade of Hate” series. This series demonstrates how the far-right infiltrates and uses subculturists, blending sport, music, politics, and subcultural affiliation. Available on YouTube. Inside a Neo Nazi Music Festival https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKX9OjNy_NI Inside a Neo Nazi Fight Club https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BL9HgHlpHJg. Why the Far Right Tries to Recruit Football Hooligans https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzFDJOH1kcA.

REFERENCES Amenta, E. (2013) ““Failure is not an Option.” Mobilizing Ideas blog, December 2. https://mobilizingideas.wordpress.com/2013/12/02/failure-is-not-an-op tion/ (accessed July 29, 2022). Amenta, E. and F. Polletta. (2019) “The Cultural Impact of Social Move­ ments.” Annual Review of Sociology 45 (1): 279–299. Barone, S. (2019) Metal, Rap, and Electro in Post-Revolutionary Tunisia: A Fragile Underground. New York: Routledge. Bikini, Kill (1992) “Resist Psychic Death.” (song) Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah. Kill Rock Stars (album). Blazak, R. (2001) “White Boys to Terrorist Men: Target Recruitment of Nazi Skinheads.” American Behavioral Scientist 44 (6): 982–1000. Breines, W. (1989) Community Organization in the New Left, 1962–1968: The Great Refusal (reissue edition). Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Brill, D. (2008) Goth Culture: Gender, Sexuality, and Style. Oxford: Berg. Burghart, D. (ed.) (1999) Soundtracks to the White Revolution: White Supremacist Assaults on Youth Music Subcultures. Chicago: Center for a New Community. Chen, J. (2012) “The Rise of 草食系男子 (Soushokukei Danshi) Masculinity and Consumption in Contemporary Japan.” In C. Otnes and L. Zayer (eds) Gender, Culture, and Consumer Behavior. New York: Routledge, pp. 283–308.

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Clark, D. (2004) “Waker Cells and Subcultural Resistance.” Peace Review 16 (4): 453–457. Corte, U. and B. Edwards (2008) “White Power Music and the Mobilization of Racist Social Movements.” Music & Arts in Action 1 (1). Elder, M. (2012) “Pussy Riot Sentenced to Two Years in Prison Colony for Hooliganism.” Guardian, August 17. www.guardian.co.uk/music/2012/aug/ 17/pussy-riot-sentenced-two-years (accessed October 29, 2012). Evans, S. M. and H. C. Boyte (1992) Free Spaces: The Sources of Democratic Change in America. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Eyerman, R. and A. Jamison (1998) Music and Social Movements: Mobilizing Traditions in the Twentieth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ferguson, C. (2011) “Surface Tensions: Steampunk, Subculture, and the Ideology of Style.” Neo-Victorian Studies 4 (2): 66–90. Fine, G. A. (2012) Tiny Publics: A Theory of Group Action and Culture. New York: Sage. Flintoff, C. (2012) “In Russia, Punk-Rock Riot Girls Rage Against Putin.” NPR, February 8. www.npr.org/2012/02/08/146581790/in-russia-punk-rockriot-girls-rage-against-putin (accessed April 2, 2012). Fatsis, L. (2018) “Grime: Criminal Subculture or Public Counterculture? A Critical Investigation Into the Criminalization of Black Musical Subcultures in the UK.” Crime, Media, Culture 15 (3): 447–461. Furness, Z. (2010) One Less Car: Bicycling and the Politics of Automobility. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Gamson, W. A. (1996) “Safe Spaces and Social Movements.” Perspectives on Social Problems 8 (1): 27–38. Goddyer, I. (2003) “Rock Against Racism: Multiculturalism and Political Mobilization, 1976–81.” Immigrants & Minorities 22 (1): 44–62. Goodwin, J. and J. M. Jasper (2009) The Social Movements Reader: Cases and Concepts (2nd edition). Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers. Gouweloos, J. (2021) “Intersectional Prefigurative Politics: Queer Cabaret as Radical Resistance.” Mobilization: An International Journal 26 (2): 239–255. Gramsci, A. (1971) Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, ed. and trans. G. Smith and Q. Hoare. New York: International Publishers Co. Haenfler, R. (2004) “Rethinking Subcultural Resistance: Core Values of the Straight Edge Movement.” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 33 (1): 406– 436. Haenfler, R. (2006) Straight Edge: Clean Living Youth, Hardcore Punk, and Social Change: Piscataway, Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Haenfler, R., B. Johnson, and E. Jones (2012) “Lifestyle Movements: Exploring the Intersection of Lifestyle and Social Movements.” Social Movement Studies 11 (1): 1–20. Hebdige, D. (1979) Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Methuen.

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Hall, S. and T. Jefferson (eds) (1976) Resistance Through Rituals: Youth Sub­ cultures in Post-War Britain. London: Hutchinson. Heath, J. and A. Potter (2004) Nation of Rebels: Why Counterculture Became Consumer Culture. New York: Harper Business. Hollander, J. A. and R. L. Einwohner (2004) “Conceptualizing Resistance.” Sociological Forum 19 (4): 533–554. Jones, K. and D. Maas (directors) (2012) Punk in Africa. Film. Kenney, P. (2003) A Carnival of Revolution: Central Europe 1989. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Khabeer, S. A. (2016) Muslim Cool: Race, Religion, and Hip Hop in the United States. New York, NY: New York University Press. Kuhn, G. (2010) Sober Living for the Revolution: Hardcore Punk, Straight Edge, and Radical Politics. Oakland, CA: PM Press. Kuhn, G. (2019) X: Straight Edge and Radical Sobriety. Oakland, CA: PM Press. Leblanc, L. (1999) Pretty in Punk: Girls’ Gender Resistance in a Boy’s Subculture, Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Maffesoli, M. (1996) The Time of the Tribes: The Decline of Individualism in Mass Society, trans. D. Smith. London: Sage. Marchart, O. (2004) “New Protest Formations and Racial Democracy.” Peace Review 16 (4): 415–420. Martin, J. (2022) Hegemony. Cambridge, UK: Polity. Mattson, K. (2001) “Did Punk Matter? Analyzing the Practices of a Youth

Subculture During the 1980s.” Journal of American Studies 42 (1): 69–97.

McKay, G. (1996) Senseless Acts of Beauty: Cultures of Resistance. New York: Verso.

McRobbie, A. (2000) Feminism and Youth Culture. London: Macmillan. Melucci, A. (1989) Nomads of the Present: Social Movements and Individual Needs in Contemporary Society. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Moore, J. B. (1993) Skinheads Shaved for Battle: A Cultural History of American Skinheads. Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green State University Press. Muggleton, D. (1997) “The Post-Subculturist.” In S. Redhead (ed.) The Clubcultures Reader: Readings in Popular Cultural Studies. Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 185–203. Muggleton, D. and R. Weinzierl (eds) (2003) The Post-Subcultures Reader. London: Berg. Nally, C. (2019) Gender, Subculture & the Neo-Victorian. New York, NY: Bloomsbury. Nash, K. (2010) Contemporary Political Sociology: Globalization, Politics, and Power (2nd edition). Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Ntarangwi, M. (2009) East African Hip Hop: Youth Culture and Globalization. Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press. O’Connor, A. (2008) Punk Record Labels and the Struggle for Autonomy: The Emergence of DIY. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books.

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Paris, J., and M. Ault (2004) “Subcultures and Political Resistance.” Peace Review 16 (4): 403–407. Polhemus, T. (1998) “In the Supermarket of Style.” In S. Redhead, D. Wynne, and J. O’Connor (eds) The Clubcultures Reader. Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 148–151. Portwood-Stacer, L. (2012) “Anti-Consumption as Tactical Resistance: Anarchists, Subculture, and Activist Strategy.” Journal of Consumer Culture 12 (1): 87–105. Redhead, S. (1990) The End-of-the-Century Party: Youth and Pop Towards 2000. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press. Refused (n.d.) “Refused Are Fucking Dead.” www.burningheart.com/refused/ refmanifest1.htm and www.burningheart.com/refused/refmanifest3.htm (accessed March 23, 2012). Riley, S. C. E., C. Griffin, and Y. Morey (2010) “The Case for ‘Everyday Politics’: Evaluating Neo-Tribal Theory as a Way to Understand Alternative Forms of Political Participation, Using Electronic Dance Music Culture as an Example.” Sociology 44: 345–363. Roberts, M. and R. Moore (2009) “Peace Punks and Punks Against Racism: Resource Mobilization and Frame Construction in the Punk Movement.” Music and Arts in Action 2 (1): 21–36. Rose, T. (1994) Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Ruggero, E. (2012) “A City and Its Occupation: Occupy Philly, Punk Participation and the Importance of ‘Context and Content’ in Social Movement Studies.” Paper presented at the 17th Conference on Alternative Futures and Popular Protest. Manchester Metropolitan University, Manchester, UK, April 1–3, 2012. Schilt, K. and E. Zobl (2008) “Connecting the Dots: Riot Grrrls, Ladyfests, and the International Grrrl Zine Network.” In A. Harris (ed.) Next Wave Cultures: Feminism, Subcultures, Activism. New York and London: Routledge, pp. 171–192. Schwalbe, M. (2014) Rigging the Game: How Inequality is Reproduced in Everyday Life, 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press. Scott, D. (2022) Keeping It Unreal: Black Queer Fantasy and Superhero Comics. New York: New York University Press. Scott, J. (1992) Domination and the Arts of Resistance. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Snow, D. A., Rochford, Jr., B., Worden, S. K. and Benford, R. D. (1986) “Frame Alignment Processes, Micromobilization, and Movement Participation.” American Sociological Review 51: 464–481. Stapleton, K. (1998) “From the Margins to the Mainstream: The Political Power of Hip-hop.” Media, Culture & Society 20: 219–234.

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The Subcultures Network (eds.) (2014) Fight Back: Punk, Politics, and Resistance. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press. The Subcultures Network (eds.) (2017) Youth Culture and Social Change: Making a Difference by Making a Noise. London: Palgrave. Taylor, V. (1989) “Sources of Continuity in Social Movements: The Women’s Movement in Abeyance.” American Sociological Review 54: 761–775. Thornton, S. (1995) Clubcultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press. Ulysses (2012) “Hip Hop and the Arab Uprisings.” www.opendemocracy. net/ulysses/hip-hop-and-arab-uprisings (accessed May 25, 2012). Wilkins, A. (2004) “‘So Full of Myself as a Chick’: Goth Women, Sexual Independence, and Gender Egalitarianism.” Gender and Society 18 (3): 328–349. Williams, J. P. (2009) “The Multidimensionality of Resistance in YouthSubcultural Studies.” The Resistance Studies Magazine 1: 20–33. Williams, J. P. (2011) Subcultural Theory: Traditions and Concepts. Cambridge, UK, and Malden, MA: Polity. Williams, P., & Hannerz, E. (2014) “Articulating the ‘Counter’ in Subculture Studies.” M/C Journal, 17 (6). https://doi.org/10.5204/mcj.912. Willis, P. (1977) Learning to Labor: How Working Class Youth Get Working Class Jobs. New York: Columbia University Press. Wilson, B. (2002) “The Canadian Rave Scene and Five Theses on Youth Resistance,” Canadian Journal of Sociology 27 (3): 373–412. Worley, M. and N. Copsey (2016) “White Youth: The Far Right, Punk and British Youth Culture 1977–87.” JOMEC Journal 9:27–47. Wright, E. O. (2010) Envisioning Real Utopias. Brooklyn, NY: Verso Books.

4 WHO PARTICIPATES IN SUBCULTURES AND HOW DO SUBCULTURAL IDENTITIES INTERACT WITH OTHER ASPECTS OF SELF? The iconic subculturist exemplifies the “spectacular” style sub­ cultures studied by the Birmingham scholars, a lad who loves his music, his drink, and his mates. The skinhead with his cropped hair, braces, and steel-toed boots; the mod with his customized Vespa, a dozen shiny mirrors splaying out in a chrome fan from his motorbike; the punk sporting his leather jacket, safety-pin pier­ cings, and “liberty spikes” haircut; the denim-clad, long-haired metalhead, his favorite band emblazoned across a black t-shirt. He is young, straight, white, cisgender, and male, a marginalized “working-class hero” joined with his compatriots in defiance of an alienating, exploitative society. However, while certainly photo­ genic and not at all uncommon, this culture warrior hardly repre­ sents the variety of people identifying with subcultures in the twenty-first century. Who participates in subcultures and how do their experiences differ? In previous chapters, I debunked the view of subculturists as psychologically disturbed or criminal youth and questioned the notion they are strictly the product of chaotic communities or “broken” homes. Subcultural participation is not confined to any particular psychological profile or demographic category; rather a diversity of people claims subcultural affiliations. Still, various groups may have different interest in, access to, and experiences within subcultural communities. DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417-4

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In this chapter, I explore how subcultural identities mesh and/or contend with other significant social identities such as race, social class, gender, and sexuality. Social scientists pay significant atten­ tion to these social categories because they fundamentally influence our experiences and opportunities as human beings. For example, in many countries, one’s race or ethnicity profoundly impacts one’s educational opportunities, health, and even life expectancy. Because these identities play a central role in our lives they become contested terrain – subculturists, seeking alternatives to the “mainstream,” often challenge the inequalities inherent in these distinctions, which, after all, are fundamentally based upon power and domination.

SOCIAL CLASS: ARE SUBCULTURISTS MOSTLY DISAFFECTED, WORKING-CLASS YOUTH? In previous chapters, I showed how many scholars made strong connections between social class and subcultures; specifically, they argued that subcultures served as symbolic expressions of dissent by marginalized, mostly working-class youth. However, I would not be at all surprised if you know middle-class people who identify strongly with one subculture or another. Middle-class youth were involved in many of the seminal postwar subcultures, from hippies and punks to metal and hip hop, even if in some cases their more working-class peers outnumbered them. And the greater a sub­ culture’s longevity the more likely people from all walks of life will discover and join its ranks. In fact, subcultural participation may also offer the middle class relatively “safe” forms of rebellion, an opportunity to feel “different” without engaging in criminal or other activity that will jeopardize one’s future (see Wilkins 2005). Tattoo subcultures in many ways transcend social class, tattoos (at least certain ones) having achieved the status of “art” (Kosut 2006). While tattoos have long served as marks of honor and status among cultures such as Maori, Samoa, and other Polynesian peo­ ples, only recently have Western societies found tattoos acceptable on a grand scale. Previously viewed as low-class, tattoos have since become quite chic. Politicians and world leaders at every level increasingly have (often modest) tattoos with little political con­ sequence. The rise of suburban mall specialty stores such as Hot Topic that cater directly to subcultural sensibilities encourages and

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enables people from a range of classes to experiment with at least the stylistic elements of various subcultures. By pointing out that subculturists fall into all social classes I am not suggesting that social class has no bearing on subcultural parti­ cipation (see Shildrick and MacDonald 2006). Middle-and upperclass kids have, on average, greater opportunities to participate in conventional activities (travel, extracurricular activities) and adopt conventional identities (theatre kids, fashionista), as well as greater access to a good education and meaningful work. Therefore they may have stronger connections with and reasons to support the status quo. And certainly social class influences how people participate. While many affluent professionals are Harley-Davidson enthusiasts, the so-called one-percenters of true criminal motorcycle gangs likely draw support from among the less educated and less well-off. Money opens doors to certain kinds of subcultural participation, from travel­ ling to Japan, Samoa, Thailand, and Hawaii to be tattooed to collect­ ing rare, original-pressing records. Likewise, lack of funds curtails certain aspects of subcultural participation. Being from a lower social class can also mark some subculturists for persecution (see Chapter 6), as social class has strong cultural meanings. Middle-class youth in Britain use the derogatory “chav” to distinguish themselves from their working-class peers, marking themselves as smarter, more morally upstanding, and more stylish and sophisticated (Hollingworth and Williams 2009). The white working-class (especially in the absence of large racial minorities) becomes the “Other”: What makes the “chav” or “charver” discourse so powerful, under the guise of either harmless light entertainment or unreflective, uncritical social science, is its role in pinning the mass of young, poor, white, working-class people to the social pathologies of … welfare dependency, moral degeneracy, academic failure, fecklessness, and excessive and tasteless consumption. (Shildrick et al. 2009:460–461)

The US equivalents might include “trailer trash,” “white trash,” or “welfare queen.” The effect is to shore up class boundaries, espe­ cially given the economic uncertainty felt by many middle-class families. Even liberal, seemingly open-minded middle-class people

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talk about the chavs with a certain disdain, while conservatives openly view them with contempt as the word becomes a code for the undeserving poor (Jones 2012). No wonder then that some working-class youth might join together to defend and valorize their identities, much like the Chicago or Birmingham School scholars suggest. BOX 4.1

CHAVS AND THE MARKERS OF CLASS

Social class has cultural as well as economic meanings and bound­ aries, particularly around style, behavior, and perceived morality (Hollingworth and Williams 2009). Fashions and brands have no inherent class meanings. Yet middle-class people denigrate track­ suits, peak hats, fake designer clothing, and large, “tacky” jewelry as the realm of tasteless charvers (Jones 2012). Social class does not dictate behavior, but people interpret behavior as indicative of class, seeing chavs as loud, crass, cocky, violence-prone, and criminal. People of all classes might have moral shortcomings, but so-called chavs face stereotypes of being irresponsible, disruptive, and disinterested in school. As in the case of racialized minorities, the more privileged frame working-class marginalization as a result of cultural failings rather than structural inequalities, racism, or classism.

RACE: DO SUBCULTURES PRACTICE ANTI-RACISM OR PERPETUATE RACIAL DISCORD? Race, and racism, are core features of social life, present to some degree in all contemporary cultures. In most societies, race, ethnicity, and religion fundamentally organize human experience – and con­ flict, considering the violence between Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda, Shia and Sunni in Iraq, and Black people and white people in the US. So how does race inform subcultural experience? Clearly people of all racial categories participate in many subcultures. But do subculturists of different races participate together, or are scenes racially segregated? Having established the importance of resistance in the previous chapter, do subcultures resist or reinforce racialized/racist meanings and stereotypes?

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Race includes the socially constructed meanings attributed to bodies, language, and other cultural norms that confer power, privi­ lege, and dominance to certain groups while denying them to others. Many societies create racial categories primarily according to skin color, and many people believe different races have inherently differ­ ent aptitudes, interests, and morals; dominant groups often stereotype racial minorities as lazy, criminal, welfare dependent and so on. However, there is no biological basis for racial classification. Jewish people and the Romani peoples of Europe may have light skin tones yet remain targets of racism. In the early twentieth century, US law did not consider Italians, Irish, and other light skinned groups “white.” In racially diverse Brazil, “black” and “white” have much more com­ plex meanings than in the US, as education and wealth can “change” one’s race (Braxton n.d.). In large part, powerful groups have created race to expand and preserve their own dominance, conferring the “wages of whiteness,” psychological and material privileges, to white workers in an effort to thwart interracial worker solidarity (Roediger 2022[1991]). Despite the illusion of race, racist attitudes and, more importantly, histories of racist discrimination have in many nations resulted in racial segregation, or the systematic separation of peoples based upon racial categories. Segregation can be institutionalized by law, as in the former apartheid regime in South Africa or Jim Crow laws in the US, but in contemporary liberal democracies more often results from contemporary and historical legacies of discrimination. Even children, who initially have no conception of race, often self-segregate into racially homogenous groups as they age. In such contexts, subcultures might appear to be “racial enclaves.” Particularly in majority group dominated areas, com­ munities of color may seem subcultural simply by virtue of their minoritized status, for example Korean youth in Tokyo or the Chinese community in San Francisco. (However, such groups are not automatically subcultural in the sense I use the term.) Lowrider culture in the southwest US – built around classic cars with custom wheels, paint jobs, and often loud stereos and hydraulic suspen­ sions – has long been associated with Chicano culture more gen­ erally. Lowriders (as participants are called) use cruising spaces and parking lots as leisure sites, discussing not only cars but also issues of broader significance to the Chicano community, creating spaces of both resistance and belonging (Chappell 2012).

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The “racial enclave” vision of subcultures seems even more valid when participation hinges upon membership in a perceived racial category; a variety of subcultures espouse overtly racist ideologies, including White Power skinhead, nationalist black metal, and some football hooligans/ultras. More benignly, perhaps certain sub­ cultures emerge as expressions of homology, or “the symbolic fit between the values and lifestyles of a group, its subjective experi­ ence and the musical forms it uses to express or reinforce its focal concerns” (Hebdige 1979:143). So if hip hop and blues are inex­ tricably bound to African American history and experience, then others cannot truly participate. White people have a history of appropriating, taking out of context, profiting from, and not acknowledging the artistic innovations of Black people. Perhaps only Japanese people can create and appreciate authentic anime. However, such a theory risks essentializing race, reinforcing narrow meanings of authenticity, and homogenizing the experiences of people in racial categories. MULTICULTURAL SUBCULTURES: HOW DO SUBCULTURES CHALLENGE RACIAL IDEOLOGIES?

On the other hand, subcultures seem to blur racial boundaries, as in progressive rave, graffiti, b-boy, and queer scenes. Subcultures can offer spaces to disrupt racial norms. Scholars in the CCCS tradition noted that white working-class youth adopted elements of “Black” culture from West Indian immigrants (e.g. Hebdige 1979). Some subcultures offered up images of racial harmony: the Two-Tone era of ska featured multiracial bands and audiences, the Northern Soul scene esteemed Black soul musicians, and even the notoriously white American hardcore scene drew major inspiration from the Black Rastafari group Bad Brains (Lopez and Mills 2017). Thus people of color were instrumental in many post-WWII sub­ cultures, although their contributions have often been minimized or ignored. Perhaps youth culture can be a site of anti-racist action as young people share music, style, and other interests regardless of racial or class background. Hip hop may appear to be the quintes­ sential case. What began as an urban movement among Black and Latinx youth made its way to Native American reservations on the plains of South Dakota with artists such as Frank Waln, Native Era

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and The Grind Klick. Even as mainstream rap offers up racist stereotypes for white people’s consumption, underground hip hop scenes can provide multicultural spaces built around love of music and aesthetic but also the unity ideal. Yet truly multi­ cultural subcultural spaces are rare. Pushing back against the sup­ posed “colorblindness” of many scenes, sociologist and emcee Anthony Kwame Harrison (2009) notes that in the progressive and racially diverse underground hip hop culture of San Francisco “people with different racial identities … engage hip hop in remarkably divergent ways” (Harrison 2009:12). What on the surface seems to be an inclusive scene can in reality mask vastly different experiences which may manifest in debates over the use of the n-word (Harkness 2008). While many white subculturists espouse a colorblind inclusivity, in reality, racial majority groups dominate many scenes, both numerically and in terms of influence. In response, people of color often carve out their own place within white-dominated scenes. Chicago hardcore punk band Los Crudos performed songs such as “We’re That Spic Band” and “500 Años,” singing primarily in Spanish about imperialism and inequality. Latinx punks and hardcore kids have organized many Latinx punk festivals in places such as Los Angeles, New York, and Chicago. Organizers of Philadel­ phia’s Break Free Fest work “to create a space for POC (people of color) communities in Philadelphia” through the punk and hardcore genres (Break Free Fest Instagram). Scholar and fan of heavy metal and punk Laina Dawes (2012) shows how some Black women love extreme, subcultural music in spite of cultural expec­ tations and lingering racism in some of these scenes. Subcultures can also be sites of overt resistance to racism and discrimination, as when conscious hip hop artists such as Kendrick Lamar and Lauryn Hill critique racial profiling, racist discrimination, and the prison system, or when French and North African emcees challenge antiimmigrant sentiments. Hip hop culture has long been a site to contest media representations, state violence against Black and brown bodies, and systemic racism (Khabeer 2016). Rap music has also become an avenue for other people of color to call attention to racism. Chinese-American rapper MC Jin exalts his Chinese heritage while throwing racist stereotypes back at his listeners in the track “Learn Chinese.”

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WHITENESS

Just as subcultures serve as spaces for racial and ethnic minorities to interrogate racist stereotypes and inequalities, so too are they spaces to perform “whiteness.” Avowedly racist subculturists such as Nazi skinheads denigrate racial minorities, labeling them as biologically, culturally, and morally inferior. But in so doing they also paint a certain (righteous) portrait of white people as superior. “Hatecore” metal – the North American counterpart to National Socialist black metal in Europe – very strategically uses music to market its brand of pan-Aryanism, cleverly cloaking white racialist and antiSemitic themes in more palatable motifs of paganism, national myths, and defense against unnamed “enemies” common in other forms of metal (Hochhauser 2011). Racist ideologies congeal around the white racial frame, “an overarching worldview, one that encompasses important racial ideas, terms, images, emotions, and interpretations” and is the lens through which most white people and those conforming to white norms see race (Feagin 2010: 3). The white racial frame explains why many white people in the US believe, regardless of empirical data that paint a more nuanced picture, that immigrants drain public resources, escalate crime rates, and “steal” “their” jobs. Whiteness is rarely questioned, rarely problematized, but is rather taken for granted, the “norm” to which racial minorities are compared. White is good, clean, pure, while black is evil, dirty, corrupted. Whiteness offers unearned entitlement, or white privi­ lege. The white racial frame is pervasive; racism is not simply a “sickness” to be excised from an otherwise healthy social body. Rather, racism is embedded in and fundamental to the social order (Feagin 2010). The consumption and performance of narrow (often stereo­ typical) slices of “Black” culture reinforces perceptions of whiteness as safe, rule-abiding, and normal. As perhaps the most stigmatized group in the US, Black men represent danger and freedom, but also cool and sexually potency (West 2001). White parents may react with alarm as their children adopt modes of speech and dress perceived as belonging to youth of color. For some white kids then, shedding their “whiteness” becomes part of their perfor­ mance of “cool.” In fact, part of white youths’ rebellion has often

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included appropriating artistic and subcultural practices from com­ munities of color (Kitwana 2005). Subcultures may provide white kids with opportunities to safely “play” with whiteness and con­ sume cultural phenomena connected with people of color, while leaving racist ideologies largely unquestioned. Such sharing (or appropriating) can inadvertently reinforce the white racial frame, “proving” that racial egalitarianism, rather than racial inequality, is the norm, that everyone gets along just fine. Predominately white, middle-class subcultures such as goth may offer white people a chance to demonstrate their progressive, multicultural attitudes without really sacrificing any of their privilege (see Wilkins 2008). Many seemingly pluralist societies view open, blatant racism with disdain and intimations of white racial superiority as back­ ward. Where racist slurs are shameful, racism has transformed into a more subtle form of racism based not upon theories of genetic superiority, but instead on moral or cultural difference. Such col­ orblind racism, or “racism without racists,” tends to hold that racial prejudice and discrimination are largely over; that the worst of racism (e.g. slavery) was in the past and has little bearing on the present; and that any remaining racial inequality is the fault of minority groups who simply have not worked hard enough (Bonilla-Silva 2017). Shades of colorblind racism frequently emerge in predominately white “hipster” scenes in the form of “ironic” race-based jokes about “thugs” or acoustic covers of gangsta rap songs, meant to communicate one’s progressive racial consciousness but actually reinforcing both whiteness and otherness (West 2012). Hipster racism includes “ideas, speech, and action meant to deni­ grate [another person’s] race or ethnicity under the guise of being urbane, witty (meaning ‘ironic’ nowadays), educated, liberal, and/ or trendy” (Peterson 2008). Visiting a “shady” bar in a “ghetto” part of town as part of a nocturnal adventure qualifies, as does dressing as a “pimp” or “hoe” for Halloween. “Ironic racism,” brushed off as “un-PC” (politically correct) but still harmless, often reinforces the very stereotypes it means to mock. Despite the pervasiveness and persistence of the white racial frame, subcultures do, on occasion, join with others to offer a counter-frame, an alternative view protesting racist practices and exposing government repression. Chicago hardcore band Racetraitor vehemently confronted their predominately white audiences

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with critiques of colonialism, white privilege, and racist oppression, insightfully framing racism as a set of power relationships rather than simply personal attitudes (Peterson 2009). Seattle straight edge band Trial used their live shows to educate kids about the FBI’s violent suppression of groups such as the Black Panther Party for Self Defense, while advocating for indigenous rights and freedom for political prisoners including the American Indian Movement’s Leonard Peltier. Anti-racist skinheads and punks join Anti-Racist Action groups, passing out anti-racist literature at shows and Bra­ zilian thrash metal legends Sepultura wrote songs about and advo­ cated for indigenous rights. Subculturists can also support white supremacy and engage in reactionary politics. Some are implicated in the global resurgence of far-right nationalism (Miller-Idriss 2020). Even those who may not champion such causes can allow them to persist through inaction; participants in the black metal scene are well aware of the racist, xenophobic, and anti-Semitic elements in the genre, but often consciously choose not to engage with them (Kahn-Harris 2007).

GENDER: WHERE ARE ALL THE GIRLS? In 1976, Vi Subversa, a middle-aged mother of two, cofounded anarchopunk band Poison Girls in Brighton, just prior to the Sex Pistols making punk a household word (Reddington 2007). The band espoused radical ideas, challenging government repression, sexual norms, and patriarchy, as in the song “Real Woman”: “I’m not a real woman, I don’t nod my head, and patiently wait, for your favors in bed. I’m not a real woman, I don’t waggle my hips, or flap my eye lids, or shackle my lips.” While many punk bands of the time included women, punk histories typically give men – the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, the Clash – all the credit for starting what became one of the most influential music revolutions of the past 100 years. At first glance, men seem to dominate many sub­ cultures, both numerically and in terms of their influence. Skin­ head, punk, hardcore, parkour, car cultures, metal, and so on all seem to attract more men than women. Goth, hip hop, indie, emo, and slam poetry may include relatively more women, but men still have disproportionate creative power, even in supposedly anti-sexist scenes. Why are there so few women in subcultures? Do

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subcultures offer participants space to stretch the boundaries of masculinity and femininity or challenge the gender binary entirely? The first explanation for the mystery of the “missing” sub­ cultural women suggests that subcultures mirror the dominant social patterns of societies in general, at least in regard to gender, i.e. subcultures are patriarchal. Reminiscent of Chicago School and CCCS theories, British sociologist Mike Brake (1985) saw many subcultures as fundamentally masculinist because they were spaces where young, mostly working-class men found the status unavail­ able to them elsewhere. Subcultures glorify manliness. Women who do participate, participate as second-class citizens: male bikers in outlaw motorcycle gangs valued “biker mamas” and “old ladies” primarily for their sexual availability and ability to make money as strippers, making them “property” of the club (Hopper and Moore 1990). Further reflecting patriarchal cultures, perhaps girls have less disposable income to spend on concerts, records, motorbikes, and other subcultural paraphernalia, and parents might allow their daughters less freedom to go out at night, to hang out in clubs or on the streets. Instead of participating in spectacular youth cultures, girls form bedroom cultures in which they share pop culture fandom, fantasizing about actors and singers in the safety of their homes (McRobbie and Garber 1976). Girls swooning over actor Robert Pattinson (Twilight) or Columbian pop star Maluma hardly seem like a subculture, but such private spaces offer some space to explore sexuality without overt male judgment (Kearney 2006). While each of these explanations makes some sense, contemporary girls and women face fewer constraints than their counterparts of generations past, taking a much more active role in many scenes. However, too often researchers have simply paid less attention to women in subcultures or have cast women only as accessories to men, dismissing their unique experiences (McRobbie 2000). Unfortunately women’s contributions to subcultural history, like history in general, go largely unacknowledged. For example, while Sugarhill Gang recorded the first commercially successful rap song (“Rapper’s Delight”) and Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five recorded the first conscious rap song (“The Message”), few know that each song owes a huge debt to producer, promoter, and label owner Sylvia Robinson (Watkins 2005). Her artistic instincts and connections in the radio and music worlds helped launch emceeing

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onto the international stage, eventually making rap music and hip hop culture into one of the most pervasive and influential scenes the world has known. Likewise with punk, fashion designer Vivi­ enne Westwood’s designs profoundly influenced the early punk aesthetic, and many early punk bands – the Raincoats, the Slits, and Poison Girls in the UK, Blondie, X-Ray Specs, X, Sonic Youth in the US – featured women (see Reddington 2007). Thus it is not that women were/are absent from subcultures, but rather that researchers have ignored or downplayed their participation. In the face of patriarchal gender norms, sexist subcultural gate­ keepers (e.g. record executives, promoters, music journalists, deejays), and even the disdain of their peers, women have asserted themselves within male-dominated scenes and have carved out “their own” sub­ cultural spaces. The heavily masculinist metal scene has nevertheless produced Gallhammer, a Japanese all-woman metal/crust band; Canada’s Mares of Thrace; and Sweden’s Crucified Barbara. Riot grrrls started a revolution in punk, while science fiction, steampunk, and anime cosplay cultures have significant numbers of women. However, much like women athletes, women subculturists must often balance challenges to and performances of traditional femininities, combining tattoo sleeves with lipstick and sexual allure. Women, much more so than men, must prove they participate for the “right” reasons. Women do constitute a majority in some subcultures. Burlesque, or neo-burlesque, involves women performing partial striptease routines, reveling in an ironic disruption of beauty standards and expectations of “appropriate” female sexuality (Nally 2009). Roller derby, a campy amateur sport in which roller-skating women crash into one another as they race around a track, pits teams against one another in “bouts” that often leave skaters bruised. Derby leagues proliferate from Australia to Dubai, include teams with colorful names such as Cupcake Cannibals and Dominate Tricks, and player pseudonyms like Countess of Crush and Anne Arkie. Japan’s Lolita cultures involve mostly girls handcrafting elaborate, lacy Victorianinspired costumes that transform the wearer into a living doll: “A Lolita’s dress modestly conceals her mature body beneath ornately elaborate garments adorned with lace, ribbons, ruffles, and bows; she poses and conducts herself in order to create a surreal and fantastic childlike appearance” (Winge 2008:50). Fan fiction, a

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mostly online subculture of writers sharing unauthorized stories based upon pop culture icons such as Twilight, Harry Potter, Sailor Moon, and even Law & Order, offers women a space to experi­ ment with sexuality (Bury 2005). Many ficcers write sexually explicit “slash” stories, “ficships” depicting sexual relationships between characters such as Bella and Edward from the Twilight book and film series. Burlesque, roller derby, and fan fiction have long histories, but contemporary participants revive the past in third-wave feminist form. BOX 4.2

WOMEN EMCEES IN JAPAN

Even though Japanese record executives regard young women as a key marketing demographic, the drivers of pop music consumption, they award few women recording contracts. Women emcees must navigate between the “cute,” girlish aesthetic that dominates pop music, anime, and manga and the hypermasculine, hardcore images predominant in hip hop (Condry 2006). Nevertheless, some women rappers such as Ai and Elle Teresa break away from the “cutismo” culture and sing songs about women’s assertiveness and empowerment.

GENDER RESISTANCE OR REINFORCEMENT? Gender and sexual norms – the “rules” of femininity and masculi­ nity — are among the primary organizing principles of most cul­ tures, making them ripe targets for subcultural resistance. Even as women of many nations gain greater political rights, they face sig­ nificant backlash from conservative forces that see changing roles as a threat to the “natural” order (i.e. patriarchy). Part of what made hippies such a “threat” (aside from their drug use) was women’s newfound (if limited) sexual liberation and men’s eschewing of the patriarchal breadwinner role. As I noted in the previous chapter, subcultures tend to simultaneously resist and reinforce cultural standards. In dressing modestly, if flamboyantly, do Japan’s Lolitas resist the sexualization of women? Does their style “become objects of visual resistance against acceptable norms of dress and all

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that these norms stand for” (Winge 2008:59)? Lolitas, despite many Lolis’ intentions, become sexual fetishes for adult Japanese men. Yet Theresa Winge (2008:60) argues that the aesthetic “creates a safe space to be sexy and strong behind the protection of the childhood patina.” Similarly, kogals – seemingly shallow, materialistic, and selfcentered – may offer young Japanese women a degree of cultural power, presenting a “symbolic inversion” that “inverts cultural models or presents an alternative to them” (Miller 2004:242). They challenge the “restraint, docility, modesty, and elegance” expected of Japanese women, expectations that reinforce male privilege and patriarchy (ibid.: 242). Finally, alternative models, most of them women, often embody conventional beauty standards packaged in subcultural attire: tattoos, piercings, and nerdy costumes. They upend some expectations of feminine beauty while reinforcing others. Burlesque performers enact “patterns of resistance against an oppressive concept of ‘pure,’ ‘true,’ and ‘respectable’ femininity” (Willson 2008:6), challenging “the general idea of the suppression of female sexuality, the expectation that women are chaste and have no sexual desires outside of heteronormative relations” (Nally 2009:623). As a full-contact sport, roller derby erases any lingering notions that women are delicate or frail, as well as satirizing bodies and sexualities via sexual innuendo (Pavlidis and Fullagar 2016). Rather than passively absorbing pop culture, fan fic writers trans­ form the object of their fandom, sometimes in subversive ways; Twilight, often criticized by feminists for romanticizing abuse and glorifying virginity, can become a racy, hypersexual, queering playground in the hands of a ficcer. Women gamers face significant discrimination in the video game world; their mere presence in such a male-dominated space defies the rules and expectations for women and men (Kennedy 2005). They resist by forming femaleonly teams, creating women-run gaming servers, refusing to be pushed out by men, and simply by being successful in aggressive, violent games (Delamere and Shaw 2008). In the early 1990s, riot grrrl became one of the most influential subcultures as bands such as Bikini Kill and Bratmobile and ’zines such as Riot Grrrl and Jigsaw sought a feminist “Revolution Girl Style Now” within the punk/indie scene. Challenging sexism and patriarchy both within punk and without, riot grrrls brought a DIY ethic to media production as they drew attention to sexual

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assault, domestic violence, eating disorders, reproductive rights, and body shame (Piano 2003; Kaltefleiter 2009). ’Zine making became an act of resistance (Schilt 2003). Riot grrrls founded women’s music festivals and facilitated workshops and other gatherings, sort of punk rock versions of the feminist consciousness raising groups of the 60s. As they played shows with “slut” or “bitch” written on their bodies, riot grrrls forcefully contested the virgin/whore dichotomy forced upon women (Attwood 2007; Leonard 1997). Even as the culture industry coopted “girl power” into the Spice Girls and Pussycat Dolls, riot grrrl lives on in feminist politics such as “slutwalk” protest movements whereby women challenge the victim-blaming surrounding sexual assault and march for legislative change. Subcultures do often provide women, trans, and nonbinary people tools to challenge, resist, and playfully satirize cisgender, patriarchal expectations. While far from feminist utopias, such subcultures offer women tools of cultural resistance and networks of support in societies that too often pit women against one another. NEW MASCULINITIES?

Subcultures also provide spaces for men to both contest and rein­ force dominant masculine norms. While many subcultures have been hypermasculine hangouts dominated by men, some encou­ rage men to challenge hegemonic masculinity, the most valued, highest status cultural ideals of male identity and behavior by which all men are measured. Hegemonic masculinity is “the con­ figuration of gender practice which embodies the currently accep­ ted answer to the problem of legitimacy of patriarchy, which guarantees (or is taken to guarantee) the dominant position of men and the subordination of women” (Connell 1995:77). Expected to be strong, independent, aggressive, good looking, straight, sexually powerful, in control, hardworking, and successful, men live under a constant “burden of proof” (Kimmel 1996), as hegemonic mas­ culinity implies an intersectional power dynamic where high-status men hold privileges over subordinated and marginalized masculi­ nities. Yet people contest sex and gender systems and some men embody alternatives, even if imperfectly. “Emo” boys have become something of a cliché, often mocked by other subculturists

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for their emotional displays, songs of love, loneliness, and loss, occasional eyeliner and nail polish, dramatic fashions, and other perceived feminine qualities (see Bailey 2005). Yet emo may be a contemporary response to an ongoing crisis of masculinity in which men struggle with the meanings of manhood as the struc­ tural foundations of patriarchal masculinity – breadwinning, occu­ pational success, women’s subordination, and heterosexuality – erode (see Williams 2007). “Nerdcore,” a rap subgenre character­ ized by lyrics about video games, comic books, Star Wars, and all things nerdy, flies in the face of hypermasculine gangsta rap, see­ mingly undermining “hard” masculinity (Ronald 2012). Subcultures may be sites of what some scholars call “hybrid” or “inclusive” masculinities, where fear of being perceived as feminine or gay is less central to manhood. Inclusive masculinity theory rests on evidence of declining “homohysteria,” the relative degree of homo­ phobia present in a given time and place, suggesting that the pressures for young men to prove they are not gay have declined as attitudes have, to some degree, shifted (Anderson 2009; McCormack 2012). Freed from those constraints, young men can express (“feminine”) emotions and demonstrate affection for one another, regardless of their sexual identities. However, not only might inclusive masculinity theory overestimate the decline of homophobia, it also under­ estimates the institutional aspects of patriarchy and heterosexuality; “‘previously subordinated’ practices can be incorporated into hege­ monic strategies by powerful groups while doing very little to change institutional inequalities” (de Boise 2015:325). In any case, masculi­ nity as a configuration of practices predates the modern understanding of homosexuality. Emo boys and Bronies may demonstrate hybrid masculinities, whereby boys and men incorporate elements of mar­ ginalized and subordinated masculinities as well as femininity into their gender performance, including their “interests, material objects, styles of bodily comportment, language, opinions, clothing, and behaviors” (Bridges 2014:62). Male-identifying subculturists who wear makeup, like toys and media marketed towards girls, or adopt more femme body language – “softer” expressions of masculinity – may subtly disrupt the gender binary, but also maintain privilege and build social capital in some contexts (ibid.). In abstaining from alcohol, tobacco, eating meat, and sexual con­ quest, straight edge men seemingly resist several hallmarks of young

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masculinity (Haenfler 2004). However, the scene also fosters a hyper­ masculine side based upon glorifying “hardness” and “control” (Purchla 2011). Straight edge men compare themselves favorably to the “going rate” of masculinity, extolling “unity” and claiming the scene is more egalitarian than mainstream culture, other scenes, and than the hardcore scene was in the past (Mullaney 2007). Yet women face their own “burden of proof” as men question their motivations and commitment and often exclude them from full participation. Likewise, nerdcore challenges hegemonic masculinities, but if audiences perceive white emcees’ performances as simple parody of Black performers, the genre risks reinforcing the white racial frame. And finally, male skaters may resist the competition, domination, and “jock” attitudes inherent in so many sports while still seeing skateboarding as a primarily male activity (Beal 1996).

SEXUALITY In the past 60 years, effective birth control, women’s economic empowerment, and feminist and queer movements have fuelled a sexual revolution that in the span of only a few generations has sig­ nificantly changed how people think about sex, how/why/with whom they have sex, and how people express their sexual identities. Sub­ culturists have often been among the first to openly proclaim the virtues of sex for pure pleasure rather than procreation or marital obligation. The Beats of the 1950s along with the 1960s counterculture professed a new sexual liberation captured in the slogan “free love.” However, such liberation mostly afforded straight men greater sexual freedoms, rein­ forcing a sexual double standard marking prolific men as “studs” and sexually active women as “sluts.” Derby girls, burlesquers, ficcers, and riot grrrls’ performances of sexuality call into question the virgin/whore dichotomy. BOX 4.3 SUICIDEGIRLS.COM – “EMPOWERED EROTICA” OR ALT-PORN? Tired of the narrow portrayal of feminine beauty found in main­ stream media, Suicide Girls founder Missy Suicide began the site as a DIY experiment in women’s empowerment. Suicide Girls features

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nude pin ups of tattooed and pierced goth/punk/indie/metal women, often with dyed hair cut in edgy styles. Seeking to “redefine beauty,” Suicide Girls lets girls express themselves via blogs and profiles. They earn a small amount of money, more if they go on tour. The site has spawned a lucrative industry including live burl­ esque tours, comic books, apparel, and news, celebrity interviews, and gaming articles. So is Suicide Girls “empowered erotica” or “alt porn”? Meant to embody unbridled creativity, individuality, and sexual expressiveness, famous SGs such as Australian musician Brody Dalle symbolize, as one SG puts it, “finding your own ideals within yourself and becoming that, instead of relying on condition­ ing” (Diehl 2007:210). Yet is the site really so different from the Girls Gone Wild series featuring inebriated college-aged “main­ stream” women baring their bodies for men’s consumption? Sui­ cide Girls captures the tension between subcultural resistance and reinforcement of dominant standards of gender and sexuality. No doubt many participants do feel empowered, even resistant of the “body hatred” so prevalent amongst young women (see Frost 2001). However, most participants conform to the slender, fine-fea­ tured, young, and white standards of beauty found in mainstream fashion magazines (Magnet 2007). Their bodies, and their beauty, constitute “body projects” requiring attention to and tinkering with the body to a much greater degree than that required of young men. Their demure yet seductive poses come straight from more con­ ventional pornography and they remain commercial objects of sexual desire while earning little money themselves (Healey 2005). Models have complained of mistreatment and the organization has faced criticism for falsely passing itself off as woman-owned. Suicide Girls exemplifies a larger pattern of young women using sexuality to get the attention of young men (Levy 2006), not because they are insecure, opportunistic, or otherwise individually flawed, but because they live in societies that too often teach women to gauge their worth according to the sexual approval of men.

Despite their image of sexual permissiveness, many subcultures are heterocentrist – upholding the “normalcy” of heterosexuality – at best, and actively homophobic – marginalizing of LGBTQI+ people – at worst. Heavy metal and hip hop, two of the most

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widespread subcultures in the world, have exceptionally homo­ phobic and heterocentrist themes in their histories. Pop music in general celebrates heterosexual sexuality. Despite increasing visibility and acceptance of queer identities in some parts of the world, the dominant sexual script of one man, one woman, both attractive and of similar ages, in an ongoing relationship, continues to be the standard by which all sexual expression is judged. Like women, LGBTQI+ people have often had to fight for recognition in existing subcultures. Hardcore scenes have spawned “queercore” or “homocore” contingents, including straight edge band Limp Wrist, whose song “I Love Hardcore Boys” directly challenges hardcore’s straight hypermasculinity (see Kuhn 2010). Queercore “queers” punk but also “punks” queer, as anti-corpo­ rate and DIY culture serves as a “tactically playful” vehicle for queer politics (DeChaine 1997). Via records, live performances, and “queerzines,” queercore challenged not only the hegemonic sexual script but also “mainstream” gay and lesbian groups domi­ nated by middle-class white people seeking assimilation (Du Plessis and Chapman 1997). Queer sensibilities of camp and drag infuse goth, riot grrrl, and club scenes, while drag queens and kings form subcultures into themselves (Taylor 2012b). Such efforts have also produced queer contingents in steampunk and, more recently, rap, as artists such as Lil Nas X and Le1f garner international attention and hip hop heavyweights such as Jay-Z and Russell Simmons argue for greater inclusivity (Van Meter 2012). There have even been factions of queer skinheads (see Healy 2014). Queer is more than a take-back word meant to transform a hurtful epithet into a defiant identity. Although queer has become an umbrella term for all non-normative sexual identities and prac­ tices, its roots are more radical. Queer movements and subcultures abhor rigid, binary categories such as male/female, gay/straight, celebrating rebellion and instability rather than seeking assimilation of LGBTQI+ people into heteronormative structures such as marriage. Instead of broadening the notion of “normal,” queer questions the very notion of normality, clearly connecting with many subcultural politics. To “queer” something is to investigate the taken-for-granted, to interrogate power, especially regarding the “proper” use of bodies and identities. Queer subcultures,

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especially lesbian and trans* cultures, call into question theories and histories focused almost exclusively on young, white, workingclass, straight men (Halberstam 2005). Drag kings, for example, present “female masculinities,” separating masculinity from male bodies (Halberstam 1998). Because gender and sexual ideologies are so intertwined, queer subculturists challenge both. Gay male cultures often fetishize hard, muscular bodies as well as masculinist norms such as sexual confidence and assertiveness. With their heavy eyeliner, long bangs, and slender bodies, gay youth who identify with emo aesthetics perform a more androgynous mascu­ linity (Peters 2010). Prior to the gay liberation movements of the 1950s and 1960s, urban gay communities may have constituted subcultures in and of themselves, drawn together by consistent persecution and the need for safe, affirming space. As I’ve shown above, queer sensibilities and identities have been incorporated into both pop and sub­ cultural spaces. I would argue that, much like communities of color, queer people as a whole no longer constitute a subculture, even as they often collectively display subcultural traits. However, certain subcultures are inextricably queer. In the vogueing ball culture of New York, primarily Black and Latino gay and trans men “walk” a runway (catwalk) in drag, competing for prizes in categories from “vogue femme” to “butch queen in pumps.” Drag kings and queens have a long subcultural history (Rupp and Taylor 2003), and some burlesque performers cross dress, queering gender and sexual identities (Nally 2009). The larger gay scene fosters a variety of subcultures (see Taylor 2012b), including bears, radical faeries, and leathermen (Hennen 2008). Bears – full-figured gay men known for their facial hair and hairy bodies – have cultivated their own events, vernacular, and aesthetic, often portraying a more conventionally masculine image. Queer cultures have in turn influenced other subcultures. Anar­ chists often combine anarchism with queer politics, finding syn­ chronicity between anarchism’s commitment to autonomy and abhorrence of hierarchy and queer questioning of sexual power. Some refuse marriage as a patriarchal, capitalist institution, others explore polyamory and bisexuality, seeing their practices as dis­ rupting “the discourse of normative sexuality, and the relations of power it supports” (Portwood-Stacer 2010:485).

SUBCULTURAL IDENTITIES

ABILITY, DISABILITY, AND NEURODIVERSITY Subcultures can be spaces for participants to engage with disability and mental health, and the stigma around both. As with other identities, subcultures can provide opportunities to raise awareness and enact resistance around ability. Subcultures are often ableist just as they can harbour racism and sexism, reflecting the ableism of their larger social contexts. Venues without wheelchair ramps or accessible restrooms exclude some from participation. Mosh pits and other dance spaces may not accommodate people of different abilities. “Cripple punk,” also known as “Cr*pplePunk,” “Crip­ Punk,” or “CPunk,” reclaims the derogatory word in defiance of ableism, advocating for inclusion but also rejecting social expecta­ tions of people with disabilities (Fraser 2022). Begun as a Tumblr blog around 2014, crippunk pushes back against the reduction of disability to “inspirational” stories of overcoming a deficit. Like queer theory, a critical disability approach critiques notions of fixed identity and normality (Selwyn and Terret 2018). Early punk progenitors such as Sex Pistols’ Johnny Rotten and Joy Division’s Ian Curtis struggled with ADHD and epilepsy and depression, respectively, finding affirmation and community in music (McKay 2015). Some bands use their platform to raise awareness in sub­ cultural spaces, such as California hardcore group Dying For It, whose vocalist sings and talks about her own struggles with mental health. Rap music can challenge negative representations and myths connecting Blackness to madness (Koivisto 2018) and young people use slam poetry to challenge audiences’ perceptions of dis­ ability (Hodges, Fenge, and Cutts 2014).

INTERSECTIONALITY Early subculture studies such as those from the CCCS focused primarily on the experiences of young, white, usually workingclass men, leading some contemporary scholars to adopt a more intersectional approach (see Haenfler 2023). Black activists and Black feminist and critical race scholars theorized intersectionality to explain how multiple forms of inequality –race, gender, sexu­ ality, ability, class, and so on – intersect in a “matrix of domina­ tion,” limiting opportunities and enforcing constraints (Crenshaw

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1989; Hill Collins 2019). An intersectional critical theory informs, and is informed by, efforts to change scenes. Subculturists’ positionality profoundly impacts their “opportunities to engage in particular cultural practices” (Woodman and Wyn 2015:43). For example, women and non-binary people often experi­ ence greater stigma around how they embody subcultural identities; Black youth face more intense surveillance and violence from police than their white counterparts; and some subculturists possess the resources that allow them to pursue their passions professionally. Subcultural studies can benefit from an intersectional approach that seeks to include the voices of a diversity of participants, parti­ cularly those regularly marginalized or left out. Such analysis reveals the flexibility and durability of power and hierarchy even in the midst of groupings often opposed to hierarchal relations. Nguyen (2013) demonstrates how subculturists both disrupt and reinforce dominant social hierarchies in a study of Riot Grrrl, showing how the mostly white, heterosexual, women participants challenged patriarchy, sexism, and sexual violence while simulta­ neously marginalizing women of color and other less-privileged people across the gender spectrum. Schippers (2000:748) does likewise, using queer theory to analyze the intersection of gender and sexuality in an alternative rock scene. There, gender and sexuality are separate but “mutually reinforcing” systems of power. Schippers finds that as participants challenged compulsory hetero­ sexuality and hegemonic masculinity through their talk, practices, and interactions, they also “reproduced a hetero-focused binary of [stable] sexual identities” (ibid.:759). They somewhat successfully challenged gender hegemony while simultaneously reinforcing sexual hegemony. Finally, Belle (2014) studies representations of Black masculinity through hip hop, comparing mainstream and underground artists, including Jay Z and dead prez. The intersectional analysis of race and gender accounts for the larger social structures in which hip hop operates, rewarding certain performances of racialized masculinities. Some rappers exploit the “thug” stereotype, “playing into the gaze of the white mainstream imagination in order to make a profit” (ibid.: 289). Even if underground rap tends to be more “political” and somewhat less reliant on misogyny and homophobia, both underground and mainstream hip hop are rife with contradictions.

SUBCULTURAL IDENTITIES

KEY INSIGHTS � �

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Subcultural participation extends across all demographic cate­ gories. There is no singular profile of a “typical” subculturist. Race, class, gender, and sexual identity profoundly impact our life chances and give shape to dominant ideologies and power relations, making such characteristics important sites of sub­ cultural resistance. Subculturists tend to both contest and reinforce established social hierarchies. To suggest that subcultural resistance on these fronts is revolutionary may be naive, but to call such resistance meaningless is overly cynical and denies sub­ culturists’ subjective experience. Women and queer-identified subculturists both demand spaces within existing subcultures as well as creating more welcoming subcultures adjacent to established scenes. Subcultures can serve as multicultural experiments or racist enclaves, and can support or subvert a white racial frame. Some align along racial categories while others are more diverse. An intersectional framework helps to identify the complexity of power relationships and subcultural resistance.

EXPLORING FURTHER Next Wave Cultures: Feminism, Subcultures, Activism, edited by Anita Harris, 2008 (Routledge). A collection of essays exploring how contemporary young women enter masculine domains, carve out their own subcultural spaces, and engage in activism. “Punk Rock and Disability: Cripping Subculture” by George McKay, 2015. In the Oxford Handbook of Music and Disability Studies (Oxford University Press). A chapter that uses the experi­ ences of three iconic subcultural musicians to explore questions of ability in subcultures more generally. See also McKay’s (2013) book Shakin’ All Over: Popular Music and Disability (University of Michigan Press). Faeries, Bears, and Leathermen: Men in Community Queering the Mas­ culine, by Peter Hennen, 2008 (University of Chicago Press). An

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in-depth look into three subcultures that raises questions about their relationship to hegemonic masculinity and the potential for meaningful critique. The Lost Women of Rock Music: Female Musicians of the Punk Era, by Helen Reddington, 2007 (Ashgate). A cultural history of women in early UK punk rock and their exclusion from many punk histories, including interviews from musicians and other insiders. Lowrider Space: Aesthetics and Politics of Mexican American Custom Cars, by Ben Chappell, 2012 (University of Texas Press). An eth­ nography of a Mexican American lowrider scene in Austin, Texas. Hip Hop Underground: The Integrity and Ethics of Racial Identification, by Anthony Kwame Harrison, 2009 (Temple University Press). An ethnography of San Francisco Bay area hip hop that captures the complexity of race in hip hop and questions the “colorblindness” of the seemingly racially aware scene. The Hip Hop Wars: What We Talk About When We Talk About Hip Hop – And Why it Matters, by Tricia Rose, 2008 (Basic-Civitas Books). Discusses the top ten debates in hip hop, including hip hop’s relationship to violence and misogyny, while also offering progressive visions of what hip hop is and might be. Playing It Queer: Popular Music, Identity, and Queer World-Making, by Jodie Taylor, 2012 (Peter Lang Publishers). A wide-ranging book connecting music and subcultures to queer politics and identities, from queercore and riot grrrl to drag kings and queens. Hip Hop: Beyond Beats and Rhymes, directed by Byron Hurt, 2006. A documentary investigating misogyny, violence, homophobia, and masculinity in hip hop. Afropunk, directed by James Spooner, 2003. A vital documentary giving voice to Black musicians and fans of punk and hardcore. Spooner later co-created a music festival of the same name. Paris is Burning, directed by Jennie Livingston, 1990. An awardwinning documentary about the New York City drag ball culture, in which Black, Latinx, gay, and transgender participants walk runways, pose, and “vogue” as they compete for trophies in var­ ious categories. Explores the intersections of race, class, and gender

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while revealing an important queer subculture. Also provokes questions about the exploitation and gentrification of queer com­ munities of color by more privileged filmmakers and audiences. American Juggalo, directed by Sean Dunne, 2011. A short film that captures the familial and even neo-tribal aspects of fans of Insane Clown Posse, many of whom feel socially marginalized and alie­ nated. Also check out American Juggalo 2 (2016), a deeper dive into the experience of one fan, Alexander “Less Legs” Perkins, a Black wheelchair user looking to spread Juggalo love. Available via Vimeo. Bear Nation, directed by Malcolm Ingram, 2011. A documentarian’s look into gay men who favor larger, hairier bodies, beards, and more “manly” expressions of masculinity. Beyond The Screams: A US Latino Hardcore Punk Documentary, directed by Martin Sorrondeguy, 1999. DIY documentary chron­ icling the growth of Latino hardcore in the US but also showing punk’s emergence in Latin America. Available on YouTube.

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Harkness, G. (2008) “Hip Hop Culture and America’s Most Taboo Word.” Contexts 7 (3): 38–42. Halberstam, J. (1998) Female Masculinity. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Halberstam, J. (2005) In a Queer Time & Place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives. New York: New York University Press. Harris, A. (ed.) (2008) Next Wave Cultures: Feminism, Subcultures, Activism. New York: Routledge. Harrison, A. K. (2009) Hip Hop Underground: The Integrity and Ethics of Racial Identification. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Healey, K. (2005) “‘Empowered Erotica’?: Objectification and Subjectivity in the Online Personal Journals of the Suicide Girls.” MA Thesis, Department of Culture, Literature and Society, University of Canterbury. Healy, M. (2014) Gay Skins: Class, Masculinity and Queer Appropriation, 2nd edition. [Place of publication not identified]: Bread and Circuses. Hebdige, D. (1979) Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Methuen. Hennen, P. (2008) Faeries, Bears, and Leathermen: Men in Community Queering the Masculine. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hill Collins, P. (2019) Intersectionality as Critical Social Theory. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Hochhauser, S. (2011) “The Marketing of Anglo-Identity in the North American Hatecore Metal Industry.” In J. Wallach, H. M. Berger, and P. D. Greene (eds) Metal Rules the Globe: Heavy Metal Music Around the World. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, pp. 161–179. Hodges, C. E. M., L. Fenge, and W. Cutts (2014) “Challenging Perceptions of Disability Through Performance Poetry Methods: The ‘Seen But Seldom Heard’ Project.” Disability & Society 29 (7):1090–1103. Hollingworth, S. and K. Williams (2009) “Constructions of the Working-Class ‘Other’ Among Urban, White, Middle-Class Youth: ‘Chavs’, Subculture and the Valuing of Education.” Journal of Youth Studies 12 (5): 467–482. Hopper, C. B. and J. Moore (1990) “Women in Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs,” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 18 (4): 363–387. Jones, O. (2012) Chavs: The Demonization of the Working Class. London and New York: Verso. Kahn-Harris, K. (2007) Extreme Metal: Music and Culture on the Edge. Oxford: Berg. Kaltefleiter, C. K. (2009) “Anarchy Girl Style Now: Riot Grrrl Practices and Action.” In R. Amster, A. DeLeon, L. Fernandez, A. J. Nocella, II, and D. Shannon (eds) Contemporary Anarchist Studies. New York and London: Routledge. Kearney, M. C. (2006) Girls Make Media. New York: Routledge.

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Miller-Idriss, C. (2020) Hate in the Homeland: The New Global Far Right. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Mullaney, J. L. (2007) “‘Unity Admirable but Not Necessarily Heeded’: Going Rates and Gender Boundaries in the Straight Edge Hardcore Music Scene.” Gender & Society 21 (3): 384–408. Nally, C. (2009) “Grrrly Hurly Burly: Neo-Burlesque and the Performance of Gender.” Textual Practice 23 (4): 621–643. Nguyen, M. T. (2013) “Riot Grrrl, Race, and Revival.” Women & Performance: A Journal of Feminist Theory 22 (2–3):173–196. Pavlidis, A. and Fullagar, S. (2016) Sport, Gender and Power: The Rise of Roller Derby. New York and London: Routledge. Peterson, L. (2008) “The New Yorker and Hipster Racism.” Racialicious post July 14. www.racialicious.com/2008/07/14/the-new-yorker-and-hipster­ racism (accessed August 14, 2012). Peters, B. M. (2010) “Emo Gay Boys and Subculture: Postpunk Queer Youth and (Re)thinking Images of Masculinity.” Journal of LGBT Youth 7 (2): 129–146. Peterson, B. (2009) Burning Fight: The Nineties Hardcore Revolution In Ethics, Politics, Spirit, And Sound. Huntington Beach, CA: Revelation Books. Piano, D. (2003) “Resisting Subjects: DIY Feminism and the Politics of Style in Subcultural Production.” In D. Muggleton and R. Weinzierl (eds) The Post-Subcultures Reader. London: Berg, pp. 253–265. Portwood-Stacer, L. (2010) “Constructing Anarchist Sexuality: Queer Iden­ tity, Culture, and Politics in the Anarchist Movement.” Sexualities 13 (4): 479–493. Purchla, J. (2011) “The Powers That Be: Processes of Control in Crew Scene Hardcore.” Ethnography 12 (2): 198–223. Reddington, H. (2007) The Lost Women of Rock Music: Female Musicians of the Punk Era. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Roediger, D. (2022[1991]) The Wages of Whiteness: Race and the Making of the American Working Class. London: Verso. Ronald, J. (2012) “Alternative Performances of Race and Gender in Hip-hop Music: Nerdcore Counterculture.” Master’s Thesis. Department of Pan African Studies, University of Louisville. Rose, T. (2008) The Hip Hop Wars: What We Talk About When We Talk About Hip Hop – And Why it Matters. New York: Basic-Civitas Books. Rupp, L. and V. Taylor (2003) Drag Queens at the 801 Cabaret. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Schilt, K. (2003) “‘A Little Too Ironic’: The Appropriation and Packaging of Radical Feminism by the New Angry Women in Rock.” Popular Music and Society 26: 5–19.

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5 WHO ARE THE “AUTHENTIC” SUBCULTURISTS AND WHO ARE THE “POSEURS”? In late 2020, the International Olympic Committee voted to include breakdancing, more properly called breaking, as a competitive sport in the 2024 Paris games. Breaking joined skateboarding, surfing, and sport climbing as newly-included Olympic events in an effort “to set a new standard for inclusive, gender-balanced and youth-centred games” (paris2024.org). B-boys and b-girls will compete alongside athletes in more traditional sports such as archery, basketball, rugby, tennis, and wrestling. Breaking, skating, and surfing have included some form of competition nearly since their inception, sometimes formal (organized contests), sometimes informal (friendly battles). All included professional associations and practitioners long before Olympic attention, but each has also fostered vibrant subcultures, collective identities representing not simply what one does but also who one is; a lot of people skate, fewer identify as skaters, finding a deeper sense of community and shared meaning beyond the core activity. As an important element of hip hop culture, breaking has roots in Black and Puerto Rican com­ munities of the Bronx in the early 1980s, where dancers exhibited spectacular skill as they took the floor during instrumental break beats in songs (Fogarty 2019). After gaining significant pop culture attention, breaking seemed to vanish from mainstream media by the late 1980s, leaving a largely underground culture that persisted and gradually grew worldwide. Contemporary breakers express ambiguity about the Olympics (see “Breaking and the Olympics Speakers Series” 2021). The Games could further legitimize breaking, creating new professional opportunities, sponsorships, and interest. They could deepen the DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417-5

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already-rich international connections between dancers. On the other hand, the Olympics give new urgency to old questions. Will further professionalization compromise dancers’ creativity and spontaneity as they learn which steps and moves Olympic judges score most highly? Will the sport of breaking respect the art, culture, and community, includ­ ing its roots in marginalized communities? Will athletes who train pri­ marily to win medals honor the collaborative aspects of the more underground scene or reinforce a kind of capitalist nationalism? Has the relatively sudden and rapid transition to an Olympic event allowed sta­ keholders to have an adequate voice in the process? Will the Games’ impact differ from previous and current corporate involvement and efforts at professionalization? Researchers and practitioners will be considering the Olympics’ impact on breaking for years to come, but this case raises important questions about authenticity, relevant not only to breaking, surfing, and skating, but also roller derby, slam poetry, and a variety of music-based scenes in which adherents wrestle with subcultural and professional impulses. Authenticity remains an important aspect of meaning making for many subculturists (see Williams 2020). What constitutes “real” punk, “true” hip hop, or a “genuine” nudist/naturist community? In this chapter, I reveal the many ways in which subculturists construct authenticity by cultivating “subcultural capital” such as specialized knowledge (e.g. subcultural history), possession of “sacred” objects (e.g. extensive record collection, rare Vespa scooter), style (e.g. tattoos, piercings, hair and clothing), experience (e.g. attending a legendary event), and perceived commitment (e.g. longevity in the scene). I then consider the impact of commercialization and commodification on subcultural experience and authenticity, suggesting that as the market appropriates and sells underground ideas and practices scenes respond by modifying, returning to, and reinvigorating original subcultural ideals. The chapter ends with some thoughts about the continuing relevance of authenticity even in an era of accelerated, hyper-mediated capitalism in which trends quickly come and go.

AUTHENTICITY: HOW DO SUBCULTURISTS JUDGE WHAT IS “REAL” AND “TRUE”? Subculturists might only rarely speak directly about authenticity, but many still divide people, practices, and objects into cool/true/

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real and dull/false/fake. Authenticity requires that we actually be the sort of person we want others to perceive us to be. Pursuing, performing, and judging authenticity is central to most subcultural experience (and to human experience generally). We use authen­ ticity to express ideals – made cynical by politicians perceived as phony, some voters seek out “authentic” candidates, concerned, in some cases, more by their “realness” than their actual policy positions. We also use authenticity to communicate status. For example, people judge “good” and “bad” music in part on its perceived authenticity. Good music is original, creative, truthful, and performed by techni­ cally competent musicians. Bad music is mass-produced, artificial, formulaic, and commercially driven – think Pop Idol in the UK and its US and India counterparts American Idol and Indian Idol (see Frith 1978; Washburne and Derno 2004). But who decides what is “the real deal” and what is fake? Music and art critics, cultural commen­ tators, and academics might all express opinions about a subculture’s authenticity, but more important are subculturists’ ongoing interac­ tions and dialogues whereby they continually negotiate who is “true” and who is a “poseur” as well as the relevant meanings – or whether authenticity matters much at all. The first insight to remember about authenticity is that there is no such thing as authenticity. You might bristle at the suggestion that your favorite Idol is somehow less authentic than the latest underground artists. Your definition of good music might differ from others, and you might even appreciate the Idols that come from humble backgrounds, working their way up from nothing to pop music stardom. The point is that people interpret the same person/situation/object – and judge its authenticity – quite differ­ ently. Authenticity is a social construction, given meaning only by the people to whom it is meaningful (see Vannini and Williams 2009). It includes shared (and contested) meanings created in rela­ tionships, not an objective set of criteria, focusing “on the pro­ cesses in or through which identity and authenticity become important to people in situations” (Williams and Schwarz 2021:5). While experienced and reflexively understood by individuals, authenticity is social, that is people understand it in relation to other people (audiences) and their reactions (see Weninger and Williams 2017). Has an underground rap artist who chooses to sign to a major record label sold out? Some hip hop heads would say

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“yes,” others might say “it depends,” while others would claim “of course not,” suggesting that authenticity has more to do with lyrical content than a record label; “different kinds of audiences approach the issue of authenticity with varying degrees of intensity and focus, and sometimes rely on contradictory sets of criteria when evaluating a particular place or performance” (Grazian 2003:22). Still, despite the messiness of “evaluating” authenticity, most scenes have at least some consensus around meaningful cri­ teria. But such criteria are neither permanent nor universally understood or accepted (Peterson 2005). A second insight is that authenticity is an ongoing process, not an achievement. Subculturists engage in “authenticity work” while avoiding the appearance of caring about authenticity (Peterson 2005). In other words, subculturists always, in certain contexts, have something to prove, no matter their previous status or achievements. Authenticity is situational, dependent upon the people and their interactions in a certain time and place. For example, street artists such as Shepard Fairey and Banksy gained worldwide reputations as subversive graffiti writers who painted or pasted their artwork in public places without permission, often with the goal of disrupting the consciousness of passers-by. Fairey famously created the “Andre the Giant has a Posse” sticker cam­ paign, while Banksy surreptitiously placed his own art in New York’s Museum of Modern Art, making both legends in the underground street art subculture. Yet their notoriety eventually translated into a degree of fame and financial success, bringing with it charges of selling out. Fairey’s work hangs in the Smithsonian, the National Portrait Gallery (the Obama “Hope” portrait), and a variety of other prestigious (and mainstream) museums. Banksy’s work regularly sells for hundreds of thousands of pounds. How­ ever, perhaps both artists gain back a certain level of street cred by continuing to spread anti-authoritarian messages, raising money for progressive causes, and, in the case of Banksy, remaining anon­ ymous. Authenticity isn’t a permanent, objective status one gains and then enjoys. At the risk of being repetitive, authenticity is contextual; its meaning and evaluation depend upon the people and the social contexts in which they make such judgments. Authenticity “is a narrative produced by members of subcultural groups that subsequently becomes a functional resource for making

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claims about reality and the social world, including the validity of who they are” (Williams 2020:50). This relates to a third insight, that subculturists often self-consciously perform authenticity. It can take a lot of thought and effort to seem cool. Consider the ongoing “hipster” scene. (I won’t call hipsters a subculture for reasons discussed in Chapter 1.) Beyond their vague appreciation for independent music, various alternative lifestyles, and appreciation of irony, contemporary hipsters are difficult to describe. On top of that, few, if any, people self-identify as hipsters and other scenesters commonly use the term pejoratively. (Of course judgments of so-called hipsters as shallow trend-followers reflect observers’ biases and constructions of authenticity!) Yet a variety of tastes and practices have become associated with “hipster” scenes, wrapped into an obses­ sion with authenticity. Just a few things that have taken on hipster cache: “dive” bars; beards and/or odd moustaches; vintage pop culture references (e.g. old cartoons, toys); obscure, independent films; cursivescript tattoos; and a general disdain for mass-marketed pop culture. The hipster performance, it seems, is ironic, self-deprecating, and retro/ vintage, while also communicating being “in the know.” I once heard a friend joke about how much effort hipsters put into look­ ing unkempt. On the other hand, some subculturists demonstrate their authenticity by avoiding spectacular displays of style and taste, focusing instead on cultivating a philosophical commitment to creativity, compassion, and self-actualization (Lewin and Williams 2009). Tired of scene politics and fashions, many become critical of such performances (perhaps especially as they age), making authenticity an anti-performance (Haenfler 2012a). Finally, authenticity constitutes part of a larger process of internal hierarchy and external boundary making. Internally, few subcultures have rigid hierarchies, but authenticity helps participants police appropriate or desirable behavior, to be sure people are present for the “right” reasons. Widdicombe and Wooffitt (1995:157) write, “It is not what a person does that makes her a genuine person, but what informs or motivates her actions.” In other words, dressing up like a goth, doing goth, isn’t enough; being goth requires the right motiva­ tions. Externally, battles over the shifting criteria for authenticity help subculturists construct a collective identity, a sense of “us” and “them.” Evaluations of authenticity help subcultures keep undesirable people out, and offer clues to outsiders who want to get in (how to

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behave, how to look, which beliefs to profess). This may seem counterintuitive given many subculturists’ effort to form inclusive, less hierarchical communities. (Also, I don’t mean to imply sub­ cultures always have readily identifiable boundaries.) But status and boundaries are ubiquitous in human life, even though groups perpe­ tuate different levels of status inequality and boundaries may be either rigid or diffuse. Boundaries may be necessary, or functional, to the extent they distinguish subculturists from outsiders, providing ways to say “This is who we are, and who we are is more ‘real’ than the commercial, conformist, boring, or oppressive world out there.” If anyone and anything can be goth, then being goth means nothing. The ongoing conversation about what constitutes goth reminds cur­ rent and potential adherents that the identity holds significant mean­ ing, even if participants are wary of imposing too rigid or exclusive a definition, or if they grow weary of the “what is goth?” discussion. Subculturists complicate matters even more by often disliking labels. Not wanting to be classified, they profess their individuality, expres­ sing “a true or inner self which just happens to reflect, or mesh with, the underlying values of the group” (ibid.).

MAKING JUDGMENTS: WHAT ARE THE CRITERIA FOR AUTHENTICITY? Subculturists combine a variety of criteria to construct and measure authenticity. For example, in evaluating authenticity, subculturists make several comparisons: between their group and outsiders; between the current scene and its past; and between old and new participants (Widdicombe and Wooffitt 1990). Sociologist Howard Becker’s (1963) classic study of jazz showed how musicians positioned them­ selves as “hip” compared to more “square,” mainstream non-musicians. Additionally, the criteria below often figure into authenticity work. Remember, the following are not objective standards but rather a sam­ pling of statuses and principles to which subculturists commonly give special meaning. OLD SCHOOL AND UNDERGROUND

Subculturists, especially those connected with music scenes, often venerate “the underground,” disdaining prefabricated music and

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mass-produced styles perceived as being created primarily to make money. Music producers have for decades manufactured “boy bands”: New Kids on the Block, ‘N Sync, Boyz II Men, New Edition, One Direction. For 30 years a string of young men per­ formed with Puerto Rican boy band Menudo, rotating out when their voices changed or they lost their boyish looks. This rational, instrumental approach to making music (and an image) contrasts with a spontaneous, artistic, original creativity presumed to flourish in underground music. Underground musicians purportedly play for the “right” reasons; in other words, for the creative expression, mean­ ingful relationships, and joy of the experience rather than for fame or money. Of course many poor, struggling “underground” musicians’ goal is to get paid! But fans at least perceive their commercial goals as secondary to their artistic integrity. Subculturists also often honor people and practices seen as close to the perceived emergence of the “original” subculture, the “old school.” Thus mixed martial arts trainers and fighters with con­ nections to the famed Gracie family – creators of Brazilian jiu­ jitsu – automatically gain prestige with many fighters. Likewise, many in the fetish, BDSM, and body modification subcultures look to Fakir Musafar, father of the modern primitive movement, for inspiration; to have attended his early workshops and studied his philosophy would gain subcultural cache. Even geography often has some bearing on authenticity claims. Is Mississippi blues or Chicago blues more authentic? (Even in Mississippi there are distinctions between delta blues and hill country blues.) Can “real” anime come from anywhere but Japan? In some cases, insiders most value local knowledge and proximity to “sacred” or “original” subcultural spaces; in other cases, more cosmopolitan experience is revered. Most subcultures have an origin story, shared to some degree by participants; that story’s connection to lived experience may be more or less “real.” Nevertheless, the story carries meaning for participants, becoming a touchstone, a resource that informs con­ temporary practice (Williams 2020). Like any mythology, the story features significant figures, even heroes, as well as events, chal­ lenges, and artifacts. Hip hop’s origin story, for example, often features notable DJs with Caribbean roots such as Kool Herc and Afrika Bambaataa playing block parties in the Bronx, extending the

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instrumental “breaks” of popular songs by using two turntables playing the same record. Knowledge of subcultural origins and perceived closeness to the significant events can become assets as participants establish their authenticity. GENDER, RACE, CLASS, AND AGE

Gender is often another criteria of authenticity. In many sub­ cultures, men have a clear advantage when it comes to being per­ ceived as authentic adherents. Participants assume they are “natural” participants, present for their love of the subcultural experience. Even avowedly gender-neutral subcultures with many women such as goth provide men greater access to authenticity and status (Brill 2007). Women often have more to prove, as some scenesters assume women participate only due to some connection to a man – “she’s so-and-so’s girlfriend.” Ben Hutcherson and my work on extreme metal shows that entire subgenres of music emerge in part as gendered attempts at authenticity (Hutcherson and Haenfler 2010). The most sonically and topically extreme, most “brutal” metal gained popularity in the midst of the more feminine glam rock scene and many participants continue to juxtapose their “aggressive” music against “softer” fare. Race is yet another factor around which subculturists build authenticity. Can a white musician play the blues? In his study of the Chicago blues scene, David Grazian (2003:13) notes that on the “sliding scale of authenticity” Black bluesmen from Chicago’s South Side are considered the most authentic. White blues musi­ cians must pay homage to Black bluesmen without blatantly mimicking (or appropriating) their style. Some blues fans simply reject the notion that a young white man can really play the blues, while others are more accepting if he has had a hard life or is somehow connected to a Black bluesman (Dessier 2006). Com­ plicating matters further, blues club owners draw upon and rein­ force stereotypes of Black men and women as they cater to audiences’ (and tourists’) expectations. White audiences, in search of an authentic experience of music with “soul,” only want to see Black musicians, seeking the “real deal” regardless, to an extent, of musical skill or stage presence (Grazian 2003). (This process also partly explains the explosion of “gangsta rap” in the 1990s, as

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white consumers demanded a very specific, stereotypical, and narrow, performance of Blackness.) Again, authenticity is a social process over which a particular subculturist does not have complete control. Similarly, Britain’s Grime artists demonstrate the intersection of race, class, and authenticity. As the music’s popularity grew beyond certain London neighborhoods, “commercial” or “crossover” Grime catered to the appropriation of the greater (white) population, prompting questions of credibility, while more underground artists “returned to Black and working-class sensibilities” as well as to the “residential areas that nurtured the original scene and their creativity” (Charles 2019:310). Black Grime fans and artists, for whom Grime is “self-affirming, identity and culture forming,” expected, at least initially, an explanation for white listeners’ interest, testing whether they are merely “cultural tourists” or “sonic explorers” (ibid.:319) in a white supremacist society and music industry. BOX 5.1 SHOULD WHITE PEOPLE RAP? Debates around “authentic” hip hop often revolve around whether white emcees and fans are “privileged interlopers” or evidence of hip hop’s power to bridge racial divides. Some argue that the “black experience” is essential to hip hop. Others argue that claiming hip hop is a Black culture reinforces the idea that there is some essen­ tial “Blackness” or universal “Black culture,” while also concealing the experiences of hip hop kids who fit into neither Black nor white categories (see Harrison 2008). Grazian (2003:41) sums up the feelings of many Black writers and artists: “authenticity claims rooted in notions of racial difference all too often reinforce tradi­ tional racial stereotypes of rhythmic and uncivilized [B]lacks who radically differ from their white counterparts.” Just as subculturists (and others) can attempt to reinforce race-based authenticity, so too can they disrupt essentialist notions of race by disconnecting authenticity from racial categories. Hip hop simultaneously exposes whiteness by constructing Black emcees as the norm while creating a multiracial environment in which old essentializing beliefs don’t hold up. Aware that their whiteness (and their privilege) has been exposed, many white emcees acknowledge their whiteness in the

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course of building their legitimacy. As Ian Maxwell (2003:161) shows in a study of Australian hip hop, “it is okay to be white and into Hip Hop as long as you don’t misrepresent who you are.” White emcees must strive for authenticity without seeming to simply appropriate Black cultural forms as so often happens. Eminem says this out­ right, comparing his use of Black music (and its resulting wealth) to Elvis’ taking of rock’n’roll, and asserting that were he Black he would have sold only half the records he did sell (Fraley 2009). Still, when white rappers insist that hip hop is “colorblind” as a means to reinforce their authenticity, they fall back on their white privilege and risk minimizing racial discrimination.

In addition to gender and race, social class often becomes a sig­ nificant marker of authenticity. As many musicians and artists can attest, financial success can spark charges of selling out. Blues musicians, for example, are supposed to be poor, playing in small, dingy juke joints music that reflects their and their audiences’ experience as struggling African Americans. Mississippi bluesman R. L. Burnside was the “real deal” because his music reflected his hardscrabble life – he lived the blues and epitomized the dangerous bluesman who sold his soul to the devil in exchange for musical talent. This image was at least in part cultivated by record labels, the media, and even fans. Being financially successful is not inherently damning. Rather, the perception that such success comes from catering to white middle-class audiences raises suspicions of selling out (Dessier 2006). Some middle-class subcultures appropriate practices deemed working-class (even “trashy”) for ironic purposes. Contemporary hipsters are known for drinking the cheap, unpretentious Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, largely considered a blue collar beer (see text box below). Likewise, ironic mesh caps featuring NASCAR logos creates a symbolic distance from bourgeois tastes even while rein­ forcing the idea that hobbies and interests associated with the working-class are silly or lowbrow. Type and quality of tattoo may suggest different meanings depending upon context. As sociologist Katie Irwin suggests: [Middle-class tattooees] like to play with fringe identities without sacrificing their middle class status. They get a tattoo that is

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thumbing their nose at middle class society in a way that is so mainstream that it would be hard to push them out. (in Rohrer 2007)

Age can work for and against the performance of authenticity (Mullaney 2012). Younger scenesters may dismiss “old” partici­ pants who inappropriately hang on to their youth, failing to merge their subcultural passions with “adult” achievements of home, work, and family (Davis 2006) (more on this in Chapter 8). The 45-year-old club “kid” who eschews full-time work in favor of rolling on ecstasy and dancing until 5 am every weekend (while dressed in neon!) might be judged negatively. In some scenes, ageing correlates with a change in participation as, for example, older participants congregate at the back of a venue while younger ones mosh near the stage (Fonorow 2006). Less willing or able to take part in the authenticity rituals, older participants may be perceived by their youthful counterparts as less authentic. (Of course those same “older” participants have their own inter­ pretation, focused more on being subcultural rather than doing a subcultural performance!) Somewhat related to age, subculturists typically value some degree of consistency. For example, Ian MacKaye, progenitor of the straight edge movement, still maintains a drug-free, crueltyfree lifestyle even as he enters his sixth decade. Crudely put, subculturists tend to look down upon those whose involvement they perceive as temporary, as following a trend. Less committed to subcultural values, such “tourists” practice a deviance of con­ venience, safely participating with little long-term commitment or sacrifice. However, post-subculture theory suggests that impermanence pervades some scenes, perhaps making consistency less important. While identifying the patterns in subcultural authenticity descri­ bed above may seem easy enough, the more important insight is that values, identities, styles, and practices take on symbolic mean­ ing in the context of ongoing interactions among subculturists themselves. These meanings may have some stability and may even span scenes, but subculturists also contest their authenticity and downplay their significance.

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SUBCULTURAL CAPITAL: DO YOU HAVE THE RIGHT STUFF? Each of these criteria amounts to what Sarah Thornton (1995) calls subcultural capital, including the objects, practices, and beliefs that subculturists use to distinguish themselves from outsiders and to demonstrate authenticity to insiders. Thornton builds upon the work of Pierre Bourdieu (1984) who discusses several types of capital, including cultural capital used to distinguish oneself from others and project a certain image. In certain circles, a designer handbag sends a message that one has taste and wealth, while knowledge of the opera signals refinement and class. Subculturists may use different, less “mainstream” objects to symbolize status, but they do so nonetheless. Thornton suggests they strive to be (and to be seen to be) “in the know,” listening to the coolest underground music, wearing the right clothes, sporting the latest hairstyle, and knowing the moves to the latest dances (Thornton 1995:11–12). Subcultural capital is situational, its meanings emer­ ging via interaction in a given context. Subculturists walk a fine line between displaying esoteric knowledge and owning the “right” merch and being perceived as overdoing it: “Keeping the scene alive or supporting the scene, such as buying records or attending shows, are positively evaluated. Being scene/seen, how­ ever, is not” (Force 2009:301). Further, they may mock the authenticity game even as they play it, joking about earning “scene points” or being a “scenester.” Specialized knowledge is a common sort of (sub)cultural capital. Hackers, such as those in the Anonymous collective, value parti­ cularly clever, funny, or difficult hacks against targets such as the police. Knowing the right music and venues and the minutia of subcultural history can raise one’s status. As you can imagine, owning (and strategically displaying) the right stuff is also an important aspect of subcultural capital. Record collections, cars, and motorbikes all become sacred objects in their respective scenes. For bike messengers, fixed gear (or track) bikes symbolize skill and daring, while for steampunks an especially original, well-crafted clockwork device captures their anachronistic fantasy. Hipsterism isn’t confined to North America and Western Europe, as Russian youth seek out “ironic-glamour” clothing, frequent the right cafes,

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galleries, and bookstores, and are current with the latest music, books, and films meaningful within their social circles (Novikova 2011). Our bodies can become an important source of subcultural capital and a way to perform authenticity, specifically via body modifications, fashion/style, physique, and body performance (e.g. dancing) (see Driver 2011). Bodies become “projects” through which we perform identities (Atkinson 2003). Body modifications such as tattoos and piercings are layered with meaning, and even basic physique can serve as subcultural capital. Suicide Girls must balance a youthful, slender body that meets many of the socially defined standards of beauty with enough defiance of mainstream beauty norms to set them apart from fashion models. Thus tattoos, piercings, and fluorescent hair cut in alternative styles situates the Suicide Girls as more “real” than women who pose in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Fashion and style compose a significant marker of authenticity in many scenes. The right clothes can sig­ nify belonging, although too much focus on fashion is often a faux pas. More radical styles can symbolize greater commitment. Just as important, however, are the ways subculturists deploy their style. A goth who dresses the part regardless of context – at work or in public – may claim greater authenticity than part-time subcultural “tourists.” “Hardcore” punks live the subculture’s ideals more thoroughly and consistently, while “preppie” punks and spectators dabble (Fox 1987). In contrast, studying the Australian hardcore scene, Chris Driver (2011) found that style was not important to participants’ evaluations of authenticity. Participants evaluated and experienced embodied authenticity in practical rather than symbolic terms, primarily knowing and correctly performing dance moves in the context of a hardcore show. While moshing may seem chaotic and undisciplined to an outsider, hardcore kids insisted it was not something anyone could “just do.” Only by consistently doing could they develop the body competency necessary to successfully mosh. Beyond a cognitive understanding of moshing, such com­ petency is felt, evoking certain emotions. It is “knowledge inter­ nalised in the realisation of sensory experience” (ibid.), as much about affect and emotion as it is carefully considered technique. Finally, body performance is especially vital to b-boys and b-girls as they dance, and skaters and traceurs use their bodies to build

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subcultural capital via landing the most difficult tricks. They, like Driver’s hardcore kids, develop skill and “rhythmic fluency” as they achieve “synergy between the body and the ecology” (ibid.).

COMMERCIALIZATION AND COMMODIFICATION: WHERE DO SUBCULTURES GO TO DIE? Always on the lookout for how to better exploit the lucrative youth market, entrepreneurs of all kinds look to subcultures for the next cool thing. “Edgy” countercultures, properly packaged, turn into corporate slogans, as when Nike used the Beatles anthem “Revolution” to sell shoes (Frank 1998). Subculturists, like others, are consumers, distinguishing themselves from others in part by what they buy (and don’t buy). The CCCS scholars recognized this and Dick Hebdige (1979) saw commodification as the death knell of punk. Recall from Chapter 1 that some post-subculturists take this argument a step further, arguing that subcultures are defined primarily by their consumption. Are subculturists in some ways dupes of the corporate culture industry? Are they not only buying into test-mar­ keted, off-the-rack styles but also prefabricated identities? Theodor Adorno and other critical theorists sharply criticized popular culture for turning citizens into docile, passive consumers who pursue vacant pleasures instead of struggling against repressive economic/political systems (Adorno 1991; Friedman 1981). The “culture industry” encompasses the corporate controlled media industry (e.g. film studios and TV networks) focused on profitability rather than creativity, upholding a consumerist status quo rather than presenting a diversity of challenging ideas. The shallow content is meant to reach as broad an audience as possible, producing a mass culture that is at once phony and pacifying. Knowing that people want to feel like individuals, the culture industry markets what are essentially variations on the same stuff while producing what Adorno called pseudo individualization, a “fake” individualism in which we believe we have individual taste and free choice but in fact are con­ suming formulaic popular culture. Is one reality television show really so different from another? In championing individual expression, subcultures seemingly challenge mass culture. Yet subcultural styles, symbols, and practices quickly become commodities and may have always been so.

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BOX 5.2

PABST GETS HIP

Pabst Blue Ribbon (or PBR as its fans know it) has become the beer of choice for many subculturists. Just how did Pabst Blue Ribbon become a staple in the hipster scene? Maybe because it’s cheap? Perhaps in part, but there are cheaper beers. Pabst sales were hit­ ting rock bottom in the early 2000s until alternative urbanites in Portland, Oregon, took it up because its scarcity and lack of adver­ tising – and therefore lack of image – contrasted it with bigger, ubiquitous brands such as Miller and Coors. Pabst seemed like an underground beer, a “working man’s” beer, offering a symbolic thumb in the eye to corporate culture and to Portland’s microbrew crowd alike. On the one hand, hipsters may be appropriating, uncritically and from a privileged position, a “working man’s” beer, much as they appropriate styles, spaces, and music of other lesspowerful groups. On the other, hipsters may choose PBR as a selfconscious and self-critical attempt to reject their inevitable con­ sumerism, in effect taking an anti-consumerist stance in rejecting the craft beers that might otherwise seem like a natural fit (Gáti 2021). Regardless, PBR went to work decoding its newfound popu­ larity. Recognizing young people’s backlash against advertising, Pabst marketers have kept their marketing subtle – no celebrity endorsements, no TV ads, no ads on rock radio stations. Instead, when asked, Pabst sponsors bike messenger events, skateboarding film screenings, art openings, and other small events. An internal market analysis suggests that being the beer of punks, skaters, and other misfits is good business, marking Pabst the brand of social protest, of “lifestyle as dissent.” Yet the business must expand; hipsters, punks, and indie rockers are not enough. The conclusion: try to sell a lot of beer without becoming too trendy, to develop brand loyalty without treating Pabst loyalists as a marketing niche.

Corporate marketers have long sought to capitalize on sub­ cultural cool, deliberately transforming subversive scenes into mar­ keting niches. Consider the case of Harley-Davidson motorcycle enthusiasts. Harley motorcycles, especially, represent freedom, a way to trade the predictability and order of mundane life for the

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immediate, sensual pleasures of the open road (Primm 2004; Hopper and Moore 1983). Classic films such as The Wild One (1953) and Easy Rider (1969) depict young bikers as outsiders and rebels. Beyond free­ dom, outlaw motorcycle clubs represented anarchy and mayhem, a resounding rejection of conformist culture reinforced by a killing involving the Hells Angels at the 1969 Altamont Free Concert in California. Yet behind the scenes of the seemingly rebellious biker subculture operate a host of businesspeople seeking to boost profit­ ability while maintaining the Harley “mystique,” as one study suggests: For firms that sell a mystique as well as a hard product, understanding and managing the mystique may be critical to long-term profitability. Likely, the management of mystique has direct implications for issues such as licen­ sing, brand equity and promotion. For example, the marketer must con­ sider trade-offs between short-term gains through brand extensions, and the potential dilution or debilitation of the mystique associated with the core brand or product. (Schouten and McAlexander 1993:392)

The study’s authors recognized that Harley needed to cultivate the appeal of bikers’ “dangerous” or deviant image without becoming over-associated with outlaw gangs: Another trade-off to be considered lies between identification with and renunciation of deviant aspects of the core subculture. HarleyDavidson has successfully borrowed from outlaw biker symbolism while balancing the deviance inherent in that association with such wholesome activities as rider safety seminars and family and chil­ dren’s activities at company sponsored rallies. (Schouten and McAlexander 1993:392)

While subculturists may sneer at the commodification of their scene and idealize its less commercial past, many seemingly “underground” scenes had commercial intentions at their incep­ tion. Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood ran a London boutique catering to mods and punks, and McLaren created the Sex Pistols with commercial intentions (Savage 2002). Likewise, Sylvia Robinson assembled the Sugarhill Gang to cut rap’s first commercially successful record, “Rapper’s Delight,” intending to

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market and sell a lot of records (and succeeding) (Watkins 2005). So while commercialization may be a matter of degree, to lament the demise of a noncommercial underground is to engage in a bit of revisionist history. BOX 5.3 MARKETING AND SUBCULTURES 1 2 3

4

Tokidoki made a tattooed Barbie doll complete with pink hair, funky handbag, and even neck tattoos. A variety of graffiti art coloring books allow kids to “create” street-style art in the safety of their home. Former luxury New York department store Barney’s attempted to sell an olive green “anarchy” jacket, seemingly hand painted and complete with an anarchist ‘A’ symbol scrawled across the back – for $375. Perhaps the most bizarre, Virgin introduced three different Sex Pistols- themed credit cards featuring the names and imagery of the band, including an “Anarchy in the U.K.” card and two others with the controversial title of the album “Never Mind the Bollocks Here’s the Sex Pistols.” All in an effort “To bring a bit of rebellion to your wallet.”

Some subcultural entrepreneurs put their scene experience to use in conventional businesses. Trve Brewing Company of Denver, Color­ ado, found their niche in the burgeoning craft beer market through heavy metal culture; cans feature macabre metal imagery of warriors, skeletons, wizards, and zombies. In Los Angeles, Donut Friend serves up vegan donuts and ice cream with punk band-inspired names such as Rites of Sprinkles (Rites of Spring), X-Ray Speculoos (X-Ray Specs), and Banana Kill (Bikini Kill). While many patrons likely recognize some band references, most would be hard-pressed to know more underground references such as Corn Against (Born Against). In each of these cases, the owners project some commitment to their subcultural communities and values, earning a degree of respect. Subculturists, or people with subcultural roots, who start businesses illustrate the complex interpretations participants bring to the commercialization of their scenes.

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DIFFUSION AND DEFUSION: WHAT HAPPENS TO SUBCULTURES OVER TIME? The opening and closing ceremonies of the 2012 summer Olympic Games, held in London, featured a variety of British pop songs showcasing 50 years of the country’s musical talent. In addition to radio friendly tunes by Duran Duran and The Beatles, the Sex Pistols’ “Pretty Vacant” blared through the stadium as strange human/puppet hybrids pogo danced and leather-clad punks per­ formed a choreographed routine. The band considered scandalous 35 years before for mocking the queen – “God save the queen, she ain’t no human being!” – had been absorbed into Britain’s cultural legacy alongside the Rolling Stones and The Who. Despite, or perhaps because of, the negative attention many subcultures receive, some expand far beyond their initial emer­ gence, eventually becoming part of the cultural lexicon. Diffusion occurs as subcultural symbols, objects, and practices spread beyond their original scene (Clarke 1976) (more on this in Chapter 7). Tattoos, for example, transcended the boundaries of any particular scene long ago, as seemingly every athlete, musician, and actor has multiple tattoos (not to mention many doctors, lawyers, and other professionals). As many societies become more culturally diverse and as the internet accelerates the spread of ideas and trends, nothing stays underground for long. Increasingly mobile, heterogeneous societies may not react to some subcultures at all except, perhaps, as marketing niches. As celebrities, “normals,” and trendy boutiques appropriate sub­ cultural styles, their potential for resistance declines. Diffusion often leads to defusion, wherein subcultures lose their shock value, their resistance potential, and become marketing tools (although some would argue they were never anything more in the first place!). Hot Topic, a chain of more than 600 suburban North American alternative fashion stores, markets “alternative” clothing, toys, and other trinkets inspired by the goth, emo, nu-metal, otaku, video game, and metal scenes. Skateboarding and other “extreme” sports have spawned the X-Games and other corporate competitions. Likewise, parkour competitions have sprung up around the world, some of which fabricate obstacle environments indoors. Even the Burning Man festival’s utopian vision has come under siege as its

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popularity forces organizers to more rationally plan and control the event, addressing government regulations, camp safety, and envir­ onmental concerns. Similarly, facing political pressure and scrutiny from law enforcement, organizers of electronic dance music (EDM) events compromised, publicizing events in advance (rather than hours before), clamping down on drug use, and prohibiting common elements of the style deemed problematic, such as paci­ fiers and stuffed animals (Connor and Katz 2020). Many gatherings moved from warehouses to clubs and adopted formal contracts and regulations, as the spectacular subculture increasingly became part of the culture industry. Commercialization also shapes authenticity claims related to race. Arguments about hip hop’s “Blackness” revolve mainly around rap music; Latinx people (and others) have long had a more visible role in DJing, graffiti, and b-boying. As it is the most commercially viable (by far) of all hip hop elements, the stakes surrounding rap music’s authenticity are great; in contrast, there is little popular debate regarding racialized authenticity of graffiti-writers (Harrison 2008). RESISTANCE VS. INCORPORATION

Dick Hebdige (1979) describes two forms of incorporation, or ways subcultures become woven into the mainstream, thereby reducing their threat. The first, ideological incorporation, occurs when cultural or political authorities make light of subcultures, often reducing them to their spectacular styles and lampooning their outlandish behaviors. The second, commodity incorporation, involves mass marketing subcultural styles, symbols, and music, as the chain of Hot Topic stores has done so effectively with many scenes. In robbing subcultures of their exclusivity and subversive purpose, or reducing them to mass-produced styles, they become trivial, less upsetting. Arguments that contemporary subcultures are pale, even mean­ ingless imitations of their original incarnations obscure the fact that subculturists are present to, aware of, and often resistant to com­ modification. Faced with incorporation, some subculturists “circle the wagons” to protect their subcultural capital, labeling anyone who misuses (by their rationale) subcultural styles, practices, and

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ideals as “sell-outs” and “poseurs” (Moore 2005). Threatened with assimilation in the 1990s as hip hop exploded on the radio and MTV, artists more fervently inserted authenticity claims into their music that reflect the criteria I previously discussed. They feared that major labels, white rappers, and advertising executives might misrepresent or even erase hip hop’s African American roots. Via lyrics and media interviews they insisted that “real” rap is black (race), hard (gender/sexuality), from the underground and the street (geography), respects the “old school” (age, longevity), and is about staying true to yourself (consistency) (McLeod 1999). Thus white rappers House of Pain and even Black rapper-turned-movie-star Will Smith faced accusations of being fake because of their massive popularity with suburban white audiences. Other subculturists seek new avenues in which to take back their scene from profiteers. Riot grrrls, for instance, recognized how quickly popular musicians such as the Spice Girls appropriated their “grrrl” power slogan and how fast “girl” power became just another market­ ing device (Jacques 2001; Schilt 2003). Across their 20-year history, riot grrrls have reappropriated girl power by forming new (less- or non­ commercial) spaces of resistance such as online ’zines, feminist music festivals, and even rock camps for girls, in which young women spend a week learning to play rock instruments (Giffort 2012). Commodifi­ cation also sparks new subcultural innovation, motivating under­ ground participants to both return to the scene’s “roots” and to make their own mark (Haenfler 2006). Punk may have died several deaths since 1977, but crust punks around the world still make politically and aesthetically challenging music while living their lives by a radical DIY code. Big business tried to turn riot grrrls back into cultural con­ sumers, but in line with the movement’s original intention, rock camps encourage young women to be cultural producers.

IS AUTHENTICITY STILL RELEVANT? Whereas many subculturists once put a premium on authentic experiences, perhaps the post-subculture scholars have gradually been proven right – the distinctions discussed above may matter less in the age of TikTok, “influencers,” and Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Even as some subculturists seek to create alternatives to capitalism, others embrace the commercial opportunities related to their passions.

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“DIY” can seem quaint, limiting. Arguing whether a band is “true” death metal as global inequality, climate change, and authoritarianism pose ever-greater threats may seem passé. Yet authenticity and its connections to identity remain significant, perhaps more significant, aspects of human experience, whether we’re talking about food and restaurants, art and movies, craft beer and bread, or cultural festivals and attire (see Williams and Schwarz 2021). Symbolic boundary making and gatekeeping may have less significance in some scenes, but in a hypermediated, accelerated, recycled, profit-focused world the quest for objects and experiences that feel “real” makes more sense than ever.

KEY INSIGHTS �

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Pursuing, performing, and judging authenticity is central to most subcultural experience, despite many subculturists’ claims of being above such petty concerns. However, authenticity is not an achievement but rather an ongoing negotiation. There is no “objective” measure of authenticity. Rather, people construct the meanings, criteria, and importance of authenticity in the context of particular social settings and relationships. The so-called “original” incarnations of a subculture are not automatically more authentic. Many have commercial roots, many contemporary participants actively resist incorporation, and age and originality are simply criteria of authenticity deployed and given meaning by subculturists. Subcultures nearly always have some commercial aspect, although some subculturists attempt to operate primarily in smaller-scale subcultural economies. Still, in the past 20 years corporate profiteers have become ever more sophisticated in appropriating from subcultures, mining the “underground” for potentially profitable ideas and styles. Rather than “killing” subcultures, commodification often inspires new subcultural innovations.

EXPLORING FURTHER Blue Chicago: The Search for Authenticity in Urban Blues Clubs, by David Grazian, 2003 (University of Chicago Press). An intimate

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examination of the lives of blues musicians and fans and how they construct authenticity. “Racial Authenticity in Rap Music and Hip Hop,” by Anthony Kwame Harrison, 2008 (Sociology Compass 2 (6): 1783–1800). A thorough overview of the scholarship related to racial authenticity in hip hop. Authenticity in Culture, Self, and Society, edited by Philip, Vannini and J. Patrick Williams, 2009 (Ashgate). This volume offers a variety of perspectives on the concept of authenticity. Dust & Illusions: 30 Years of History of Burning Man, directed by Olivier Bonin, 2009. A documentary following the transformation of the Burning Man festival from a small, subversive experiment in community to a large, regulated, organized event. You can watch the film for free at dustandillusions.com. Studies on the Social Construction of Identity and Authenticity, edited by J. Patrick Williams and Kaylan C. Schwarz, 2021 (Routledge). A collection of essays about how various groups make meaning around authenticity and their identities. Includes chapters on yoga, social media influencers, fire dancers, and more.

REFERENCES Adorno, T. (1991) The Culture Industry: Selected Essays on Mass Culture, ed. J. M. Bernstein. London: Routledge. Atkinson, M. (2003) Tattooed: The Sociogenesis of a Body Art. Toronto, ON: Toronto University Press. Becker, H. (1963) Outsiders: Studies in the Sociology of Deviance. New York: Free Press. Bourdieu, P. (1984) Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste, trans. R. Nice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. “Breaking and the Olympics Speakers Series.” (2021) YouTube. https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=uufD7ebAzzg (accessed July 27, 2022). Brill, D. (2007) “Gender, Status and Subcultural Capital in the Goth Scene.” In P. Hodkinson and W. Deicke (eds) Youth Cultures: Scenes, Subcultures and Tribes. New York: Routledge, pp. 111–125. Charles, M. (2019) “Are You Grime or Part-Time?! Reviewing Race and ‘Realness’ in Britain’s Grime Scene.” In P. Essed, K. Farquharson, K. Pillay, and E. J. White (eds) Related Worlds of Racism: Dehumanisation, Belonging, and the Normativity of European Whiteness. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Clarke, J. (1976) “Style.” In S. Hall and T. Jefferson (eds) Resistance Through Rituals. London: Routledge, pp. 175–191. Connor, C. and N. Katz (2020) “Electronic Dance Music: From Spectacular Subculture to Culture Industry.” YOUNG 28 (5): 445–464. Davis, J. (2006) “Growing Up Punk: Negotiating Aging Identity in a Local Music Scene.” Symbolic Interaction 29 (1): 63–69. Dessier, M. (2006) “The Real Deal: Experiencing Authenticity in the Music of R. L. Burnside.” MA thesis, Department of Sociology and Anthropology, University of Mississippi. Driver, C. (2011) “Embodying Hardcore: Rethinking Subcultural Authenticities.” Journal of Youth Studies 14 (8): 975–990. Fogarty, M. (2019) “Why Are Breaking Battles Judged? The Rise of International Competitions.” In S. Dodds (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of Dance and Competition. London: Oxford University Press, pp. 409–427. Fonorow, W. (2006) Empire of Dirt: The Aesthetics and Rituals of British Indie Music. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Force, W. R. (2009) “Consumption Styles and the Fluid Complexity of Punk Authenticity.” Symbolic Interaction 32 (4): 289–309. Fox, K. J. (1987) “Real Punks and Pretenders: The Social Organization of a Counterculture.” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 16 (3): 344–370. Fraley, T. (2009) “I Got a Natural Skill … Hip-Hop, Authenticity, and Whiteness.” The Howard Journal of Communications 20: 37–54. Frank, T. (1998) The Conquest of Cool: Business Culture, Counterculture, and the Rise of Hip Consumerism. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Friedman, G. (1981) The Political Philosophy of the Frankfurt School. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Frith, S. (1978). The Sociology of Rock. London: Constable. Gáti, D. (2021) “Pabst Blue Ribbon: The Hipster Experiment with Critical Anti-Consumerism in Beer and Beyond.” In H. Steinhoff (ed.) Hipster Culture: Transnational and Intersectional Perspectives. New York: Bloomsbury, pp. 321–337. Giffort, D. (2012) “The ‘Slightly Sweeter’ Riot Grrrl: Subculture, Commodification, and Reappropriation at Rock Camp.” Paper presented at the 14th annual Chicago Ethnography Conference, April 2012, Chicago, IL. Grazian, D. (2003) Blue Chicago: The Search for Authenticity in Urban Blues Clubs. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Haenfler, R. (2006) Straight Edge: Clean Living Youth, Hardcore Punk, and Social Change: Piscataway, Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Haenfler, R. (2012a) “‘More Than the X’s on My Hands’: Older Straight Edgers and the Meaning of Style.” In P. Hodkinson and A. Bennett (eds) Ageing and Youth Cultures: Music, Style, and Identity. London and New York: Berg, pp. 9–23.

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Harrison, A. K. (2008) “Racial Authenticity in Rap Music and Hip Hop.” Sociology Compass 2 (6): 1783–1800. Hebdige, D. (1979) Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Methuen. Hopper, C. B. and J. Moore (1983) “Hell on Wheels: The Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs.” Journal of American Culture 6 (2): 58–64. Hutcherson, B. and R. Haenfler (2010) “Musical Genre as a Gendered Process: Authenticity in Extreme Metal.” Studies in Symbolic Interaction 35: 101–131. Jacques, A. (2001) “You Can Run But You Can’t Hide: The Incorporation Of Riot Grrrl Into Mainstream Culture.” Canadian Women’s Studies 20 (3): 46–51. Lewin, P. and J. P. Williams (2009) “The Ideology and Practice of Authenticity in Punk Subculture.” In P. Vannini and J. P. Williams, Authenticity in Culture, Self, and Society. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, pp. 65–85. Maxwell, I. (2003) Phat Beats, Dope Rhymes: Hip Hop Down Under Comin’ Upper. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. McLeod, K. (1999) “Authenticity Within Hip-Hop and Other Cultures Threatened with Assimilation.” Journal of Communication 49 (4): 134–150. Moore, R. (2005) “Alternative to What? Subcultural Capital and the Commercialization of a Music Scene.” Deviant Behavior 26 (3): 229–252. Mullaney, J. L. (2012) “All In Time: Age and the Temporality of Authenticity in the Straight-Edge Music Scene.” Journal Of Contemporary Ethnography 41 (6): 611–635. Novikova, L. (2011) “Khipstery: Novie Potrebitel’skie Strategii Molodezhi.” In E. L. Omel’chenko and G. A. Sabirova (eds) Novie Molodezhnie Dvizheniia i Solidamosti Rossii. Ul’ianovsk: Ul’ianovsk State University Press, pp. 127–145. Paris2024.org. https://www.paris2024.org/en/the-paris-2024-olympic-sportsprogramme/ (accessed November 11, 2022). Peterson, R. A. (2005) “In Search of Authenticity.” Journal of Management Studies 42 (5): 1083–1098. Primm, E. (2004) “The American Bad-Ass: A Social History of the Biker.” PhD dissertation. Department of Sociology, University of Colorado. Rohrer, F. (2007) “So Why Do ‘Normal’ People Get Tattoos?” BBC News Magazine http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7034500.stm (accessed March 19, 2012). Thornton, S. (1995) Clubcultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press. Savage, J. (2002) England’s Dreaming, Revised Edition: Anarchy, Sex Pistols, Punk Rock, and Beyond. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Schilt, K. (2003) “‘A Little Too Ironic’: The Appropriation and Packaging of Radical Feminism by the New Angry Women in Rock.” Popular Music and Society 26: 5–19.

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Schouten, J. W. and J. H. McAlexander (1993) “Market Impact of a Con­ sumption Subculture: The Harley-Davidson Mystique.” In W. F. Van Raaij and G. J. Bamossy (eds) European Advances in Consumer Research (Vol. 1). Provo, UT: Association for Consumer Research, pp. 389–393. https://www. acrwebsite.org/volumes/11476/volumes/e01/E%20-%2001 (accessed Novem­ ber 11, 2022.) Vannini, P. and J. P. Williams (eds) (2009) Authenticity in Culture, Self, and Society. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Washburne, C. J. and M. Derno (eds) (2004) Bad Music: The Music We Love to Hate. New York: Routledge. Watkins, S. C. (2005) Hip Hop Matters: Politics, Pop Culture, and the Struggle for the Soul of a Movement. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Weninger, C. and J. P. Williams (2017) “The Interactional Construction of Social Authenticity: ‘Real’ Identities and Intergroup Relations in a Transylvania Internet Forum.” Symbolic Interaction 40 (2): 169–189. Widdicombe, S. and R. Wooffitt (1990) “‘Being’ Versus ‘Doing’ Punk: On Achieving Authenticity as a Member.” Journal of Language and Social Psychology 9(4): 257–277. Widdicombe, S. and R. Wooffitt (1995) The Language of Youth Subcultures: Social Identity in Action. Harlow, Essex: Harvester-Wheatsheaf. Williams, J. P. (2020) “Myth and Authenticity in Subcultural Studies.” In B. van der Steen and T. P. F. Verburgh (eds.) Researching Subcultures, Myth and Memory. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 35–53. Williams, J. P. and K. C. Schwarz (2021) Studies on the Social Construction of Identity and Authenticity. New York: Routledge.

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6 HOW DOES SOCIETY REACT TO SUBCULTURES? In the 1970s, sociologist William J. Chambliss studied two groups of high school boys in a Seattle suburb, following their exploits for two years while making careful field observations. One group, which Chambliss labeled the “Saints,” were popular, well-dressed, middle-class kids who drove nice cars, played sports, and received good grades. Their counterparts – the “Roughnecks” – were lower class boys, more known for their habitual fighting (mostly among themselves) than for their success in school. Both groups of boys regularly caused trouble, skipping school, engaging in petty theft, and drinking alcohol. Yet the Roughnecks received far more attention from the police and other authorities, while community members saw the Saints as good boys who occasionally engaged in relatively harmless pranks. It’s not that the Saints were any less delinquent; they drove while drunk, engaged in vandalism, chea­ ted on exams, and even played jokes on the police. In fact, Chambliss found that the Saints committed more delinquent acts than the Roughnecks – they had greater access to alcohol and automobiles and were able to more easily concoct reasons to skip school. However, the Roughnecks received greater scrutiny and faced much harsher punishment for their behavior. The Saints’ deviance was less visible, they were more savvy about how to politely talk their way out of trouble with the police, and, sig­ nificantly, the community saw them as upstanding young men with bright futures. Chambliss (1973) wrote: “Those in low places, like the Roughnecks, are much more likely to be arrested and imprisoned while people in high places, like the Saints, usually avoid paying such a high price for their crimes.” Chambliss’s study DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417-6

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illustrates that community reaction to subcultures hinges less on the actual deviant behavior and more on the “offender’s” social status or how he or she is labeled. In this case, social class and the power and reputation it conferred benefited the Saints (the “good kids”) and worked against the Roughnecks (the “troublemakers”). As I discussed in Chapter 5, many subcultures increasingly occupy a “normal” space in conventional society, evoking little response at all. Many subcultural styles and practices eventually make their way into popular culture, losing their “shock value” as they become increasingly commodified. Nevertheless, subcultures continue to provoke disproportionately negative responses from more conventional circles. In this chapter, I explore this aspect of the relationship between subcultures and their “parent” societies – how do societies react to subcultures? Politicians, law enforcement, reli­ gious leaders, parents, school administrators and other authorities often respond to subculturists with suspicion, moral judgment, or even fear. I examine how moral entrepreneurs wage crusades against subcultural groups they view as a threat, fuelling moral panics that justify monitoring or even persecuting subculturists.

MORAL PANIC: ARE SUBCULTURES “DANGEROUS”? Outsiders often perceive “strange” groups not just as oddities but as threats, giving rise to the belief that subcultures are dangerous. Periodically, tragic events seem to bear these fears out. On April 20, 1999, two young men brought a variety of firearms into Columbine High School near Littleton, Colorado, killing 12 stu­ dents, one teacher, and themselves. The media reported the killers’ interest in violent video games and films, heavy metal music, and (erroneously) goth culture, painting the duo as weird, troubled youths. Officials mistakenly identified the boys with a small clique known as the “Trenchcoat Mafia,” a group of gamers who wore trenchcoats but had little connection to the killers, suggesting that the boys’ subcultural affiliations may have motivated the massacre. Their dark clothing, musical tastes, and interest in violent media intensified fears of subcultural youth, particularly goths. Adminis­ trators at schools across the US rushed to implement new school safety measures, including posting guards, installing metal detectors, and requiring that students use transparent backpacks. On the other

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side of the world, in June 2002, two Chinese boys, aged 13 and 14, burned down an unlicensed cyber cafe in Beijing after a dis­ pute with staff members, killing 24 patrons and injuring another 13. Called the “Chinese Columbine” by media scholar Henry Jenkins (2002), the event sparked a government shutdown of internet cafes as officials claimed that online pornography, gam­ bling, and video games amounted to “electric opium,” presumably leading to addiction and anti-social behavior. The boys, both gamers, symbolized a mood that Chinese society was changing too fast, that youth were growing away from traditional cultural and political conventions. Finally, the media blamed horror films and anime for Japanese serial killer Tsutomu Miyazaki’s grisly killings of young girls, calling him the “Otaku Murderer.” In each of these cases, authorities cited youths’ real or imagined subcultural affilia­ tions as motivations for their crimes. While such awful events rightfully inspire reflection, worry, and even policy changes, the media often incorrectly connect sub­ cultures to such tragedies, exaggerating the danger, stigmatizing all subculturists, and generating a moral panic. A moral panic ensues when a significant number of people believe a group or practice threatens the social order or fundamental social ideals (Thompson 1998). They express moral indignation and, importantly, give the impression of a moral consensus – the way things ought to be ­ that may or may not actually exist (Young 1971). Stanley Cohen outlined the basic pattern of moral panics in the classic text Folk Devils and Moral Panics: The Creation of the Mods and the Rockers: A condition, episode, person or group of persons emerges to become defined as a threat to societal values and interests; its nature is pre­ sented in a stylized and stereotypical fashion by the mass media; the moral barricades are manned by editors, bishops, politicians and other right-thinking people; socially accredited experts pronounce their diagnoses and solutions; ways of coping are evolved or (more often) resorted to; the condition then disappears, submerges or deteriorates and becomes more visible. (Cohen 2002[1972]:9)

Cohen developed his theory in the context of a media furor around the Bank Holiday riots of 1964–1966 in which gatherings of young

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people, including subcultural youth such as mods and rockers, fought, broke shop windows, and rode their scooters and motorbikes up and down the streets of several seaside resort towns. While violence certainly occurred, Cohen argued the media sensationalized and exaggerated the “danger,” making “mods” a symbol for any youthful threat to the moral order (see Thurschwell 2014). The potential for and significance of a moral panic depends in large part on the social and political context in which deviance occurs. In both Singapore and Malaysia heavy metal provoked a degree of moral outrage. In Singapore, the resulting panic was tempered by government secularism and restrictions against allega­ tions of satanism. In Malaysia, however, religious leaders effectively framed black metal as anti-Islamic, based upon stories of metalheads burning the Quran (Liew and Fu 2006). In both countries, political parties and religious leaders competed to be the moral protectors of youth, projecting local fears onto the metalheads. However, the traction such demonization gained depended upon the national context; Singapore’s secularism and small Christian and Islamic communities muted the effect of satanic panics. HOW CAN WE TELL IF SOMETHING IS A MORAL PANIC OR A GENUINE THREAT?

To a certain degree, the danger of subcultural activities is in the eye of the beholder; what one person deems a moral threat another sees as a benign lifestyle choice. Of course, some sub­ cultures are dangerous. Racist skinhead gangs and football hooligan firms do occasionally create mayhem. BASE jumping crews that parachute from buildings and bridges pursue an illegal, potentially dangerous pastime. Graffiti artists do perpetrate often-unwanted defacing of property. The “one-percenters” of motorcycle clubs, better known as outlaw motorcycle gangs, do engage in violence, drug-dealing, and other crime. So how do we tell when members of society are guarding against a genuine threat versus promoting a moral panic? First, let’s remind ourselves that just as subculture is a concept and not a real “thing,” so too does the concept of moral panic describe a range of ideas, beliefs, and social processes and relationships rather than some objectively observable phenomenon. Still, several

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general themes reoccur in case studies of the reactions to deviance: concern, hostility, consensus, disproportionality, and vola­ tility (Goode and Ben-Yahuda 1994:33–41). Moral panics typi­ cally begin with a growing concern about a group or behavior that may not reach the level of fear but indicates the perception of a threat. Concern is accompanied by hostility, usually from a specific group or part of society, towards those engaged in the deviant behavior or thought responsible for a perceived social problem (e.g. conservatives frequently blame gay and lesbian people for disrupting “traditional family values”). In the process, the “righteous” distinguish themselves from the “evil-doers.” Cul­ tural authorities oversimplify a problem (such as school violence), portraying the offending group as folk devils (such as goths). Folk devils symbolize the greater moral panic, caricatures that remind people of right and wrong and provide an easily recognizable target for exclusion, suppression, or reform. Subculturists often serve as excellent folk devils given their unorthodox beliefs, beha­ viors, and appearances. Male athletes perpetrate sexual assault and fraternity brothers consume alcohol at higher rates than the general population, yet public reaction rarely condemns the whole group or attributes such behavior to group membership. Social legitimacy serves as a cloak of protection for upstanding, high status groups. While not everyone in a given society accepts (and some actually oppose) the designation of a particular moral threat, enough con­ sensus exists that the perception is relatively widespread. In other words, a moral panic is a form of collective behavior rather than individual prejudice. To qualify as a moral panic, people’s fear must be out of pro­ portion to the actual threat. Of course the “reality” of a threat can be difficult to gauge, but we can empirically measure the supposed harm suggested by many moral panics, from crime rates to suicide. Some threats are completely baseless, as in the case of satanic ritual abuse in US day-care centers, of which no evidence exists (Bar­ tholomew and Goode 2000). Others have some element of truth, but exaggerate the extent and degree of the danger. Consider the case of ecstasy use at raves, a problem that gained international attention in the 1990s. Although millions of youth attended raves and many, if not most, used ecstasy at some point, very few died as a result, and those few deaths are attributable more to dehydration

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and the context in which the ecstasy is used rather than to the drug per se (Thompson 1998). Similarly, popular perception suggests that the goth subculture leads to youth depression and self-harm, a perception reinforced by the occasional study. Critiquing one such study, Hodkinson (2015) debunks these claims, showing that any link between goth and depression may be due to participants’ low status and social isolation; previous depression and other life cir­ cumstances; and the stigma and bullying experienced after adopting the goth identity. It may also be that the goth community helps “participants overcome mental health stigmas and thereby to feel more comfortable reporting depression or self-harm” that did not originate with goth. Many studies linking subcultures to significant harm suffer from flawed research methods, moralistic overtones, and a tendency to confuse correlation with causation. Some scholars suggest that we fear the wrong things (Glassner 2010); there is little doubt, for example, that alcohol and other legal drugs kill exponentially more people than illegal drugs. Likewise, if we wish to protect children we might focus our efforts more on promoting seatbelts and bicycle helmets than requiring school uniforms and installing metal detectors in schools; accidents kill more kids than school shooters and are significantly more pre­ ventable. And social media becomes an easy scapegoat for a host of problems, including girls’ body-image and self-esteem, simplifying the larger problems of general cultural misogyny and patriarchal domination. Finally, moral panics entail a degree of volatility, meaning they often emerge quite suddenly and subside nearly as quickly (Goode and Ben-Yahuda 2009). Even panics that seem to persist for dec­ ades – such as the drug panic in the US – wax and wane, often shifting focus as new “threats” emerge (e.g. marijuana in the 1930s, LSD in the 1960s, ecstasy in the 1990s). The “satanic panics” of the 1980s grew quickly (although certainly they have historical precedents) but had virtually disappeared by the mid-1990s (Victor 1993). Some panics simply fade away as circumstances change or authorities divert their attention to different problems – violence between mods and rockers declined as youth moved on to other scenes and adults grew worried about hippies and the counterculture. Other panics result in ongoing scrutiny, public debate, and policy changes or even morph into social movements or professional

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lobbying organizations as in the case of fundamentalist Christians forming abstinence pledge groups in response to fears about youth sexual activity. Rarely, if ever, does a moral panic grip an entire society; while “mass hysteria” might make for thrilling cinema, it seldom occurs in real life. While moral panics might not reach the level of mass hysteria, they are often extremely emotionally charged as people believe their fundamental values and ways of life are at stake. This is per­ haps even more so in the case of subcultures, which commonly link to children or youth. Take the case of satanic ritual abuse in Canada, the US, Australia, and the UK, wherein social workers, therapists, law enforcement, religious leaders, and significant seg­ ments of the general public believed that satanic cults, practitioners of witchcraft, and diabolical day-care centers were sexually molesting and killing children as part of occult rituals. Scholars uncovered virtually no evidence to support such claims (La Fon­ taine 1998), yet because the allegations involved children and threatened dominant religious beliefs, emotions ran high with even well-meaning people believing rather outlandish claims. More recently, during the Trump presidency and concurrent political polarization, the far-right, online, conspiracy theory QAnon res­ urrected many of the classic emotional hallmarks of moral panics: Satanic cabals, sexual threats to children, and the involvement of media and political elites, this time fuelled by digital communica­ tions and a largely unregulated, sensationalist media landscape (Hearst 2022). On the other hand, perhaps the reaction to QAnon, including from more liberal media outlets, was itself an emotional moral panic, exaggerating its scope and danger, creating a folk devil, and inadvertently shifting worry from more organized farright threats (O’Brien 2022). In sum, “What is important is that the concern locates a ‘folk devil,’ is shared, is out of synch with the measurable seriousness of the condition that generates it, and varies in intensity over time” (Goode and Ben-Yahuda 1994:41). While moral panics vary in duration and intensity and differ across cultures, they are one of most prevalent reactions to subcultures across the world. We can understand moral panics as a process (a processual model) and as a combination of interrelated attributes (an attributional model, described in detail below). Following Cohen, the former highlights

HOW DOES SOCIETY REACT TO SUBCULTURES?

the general stages or moments of moral panics, while the latter, from Goode and Ben-Yahuda (1994), draws our attention to fea­ tures relatively common to many different panics. Combined into a “hybrid model,” these two approaches can explain what happens but also how; the social contexts in which moral panics occur; and how folk devils push back against (usually) more powerful and well-resourced moral entrepreneurs (Klocke and Muschert 2010). Authorities most successfully cultivate panics during times of rapid or worrisome social, political, or economic change, when they target marginalized groupings, and when the mass media alerts the public. Often the news media sensationalizes an inherently shock­ ing precipitating event such as a gruesome killing, magnifying the perceived threat through focused and repeated stories. The atten­ tion prompts calls for a response from law enforcement and other social control agents, leading to greater surveillance and interven­ tion, but also to resistance from the targets of the campaign. Eventually, most panics dissipate, as the “danger” becomes nor­ malized, new social control measures are implemented, the threat fades or is debunked, or another, seemingly more pressing, pro­ blem emerges to take its place (ibid.). Past panics often leave a legacy, imprinting or reinforcing certain ideas about a group (e.g. racist beliefs), and may resurface in the future (e.g. drug scares).

MORAL ENTREPRENEURIAL CAMPAIGNS: WHO FUELS THE PANIC? In some ways, moral entrepreneurial campaign is simply another way of describing a moral panic. “Panic,” however, implies ran­ domness, spontaneity, chaos, and chance, making a moral panic something that “just happened,” as if there were no human beings with particular interests and intentions involved. On the contrary, moral entrepreneurial campaign, or moral crusade, suggests that real people strategically use power to shape a particular version of reality in service of their own agenda. Likewise, “campaign” or “crusade” captures the ongoing nature of moral panics and that such events unfold in stages (though not in discreet, linear steps). Moral crusades originate from a variety of sources (Goode and Ben-Yahuda 1994). Some emerge at a grassroots level, when the general public fosters a genuine (if often ill-informed) concern, as

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in the case of street crime or drug abuse. Political elites may also generate moral panics, such as when right-leaning politicians in Europe and the US target immigrant populations in efforts to garner votes and pass restrictive legislation. Finally, interest groups such as social movements and nonprofit organizations promote moral panics, such as temperance movements that brand alcoholic beverages as sinful and socially destructive, in some cases successfully outlawing alcoholic beverages for a time. A nation’s cul­ tural climate and political structure influence the form and prevalence of moral panics (Critcher 2003). In more religious nations, moral entrepreneurs (see below) often emerge from the clergy, for example. In nations with less centralized political, legal, and media systems (e.g. the US as compared to the UK) panics more commonly begin locally, rather than from central political institutions, and eventually spread to the national level (Jenkins 1992; Critcher 2003). BOX 6.1

EMO IN MEXICO, IRAQ, SAUDI ARABIA, AND RUSSIA

Sometimes subculturists get caught up in broader moral crusades. In Iraq and Mexico, violence against “emo” youth coincides with anti-gay sentiment. Widely perceived as gay, emos have faced beat­ ings in Mexico and murder by Iraqi militias (Grillo 2008). In Saudi Arabia, where many women wear the abaya cloak in public, religious police arrested ten women for wearing emo styles in a coffee shop (AFP Newswire 2010). Meanwhile, Russian lawmakers considered legislation that would regulate emo websites and ban emo and goth fashions in certain public buildings, believing the scene fosters depression and suicide (Michaels 2008).

MORAL ENTREPRENEURS

At whichever level moral crusades originate, at the forefront are moral entrepreneurs, “Groups or organizations [that] take it upon themselves to pronounce upon the nature of the problem and its best remedies” (Critcher 2003:17; Becker 1963). When metal band Metallica came to play my hometown of Rapid City,

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South Dakota in 1989, some community leaders tried to bar the band from playing, citing heavy metal’s propensity to encourage sex, violence, and devil worship. Local ministers, acting as moral entrepreneurs, rallied the community against the band while the newspaper ran stories printing particularly offensive metal lyrics and questioning the genre’s connections to the occult. Religious offi­ cials even managed to convince local police to issue Metallica a warning to refrain from any “obscene” behavior. (They didn’t.) It may seem strange in hindsight that so many people are swayed by moral crusades. However, moral crusades often rest upon at least a grain of truth; many heavy metal bands do, after all, explore the macabre or the occult. More significantly, though, moral entrepreneurs strategically build legitimacy around their claims, relying upon experts, often with few or shady credentials, to bolster their cause. Heavy metal scares were not confined to the US. In 1991, authorities blamed metal, and Metallica in particular, in the death of a 15-year-old boy in Sydney, Australia. In 1987, Russian researchers claimed that metal inhibited youths’ work ethic as well as being addictive and physically harmful. Research psychologist G. Aminev explained: If [heavy metal listeners] are isolated from such music for a week their general level of health declines, they become more irritable, their hands start to tremble and their pulse becomes irregular. … Some of them refused to continue with our experiments after the third day. This means we are witnessing a certain kind of illness. It seems that Rock music does not only have a psychological influence but a bio­ chemical one too, for it seems connected with the appearance of the morphine-type substances which induce “pleasure”. (Walker 1987)

Never mind that for many metal fans the music is actually a valu­ able source of relief and solidarity during emotionally or otherwise difficult times (Baker and Brown 2016). The ranks of moral entrepreneurs include politicians, law enforcement, religious leaders, and interest groups. Politicians, especially, are in a position to be rule creators, those with the power to make new laws or regulations to eliminate the moral threat (Becker 1963). As I mentioned previously, as a result of the

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Columbine massacre, schools across the US installed metal detec­ tors and required students to wear transparent backpacks, despite the fact that a Secret Service study suggested such physical safety efforts would be far less effective than listening to student warnings, intervening earlier in the potential shooter’s planning process, and reducing bullying (Dedman 2000). In the aftermath of mass shootings in El Paso, Texas, and Parkland, Florida, prominent national politicians, including then-President Trump, blamed, no surprise, video games, despite no evidence of a link between games and violent crime (Ferguson 2019). Japanese lawmakers sought to regulate erotic content in films and books favored by Otaku as a result of the “Otaku Murderer” I mentioned above. Law enfor­ cement regularly occupy the role of rule enforcers, implement­ ing new laws, monitoring potential violators, and punishing rulebreakers. In the US, the FBI at one point designated fans of “horrorcore” rap group Insane Clown Posse, called Juggalos, as a “gang threat”: “Transient, criminal Juggalo groups pose a threat to communities due to the potential for violence, drug use/sales, and their general destructive and violent nature” (Federal Bureau of Investigation 2011). Such designations have real legal consequences for subculturists, increasing stigma and scrutiny, and compounding criminal penalties. BOX 6.2

TIPPER GORE AND THE PMRC TAKE ON THE MUSIC INDUSTRY

It may sound ridiculous or seem funny in hindsight, but the 1980s were filled with seemingly dangerous music. The enemies? Metal bands such as Guns’n’Roses, punk acts such as Jello Biafra, rap groups such as NWA … even pop singers Cyndi Lauper, Frank Zappa, Prince, and John Denver. Tipper Gore, wife of then Senator Al Gore, led an organization called the Parent Music Resource Center to campaign against indecency and obscenity in music. With such political clout, this moral entrepreneurial campaign was able to encourage Congressional hearings on the dangers of music and gain widespread media coverage on news and talk shows such as Oprah and Donahue. TIME magazine featured a cover on filthy lan­ guage in pop culture.

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As I have suggested, religious leaders regularly play prominent roles in moral crusades as subculturists make excellent symbols of “evil” and moral crusades allow religious entrepreneurs the opportunity to “perform” (i.e. demonstrate) their righteousness. The late Reverend Jerry Falwell blamed feminists, pagans, gay people, and “secularists” for the September 11 terrorist attacks. Like their Christian counterparts, many Islamic leaders label heavy metal satanic (Levine 2009). Finally, non-religious interest groups use moral panics to lobby for new rules or capitalize upon existing crusades by offering their services to ameliorate the problem. For example, in the 1980s, The Parent Music Resource Center, led by Tipper Gore and other politicians’ wives, con­ vinced the US Congress to hold hearings investigating the damaging, anti-social influence of metal, rap, and other popular music, ultimately spurring the recording industry to place “Par­ ental Advisory” stickers on records containing objectionable lyrics. Around the same time, the British Board of Film Censors (now Classification) banned certain horror films, dubbed “video nasties,” from release on video cassette, in response to beliefs that such movies were morally depraved (Critcher 2003). BOX 6.3 ACEH PUNKS In late 2011, both state police and Sharia police arrested punks at a concert in Aceh province, Indonesia, detaining them for a week of “moral re-education” (Hasan 2011; Michaels and Johnson 2012). The deputy mayor called the concert “an abomi­ nation to Islamic teaching” and punks a threat to Islamic faith (Hasan and Hasan 2011). The mayor proposed sending the punks for psychological help and job training programs to better integrate the youths into society, despite the fact that many punk youth were themselves religious (Budiman et. al. 2012; Wallach 2014). So here we see certain religious leaders, politicians, law enforcement, and interest groups pooling their efforts to identify the moral threat, treat the punks as folk devils, and create and enforce rules.

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THE MEDIA: ADDING FUEL TO THE MORAL PANIC FIRE? Stanley Cohen emphasized the important role of the media in the creation of moral panics, especially at the outset of a crusade. Consider the following headline: “Anders Behring Breivik Trained for Mass Killing with Video Games Call of Duty, World of Warcraft” (Associated Press 2012). In 2011, right wing, ultra-nationalist, antiMuslim Breivik killed 77 people in Norway to protest what he perceived as the country’s liberal immigration and multicultural poli­ cies. The attention-grabbing headline implicates video games in the massacre under the guise of strictly reporting the “facts” – after all, Breivik claims he used games to train. Without further context, however, the implication is that gaming somehow caused or played a significant role in the killings, making gaming (and gamers) suspect. The media – newspapers, magazines, television news programs, websites, and podcasts – can quickly transform sensational, but rare, events into patterns and even threats. Cohen (2002[1972]) identified three ways the media contributed to moral panics. First, the media exaggerate the extent or danger of the supposed threat and distort “facts” using sensational head­ lines or dramatic music during a news broadcast. Crime reality shows such as On Patrol: Live come to mind, giving the appear­ ance that predators are everywhere and seemingly “regular people” could be perpetrators. The media also often predict that events will get worse without intervention, that problems are escalating. Taking everything the media says to heart, one might believe that drugs, serial killings, teen pregnancy, school shoot­ ings, and child abductions all consistently get worse. Finally, the media turn subculturists into caricatures, playing up the specta­ cular styles and bizarre rituals in a process of symbolization, thereby capturing the threat in an easily recognizable form (Cohen 2002[1972], cited in Thompson 1998:33). An LA Times article titled “The Twisted World of a ‘Straight Edge’ Gang” featured the tag-line “Utah offshoot of anti-drug, animal-rights movement has mutated into a violent group of ‘suburban terror­ ists’” (Sahagun 1998). While a minority of straight edge kids resemble the tattooed thugs described in the media, the vast majority live out the “positive” ethos their music espouses

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(Haenfler 2006). Applying Cohen’s theory, the label “straight edge” became symbolic of a status (terrorist, gang member), and objects (the “X” symbol, tattoos, piercings, straight edge band shirts) symbolized the label and status, tainting all straight edgers with a “violent” or “potential criminal” label. The media play an important role in creating a signification spiral (Hall et al. 1978) which links identities to social problems (e. g. homosexuality and child abuse) while amplifying the perceived threat: “the interaction of claims-makers, moral entrepreneurs and the mass media results in the establishment of a discourse in which certain groups are demonized as the source of moral decline” (Thompson 1998:31). News professionals do not simply report the “facts” surrounding events. Rather, they choose what to report (after all, there is too much potential news, even with a 24-hour news cycle) and how to report it (considering the presumed audi­ ence), often privileging stories the public finds bizarre, dramatic, emotional, or sensational. Thus when TV’s America’s Most Wanted paints straight edgers as radical animal rights terrorists, the media reduces the subculture to an easily digestible stereotype. Once the media (and others) repeat a story or theme enough, a “common sense” discourse prevails in which people take for granted that subculturists and other folk devils are problematic (Hall 1973). This may be especially true in the age of digital media in which emails, Facebook posts, and Twitter feeds with wildly exaggerated claims can go viral in a matter of days. Media reports stereotyping or even demonizing subculturists thrive in societies where fear and risk interweave into daily life. Media scholar David Altheide (2002) suggests that more than being afraid of various, discreet social problems (crime, drugs, AIDS, etc.) some cultures create a general atmosphere of worry, even threat. Sometimes the news media inadvertently helps to create the very reality they erroneously report. Consider the case of “satanic” Norwegian black metal. In the early 1990s, Mayhem vocalist Per Yngve “Dead” Ohlin died by suicide, Emperor drummer Bard “Faust” Eithun was convicted of murder, and Burzum and May­ hem’s Varg Vikernes killed fellow musician “Euronymous.” Meanwhile, police implicated influential black metal musicians, including Vikernes, in a series of church burnings, including his­ toric “stave” churches hundreds of years old. The press,

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understandably, thoroughly reported on these terrible crimes, quickly linking black metal to satanism. However, black metal initially centered much more on an anti-Christian message than actual satanic themes; Vikernes, for example, is better described as a pagan nationalist, wanting to restore Nordic people’s “native” religion. Nevertheless, a sensationalist exposé of supposedly cultish satanists in the early 1990s provided Norwegian youth an image of “evil,” and some black metal musicians and fans adopted its trap­ pings, incorporating pentagrams and upended crucifixes into their fashion and satanic imagery into their lyrics (Moynihan and Søderlind 2003). Eventually, the reports linking black metal to satanism actually increased youth’s exposure to and adoption of satanic motifs, strengthening the links between them. So-called satanic black metal thus owes much of its growth (such that it is) to media. As the genre became embedded in the global music scene, some adherents sought to distance themselves from these violent moments in the past, focusing on the music, even as “black metal’s mythic notoriety heightens the experience of countercultural transgressiveness” (Hagan 2020:157). Subculturists alternately (and often simultaneously) despise and welcome media coverage (Thornton 1995). Negative media reports reinforce subculturists’ outsider status, boosting their authenticity. And scenesters who make a living from the scene (e.g. musicians, promoters, shopkeepers) may appreciate the exposure. The media may also “create” subcultures by identifying, naming, and describing what we think of as subcultural activity (Thornton 1995), giving some semblance of order to previously unorganized and uncategor­ ized behavior. Was there really an emo identity or scene prior to music journalists’ widespread use of the term (see Azerrad 2001)? (And despite, I might add, opposition to the label from those it was used to describe.)

POWER AND POLITICS: WHY BOTHER WITH MORAL PANICS? Moral panics tend to reflect greater societal anxieties, worries about social changes that transcend any particular subculture. As I’ve shown, they commonly involve concerns about young people and often connect with technological, economic, or cultural shifts

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(Springhall 1998). Put simply, moral panics are an expression of greater fears, but incorrectly diagnose the source of and solution to perceived problems, offering instead simpler explanations and car­ icatured villains. The satanic ritual abuse scares mentioned above emerged at a time of changing family forms – women entering the workforce in greater numbers, divorce rates spiking in the US, single-parent households, and more “latchkey kids” left to their own devices, not to mention a rise in Christian fundamentalism and destabilization of the social safety net as conservative govern­ ments took power. Satanic panics centering kids’ well-being emerged amidst these worries. In China, people also hold fears about youth, though somewhat different than those typical in Western contexts. Their internet addiction panic occurs amidst worries about Westernization and online activism, in a “moral culture” historically rooted in Confucianism: “Often, ‘morality’ (daode) goes hand in hand with discourses of population “quality” (suzhi) and “civilization” (wenming)” (Szablewicz 2010:459). Poverty, crime, deindustrialization, substance use disorders and other challenges have complex causes and solutions that often require radical change. Much easier to deflect attention towards social “deviants,” including subculturists. Even an understanding of surrounding social context leaves us wondering Why would moral entrepreneurs take the time? What is the point of moral entrepreneurial campaigns? And how are moral entrepreneurs able to frame subculturists in such narrow terms? As I have shown, in the wake of moral panics, moral entrepreneurs and rule creators call for greater social control and a return to “traditional” values (Thompson 1998). Politicians can use a moral panic to gain support as in the case of anti-transgender “bathroom bills” that capitalize on (and fuel) transphobia in the name of pro­ tecting children, specifically girls. In fact, governments regularly use moral panics about subcultures for their own political purposes, often scapegoating youth to gain votes and avoid confronting complex problems. Officials may blame graffiti-writers and street gangs for urban decline, avoiding the reality that deteriorating inner cities result from deindustrialization and its attendant pro­ blems, while disguising structural racism and government neglect (Bloch 2019). Likewise, after the 2005 riots in Paris, perpetrated primarily by young, marginalized immigrants from North Africa,

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200 members of the French Parliament called for legal action against hip hop artists such as Monsieur R, claiming rappers incited youth to violence (BBC News 2005). While it may be impossible to pinpoint exactly the causes of the riots, no doubt chronic high unemployment, racism, and a perception of police harassment contributed more to the conflict than rap music. In fact, musicians had been rapping about these very issues for years, yet life in the banlieues (low-income suburbs) where Muslim youth are con­ centrated was still a struggle. Blaming rap musicians for the out­ break of violence shifted focus away from the political causes of unrest, namely the government’s policy of benign neglect. More cynically, government agencies may use the social problems associated with youth and subcultures as a pretext for increased sur­ veillance and suppression, especially of minoritized individuals. The London Metropolitan Police target Black music subcultures such as grime, a DIY genre influenced by Jamaican dancehall rhyming, rap beats, and UK garage, often critiquing the structural racism and clas­ sism that characterize life in London’s council estates (Adams 2019). Ostensibly meant to assess and mitigate risk, Form 696, introduced in 2005, required event promoters to list DJs and other performers, give their addresses and phone numbers, describe the music to be per­ formed, and, originally, to identify which ethnic groups were likely to attend. Finally eliminated in 2017, the measure gave the Met police power to monitor (surveil) and deny licenses to (supress) music scenes critical of the status quo. Moral panics help lay the ideological foundation for the public, drawing attention away from economic hardship and building acceptance for the policing of “undesirable” groups (see Hall et al. 1978). As the case of grime illustrates, control measures can reinforce “stereotypical assumptions about imagined links between Black musical subcultures and criminal behaviour that are shown to be racially-driven and discriminatory” (Fatsis 2018:455). Crime control and anti-terrorism measures may ultimately have marginal impacts on public safety but severe impacts on our freedom (Altheide 2006). In the “Chinese Columbine” example above, Communist Party officials used the fire, a tragic but isolated incident, to increasingly regulate and monitor internet usage, especially by young people, including restricting access to Western news (see Jen­ kins 2002). Patricia and Peter Adler (2012) explain this process as a control paradigm, meaning

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a model of clear and present danger that can be expanded to impli­ cate and oppress multitudes. [where] a problem provides the pretext to regulate “undesirable” behavior. The objective has less to do with personal safety than with social control.

In most cases there is a “real” problem, as in the case of teen pregnancy and school shootings. However, instead of sex educa­ tion or anti-bullying programs, too many schools rely upon largely symbolic fixes that satisfy certain political requirements without rocking the boat too much. In the case of school shootings, “weird” kids, “loners,” and subcultural youth may become the focus of prevention efforts, even though the Secret Service pub­ lished a study of 37 school shootings, reporting that: “There is no accurate or useful profile of students who engaged in targeted school violence.” “Abstinence only” programs teach kids that the only way to avoid pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections is to avoid all sexual contact. Again, such solutions may satisfy poli­ tical agendas, may even “work” for some youth, but are largely ineffective as social policy. Politicians, police, religious leaders, and media figures can get away with these sorts of things because they typically have more legitimacy than subculturists – it’s easy to believe the metalhead who wears a “satanic” shirt might be up to no good, and it’s easy to believe the authority figures who accuse him of wrongdoing. Take the case of the West Memphis Three in which authorities accused three Arkansas youth of murdering three young boys. During their original trial, prosecutors claimed the three were part of a satanic cult, emphasizing their habit of wearing black clothing, their love of heavy metal music, and Damien Echols’ expressed interest in Wicca and the occult. Such facts became fodder for retrospective reinterpretation – once a person has a stigmatizing label, we reinterpret past behaviors, beliefs, even appearance in light of the new label (Schur 1971). In the case of the West Memphis Three, once authorities arrested and accused the boys of murder, the media, the public, and likely even jurors reinterpreted their past interests and actions. Of course the three were guilty – they listened to heavy metal music, wore black clothing, and were “no good” kids. The case of Norwegian racist Anders Behring Breivik above is another perfect example. He perpetrates an

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horrific massacre and, seeking explanation, the media draws atten­ tion to his previous interests in gaming, implying games played a role in the killings. Not every moral entrepreneurial campaign is successful, and folk devils and others labelled deviant may push back (Jenkins 2009). George “Corpsegrinder” Fischer, singer of the notoriously gory death metal band Cannibal Corpse, seems an unlikely folk devil when his Instagram is filled with family photos, Christmas cele­ brations, and his obsession with winning and collecting large stuffed animals from carnivals and claw machine games. Changes in the media landscape may impact development or stifling of panics (Klocke and Muschert 2010:300–301): The fragmentation of media spawned by new communication tech­ nologies has opened up spaces for counter media narratives, yet at the same time, the increasing concentration of media ownership by corporations trying to increase their profits and the development of a competitive 24-hour news cycle has made news sensationalism more prominent.

Returning to this section’s opening question, under what circum­ stances is moral panic a useful concept, rather than an overly-broad catch all term indiscriminately applied to any emotionally-charged widespread concern? (see Jewkes 2004).

DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS AND THE TRAJECTORY OF A MORAL PANIC Few examples illustrate the life cycle of a moral panic better than the fantasy tabletop role-playing game Dungeons & Dragons (D&D). First published in the mid-1970s, by the mid-1980s the game had captured the imaginations of millions of people, many of them young. Taking on the role of characters such as fighters, wizards, and rogues, players co-create a narrative guided by a gamemaster (often called a dungeon master (DM) in D&D), navi­ gating an imagined world while facing down foes including orcs, goblins, demons, and, yes, occasionally dragons (see Fine 1983). Players and DM resolve encounters – combat, tricking an oppo­ nent, searching for clues - by rolling dice of various shapes,

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including the ubiquitous 20-sided die. D&D’s early popularity spawned a variety of moral entrepreneurs including psychologists, religious leaders, and law enforcement officials who saw the game as “socially, medically, and spiritually dangerous” (Laycock 2015:5). In the context of the broader “satanic panic” described above, they claimed the game promoted witchcraft, devil worship, and suicide. The 1982 TV movie Mazes and Monsters, staring a young Tom Hanks, portrayed a college student who could not separate his gaming experience from reality, trapping him forever in a fantasy state. News program 60 Minutes validated and ampli­ fied the threat, linking D&D to murder and suicide in a 1985 segment. Organizations such as Bothered About Dungeons & Dragons (BADD) published and distributed pamphlets warning of the dangers of D&D, and so-called “experts” collected consulting fees to train local responders. These moral entrepreneurs identified a concern, reacted with hostility, and, with the help of high-profile media coverage, gradually established a degree of consensus. The perceived threat was disproportional to any actual harm, and the panic eventually receded, demonstrating its volatility. Contrast this outrage with D&D’s enormous popularity and acclaim in the 2020s. Thanks to the 2014 release of a more intuitive fifth edition (5e) of the game; positive portrayal in popular Netflix show Stranger Things; increased visibility of celebrity players (e.g. Ste­ phen Colbert, NBA star Tim Duncan, and True Blood actors Deborah Ann Woll and Joe Manganiello); diversification beyond a primarily white male demographic; and the popularity of streamed gaming groups such as Critical Role, D&D is more popular than ever. For­ cing many people into physical isolation, the COVID-19 pandemic boosted online play with others via platforms such as Roll20.net. Contrary to the 1980s, the press largely praised D&D’s creative and connective potential; one headline from The Guardian read “‘A Safe Haven’: How Dungeons & Dragons is Slaying Social Anxiety” (Hazel 2021). Ironically, people (especially young people) using their imagi­ nations, connecting with peers, and getting away from screens now seems preferable when contrasted with another moral panic around social media and video games (see Bowman 2015). Therapists use the game to help clients (Henrich and Worthington 2021). Once seen as a potentially dangerous gateway to the occult, D&D now seems a creative tool towards better mental health.

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KEY INSIGHTS �

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Moral panics are recurring social phenomena that follow relatively (but not totally) predictable patterns and include reoccurring roles such as moral entrepreneurs, rule creators, and rule enforcers. As sociologist Barry Glassner suggests in his book Culture of Fear, we often fear the “wrong” things, that is, there are events and conditions that will likely do us more harm. While some panics emerge at the grassroots, politicians or other authority figures often fuel, capitalize on, or even manufacture, such fears for political advantage or financial gain. While subculturists often garner significant negative attention, the larger society tends to gradually incorporate their values, objects, and practices into more widespread use, sometimes defusing subcultural values of their subversive intent.

EXPLORING FURTHER Going All City: Struggle and Survival in LA’s Graffiti Subculture, by Stefano Bloch, 2019 (University of Chicago Press). An autoethnographic account of the author’s participation in the graffiti subculture that traces changes in the scene from associations with gangs to grudging acceptance in some quarters as legitimate art. Moral Panics: The Social Construction of Deviance (2nd edition), by Erich Goode and Nachman Ben-Yahuda, 2009 (Wiley-Blackwell). An updated version of a classic text, including discussions of terrorism, school shootings, and the “sex-slave” trade. Critical Readings: Moral Panics and the Media, by Chas Critcher, 2003 (Open University Press). Compares the American and British perspectives on moral panics while examining AIDS, pedophilia, drugs, and other panics. Moral Panics, by Kenneth Thompson, 1998 (Routledge). Another classic overview of the moral panic concept. Folk Devils and Moral Panics, by Stanley Cohen, 2011 (Routledge). An updated version of the classic text on moral panics. “Dungeons & Dragons: Satanic Panic,” 2016. New York Times Retro Report. A look back at the D&D moral panic, illustrating

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the trajectory described above. Available via the Times and on YouTube www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATUpSPj0x-c&t=31s. “Metal From the Dirt: Inside the Navajo Reservation’s DIY Heavy-Metal Scene,” Directed by Clarke Tolton. A short doc­ umentary showing how Native people in the southwest US create meaning around metal, integrating traditional cultural practices with global music-making. Available on YouTube https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=a3AnyzzkDzA&t=206s. The Outsiders, directed by Francis Ford Coppola, 1983. A drama about a rivalry between the working-class “greasers” and the more well-to-do “socs” that nicely illustrates assumptions made about youth from different social backgrounds, as illustrated by the Chambliss study in the chapter introduction. Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills (and sequels), directed by Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, 1996. Filmed as the West Memphis Three went to trial, this stunning documentary demonstrates how a community’s moral panic around satanism and heavy metal fueled the conviction of three social misfits who liked Metallica and black clothing. There are two sequels also worth watching. West of Memphis, directed by Amy Berg, 2012. This doc­ umentary, again about the West Memphis Three, picks up the story of the three’s 18-year fight to be released from prison. The film features more evidence of the men’s innocence, revealing interviews with new witnesses, and an explanation of how police elicit false confessions. Reefer Madness, directed by Louis J. Gasnier, 1936. Now a cult classic, this propaganda film depicts a group of young people whose drug use leads to rape, murder, and insanity. Meant to scare potential pot smokers straight, it has become a comedy to which some potheads get stoned.

REFERENCES Adams, R. (2019) “‘Home Sweet Home, That’s Where I Come From, Where I Got My Knowledge of the Road and the Flow From’: Grime Music as an Expression of Identity in Postcolonial London.” Popular Music and Society 42 (4): 438–455. Adler, P. and P. Adler (2012) “The Control Society: Crisis Creation and The Death of Moderation.” Psychology Today blog January 12. www.psychology

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Critcher, C. (2003) Critical Readings: Moral Panics and the Media. Berkshire, England: Open University Press. Dedman, B. (2000) “Deadly Lessons: School Shooters Tell Why.” Special report by the Chicago Sun-Times, October 15–16. http://powerreporting. com/files/shoot.pdf (accessed March 12, 2012). Fatsis, L. (2018) “Grime: Criminal Subculture or Public Counterculture? A Critical Investigation Into the Criminalization of Black Musical Subcultures in the UK.” Crime, Media, Culture 15 (3): 447–461. Federal Bureau of Investigation (2011) “2011 National Gang Threat Assess­ ment – Emerging Trends.” www.fbi.gov/stats-services/publications/2011-na tional-gang-threat-assessment (accessed March 12, 2012). Ferguson, C. J. (2019) “Stop Blaming Video Games for Mass Killings.” The Conversation, August 5. https://theconversation.com/stop-blaming-video­ games-for-mass-killings-121472 (accessed October 17, 2022). Fine, G. A. (1983) Shared Fantasy: Role-Playing Games and Social Worlds. Chi­ cago: University of Chicago Press. Glassner, B. (2010) The Culture of Fear: Why Americans Are Afraid of the Wrong Things. New York: Basic Books. Goode, E. and N. Ben-Yahuda (1994) Moral Panics: The Social Construction of Deviance. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers. Goode, E. and N. Ben-Yahuda (2009) Moral Panics: The Social Construction of Deviance (2nd edition). Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers. Grillo, I. (2008) “Mexico’s Emo-Bashing Problem.” Time, March 27. www. time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1725839,00.html (accessed March 12, 2012). Haenfler, R. (2006) Straight Edge: Clean Living Youth, Hardcore Punk, and Social Change. Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Henrich, S. and R. Worthington (2021) “Let Your Clients Fight Dragons: A Rapid Evidence Assessment regarding the Therapeutic Utility of ‘Dun­ geons & Dragons’.” Journal of Creativity in Mental Health. https://doi.org/10. 1080/15401383.2021.1987367. Hall, S. (1973) Encoding and Decoding in the Television Discourse. Birmingham, UK: Centre for Cultural Studies, University of Birmingham, pp. 507–517. Hall, S., C. Critcher, T. Jefferson, J. Clarke, and B. Roberts (1978) Policing the Crisis. London: Macmillan. Hagan, R. (2020) “‘From the Dark Past’: Historiographies of Violence in Norwegian Black Metal.” In B. van der Steen and T. P. F. Verburgh (eds.) Researching Subcultures, Myth and Memory. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 151–170. Hasan, N. (2011) “Aceh ‘Punks’ Arrested for ‘Re-education’.” Jakarta Globe, December 13. www.thejakartaglobe.com/home/aceh-punks-arrested-for­ re-education/484549 (accessed March 12, 2012).

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Moynihan, M. and D. Søderlind (2003) Lords of Chaos: The Bloody Rise of the Satanic Metal Underground. Los Angeles, CA: Feral House. O’Brien, M. (2022) “The Coming of the Storm: Moral Panis, Social Media and Regulation in the QAnon Era.” Information & Communications Technology Law. doi:10.1080/13600834.2022.2088064. Sahagun, L. (1998) “The Twisted World of a ‘Straight Edge’ Gang.” LA Times, January 29. http://articles.latimes.com/1998/jan/29/news/mn-13171 (accessed March 13, 2012). Schur, E. M. (1971) Labeling Deviant Behavior: Its Sociological Implications. New York: Harper and Row. Springhall, J. (1998) Youth, Popular Culture and Moral Panics: Penny Gaffs to Gangsta Rap, 1830–1996. New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press. Szablewicz, M. (2010) “The Ill Effects of ‘Opium for the Spirit’: A Critical Cultural Analysis of China’s Internet Addiction Moral Panic.” Chinese Journal of Communication 3 (4): 453–470. Thompson, K. (1998) Moral Panics. London and New York: Routledge. Thornton, S. (1995) Clubcultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Han­ over, NH: Wesleyan University Press. Thurschwell, P. (2014) “Lure of the Mods Remains Strong 50 Years on From the Battle on the Beach.” The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/ lure-of-the-mods-remains-strong-50-years-on-from-the-battle-on-the-beach­ 25349 (accessed June 28, 2022). Victor, J. S. (1993) Satanic Panic: The Creation of a Contemporary Legend. Chicago, IL: Open Court. Walker, M. (1987) “Heavy Metal’s Toll Among Russia’s Young.” Guardian, June 6. Wallach, J. (2014) “Indieglobalization and the Triumph of Punk in Indonesia.” In Brett Lashua, Karl Spracklen, and Stephen Wagg (eds) Sounds and the City: Popular Music, Place, and Globalization. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 148–161. Young, J. (1971) The Drugtakers: The Social Meanings of Drug Use. London: MacGibbon and Kee.

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7 WHERE DO SUBCULTURISTS HANG OUT, FROM THE LOCAL TO THE GLOBAL? I have been extremely fortunate to visit several different countries and while abroad I enjoy seeking out subcultural spaces. While corporate globalization is easy to spot – McDonalds, Taco Bell, KFC – subcultural globalization is evident as well. As I browsed in a Brisbane record shop catering to punk and hardcore, I noticed the many similarities in fashions and even the musical styles between the US and Australia. I have discussed the merits of metal bands Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden in Costa Rica, and argued with a Costa Rican Star Wars fanatic over which film is the best. I saw Icelandic hardcore band I Adapt in a crowded Reykjavik cafe and gave some change to panhandling crust punks in Vancouver. In Peru, I was surprised by the popularity of the South Korean K-pop scene, while in Estonia I learned about Tallinn’s underground raves. And at home in the US I’ve watched Japanese manga and anime subcultures gain increasing popularity. On top of that, straight edge kids from more than 20 countries such as the Phi­ lippines, Germany, Indonesia, and Brazil, have sent me emails since my book Straight Edge was published. Who could have predicted that over the course of 40 years or so that subcultures, even sup­ posedly underground subcultures, would become so thoroughly global? This chapter begins with a discussion of the environments in which subcultures exist, and how those environments, or “sub­ cultural geographies,” shape participants’ experience. I note the importance of space and place as well as local, translocal, and DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417-7

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virtual scenes. The chapter then questions how subcultures spread around the world and ends by examining subculturists’ embrace­ ment of and resistance to globalization.

SPACE AND PLACE: WHERE DO SUBCULTURISTS HANG OUT? Like everyone else, subculturists exist in physical (and virtual) places, and such places impact the emergence and experience of subcultures. Where would skaters or traceurs be without the urban jungle providing them countless obstacles from which to perform their gravity-defying tricks? Place constitutes (1) geographic loca­ tion, (2) material (and, I argue below, virtual) form, and, most especially, (3) the social meanings given to spaces, how we experience and interpret them (Gieryn 2000). Early scholars of subcultures and gangs were especially preoccupied with young people’s (particularly working-class men’s) occupation of the streets (Valentine et al. 1998). In contrast, space signifies abstract dis­ tances, volumes, geometries, and so on, absent social meaning. Spaces “set the stage for certain kinds of human activities” (Chen et al. 2013:8). Spaces become places when occupied, used, and given meaning by people; places become spaces when “the unique gathering of things, meanings, and values are sucked out” (Gieryn 2000:465). Put another way, “What begins as undifferentiated space becomes place as we get to know it better and endow it with value” (Tuan 2011[1977]:6). Passing by 315 Bowery at Bleecker Street in Manhattan one would notice a small shop front; how­ ever, knowing the space was the former site of the legendary CBGB music venue imbues the place with a special significance. Subculturists designate certain places as “cool” and others as boring or mundane (see Skelton and Valentine 1998). Thus during the week, as tourists disperse, blues clubs become nocturnal “havens” for musicians and regular patrons, offering a “vision of urban community and moral order” (Grazian 2003:90). The club space helps manufacture a “brotherhood of strangers” in which people appreciate seeing familiar faces, even if they do not have close relationships. The emplacement of subcultures, or their relationship to place, matters because subculturists often upend the meanings of and

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assumptions about spaces and places. In fact, particular spaces make possible certain subcultures. Take for example the bike messengers studied by Jeffrey Kidder (2011). Without the traffic gridlock in congested urban centers, messengers would not experience the danger, the thrill so central to their existence. Rather than seeing traffic as an irritation, messengers transform the “urban death maze” into a challenging playground in which their work – deli­ vering packages – becomes play. The intense concentration and emotion messengers feel as they weave in and out of traffic (what Kidder calls the affective appropriation of space) offer moments of creativity and liberation in what can otherwise be sti­ fling, exploitative environments. Likewise, subcultural identities are often intimately tied to space/place. For many hip hop cultures, “space is a dominant concern,” as “the ghetto, ‘hood’, street, and corner all surface as representations of a particular image inscribing an ideal of authenticity or ‘hardcore’ urban reality” (Forman 2002:3, 5). Such urban spaces, real, imaginary, or somewhere in between, are more than simply settings in which subcultures “happen.” Rather, places are “players” in social life, shaping, enabling, and constraining subculturists’ activities and identities. (And places also become marketing tools, as promoters seek to capitalize on “real” Mississippi blues, or “genuine” Compton gangsta rap!) Subculturists often come into conflict with authorities seeking to regulate subcultural places, such as enforcing curfews to keep youth off the streets. Police sought to reduce soccer hooliganism in the UK by eliminating standing terraces, by increasing security, and by instal­ ling closed-circuit security cameras across the grounds, pushing the clashes between firms even more into neighborhoods and train sta­ tions. Tired of the damage skaters inflict on benches and curbs, many cities have implemented skateboarding bans in certain areas, prompt­ ing skaters to post “skateboarding is not a crime” stickers. Likewise, while graffiti-writers see street art as changing bland spaces into beautiful places, shop-owners and municipal leaders often do not share their sentiments. As part of the ecstasy scares of the 1990s, authorities sought to regulate or eliminate underground raves, passing legislation threatening property owners who let their buildings be used for raves. Space is so central to subcultural experience that spa­ tial regulation is one of the primary means of regulating subcultures more generally. Thus Chinese and Iranian authorities seek to regulate

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virtual spaces in an effort to forestall undesirable youth movements and other deviant groups. Subculturists and others therefore contest the meaning and uses of space and place. Efforts to clean up public spaces and control “troublesome” youth limit the spaces in which subculturists can safely congregate. Spaces occupied by subculturists, including even streets and parks, serve as free spaces (see Chapter 3) in which they can experiment with identities – as well as sex, drugs, and alcohol – relatively free from commercial interests and adult supervision (Robinson 2009). Subculturists might also fight over space, especially in local scenes, a classic (if wildly exaggerated) example being conflicts in the 1960s between mods and rockers in the UK. During the 1990s in the US, rap artists, promoters, and record labels played up an East Coast vs. West Coast rivalry, giving place sometimes deadly significance, while even jazz clubs become central to disputes about authenticity (Becker 2004). Too often scholars have associated subcultures almost exclusively with urban spaces, directing a “metropolitan gaze” to their subjects that neglects or marginalizes the experience of rural subculturists. While it may be true that cities provide resources, artistic synergy, and a critical mass of potential subculturists, rural people also find and create meaning in subcultures. Young people and musicians in the Margaret River region of Western Australia sometimes lamented the lack of a larger and more diverse musical community, experiencing a “fear of missing out” of what happens in city scenes (Nikulinsky 2022:206). Yet many also recounted that their rural location often granted them freedom from regulatory control, enabling them to participate in and be witness to unique scene-based experiences that were organic and fluid in nature, cutting across age barriers, venue limitations and socio-economic indicators… (ibid.:228)

They might distinguish themselves from the ubiquitous surf culture while embracing its “chilled out” attitude, playing acoustic sets on the beach. Music proved an invaluable resource for young people struggling with mental health and identity challenges, some of which felt all the more acute in the relative isolation of a rural setting. Rather than assuming that subcultures exist primarily or

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exclusively in urban areas better to ask how local opportunities and constraints shape subcultural experience regardless of scope. LOCAL, TRANSLOCAL, AND VIRTUAL SCENES: HOW ARE SUBCULTURISTS CONNECTED?

Scholars often think about subcultures in terms of local, translocal, and virtual scenes (see Bennett and Peterson 2004). Local scenes form around specific geographical areas, incorporating and reflect­ ing local issues, politics, and cultural practices and usually including face-to-face interaction (e.g. Shank 1994). Some subcultures maintain a very localized presence, never significantly spreading beyond their region of origin. Go-go music, a percussive blend of funk, R&B, and hip hop, emerged in Washington, DC’s African American communities during the 1970s, responding to the racial strife and white flight that began in the previous decade (Hopkinson 2012). The scene supported a variety of Black-owned busi­ nesses, including ticket sales, music clubs, and fashion boutiques, but never really made it out of DC. Likewise, the Sharpies – a 1960s and 1970s Australian subculture reminiscent of UK skinheads but with mullets and cardigan sweaters – was nearly exclusive to Mel­ bourne. However, even seemingly grassroots, local scenes have ties to other distant scenes, and even parallel other contemporary local scenes; go-go borrows from Latin music as well as disco and hip hop. The Sharpie scene shared stylistic elements not just with mods and skinheads, but also glam and rock, even as they often sought to define themselves in opposition to such scenes (Bessant 1995). Translocal scenes encompass various local scenes connected through shared subcultural values, styles, practices, and often music rather than frequent face-to-face contact (Kruse 1993). Translocal scenes exist regionally, nationally, or, as I discuss later, even globally. What connects such scenes, what holds them together? Music festivals, ’zines, consumer styles, and of course social media connect sub­ culturists across sometimes vast distances. The Wacken Open Air metal festival in Germany brings together metal bands and fans from around Europe and even the world. In addition to these “concrete” connections, subculturists share more abstract identities and tastes (Kruse 1993; Hodkinson 2002). Thus despite their different experi­ ences, Indonesian and North American punks would have much in

FROM LOCAL TO GLOBAL

common, sharing a very meaningful identity and likely listening to similar music. Virtual scenes include the digital spaces in which subculturists interact, hang out, and ultimately form communities. Digital com­ munities may be diffuse and transient, but virtual scenes have a degree of consistency, some sense of norms, and include ongoing interaction and relationships. In other words, surfing steampunk websites does not automatically make one part of the steampunk scene, but steampunks form meaningful online communities. The online interactions, the ongoing relationships, the emergent meanings, and the collective identification with steampunk constitute the virtual scene. Some subculturists have little, if any, connection to “face-to­ face” or corporeal scenes. They interact primarily via the internet, making virtual scenes more than additional spaces through which local scenes interact (see Chapter 8). The web can play an enormous role in creating or coalescing a scene, as in the alternative country (or “alt. country”) scene, bringing together musicians and fans of country music “mixed with attitude” (Lee and Peterson 2004:188). While dividing scenes into such “layers” makes intuitive sense, a local scene is not a “closed system of social relations but a particular articulation of contacts and influences drawn from a variety of places scattered, according to power-relations, fashion and habit, across many different parts of the globe” (Massey 1998:124). Sub­ cultures (and cultures more broadly) are products of interaction, and people consistently interact across these contexts. A local burlesque community has translocal and virtual influences and contacts. Further, a local scene in a major metropolitan area may be “bigger” (i.e. including more people and covering greater geo­ graphic space) than a small national or regional scene. In any case, we should avoid thinking about the global as something “out there,” far removed, or even foreign. The local and the global may be useful tools for analyzing different aspects of culture, but are thoroughly intertwined in the twenty-first century.

SUBCULTURES AND GLOBALIZATION: HOW DO SUBCULTURES TRAVEL? Many subcultures have become thoroughly global, raising all sorts of questions about how they spread. How did a punk scene blossom in

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China? Who brought hip hop to Egypt? How did manga take off in the US? There is a doom metal scene in Japan!? Even relatively small, underground subcultures find diverse adherents in a rapidly globa­ lizing world. In a basic sense, globalization involves the ongoing process of economic, political, and cultural integration (Eckes and Zeiler 2003). Economically, local and global markets increasingly merge as both capital and goods move around the world. Politically, nations’ fates become ever more intertwined, with organizations such as the International Monetary Fund, the United Nations, the European Union, and the World Bank making attempts at trans­ national or global governance. And culturally, diverse peoples share art, music, food, film, literature, and fashion in unprecedented ways. Digital technology, global mass media, and air travel make the world seem smaller, at least to those with access, even changing our sense of time and space (Giddens 1991). Global cultural flows depend upon fluid, changing ethnoscapes, moving people, includ­ ing tourists, immigrants, and others; mediascapes, information and images transmitted through all forms of media; technoscapes, the technologies that create linkages across borders; finanscapes, the inter­ connected markets, stock exchanges, and laborers; and ideoscapes, the particularly political “ideologies of states and the counter-ideologies of movements” seeking state power (Appadurai 1990:331). But what does globalization mean for subcultures? To start, globalization fosters transnational subcultural economies, as participants create and trade their goods (e.g. music, skateboarding films, ’zines) across the world. As people travel around, they interact over time with local cultures often initially experienced as images via mediascapes. Politically, globalization enables subcultures to share often deviant or even subversive ideologies. And culturally, globali­ zation facilitates the rapid sharing of musical innovations, dance styles, and fashion sensibilities. Each of Appadurai’s “scapes” influence the global connections between subculturists. But just how does this happen, and what are globalization’s effects? It is relatively easy to see how Hollywood films make their way to nearly every corner of the earth. Multinational corporations with vested commercial interests use their resources to produce and market movies with broad appeal, even creating films heavy on action and light on dialogue to be more palatable to non-native

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English speakers. Subcultures typically spread via somewhat less strategic or instrumental means. By definition, subcultures do not enjoy mass appeal and cannot mobilize an army of marketers and other professionals. In fact, sometimes subculturists oppose increased visibility, wary that their scene might get “too big,” thereby escaping their control and undermining their authenticity. (Of course that doesn’t prevent entrepreneurs, both corporate and subcultural, from appropriating and selling subcultures, as we saw in Chapter 5.) Cultural diffusion involves the spread of all sorts of cultural artifacts between individuals and groups. Centralized diffusion occurs when governments or corporations actively promote or even impose an idea or product on less powerful groups or societies. MTV has expanded around the globe – MTV Europe, MTV Japan, MTV Latin America, MTV Arabia, and so on, guided by elites with parti­ cular viewpoints and agendas. Somewhat similarly, subcultures spread as the result of subcultural entrepreneurs such as record label owners, but usually on a much smaller scale. Decentralized diffusion is less planned, less controlled, and less characterized by power imbalances. Examples include heavy metal fans trading tapes internationally, underground punk bands setting up DIY shows abroad, riot grrrls sending ’zines to other countries, and, of course, the many subcultural exchanges via the internet. Consider the tattoo and body modifica­ tion subcultures. Tattooing originated in many pre-modern cultures and the international tattoo scene emerged from a variety of decen­ tralized exchanges as artists and tattooees travelled abroad, building social ties from the ground up. Now, however, the mass-marketing of tattoo culture via reality TV shows and tattoo-inspired apparel may introduce more centralized diffusion. Subcultures spread via both cen­ tralized and decentralized processes, though if we think of diffusion as a continuum between the two, subcultural diffusion tends to be less centralized than pop culture explicitly mass-marketed for broad global appeal. Immigrants often facilitate subcultural globalization, much as West Indian workers shared elements of their cultures with working-class Britons. When people move, voluntarily or involuntarily, en masse to new homelands the resulting diaspora communities often maintain real and symbolic connections with their “mother­ land.” Chinese American rapper Jin found modest success in the US but greater acclaim in Hong Kong. Similarly, Japanese

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American emcee Ai found huge success in Japan. Such bilingual artists facilitate subcultural exchange in both directions. African immigrants to Canada use hip hop culture and language to navi­ gate “becoming Black” as understood in the North American context, creating new artistic and activist possibilities (Ibrahim 2014). BOX 7.1 RIOT GRRRL GOES INTERNATIONAL Determined to make their own, feminist-inspired media since the early 1990s, riot grrrls have long championed women as cultural producers rather than passive consumers. In addition to ’zine making, riot grrrl inspired Ladyfests, “DIY festivals organized by women to showcase female talents, speak out against sexism, racism, and homophobia, and to encourage women and girls to become active creators of their own culture, entertainment, and politics” (Schilt and Zobl 2008:177). In the 2000s, the internet helped renew interest in DIY feminist punk politics around the world – Kristen Schilt and Elke Zobl (2008) found ’zine editors and Ladyfests in 30 countries. These ’zine and fests have produced an inter­ national network of feminist girls and women, as well as transgender and queer youth.

As nations democratize, become economically integrated, and gain access to digital media and communications, they become more open to subcultural diffusion (Mayer 2011). There is little doubt that the digital revolution I discussed above played an enormous role in the diffusion of subcultural ideas since the early 1990s. Adam Mayer (2011) used an internet archive to measure the number of heavy metal bands in 150 countries from 1991–2007. Despite the music’s marginal commercial viability and little cultural acceptability, metal spread fastest to countries with greatest digital capacity, that is most access to personal computing and the internet. Metalheads around the world had long traded cassette tapes, forming an underground network of fans. This underground network expanded exponentially with the ease of internet com­ munication. Importantly, the diffusion of metal was less the result

FROM LOCAL TO GLOBAL

of some hegemonic corporate push into new markets as it was a decentralized, more grassroots effort by metalheads. HOMOGENIZATION OR HYBRIDITY: DOES GLOBALIZATION DESTROY LOCAL SUBCULTURES?

As local spaces and places seemingly give way to global and virtual scenes, perhaps elites have even greater control over cultural pro­ duction, appropriating and/or infiltrating local cultures to satisfy the whims of the market. Colonialism and economic and political domination have allowed the US, UK, and continental Europe to disproportionately influence cultural production in the rest of the world, exerting a cultural hegemony outstripping what one might expect given their populations. Put bluntly, do subcultures around the world simply imitate their North American and European counterparts? The short answer is no. Despite the global economy and media, we are a long way off from an international monoculture. In fact, globalization has in some ways fragmented societies, dividing us into ever more narrow “tribes” based upon religion, politics, eth­ nicity, and subcultural interests (Touraine 2000). Rather than pas­ sively absorbing and mimicking cultural imports, local subculturists adopt and adapt (sub)cultural imports according to their own, indigenous interests (Craig 2003). Japan’s Visual Kei – a music and fashion scene combining goth, metal, and glam rock – infuses metal with kabuki-like theatricality. Japanese emcees combine samurai imagery with American gangsta motifs (Condry 2006). What’s more, subculturists in Asia and the Global South self-consciously address the influence of the US, as I discuss below. Roland Robertson (1995) claims that the global and local con­ tinually interact or in fact are not separate at all but rather inter­ dependent. Glocalization, the process by which local people use, adopt, adapt, and reject translocal culture, suggests that while people in local contexts certainly feel the influence of global pres­ sures, they filter those influences through their local experience, needs, and opportunities. The global is more local than we might think, and vice versa. For example, do local radio stations play international music? Do local radio stations even exist in some parts of the world? Such questions reveal the relationship between the

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local and global. Observing women in Mexico’s Yucatan making tortillas in the traditional Mayan way alongside youth playing video games in an internet cafe, Doreen Massey (1998:122) notes the coexistence of local traditions and global influences. Subcultures, then, are neither “closed” local cultures nor “undifferentiatedly global.” They are not tied to geographic space, but they exist within local geographies. While young Burmese emcees appreciate Western rap, hip hop in Burma is relatively tame by US standards, focusing more on romance and unrequited love than misogynist boasting and sexu­ ally explicit lyrics (Keeler 2009). This is due in part to government censorship of more controversial topics and in part to the country’s Buddhist traditions and a sense that sexually provocative lyrics would shame one’s family. Burmese rappers adopt the bass-driven sonic styles and performative demeanors of US hip hop, but avoid the ultraviolence of gangsta rap as well as the politics of conscious rap. The display of power that rap affords appeals to young men in both Burma and the US (and elsewhere), but how emcees ulti­ mately perform rap depends upon local contexts (Keeler 2009). Mass communications and digital technologies may have acceler­ ated the creation of “global teens,” cosmopolitan, mostly middleclass young people who share many interests, practices, and cultural sensibilities, but they appropriate subcultural themes to their own ends (see Acland 2000). Subcultures seem to exemplify cultural hybridity, in which translocal beliefs and practices are mutually influential, rather than determined by a hegemonic power. So punks in China, France, and Argentina may be distinct, but they often share common symbols and influences, influences drawn from, but not exclusive to, the West. Likewise, metalheads in Brazil, Iraq, and Canada share their outsider status, not to mention their love of metal music, dark clothing, and macabre imagery. Yet local concerns and national politics shape subcultural expression in each of these countries, making them far more than clones of the global metal scene. In the small African nation of Botswana, a subculture of metalheads has grown since its inception in the early 1990s (Banchs 2013). Some bands, such as Wrust, focus on universal metal themes such as alienation, while others such as Skinflint incorporate Afri­ can mythology into their lyrics. Some Botswana metalheads dress

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in the black t-shirts common around the world, while others adopt retro head-to-toe leather outfits – complete with studs and cowboy hats – regardless of the desert heat (Barnett 2012). Kenyan band Duma (“darkness” in Swahili) blends grindcore, techno industrial, and noise music, having grown up listening to German industrial metal, Jamaican reggae, Norwegian black metal, Swedish pop, and American rock, as well as Kenyan hip hop and benga, itself influenced by Cuban rumba (Hinton 2020). Returning to Iran, Iranian subcultures, including Persian rap, are more than McDonaldized, Americanized copies of Western scenes, but must be understood in their own social and political contexts (Shahabi 2006). Similarly, metal, rap, and electronic music take on particular significance in post-revolutionary Tunisia, as participants make the genres their own while navigating regime change and ongoing political struggle (Barone 2019). Still, despite growing access to digital technology, subcultural exchanges do not flow equally between all parts of the world. Cultural diffusion is not an equal process, an egalitarian give and take between nations or groups of equal power. Alan O’Connor’s work reveals important differences in punk based in Toronto, Mexico City, Washington, DC, and Barcelona, differences corre­ sponding to differences in social structure. These punks have varying access to venues, touring bands, and radio stations. North American bands, with greater resources to record and tour, are more likely to influence Mexican punk than vice versa (O’Connor 2002, 2004). Language proves another barrier to equal exchange, as US subculturists are less open to music sung in languages other than English and, given the plethora of English-language music in their preferred genres, have less need to branch out. Therefore the global center (or core nations) does disproportionately influence subcultural production when compared to so-called periphery nations. At the time the only metal festival in the Middle East, the Dubai Desert Rock Fest was dominated by international acts from the US, UK, and Sweden. That does not, of course, preclude Middle Eastern bands from putting their own stamp on metal. But European and North American metal subcultures exert a powerful influence. What’s more, periphery countries play another role in subcultural production as they manufacture subcultural products for consumption elsewhere. Most metal (and punk, etc.) shirts are

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made in countries such as China, places where relatively few major bands have ever played. BOX 7.2 MODS AROUND THE WORLD The mods originated primarily among working-class youth in 1960s UK. In contrast to their leather-clad, motorcycle-riding rocker coun­ terparts, the mods’ dapper clothes and stylish scooters symbolized a focus on idealism, progress, and the future. Christine Feldman (2009) shows how, even prior to Tumblr and YouTube, mod culture spread around the world, including to Germany and Japan. Youth in these and other countries, already influenced by jazz and rock’n’roll, encountered mod via the music of the Beatles and The Who and, earlier, American and British GIs who occupied each country for a time. While mods everywhere share fashions, music, and a focus on the “modern,” mod emerged in each country to fill different needs. For German youth, mod was an opportunity to “react against the Nazi past and to think globally verses nationalistically” (Feldman 2009:65). Mod came to Japan in the wake of the continued recovery from the destruction of World War II, in which the future took the form of devastating nuclear bombs. As the Japanese rebuilt their cities and psyches, mods helped create a more hopeful vision of the future. Today, Japanese mods may be the “most mod” of all, both in outlook and in their steadfast display of mod subcultural styles.

RESISTANCE AND GLOBALIZATION

Far from creating universal justice and democracy, globalization has simply redistributed wealth and privilege in new ways. As Zygmunt Bauman suggests: “Glocalization is first and foremost a redistribution of privileges and deprivations, of wealth and poverty, of resources and impotence, of power and powerlessness, of freedom and constraint. It is, one may say, a process of world-wide restratification” (in Beilharz 2000:304). Many so-called “developing” countries remain in stagger­ ing debt to international banks, a result of colonialism and dictators’ mismanagement (and theft). In exchange for loans, organizations such as the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank force these

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“heavily-indebted nations” to accept economic reforms (often called “structural adjustment programs”) that generally privatize formerly public goods and services (e.g. water). Critics argue that elites (e.g. heads of international organizations, government officials/dictators, and bankers) make such arrangements to the detriment of the vast majority of citizens, undermining democracy and reinforcing poverty (Bauman 1998, 2011; Stiglitz 2003). While many youth embrace global cosmopolitanism, subcultures have at times marshaled resistance to globalization. Some bands for whom English is not their first lan­ guage still sing in English in order to broaden their appeal. Others, however, purposefully sing in their native tongue even while capable of singing in English to defy cultural hegemony and to boost their local or national authenticity. Punks in Mexico have joined antiglobalization activists, holding benefits for the Zapatista movement and protesting alongside university students (O’Connor 2003) while hip hop continues to serve as a medium of opposition. Mwenda Ntarangwi (2009:3) argues that East African youth use hip hop to voice opposition to and raise awareness against the negative effects of globalization and to raise awareness about HIV/AIDS. Yet without globalization, these youth would have never encountered hip hop. And just as hip hop becomes a means of voicing dissent, it simultaneously provides a small income, offering opportunities along with setbacks. Subculturists also use cultural imports to signal their resistance to their natal culture and as a means of distinction, a way to “be cool,” by using such imports as subcultural capital. For example, the metal scene in India has only recently grown significantly. Some Indian metalheads see metal as a way to resist the Bollywood music/film industry, as one fan explains: “For [Indian metalheads], metal is a way to connect to a global culture and break free from the restrictions they feel in their traditional society” (Dunn and McFadyen 2008). Brazilian speed metal band Sepultura challenged the notion of “national music” by adopting an international genre far different from the musica popular brasileira centered around acoustic singer/songwriters and considered sophisticated by the middle class (Avelar 2011). Eventually, the band embraced afro- Brazilian percussion and also recorded with the indi­ genous Xavante tribe, questioning conventional understandings of “Brazilian” music and consequently Brazilian identity. Similarly, Indo­ nesian youths’ adoption of international music provides some national

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connections amidst religious, ethnic, and class divisions that pose a threat to national unity in the post-Suharto era (Wallach 2008). To some, globalization represents a threat to national interests and identity, the desire for subcultural music, styles, and ideas representing a danger to dominant traditions and social hierarchies. While political and religious leaders may condemn pop culture in general, subcultural diffusion gains significant attention, perhaps because spectacular scenes are easily stigmatized and, often populated by young people with relatively few resources, easier to repress. In socialist Europe, the Communist Party sought to quash subcultural expression, its agenda one of minimizing deviance and difference and maximizing patri­ otism and collectivism (Pilkington 1994). Worried that outside (sub) cultural influences would undermine the socialist ideology, the Communist Party sought to defend itself against Western influence, treating “deviant” youth as victims of propaganda (Pilkington and Omel’chenko 2013). They had cause for alarm. Prior to the fall of communism, underground musicians in Hungary based much of their subcultural identity around opposition to the state socialist govern­ ment (Szemere 2001). Similarly, various Islamic governments have feared the influence of Western values and lifestyles. Fearing music’s political influence, sev­ eral Middle Eastern countries outlawed rap, metal, and reggae, which only served to push the scenes underground (Levine 2008). Metal CDs and t-shirts were forbidden in Iran (Dunn and McFadyen 2008). Those advocating traditional, conservative Islamic agendas may have reason to worry. Just as European and North American black metal musicians skewered Christianity, Middle Eastern bands are using the genre to blast Islam. Motivated by the murder of her parents by a suicide bomber, Anahita, the Iraqi woman behind solo project Janaza, screams “Burn the Quran! Burn the fucking Quran!” (Kelly 2012). Saudi Arabia’s Al-Namrood likewise criticize Islam but are unable to play live shows for fear of their safety. BOX 7.3

LA SAPE – FASHION, COLONIALISM, AND RESISTANCE

La Sape – ‘Société des Ambianceurs et des Personnes Élégantes’ (Society of Ambiance-Makers and Elegant People) – is a long­

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standing style subculture in the Democratic Republic of Congo, marked by men and, increasingly, women and children donning colourful suits and ties and designer shoes and hats in elegant dis­ plays of fashion. Sape’s origins lie in the early twentieth century, as colonial masters paid their Black servants in part with used clothing, expecting them to project a degree of refinement that bolstered the bosses’ social standing (Gondola 1999) and reflective of the French colonialist “civilizing” mission. Unsatisfied with their masters’ used clothing, sapeurs saved their money to purchase their own, new attire (Gondola 2010). Later popularized in the 1960s and 1970s by Rumba singer Papa Wemba, sape continues to combine French and high fashion influences with local flavors. Much like early British Teddy Boys or mods, it enables sapeurs and sapeuses to portray a confidence and success that belies their social standing, their smart clothing defying their often relatively humble surroundings. Partici­ pants imbue their styles with meaning, making a political statement “directed toward the West, the former colonizer, as well as toward the authoritative structures of the African state” (Gondola 1999:23). In defiance of the colonizers’ gaze and in spite of government corrup­ tion they use high fashion as part of a quest for modernity and eman­ cipation (Gondola 2010). Fashion is but one part of their performance of elegance, as they project an air of possibility, a “cosmopolitan self” oriented towards the future while interrogating the colonial past. While elites use high fashion to distinguish themselves from the masses, working people can also use it “as a political statement intended to symbolically, and performatively, challenge the social status quo” (ibid.:172). Sape styles have travelled far beyond the Congo and other African nations, as migrant workers and immigrants practice sape in their diaspora communities. US rapper Kendrick Lamar features sapeurs in his 2018 video for “All the Stars.”

IS GLOBALIZATION REALLY SO NEW?

While the effect of social media and digital participation on subcultural globalization is profound, one could easily overstate their impact. Even prior to the digital revolution the notion of self-contained, local scenes may have been exaggerated. While it might seem like the globalization

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of subcultures rests upon the internet, subcultures have always been mediated, have always had channels through which to spread. Deep Purple and Kiss were playing Japan long before the web, building the foundation for a hard rock and metal scene that continues today. Russian youth encountered Western rock’n’roll via short-wave radio, tape recorders, and Soviet sailors who had traveled abroad, despite the government prohibiting such music (Yurchak 1999). Mod, punk, body modification, and burlesque all spread internationally prior to the internet. Thus while globalization has become an academic and jour­ nalistic buzzword, many of the changes we associate with con­ temporary digital globalization have deep roots. Hip hop brought together African American, African, and Caribbean influences well before the digital revolution and b-boys and b-girls shared homemade videotapes abroad to help cultivate a global breaking scene (Fogarty 2012). Such sharing, via a variety of media and international travel, creates imagined affinities, “identifications expressed by a cultural practitioner who shares an embodied activity with other practi­ tioners” that occurs “when an accrued sense of shared meaning over­ prescribes interactions, before the real learning of engaged and ongoing connections is made possible through an acceptance of dif­ ference, locality and situation” (ibid.:453). In other words, the shared recordings of early b-boys who travelled abroad helped to create an international breaking culture that connected and influenced practi­ tioners who had never met in person. Such mediation simultaneously reinforces the authority of those privileged with the resources to travel and produce media as well as highlighting diverse experiences by including less-privileged voices. The internet may have accelerated the spread and blending of scenes, but subcultures drew from many sources long before going online. Subculturists and subcultural historians often try to capture the “authentic” history of localized scenes, yet such histories often leave out significant parts of the story. Mod, one of the quintes­ sential working-class British postwar subcultures, drew influence from American modern jazz, R&B, and advertising; Jewish, gay, and Caribbean club scenes; and French, Italian, and Scandinavian fashions and designs (Feldman 2009). Likewise the argument over whether punk emerged in the US or the UK leaves out the sig­ nificant exchanges between the two countries that resulted in what became punk (Haenfler 2015).

FROM LOCAL TO GLOBAL

KEY INSIGHTS �

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Space and place create, limit, and shape the possibilities for subcultural expression; where subculturists hang out influences how they participate, who takes part, and how they construct authenticity. Authorities often regulate subcultural spaces as part of general efforts to monitor and control deviant groups. As suggested in previous chapters, subcultures are embedded in larger political economies that shape opportunities and constraints. The internet, social media, and expanding global markets have accelerated the spread of subcultures around the world. However, translocal, even global scenes existed prior to the digital revolution. While participants in translocal subcultures have much in common, locals adapt subcultural styles, values, identities, and practices to their own surroundings, their own needs. While subculturists typically embrace (and even take advan­ tage of) the globalization of scenes, they also use subcultural resources to resist what they see as the more egregious effects of globalization.

EXPLORING FURTHER Metal, Rap, and Electro in Post-Revolutionary Tunisia: A Fragile Under­ ground, by Stefano Barone, 2019 (Routledge). An ethnographic study of Tunisian music scenes after the Arab Spring revolts of 2010 and 2011, exploring the interplay of politics, religion, and art. Global Youth? Hybrid Identities, Plural Worlds, edited by Pam Nilan and Carles Feixa (eds.) 2006 (Routledge). Authors in this collection tackle the intersection of global mass media and local youth cultures, studying young people in Canada, Mexico, Columbia, Senegal, and more, pushing back against assumptions of cultural globalization. Youth Cultures in China, by Jeroen de Kloet and Anthony Y. H. Fung, 2016 (Polity). While about Chinese youth broadly speaking, this book addresses many subcultural concerns, including fashion, media, pop culture, and mobility in an era of economic change and political challenges.

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Music Scenes: Local, Translocal, and Virtual, edited by Andy Bennett and Richard A. Peterson, 2004 (Vanderbilt University Press). A collection of studies from blues and karaoke to anarchopunk and alt. country, divided into local, translocal, and virtual scenes. The Hood Comes First: Race, Space, and Place in Rap and Hip Hop, by Murray Forman, 2002 (Wesleyan University Press). A critical look at how inner-city spaces and places shape racial constructions, representations, and resistance in hip hop. Geographically Isolated and Peripheral Music Scenes: Global Insights and Perspectives, edited by Christina Ballico, 2021 (Palgrave Macmillan). A collection of essays questioning the connections between place and music that draws attention to less-examined scenes. Cool Places: Geographies of Youth Cultures, edited by Tracey Skelton and Gill Valentine, 1998 (Routledge). An interdisciplinary collection of papers exploring subcultural representations and resistances as well as subculturists in their homes, workplaces, and public spaces. Hip Hop Japan: Rap and the Paths of Cultural Globalization, by Ian Condry, 2006 (Duke University Press). An ethnographic study of Japanese hip hop addressing how global influences are filtered through local spaces such as music clubs and record labels. Metal Rules the Globe: Heavy Metal Music Around the World, edited by Jeremy Wallach, Harris M. Berger, and Paul D. Greene (2011) (Duke University Press). A collection of essays about metal in an amazing number of scenes across North and South America, Europe, and throughout Asia. Hip Hop Africa: New African Music in a Globalizing World, edited by Eric Charry, 2012 (Wesleyan University Press). An engaging por­ trait of how African rappers across the continent blend global styles with local traditions. Otaku Spaces and The Otaku Encyclopedia: An Insider’s Guide to the Subculture of Cool Japan, by Patrick W. Galbraith, 2012 and 2009 (Chin Music Press and Kodansha USA). The first book includes photos by Androniki Christodoulou of Otaku homes, showing the connections between subculture and fandom. The second offers an introduction to otaku culture.

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Sapeurs: Ladies & Gentlemen of the Congo, by Tariq Zaidi, 2020. A collection of photos featuring sapeurs and sapeuses in Kinshasa and Brazzaville that illustrates the stylistic interrogation of colonialism discussed in this chapter. I ♥ Hip Hop in Morocco, directed by Joshua Asen and Jennifer Needleman, 2007. Documentary following young Moroccan hip hoppers as they attempt to stage a show despite resistance from more conservative elements of their society. Bomb It, directed by John Reiss, 2007. A documentary following the exploits of graffiti artists on five continents. Global Metal: 7 Countries, 3 Continents, 1 Tribe, directed by Sam Dunn and Scot McFadyen, 2008. Documentary exploring the worldwide community of heavy metal fans, from black metal in China to thrash in Iran. Punk In Africa: Three Chords, Three Countries, One Revolution, directed by Keith Jones and Deon Maas, 2011. Documentary chronicling the history and politics of punk in South Africa, Mozambique, and Zimbabwe. www.punkinafrica.co.za. Disciples, directed by Jess Kohl, 2021. A short documentary of factions of Malaysian skinheads, including traditional, anti-racist, and racist groups. Demonstrates the intersections of skinhead with Islam, nationalism, gender, and generational differences in a multicultural society. Available on YouTube. Anarchy in the Philippines, directed by Jess Kohl, 2018. A very short documentary showing how punks in the Philippines navigate former president Rodrigo Duterte’s brutal war on drugs as their punk style makes them potential targets.

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8 HOW HAVE DIGITAL TECHNOLOGIES INFLUENCED SUBCULTURES? Imagine how being punk has changed from 1977 to 2023. In the 1970s, seeing an underground punk band play required attending a show; to buy their music you had to locate a specialty shop; reading about them meant acquiring a print fanzine; and to share your interest with others, you had to discover local punk hangouts or even – gasp – write a letter! Today, YouTube provides access to dozens of live per­ formances; you can digitally download the band’s music from their website, iTunes, or a streaming service; online ’zines make reading interviews easy; and digital forums fill with fans arguing the merits of the band’s latest record. Broadly speaking, digital technologies present a potential conundrum for subcultural life. On the one hand, virtual spaces have broadened opportunities for subcultural participation; more people have more access to likeminded others and new, pri­ marily online subcultures have emerged. On the other hand, the sheer variety and quantity of online content may fragment/bombard experience; young people might spend hours scrolling TikTok and YouTube but never really engage with a subcultural identity or align with a subcultural community. Digital natives – people who grew up immersed in digital technology, giving them an intuitive comfort and skill in online spaces – may be the new “nomads of the present,” digital nomads in continual search for identity and relatively unmoored from traditional identity-giving institutions (Melucci 1989). Given the extensive time that many people spend on social media (according to Statista, a global average of 147 minutes per day), it could be that most subcultural creation, interaction, and DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417-8

DIGITAL SUBCULTURES

meaning-making occurs online, rather than through physical co­ presence. Where subculturists once primarily inhabited clubs and music venues, skateparks, gaming and comic shops, science fiction conventions, and even city streets, many now interact as much or more on TikTok, 4Chan, Instagram, YouTube, and music streaming services. I am not suggesting that physical spaces do not matter, or that subculturists do not gather in such places, only that we recognize the significance of digital or computer-mediated participation, including its interactions with embodied practices. In this chapter, I first consider how digital technologies have influ­ enced subcultural experiences, identities, and communities, including access, participation, commercialization and careers, and authenticity. Digital tools, from email, websites, and podcasts to Facebook, Amazon, and Google, increasingly structure participation in contemporary life. I show how these tools become subcultural resources, providing new and different avenues to encounter subcultures and in some cases even enabling subcultural careers. I then dig deeper into the opportunities and constraints of digital technologies for subcultural communities – what do subcultures look like as people live more of their lives through screens, and as “influencers,” “content creators,” and “social media personalities” build their brands? I use online fandoms to demonstrate how participants can use digital spaces to share their creativity, explore their identities, and engage in resistance. In the second half of the chapter, I more deeply consider two subcultures with significant digital presences. Gaming cultures help us consider professionalization and commercialization in the e-sports context as well as reviewing moral panic theory. Similar to the widespread adoption of previous techno­ logical changes (e.g. television), digital technologies have sparked a lot of worry. Finally, incels – involuntary celibates – demonstrate the reactionary potential of online subcultural spaces, as but one example of right-wing discourses with subcultural elements.

SUBCULTURES ONLINE: HOW HAVE SCENES CHANGED WITH DIGITAL MEDIA? PARTICIPATION AND ACCESS

With the advent of digital media, in particular the constant access to entertainment, communication, and community via the internet,

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subcultural places exist increasingly online and are more accessible than ever before. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Reddit, MySpace, Snapchat, YouTube, WhatsApp, Pandora, Pinterest, Tumblr, TikTok, and other social media offer subculturists new ways to connect and by the time you read this book, new platforms will likely exist. Spotify, Bandcamp, Soundcloud, Tidal, and other music ser­ vices give greater and easier access to more and more diverse music, though artists are forced into uncompensated work promoting themselves and into making deals with music-sharing sites. Moreover, online communities enable subculturists such as geeks and nerds “to weave their nerdy interests and engagements more fully into the texture of their everyday life, particularly for those whose working day is spent in front of a computer” (Woo 2015:28). Thanks to digital media, subculturists can engage more often and in some ways more deeply with their interests. The internet makes it easier for people around the world to discover, enjoy, share, and contribute to sub­ cultural forms, deepening the connections between local and translocal scenes as described in the previous chapter. Social media can even empower subculturists to circumvent government restrictions. (Although it also offers authorities new means of surveillance.) Some countries prevented the sale of punk, metal, even many kinds of Western pop music – for some young people, the internet was the only way to listen to forbidden music. Thus the conventional notion of subcultures as local scenes embedded in physical space and characterized by face-to-face interac­ tion is at least partially obsolete (Bennett and Robards 2012). Yet it may be tempting to think of virtual scenes or virtual participation as less “real” than interactions in physical spaces; if “places” require material form, online interaction is artificial. For example, some people scoff at the notion of online dating sites or relationship-seeking chatrooms, suggesting that drunken conversation in a pub is somehow more “real.” However, while virtual and non-virtual communities differ in some significant ways, they share remarkable similarities, sug­ gesting no compelling reason to judge one arena less authentic (although subculturists may do so!). The terms “virtual” and “real” reinforce the idea that digital spaces are less authentic, meaningful, and significant than non-virtual spaces. Yet virtual scenes are real, in that they involve real people experiencing subjectively genuine interaction. Better to ask how the virtual and non-virtual differ and coexist.

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With feet firmly planted in both virtual and non-virtual settings, subculturists demonstrate that the real/virtual dichotomy is really a dialectic, producing something new from the intersection of the two. Traceurs often initially encountered parkour online, inspired to begin their own training by practitioners sometimes half a world away (Kidder 2012). They then attempt to replicate tricks and moves performed in a far-off city or country in their own local, cor­ poreal settings. Eventually, some will film and post their own exploits online, all the while discussing and sharing stories and ideas with other traceurs. Thus the virtual is emplaced in the “real”: “these real, phy­ sical practices are instantiations of far-off, ephemeral worlds lived onscreen” (Kidder 2012:247–248). Opportunities for virtual/embodied intersections abound. Metal vocalists can learn how to safely scream or growl on YouTube, where skaters, graffiti writers, gamers, and cosplayers also learn new tricks and techniques. CAREERS AND COMMERCIAL OPPORTUNITIES

In addition to expanding access and changing subcultural partici­ pation, digital tools and platforms have expanded commercial opportunities and even created new career paths. Subcultural musicians, record labels, clothing designers, skateboard manu­ facturers and so on have unprecedented access to global markets. Tattoo artists who once relied upon print magazines to showcase their work can now post every tattoo they create on Instagram, widening their potential client base. While much of the merchan­ dise sold on Etsy is mass-produced or craft fair kitsch, small-scale artisans sell subcultural pins, patches, hats, and belts – even spikestudded and patch-covered denim “battle vests” long found in heavy metal scenes but made broadly popular by the character Eddie in Netflix show Stranger Things. Digital tools make possible new careers for some subculturists, offering them new ways to monetize their interests. Instagram serves as a focal point for professional cosplayers and alternative models. Sites such as London-based OnlyFans enable subscribers to financially support creators, including amateur and professional sex workers who now have access to broader audiences. E-sport competitors win prize money at tournaments but also create rev­ enue via Twitch streams. Tabletop roleplaying gamers generate

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income by livestreaming their gaming sessions. Patreon enables subculturists to support one another directly, offering monthly financial support in exchange for goods, services, and exclusive con­ tent. Created and run by computer programmer and videographer Sunny Singh, website and YouTube channel Hate5Six archives live, primarily hardcore shows, making content available to anyone with an internet connection. Singh’s Patreon supporters get early access to materials and get to vote on which footage he releases next. The platform enabled him to quit his day job and focus on Hate5Six full time. These examples are in addition to the many content creators, streamers, and “influencers” sharing subcultural interests. AUTHENTICITY – CONTENT CREATORS VS. SUBCULTURISTS

Digitally-based commercial and career prospects raise new ques­ tions about subcultural authenticity and even the fate of sub­ cultures themselves. While most subcultures have always had commercial aspects, digital platforms create new business opportu­ nities, blurring the lines between commercial motivations and subcultural commitments. Are participants primarily content crea­ tors and influencers or are they punks, b-boys/girls, fan fiction writers, and tattoo aficionados? Does digital “content” differ from subcultural texts (e.g. music, photography, and other art) that emerge seemingly more organically, without regard to “likes” and hashtags? Perhaps the (digital) reproduction of images creates a hyperreality, a state in which subcultural images become reality – superficial, hollow, empty signifiers (Baudrillard 1995); “reality” TV becomes just as or more real than “reality.” Concert-goers, for example, could be more concerned about what to post about the event than enjoying the event itself. Musicians and artists, everconscious of their public image, must be doubly so in a mediasaturated environment, sometimes at the expense of creativity and originality. Growing access to AI art generators such as Midjourney raises questions about the authenticity of art, including art pro­ duced by fans. If a machine can turn a few lines of text into a painting, where does that leave artists who practice their craft in more traditional ways, with brushes, paints, inks, and pens (or even digital versions of these)? This is but the latest of many historical conflicts over what constitutes “real” art.

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“Content” has become a catchall term describing creative output meant to maximize views and hold consumers’ attention. While the term may simply describe shared texts – news stories, video clips, blog entries, etc. – it can also suggest prioritizing consistent quantity over quality, mediocre filler meant to keep people engaged in a YouTube channel or social media feed. The com­ mercial motivation to produce “content” may not be new – bands might always feel pressure to release new material to stay relevant. However, the speed at which trends come and go, the vast array of consumer choices available to those with digital access and dis­ posable income, and the sometimes-superficial ways people con­ sume subcultural experiences recall post-subculture theorists’ questions about the very existence of subcultures. ONLINE AND OFFLINE TOGETHER

While digital technologies might change the possibilities of sub­ cultural participation, we should not take such participation less seriously than other experiences. TikTok does not spell the death of subcultures. Just as pitting the virtual vs. the “real” construes a false dichotomy, so too does authentic vs. commercial. Recall from Chapter 5 that authenticity is an ongoing process rather than a final destination or achievement. Skaters, for example, use digital media as another space to establish authenticity. They traditionally learned about skating and cultivated authenticity via skateparks, shops, and videos (VHS, DVD), as well as print magazines such as Thrasher. While those encounters continue, skaters now contest authentic and inauthentic expressions of skate culture on Instagram. It pro­ vides a new avenue in which to learn about skating, establish an identity, and engage in community. Younger skaters observed, often in person (even at the skatepark), how veterans consumed and commented on Instagram images, thereby learning the sub­ cultural norms (Dupont 2019). The platform provided a space to develop the knowledge, taste, and style – the subcultural capital – meaningful in the scene, as well as claim status and signify mem­ bership in the subculture. Instagram also allowed skaters a con­ tinually-updated emotional connection with their passion: “Regardless of location, time, or proximity to other skaters, when the skater checked their Instagram, it created an opportunity to (re)

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affirm and (re)connect to the subculture and to their identity as a skater” (Dupont 2019:655). Similarly, graffiti writers use Instagram to learn, share, and build community (MacDowall 2019). The platform’s prominence does, however, change how some artists operate. They might paint Instagram handles into their pieces, for example, or even shape their pieces to be Instagram-friendly (MacDowall 2019:9): In a flurry of feedback loops, many artists shape their work to fit the shape and speed of Instagram feeds. In other cases, the appearance of the artwork remain[s] the same, but the context of their production and consumption shifts so dramatically as to reshape its meaning. Instagram drives an acceleration and amplification of graffiti and street art, changing the function and meaning of walls and allowing graffiti and street art to survive decay, cleaning and persecution, and to find new audiences.

While some insiders might be tempted to judge these shifts nega­ tively, it is important to understand subculturists’ use and under­ standing of these media from their point of view. Knowing they are being filmed for Instagram motivates some skaters to attempt more difficult tricks, while for others filming takes them out of the moment, compromising the pleasure of skating (Dupont 2019). Studying online straight edge forums, Williams and Copes (2005) found that some straight edgers tied authenticity directly to participa­ tion in a (physical) hardcore scene; you couldn’t really be straight edge if you only interacted with other straight edgers online. Others, however, contended that online participation, separate from the fashion show and scene politics of the hardcore scene, was more authentic. Thus virtual scenes provide fertile subject matter for discussions of authenticity – and the forums in which to have them! ONLINE COMMUNITIES: OPPORTUNITIES AND CONSTRAINTS?

Issues of space are not confined to scenes located primarily in the physical realm. Digital architectures profoundly shape participants’ experience in virtual scenes. Digital spaces create possibilities and constraints, much like offline settings. For example, stigmatized people connect with others sharing their experiences and interests.

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In Italy, emo kids use social networking sites to develop friendships and find acceptance amongst likeminded peers; “It was not the Web, as media panics would claim, that caused their isolation but the off-line context” (Seganti and Smahel 2011). Underground artists have greater opportunity to share their art and network with others. Graffiti-writers around the world use YouTube as a space “in which they can engage in, and support, creativity through social networking” by watching “how to” clips and sharing tech­ niques via comments beneath the videos (Light et al. 2012:344). Graffiti-writers’ use of Instagram and YouTube, much like the traceurs I mentioned above, also demonstrates how virtual and face-to-face interaction often overlap. Subculturists make plans to see a show on Twitter, post pictures and video of the show with Instagram and YouTube, talk about the show on Facebook, and listen to the bands on Spotify. Even participants in the largely vir­ tual alt.country scene have organized face-to-face gatherings (Lee and Peterson 2004). Virtual communities allow some participants to experiment with identities not necessarily reflective of their corporeal bodies and offline presentation of self. A male gamer might enact a genderbending performance while playing a female avatar in an online game, and an otherwise “vanilla” suburban mom can post her erotic Twilight stories on fan fiction sites. Like anyone, subculturists might worry that people misrepresent themselves online. Yet many virtual spaces facilitate radical honesty rather than deception, with people sharing intimate details of their lives (Bortree 2005). The main point is that virtual scenes offer subculturists expanded, but not unlimited, opportunities to (re)consider identities. Yet for all their potential freedom, virtual scenes come with constraints. The anonymity of online forums, such as message boards and YouTube comments, promote flaming (making deri­ sive comments) and trolling (being deliberately provocative), potentially policing creativity and boosting a scene’s exclusivity. Timothy Rowlands’ (2012) study of the fantasy massively multiplayer online game Everquest showed how the game design favored a particularly repetitive style of play in which players adopt a role (tank, healer, or damage dealer) and repeatedly kill monsters in a perpetual series of mouse clicks. The structure of the game worked against other, less instrumental, styles of play. Additionally, the

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accessibility of online subcultural communities makes them prime targets for surveillance and control. Already excellent targets for moral entrepreneurial campaigns (see Chapter 6 and below), virtual subcultures stoke worries about internet addiction, child predators, online gambling, and “subversive” activities. Finally, it may be that virtual life, our “life on the screen,” leaves us strangely, as Sherry Turkle puts it, “alone together” (Turkle 1995, 2011). Despite living in “real” spaces, we increasingly seek virtual escapes, leaving relationships more shallow and people simultaneously isolated even as they are connected. However, as traceurs, graffiti-writers, skaters, and other subculturists show, vir­ tual spaces offer new ways with which to engage in physical spaces and experiences. “Real” life may be enhanced by technology and social media rather than degraded (Kidder 2012). Gamers often play together and interact with other gamers in online forums, creating and maintaining friendships via games. While about onefourth of World of Warcraft players reported seeing other players in mostly instrumental terms (what can they do for me?), another one-third saw the game enhancing their offline friendships (Wil­ liams et. al. 2006). A small number formed new friendships, and many others established casual, but ongoing relationships. ONLINE COMMUNITIES OR DIGITAL DISTRACTIONS?

Even as subculturists often create significant meaning and deep communities in digital spaces, they exist in, not apart from, the larger hyper-mediated world. Subcultures coincide with “micro­ communities” of shared interests, often cultivated by corporatecontrolled algorithms. Perhaps the fast pace of contemporary media and the glut of content accelerate the life and death of trends rather than fostering subcultures with any sort of consistency. Digital tools quickly spread new aesthetics and the products that go with them, blurring the lines between subcultures and consumer trends. VSCO girls emerged in 2019 and were soon all over the media, covered by CNN, NBC, Vox, The Guardian, and the New York Times. VSCO (Visual Supply Company, pronounced “visco”) is an app/platform aimed at artists and photographers, providing image editing tools and allowing them to share their work without wor­ rying about “like” counts, follower numbers, or abusive

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comments. VSCO girls share selfies via the app (Jennings 2019). Largely white and middle class, VSCO girls exhibit a fluid, casual aesthetic, commonly consisting of hair scrunchies and large t-shirts or sweatshirts drawn down over their shorts. They often portray themselves as outdoorsy and carefree. Seemingly necessary acces­ sories such as Hydro Flask water bottles, hemp or shell necklaces, and sandals, as well as vague allusions to sustainability and “save the turtles,” suggest an environmental activism of a digital sort (Gregg 2021). VSCO girls seem an example of young people appropriat­ ing and repurposing a conventional commercial tool but lacking subcultural intent. Determining to what extent VSCO girls were an organic, self-generating community, and to what degree they were a media-created marketing niche, proves difficult. They constitute a different sort of fashionista reminiscent of the shallow, materialistic “valley girls” portrayed in 1980s films. By 2020 or 2021, VSCO was presumed dead. Other aesthetics have gained popularity, including Cottagecore, a nostalgic, rural, natural sensi­ bility shared through social media posts in rustic gardens, often with a slender woman in a “prairie dress” and absent (ironically) technology and the busyness of contemporary life. Such online communities became even more vital during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, which left many people quarantined and uncertain about the future. BOX 8.1

WILL VIRTUAL WORLDS SET US FREE?

Utopian visions of virtual spaces suggest new opportunities to experiment with identities, freeing people, in a sense, from their corporeal limitations and even their social class, lineage, age, race, and gender. Online gaming, for example, commonly enables players to choose their avatar’s gender, race, and profession, and success seemingly depends upon the time and commitment one invests rather than ascribed privileges such as family wealth. Anyone can be a hero. Yet gaming cultures largely reproduce the same social exclusion present in the non-virtual world (Embrick et al. 2012). Virtual games often glorify hypermasculine behavior, depict racial minorities in one-dimensional ways, and reinforce heterocentrism. And while gaming advertisements depict women and racial

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minorities in numbers approximating their proportion of the US population, the adverts sexualize women and limit Black men to stereotypical roles of athletes, thugs, or military personnel (Peck et al. 2011).

DIGITAL FANDOMS

While fandom, including fan fiction, existed long before the internet, digital technologies have expanded fans’ creative possibi­ lities and opportunities to build community around their passions. As discussed briefly in Chapter 1, fandoms share a lot conceptually with subcultures, constituting participatory cultures in which people actively create and share their own contributions to pop culture, in effect taking some ownership over the object of their fandom (Jenkins 1992, 2006). Taking their favorite movies and TV shows as inspiration, fans make costumes, shoot fan films, write songs and stories, and draw and paint their favorite characters, often with their own twist. Most fans, especially lovers of science fiction and fantasy, take part in multiple fandoms, some creatively combining their interests. SuperWhoLock – fans of the TV series, Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock – combine elements of each show to create their own crossover worlds (Booth 2016). Dismissing these activities as merely derivative – an important critique – may overshadow what participants actually think and do. For example, when people write fan fiction they often write the stories they wish they had seen on a screen. This agency can be especially important for youth who might otherwise be excluded from serious cultural production, and for women and LGBTQ people who may not see their desires adequately depicted in mainstream popular culture (see Busse 2017). With its relatively easy access via sites such as fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own (AO3), fan fiction provides a forum in which participants can dis­ rupt dominant narratives. “Slash” fanfiction rewrites the origin content to “queer” characters’ relationships, for example Kirk/ Spock from Star Trek, Draco/Harry from Harry Potter, Castiel/ Dean Winchester from Supernatural, and Bucky/Steve Rodgers from Marvel’s Captain America. Writing in the Harry Potter

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universe, one young author “defies the stereotypes of homosexual masculinities and focuses on the pleasurable and physical aspects of homosexual desire rather than on the stereotypical discourse of homosexuality” (Duggan 2017:39). While girls and women write and read most fan fiction, the bias towards male/male relationships reflects a persistent underrepresentation of strong, engaging female characters in movies and TV. As the owner of the Marvel and Star Wars franchises, Disney keeps churning out content, not only films but video games, comic books, toys, and all manner of kitsch, flooding the market to maximize profits. You may judge that content good or bad, but regardless, recognize that Disney and other global media corpora­ tions control the culture industry. As the critical theorists sug­ gested, mass culture may be a form of ideological control and pacification (see Chapter 5). However, consumers are not passive dupes, nor are they always simply consumers. People interact with media, creating and contesting meanings. For example, when the book and film Fifty Shades of Grey (originally a product of a Twi­ light blog and e-book) brought more mainstream attention to BDSM, critics lamented how Christian Grey, the male “dominant” character, manipulates Ana, the female protagonist, into submissive sexual acts. Participants in the BDSM subculture contested this toxic portrayal, as well as the intimations that interest in BDSM results from previous (usually negative) experiences or innate (often pathological) psychological differences (Drdová and Saxonberg 2020). Certainly mainstream popular culture consistently reinforces dominant racist, sexist, heteronormative, ableist, and capitalist ideologies, but to discount people’s subjective understandings entirely is to deny their agency. Online communities are full of promise and peril. Some sexual and gender minority youth use online fandoms to navigate their identities. Such fandoms provide opportunities for discovery, exploration, validation, and self-acceptance in safe, often anon­ ymous, spaces (McInroy and Craig 2020). Participants felt “‘free to be’ themselves more honestly or genuinely” and encouraged to disclose their identity (come out) both online and offline (ibid.:241). However, writ large, “digital media, which purports to open up the world with access to all kinds of information and knowledge, ultimately serves to distort and limit in very negative

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ways how we perceive, embody, perform queer identity” (Siebler 2018:2). Greater representation, yes, but also pressures to conform to heterosexist gender and sexual norms.

GAMING COMMUNITIES – PROFESSIONALIZATION VS. PANICS Images of the lonely, isolated, socially awkward male gamer persist, even though many games encourage or require social interaction and many kinds of people play video games. Some games, espe­ cially massively multi-player online games, require ongoing inter­ action, whether cooperative or competitive, in an enormous, incredibly rich virtual space. For most players, gaming is a social activity and communication plays a vital role in creating commu­ nity (Mäyrä 2015). Not every person who plays video games can be said to be part of a subculture (that would be an enormous subculture!), much like not everyone with a tattoo is part of the tattooing or body modification subculture. Yet for some, being a gamer is central to their sense of self, occupying much of their leisure (and sometimes professional) time, connecting them to others with similar interests. Moreover, the gaming subculture doesn’t stop at the games themselves but is rather another partici­ patory culture inspiring cosplay, conventions, fan fiction, and other creations. Video games are “the dominant form of media in the 21st cen­ tury” (Kowert and Quandt 2021:1), leading to new opportunities for competitive and professional gamers. Therefore, to suggest that gaming, writ large, is somehow deviant stretches the conceptual boundaries of deviance. Defining deviancy down occurs when societies redefine once-offending and often punished activities as (more) acceptable. As certain activities or conditions become more widespread (e.g. unwed motherhood), a society simply cannot continue labelling, judging, and even condemning such a sub­ stantial portion of its population. Tattoos provide a good example in some contexts; once associated with criminals and other unde­ sirables (despite tattoos being celebrated in many pre-industrial cultures), tattoos have become so common in certain societies that their meaning has changed, at least in part. As gaming of one sort or another has become ubiquitous it has become more accepted.

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Much like other subculturists, some gamers use digital media to turn their passions into professions. A few even earn celebrity status. Time Magazine named Fortnite streamer Tyler “Ninja” Ble­ vins one of its most influential people in 2019, describing him as a “pioneer” having played an enormous role in “building up the credibility of e-sports” (Smith-Schuster 2019). League of Legends, Call of Duty, Minecraft, Skyrim, Grand Theft Auto V, Pokemon Legends, and Valorant all allow competitive play by professionals, often streamed via Twitch. YouTuber “Dream,” who posts Minecraft videos, has over 30 million subscribers, with some videos viewed over 70 million times. Dream used Minecraft in ways the game wasn’t perhaps intended, speedrunning through while hunted by other players. Dream has inspired fanfiction and fan art, a subcultural world where people create characters and storylines, and also buy Dream merch. Much like other platforms, digital paid-subscription live-stream­ ing service Twitch serves as a center for a variety of subcultural activity. While the site features cooking, talk shows, and even social eating (e.g. “muk-bang” in Korea), Twitch is a haven for gamers who stream their gameplay to millions of potential viewers. Viewers interact via chat windows in real time, taking in and responding to the content and other viewers’ comments, often using emotes with shared meanings. Creators can interact with fans, giving a sense of access that builds subcultural commitment and community: “Twitch is not unlike a comic book or sci-fi convention – it is a platform for participatory cultures to engage with each other with a base of shared culture and media” (Brown and Moberly 2020:54). As a “virtual hub for communities of gamers” (ibid:57), Twitch allows gamers to follow a personality/ celebrity, witness streamers’ game skills, learn techniques, and to interact with others who have the same interests. ESPORTS

Gaming is much more than a pastime in South Korea, a global leader in online gaming. Millions of people tune in to watch tele­ vision broadcasts of eSports and many young people gather to socialize and play in gaming cafes called PC bangs, Overwatch and League of Legends among the more popular titles. In fact, the

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government actively supports gaming’s potential for cultural and economic opportunities, investing in internet infrastructure and an eSports stadium, sponsoring early international competitions, and forming a regulatory governing body, the Korea eSports Associa­ tion (Jin 2010). Far from being seen as deviant or corrupted, gamers can achieve celebrity on par with other pop culture icons. Yet even in South Korea, worries about gaming and internet addiction abound and panics occasionally emerge. While broadly supportive of gaming, the government also funds counseling ser­ vices, preventative measures, and even addiction camps such as the National Center for Youth Internet Addiction Treatment (Sullivan 2019). Behaviors associated with gaming addiction may be asso­ ciated with attachment disorders and stressful events as much as a function of games per se (Sung, Nam, and Hwang 2020). Not all competitive gaming is so formal, some is much closer to what we might call subcultural. Speedrunning challenges gamers to complete a game in the shortest possible time. Players record and post their attempts on social media or sites such as Speedrun.com, where gamers vie for spots on leaderboards devoted to thousands of games. Online communities debate and agree upon rulesets (e.g. what counts as a successful run for a specific game? Which glitches can players legitimately exploit?) and moderaters judge submitted runs (Boluk and LeMieux 2017). PANICKING ABOUT GAMES, MEDIA, AND TECHNOLOGY – OLD CONCERNS, NEW PACKAGING

Video games have long been at the center of moral panics, spark­ ing worries that gaming weakens attention spans, makes people sedentary and obese, encourages video game addiction, and pro­ motes real-life violence (Kowert and Quandt 2021), even as gaming becomes ubiquitous on home gaming consoles and phones. The first gaming moral panic surfaced around 1976’s Death Race, in which players run down “gremlins” (that bore a striking resemblance to humans). Despite its laughably simplistic pixilated graphics as compared to the later Grand Theft Auto series, or even Carmagedon (1997), an Associated Press story picked up by many newspapers led to headlines about killing pedestrians. The panic escalated in the early 1990s with the graphic (for the time) violence

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of the pvp fighting game Mortal Kombat and with the first-person shooter DOOM (1993). In 1993, the US Congress held hearings to combat this new problem. Critics believe that the interactive and increasingly immersive nature of video games makes players active participants in, rather than passive consumers of, violence. Yet as video games became ubiquitous – as well as more violent, realistic, and immersive – rates of violent crime went down (Sternheimer 2007). “Experts” such as retired US Army Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman (2016) work alongside other moral entrepreneurs to connect video games to mass murder, despite substantial evidence to the contrary. Authorities respond by creating new rules and organizations. Many countries adopted ratings systems – for example, the Entertainment Software Ratings Board (ERSB) in the US, Pan European Game Information (PEGI) in the UK and most of Europe, and Computer Entertainment Ratings Organiza­ tion (CERO) in Japan. As with most moral panics, the result, and often the intention, has been to deflect attention from other, more credible, causes of violence and from more complicated problems facing youth. Gaming panics continue long standing historical fears about technology and about media. The advent of radio, television, and movies could corrupt young people’s morals, but in the 1920s, some even thought that newspaper crossword puzzles would com­ promise intelligent conversation, undermine work ethic, and break up households (Connor 2011, cited in Bowman 2015). Tele­ phones might invade people’s privacy and distract people from important tasks. A combination of rapidly changing powerful technologies and immersive digital media, video games bring all of these fears together, especially as they relate to youth. Moral panics around games may, in classic panic fashion, distract from problems more worthy of our attention. The broad reach of major technology companies such as Microsoft, Amazon, and Google allow them unprecedented ability to gather and monetize personal information, leading to what Zuboff (2019) calls “sur­ veillance capitalism.” Accumulating user data allows these compa­ nies not only to predict behavior but to exercise “instrumentarian power” and actually manipulate outcomes: “It is no longer enough to automate information flows about us; the goal now is to

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automate us” (ibid.:8, emphasis in original). In this case, online subcultural activity may become further grist for the accumulation of capitalist wealth and power. Algorithms guide us towards more of what we like, but also influence what we like, reinforcing new information hierarchies. Big tech knows everything about us; we know little about them. BOX 8.2

GAMERGATE

In 2014, several women game developers and media critics faced a wave of death threats and misogynist attacks via Twitter, Reddit, and 4Chan (See Salter 2018). False accusations suggested relationship between game developer Zoe Quinn and reviewer Nathan Grayson had led Grayson to favorably review one of Quinn’s games (though he never reviewed the game) which quickly ballooned into virulent attacks against Quinn. The harassment reflected a larger backlash against women gamers, as girls and women increasingly play games as much as boys and men. As the gaming audience diversifies, critics such as Feminist Frequency founder Anita Sarkeesian (herself a target of Gamergate) scrutinize and critique the narrow portrayals of women in games – as background decoration, damsels in distress, and victims of horrific violence. Gamer culture, long dominated by men, has been slow to change and many gamers resist calls for greater inclusivity and less racism and sexism, experiencing the scrutiny as unfair and threa­ tening (Todd 2015). Gamergate revealed not just the hypermasculine overtones in gamer culture but in pop culture more broadly. Of course many male gamers expressed support for the targeted women and disgust at the perpetrators. Still, similar to the subcultures discussed in previous chapters, gamer culture remains male dominated, despite its potential to be nurturing of diverse gender expressions (adapted from Haenfler 2015b).

INCELS AND OTHER REACTIONARY (SUB)CULTURES While many subculturists challenge social conventions in politically progressive ways, subcultures can also be sites of reactionary back­ lash. Involuntary celibates, or incels, are a predominately virtual

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subculture of heterosexual men who desire, but have not had, a sexual or romantic relationship with women for a long time, if ever. Incels construct and share collective meanings around gender, casting themselves as victims of women, who are only sexually active with more physically attractive men (Heritage and Koller 2020). They have their own vernacular, calling more conventional, (sexually) successful men “Chads” and labelling insensitive, shal­ low, hypocritical women “Stacys.” Some venerate incel-identify­ ing mass shooters such as the young man who in 2014 murdered six and injured 14 in Isla Vista, California, another who killed ten by driving a van into a crowd in Toronto in 2018, and a third who in 2021 killed five and then himself in Plymouth, England. They build solidarity through a shared self-loathing that manifests into extreme misogyny (Labbaf 2019), feeling a sense of rebelliousness even as they seek to reinforce very ordinary patriarchal domina­ tion. Their sense of aggrieved entitlement (Kalish and Kimmel 2010) – losing privileges and opportunities they feel owed – leads them to see themselves, rather than women, as marginalized and oppressed. Even as incels blame women, they actually compare themselves to other men in a proving ground of masculinity created and reinforced primarily by men; “Instead of criticizing toxic masculine socialization, incels blamed feminists and so-called social justice warriors who they claimed invalidate male struggle and continue control access to the sex market” (O’Malley, Holt, and Holt 2022:10). Incels exist within the greater networked “mano­ sphere” and surrounding misogynist cultures, but their activities reveal the semi-hidden subcultural spaces in which such ideologies can grow (see Miller-Idriss 2020). While social media connects likeminded subculturists who may otherwise feel isolated, digital platforms can also play a role in radicalizing some towards extremism. Incels share their mis­ ogynistic views via YouTube, Reddit, and other platforms, where recommendation algorithms can quickly immerse users in incel­ related content (Papadamou et. al. 2021). Even when such sites ban hateful content, users migrate elsewhere, making tracking and regulating them challenging. Via these platforms, incels have developed subcultural meanings and symbols that capture their resistance to what they perceive as an unfair sexual marketplace. For example, those who have taken the “red pill” – a reference to

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the 1999 film The Matrix – have awaked to the “truth” of femaledomination, much as the film’s hero, Neo, becomes aware of humans’ domination by machines. Incels elevate themselves above “blue pillers,” those men who continue to live in ignorance, sub­ ject to the whims and rejection of Stacys and the ridicule of Chads. Incels enjoy feeling like they are “in the know,” amongst a select few possessing an awareness that others lack. Painfully stretching the Neo comparison, incels and other right-leaning groups some­ times see themselves as taking the fight to an oppressive system, armed with their newfound knowledge. But mostly they further self-marginalize, engaging online with their peers where they build solidarity around their frustration and their largely misogynist worldview. Gaming cultures can also harbor reactionary beliefs and exclu­ sionary practices. Just because video games do not cause mass shootings does not mean they, and the gaming community, don’t have their problems. Men’s domination of the gaming industry and gaming spaces leaves little room for others. Men and boys often single out and label female players “girl gamers” (Witkowski 2018). Much like professional female athletes who must navigate the heavily masculine sports world while being “appropriately” feminine, female gamers must often contend with judgments based upon their beauty and potential sexual availability, rather than their skill. They face constant reminders that they are never fully inclu­ ded, that they are less-than, whether they are players, developers, or streamers. In the span of a few short years, Twitch has radically altered the gaming landscape, connecting millions of gamers and enabling real-time interaction between fans and players in a scrolling chat window (Taylor 2018). While Twitch provides gamers a way to build community around their subcultural interests, in making gamers more visible it also opens them and their bodies up for scrutiny. Female-presenting streamers face all sorts of harassment, some even derided by male gamers as “titty streamers” using their bodies to gain attention rather than acquiring fans through legit­ imate skill (Ruberg, Cullen, and Brewster 2019). MoroccanCanadian streamer Imane “Pokimane” Anys, one of the most popular female streamers on Twitch, receives all sorts of misogynist messages and even had one “fan” fly from another city to come to

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her neighborhood in search of her. Such harassment of women is typical, a product of the combination of an underlying misogynist geek masculinity and an “online architecture … that promotes styles of communication and interaction that naturalize treating others as instrumental means for the accumulation of social, cultural and eco­ nomic capital” (Salter 2018:260). Feeling threatened by social justice warrior women who enter male gamers’ formerly homosocial space and dare question their sexist behavior, some men resist anything that might make games more diverse and inclusive (Todd 2015). ONLINE HATE

Subcultures are amongst the “hidden spaces of hate” where white supremacist and other hate groups thrive via house parties, music scenes, and the darker corners of the web (Simi and Futrell 2015). In addition to incels and gamers, digital spaces harbor more explicitly political alt-right groups with subcultural elements, from Boogaloo and Proud Boys to militias and neo-Nazis. These groups illustrate the connections between subcultural spaces, social move­ ments, and politics (Miller-Idriss 2020); multiple concepts help sensitize us towards a more meaningful and thorough under­ standing of such groups (see Chapter 1). Much like incels, alt-right groups share a common subcultural vernacular. For example “cuck,” short for “cuckhold,” a man made a fool by his (woman) partner who has sex with another man or men, becomes shorthand for liberal, effeminate, less powerful men. Likewise, “snowflake” designates an easily-offended person who melts at the first sign of conflict. Some also share styles. The Proud Boys, a group of antiimmigrant, white nationalist “western chauvinists” who believe the West is under threat, actively merchandised their brand, selling shirts and hats via online shop 1776.com until card processors refused to work with them. They and other groups utilize the antiSemitic slogan “6MWE” – “six million wasn’t enough,” referen­ cing the Holocaust. Boogaloo, the anti-government, pro-gun militia preparing for a second American revolution, wear Hawaiian shirts, an in-joke that also creates confusion, distracting from the more pressing matter – men carrying assault weapons in public. They congregate online, building subcultural community, but also use digital tools to organize in-person events.

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These groups share a common “narrative of decline,” a sense that the world is rapidly changing, and for the worse. Guns become a subcultural prop, part of a manhood act that emphasizes men’s pro­ tector role as their breadwinner role declines in the face of economic precarity and a more diverse and globalized workforce. They perceive these changes as a gender threat, and participants seek to recuper­ ate their masculinity through hypermasculine displays as “Men are facing eroding labor opportunities … and women are increasingly entering the labor force as income earners due to both changing labor opportunities and cultural shifts in women’s social status” (Carlson 2015:391). Similarly, misogynist Russian group the Male State advo­ cated for “national patriarchy,” engaging in online harassment of feminists, people of color, and LGBTQ people until the government banned them in 2021, pushing them further underground. Each of these groups’ online hate has spilled into real-world violence. As I’ve discussed, subcultures can be supportive free spaces, groups that mediate between individual experiences and larger political trends (see Chapter 3). Although the January 6, 2020 insurrectionists at the US capitol were not a subculture, some knowledge of subcultural symbols and digital spaces could help decode the subtleties of their ideologies and explain how such groups mobilize adherents to potential violence. While it’s true that the structure of online spaces - anonymity, easy access to likeminded others, relative lack of government and corporate oversight, profit imperatives - creates possibilities for reactionary politics, that result is not inevitable. Rather, that structure coincides with a culture of misogyny and white supremacy that legitimates existing power relationships (Banet-Weiser and Miltner 2016). Incels and other elements of the anti-woman manosphere perceive a masculinity threat, an undermining of their rightful place and an “incursion of women and people of color into what were previously almost exclusively white, male spaces” (ibid.:172).

KEY INSIGHTS �

Much of subcultural interaction occurs online. Understanding and theorizing subcultures increasingly requires at least some attention to digital spaces.

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�

� �

Separating the embodied (“real”) and the digital into distinct experiences, and judging the former as more authentic than the latter, misses the profound integration of the two in contemporary subcultural life. Online spaces provide a powerful means of connection for subculturists who might otherwise feel isolated or alone. They can be creative, inclusive spaces of experimentation. Digital platforms can also reinforce controlling hierarchies and foster reactionary, right-wing activities, some of them con­ nected to subcultures. While the structure of online platforms/ spaces (e.g. anonymity, easy access to likeminded others, relative lack of oversight) provides some explanation for such groups, they also reflect an underlying culture or logic of oppression.

EXPLORING FURTHER Crossing Fandoms: SuperWhoLock and the Contemporary Fan Audience, by Paul Booth, 2016 (Palgrave Macmillan). A deep dive into the interconnected fandoms of Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock and how participants combine them into something new. Framing Fan Fiction: Literary and Social Practices in Fan Fiction Communities, by Kristina Busse, 2017 (University of Iowa Press). A collection of the author’s important essays about fans and fan fiction. Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars From 4Chan And Tumblr To Trump And The Alt-Right, by Angela Nagle, 2017 (Zero Books). An in-depth examination of a variety of online subcultures across the political spectrum and how online battles shape broader cul­ tural discourses. TikTok, Boom, directed by Shalini Kantayya, 2022. A critical documentary about the extremely popular social media app, including how its algorithms shape experience, who takes and profits from user data, and how the app can privilege certain voices over others. The Fandom: A Furry Documentary, directed by Ash Kreis and Eric Risher, 2020. A documentary of fans of anthropomorphic art that dispels the notion of furries as sexual fetishists, traces its history from early sci-fi conventions to the internet, and demonstrates

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how the scene connects to LGBTQ identities. Available on YouTube. Why the Far Right Are So Weird About Sex, by VICE News, 2022. A short look into the sexual undertones and misogyny of a variety of violent reactionary subcultures, including incels, white supremacists, the Male State in Russia, and other extremists. Available on YouTube.

REFERENCES Banet-Weiser, S. and K. M. Miltner (2016) “#MasculinitySoFragile: Cul­ ture, Structure, and Networked Misogyny.” Feminist Media Studies 16 (1): 171–174. Baudrillard, J. (1995) Simulacra and Simulation, trans. S. F. Glase. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Bennett, A. and B. Robards (2012) “Editorial.” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies 26 (3): 339–341. Boluk, S. and P. LeMieux (2017) Metagaming: Playing, Competing, Spectating, Cheating, Trading, Making, and Breaking Videogames. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Booth, P. (2016) Crossing Fandoms: SuperWhoLock and the Contemporary Fan Audience. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Bortree, D. (2005) “Presentation of Self on the Web: An Ethnographic Study of Teenage Girls’ Weblogs.” Education, Communication, and Information 5 (1): 25–39. Bowman, N. D. (2015) “The Rise (and Refinement) of Moral Panic.” In R. Kowert and T. Quandt (eds) The Video Game Debate: Unravelling the Phy­ sical, Social, and Psychological Effects of Digital Games. New York: Routle­ dge, pp. 22–38. Brown, A. M.L. and L. Moberly (2020) “Twitch and Participatory Cultures.” In R. Kowert and T. Quandt (eds) The Video Game Debate 2: Revisiting the Physical, Social, and Psychological Effects of Video Games. New York: Routle­ dge, pp. 53–65. Busse, K. (2017) Framing Fan Fiction: Literary and Social Practices in Fan Fiction Communities. Iowa City, IA: University of Iowa Press. Carlson, J. (2015) “Mourning Mayberry: Guns, Masculinity, and Socio­ economic Decline.” Gender & Society 29 (3): 386–409. Connor A. (2011) “Crosswords: the meow meow of the 1920s.” The Guar­ dianDecember 15. www.theguardian.com/crosswords/crossword-blog/2011/dec/15/.crosswords­ meow-meow-1920s.

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Drdová, L., & Saxonberg, S. (2020) “Dilemmas of a Subculture: An analysis of BDSM Blogs About Fifty Shades of Grey.” Sexualities 23 (5–6): 987–1008. Duggan, J. (2017) “Revising Hegemonic Masculinity: Homosexuality, Masculi­ nity, and Youth-Authored Harry Potter Fanfiction.” Bookbird 55 (2): 38–45. Dupont, Tyler. 2019. “Authentic Subcultural Identities and Social Media: American Skateboarders and Instagram.” Deviant Behavior 41 (5): 649–664. Embrick, D. G., J. T. Wright, and A. Lukacs (eds) (2012) Social Exclusion, Power and Video Game Play: New Research in Digital Media and Technology. New York: Lexington Books. Gregg, Maria (2021) “Girlhood in the Great Outdoors.” Silicon Valley Socio­ logical Review 19 (9). Grossman, D. (2016) Assassination Generation: Video Games, Aggression, and the Psychology of Killing. New York: Little, Brown and Company. Haenfler, R. (2015b) Goths, Gamers, and Grrrls: Deviance and Youth Subcultures, 3rd edition. New York and London: Oxford University Press. Heritage, Frazer and Veronika Koller (2020) “Incels, In-groups, and Ideolo­ gies: The Representation of Gendered Social Actors in a Sexuality-Based Online Community.” Journal of Language and Sexuality 9 (2): 152–178. Jenkins, H. (1992) Textual Poachers: Television Fans & Participatory Culture. New York: Routledge. Jenkins, H. (2006) Fans, Bloggers, and Gamers: Exploring Participatory Culture. New York: New York University Press. Jennings, R. (2019) “VSCO Girls and How Teen Culture Goes Viral.” Vox. https://www.vox.com/the-goods/2019/9/24/20881656/vsco-girl-meme­ what-is-a-vsco-girl (accessed November 15, 2022). Jin, D. Y. (2010) Korea’s Online Gaming Empire. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Kalish, R. and M. Kimmel (2010) “Suicide By Mass Murder: Masculinity, Aggrieved Entitlement, and Rampage School Shootings.” Health Sociology Review 19: 451–464. Kidder, J. L. (2012) “Parkour, The Affective Appropriation of Urban Space, and the Real/Virtual Dialectic.” City & Community 11 (3). Kowert, R. and T. Quandt (2021) The Video Game Debate 2: Revisiting the Physical, Social, and Psychological Effects of Video Games. New York: Routledge. Labbaf, F. (2019) “United by Rage, Self-Loathing, and Male Supremacy: The Rise of the Incel Community.” Invoke 5:16–26. Lee, S. and R. Peterson (2004) “Internet-Based Virtual Music Scenes: The Case of P2 in Alt. Country Music.” In A. Bennett and R. A. Peterson (eds) Music Scenes: Local, Translocal, and Virtual. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, pp. 187–204. Light, B., M. Griffiths, and S. Lincoln (2012) “‘Connect and Create’: Young People, YouTube and Graffiti Communities.” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies 26 (3): 343–355.

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Lindberg, J. (2007) Punk Rock Dad: No Rules, Just Real Life. New York: HarperCollins. MacDowell, L. (2019) Instafame: Graffiti and Street Art in the Instagram Era. Bristol, UK: Intellect. Mäyrä, F. (2015). “Exploring Gaming Communities.” In R. Kowert and T. Quandt (eds) The Video Game Debate: Unravelling the Physical, Social, and Psychological Effects of Video Games. New York: Routledge, pp. 153–174. McInroy, L. B. and S. L. Craig (2020) “‘It’s Like a Safe Haven Fantasy World’: Online Fandom Communities and the Identity Development Activities of Sexual and Gender Minority Youth.” Psychology of Popular Media 9 (2): 236– 246. Melucci, A. (1989) Nomads of the Present: Social Movements and Individual Needs in Contemporary Society. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Miller-Idriss, C. (2020) Hate in the Homeland: The New Global Far Right. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Nagle, A. (2017) Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars From 4Chan And Tumblr To Trump And The Alt-Right. Winchester, UK: Zero Books. O’Malley, R.L., K. Holt, and T. Holt. (2022) “An Exploration of the Invo­ luntary Celibate (Incel) Subculture Online.” Journal of Interpersonal Violence 37 (7–8): NP4981–NP5008. Papadamou, K., S. Zannettou, J. Blackburn, E. De Cristofaro, G. Stringhini, and M. Sirivianos (2021) “‘How Over is it?’ Understanding the Incel Community on YouTube.” Proceedings of the ACM on Human-Com­ puter Interaction 5 (CSCW2, Article 412). Peck, B. M., P. R. Ketchum, and D. G. Embrick (2011) “Racism and Sexism in the Gaming World: Reinforcing or Changing Stereotypes in Computer Games?” Journal of Media and Communication Studies 3 (6): 212–220. Rowlands, T. (2012) Video Game Worlds: Working at Play in the Culture of EverQuest. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. Ruberg, B., A. L. L. Cullen, and K. Brewster (2019) “Nothing But a ‘Titty Streamer’: Legitimacy, Labor, and the Debate Over Women’s Breasts in Video Game Live Streaming.” Critical Studies in Media Communication 36 (5): 466–481. Salter, M. (2018) “From Geek Masculinity to Gamergate: The Technological Rationality of Online Abuse.” Crime, Media, Culture: An International Jour­ nal 14 (2): 247–264. Seganti, F. R. and D. Smahel (2011) “Finding the Meaning of Emo in Youths’ Online Social Networking: A Qualitative Study of Contemporary Italian Emo.” First Monday 16 (7). http://firstmonday.org/htbin/cgiwrap/ bin/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/3197/3021 (accessed May 21, 2012). Simi, P. and R. Futrell (2015) American Swastika: Inside the White Power Movement’s Hidden Spaces of Hate, 2nd edition. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

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Smith-Schuster, J. (2019) “Ninja.” TIME Magazine. https://time.com/collec tion/100-most-influential-people-2019/5567713/ninja (accessed October 20, 2022). Sternheimer, K. (2007) “Do Video Games Kill?” Contexts 6 (1): 13–17. Sullivan, Michael (2019) “Hooked on the Internet, South Korean Teens Go Into Digital Detox.” NPR. August 13. www.npr.org/2019/08/13/748299817/ hooked-on-the-internet-south-korean-teens-go-into-digital-detox (accessed July 28, 2022). Sung, Y., T. H. Nam, and M. H. Hwang (2020) “Attachment Style, Stressful Events, and Internet Gaming Addiction in Korean University Students.” Personality and Individual Differences 154. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.paid. 2019.109724. Taylor, T. L. (2018) Watch Me Play: Twitch and the Rise of Game Live Streaming. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Todd. C. (2015) “GamerGate and Resistance to the Diversification of Gaming Culture.” Women’s Studies Journal 29 (1): 64–67. Turkle, S. (1995) Life on the Screen: Identity in the Age of the Internet. New York: Touchstone. Turkle, S. (2011) Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other. New York: Basic Books. Williams D., N. Ducheneaut, L. Xiong, Y. Zhang, N. Yee, and E. Nickell (2006) “From Tree House to Barracks: The Social Life of Guilds in World of Warcraft.” Games and Culture 1 (4): 338–361. Williams, J. P. and H. Copes (2005) “‘How Edge Are You?’ Constructing Authentic Identities and Subcultural Boundaries in a Straightedge Internet Forum.” Symbolic Interaction 28 (1): 67–89. Witkowski, E. (2018) “Doing/undoing Gender With the Girl Gamer in High-Performance Play.” In K. Gray, G. Voorhees, and E. Vossen (eds) Feminism in Play. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 185–203. Woo, B. (2015) “Nerds, Geeks, Gamers, and Fans: Doing Subculture on the Edge of the Mainstream.” In K. Gray, G. Voorhees, and E. Vossen (eds) InThe Borders of Subculture: Resistance and the Mainstream. London and New York: Routledge, pp. 17–36. Zuboff, S. ( 2019) The Age of Surveillance Capitalism: The Fight for a Human Future at the New Frontier of Power. New York: Hachette Book Group.

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9 WHAT HAPPENS TO SUBCULTURISTS AS THEY “GROW UP”? The baby boomer era subculturists – early mods, hippies, skin­ heads, punks, fetishists, new wavers, metalheads, skaters, hip hop heads, body modifiers, graffiti writers, and so on – have aged into their late fifties, sixties, and seventies. While many moved on from their youthful scenes, some persist, and a few turned their youthful passions into successful careers. The late Vivienne Westwood, creator of the original subversive, shocking, UK punk styles, went on to become a global fashion icon, eventually honoured as Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire for her contribu­ tions to fashion. Kat Von D turned her love of tattooing, punk, and metal into reality television shows, books, music, and fashion and vegan cosmetics lines. But not all subculturists forge sub­ cultural careers. Most gradually realize the music and styles of their youth have given way to new trends, their teenage years eventually marketed back to them as nostalgia and to younger people as “vintage.” Generation X may be shocked to hear early-90’s grunge band Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” played on their local classic rock station in the midst of songs from the 1960s and 1970s. While some subcultural practices still raise concerns (see Chapter 6), now, Generation X parents are just as likely to introduce their children to the music and styles that once shocked their baby boomer parents. Subculturists are often cast as nihilistic kids with no future, exemplified by the Circle Jerks’ song “Live Fast Die Young.” Their paths towards adulthood are rarely straightforward and many DOI: 10.4324/9781003228417-9

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subculturists creatively find ways to live subcultural lives. While early subcultural theories focused overwhelmingly on youth, the concept is useful well beyond any one age category. And many “youthful” subcultures have become increasingly intergenerational. To be sure, many subculturists do “grow up,” leaving behind their subcultural identities as they transition to work, career, and family. However, recent research shows that subcultural participation resonates long into many adults’ lives (Bennett 2013). Adults actually make up a majority in many subcultures. The tramp, or “hobo,” subculture of the nineteenth and early twentieth century US consisted of single, unhoused migrant working men who rode trains from town to town as they sought work harvesting crops (Harper 2006). Likewise, given the expense of customizing hot rod cars, Kustom Kulture draws a multigenerational, generally older, crowd. Often located amid urban nightlife, burlesque subcultures attract adult participants and audiences. In this chapter, I ask how subculturists transition from youth scenes to adulthood, how they transform subcultural styles and meanings, and how younger and older subculturists get along. I then explore how older subculturists reconcile their deviant identities with work, parenthood, and other “adult” responsibilities.

ARE SUBCULTURES JUST FOR KIDS? As I have said, both the popular media and many researchers identify subcultures primarily with youth. One reason for this is that in the Chicago School era many scholars and social reformers studied immigrant or ethnic youth “gangs” with the intent of sol­ ving urban social problems. Groups of deviant young people became synonymous with crime and other social problems that capture public attention, sometimes escalating into moral panics. Still, until the middle of the twentieth century, kids grew up fairly fast, taking on “adult” responsibilities (such as farm work) relatively quickly. The whole notion of “youth” emerged as a distinctive life phase in the post-World War II era, as more young people had access to popular culture, higher education, and increasing dis­ posable income, and as marketers sought to create a new consumer niche. Labor laws, rising standards of living, an expanding educa­ tion system and other structural changes created more space for

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kids to be kids. Another explanation for the links between youth and subcultures is that youth in many cases are more likely to adopt the spectacular aspects of subcultures, the strange clothes and outlandish behavior that make subculturists stand out. Less constrained by adult expectations, young subculturists might simply be more noticeable. Of course subcultural identification and participation are not confined to youth. In fact, as young people put off the traditional markers of adulthood – careers, home ownership, marriage, chil­ dren – it is unsurprising they might continue their subcultural pursuits. Young adulthood – perhaps better called emerging adult­ hood – can extend into one’s late twenties and beyond. A variety of social forces have led to the continued expansion of youthful lifestyles: increased longevity may have youth thinking “what’s the rush?” to grow up; greater competition for jobs prompts many to seek further education, extended the space between childhood and adulthood; and stagnating wages make buying a home and starting a family a daunting prospect. Still, many subculturists who have transitioned to adult roles and responsibilities maintain connections to scenes traditionally thought of as youth-oriented. And some people come to subcultures as adults rather than as youth. NEW MEANINGS – LESS STYLE, MORE SUBSTANCE

Given the (both popular and scholarly) focus on subcultural style, it comes as little surprise that older subculturists, less prone to wear­ ing bondage gear or molding their hair into impossible shapes, are often invisible. Just because many subculturists eventually mute their “spectacular” styles and become less involved does not mean they abandon their subcultural identities. Such identities become less of “tribal” affiliations and more personal philosophies, less about style and more about lifestyle or “internalized code” (Haenfler 2012a:13; Bennett 2006). Dennis Lyxzén of Swedish straight edge hardcore band Refused explained that he rarely “advertised” his edge identity (such as by wearing Xs) but that straight edge still held an important place in his politics: I mean, it’s one of those things where you feel that when you’re young – or younger? Okay, let’s say young – you have maybe a

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stronger need to define what you are and what you are against. In that sense straight edge was probably a good way to get into politics. But as far as the whole straight edge scene goes, I’m not involved in that today. It seems more like a youth cultural kind of thing, and I don’t really feel any connection to it anymore. So, I don’t X up, I don’t call myself straight edge – but I’m still drug-free, and that’s still a part of me I’m very comfortable with. (Kuhn 2010: 61)

For some, outward expressions of style give way to a focus on personally meaningful subcultural values and practices, a transition Andes (1998) calls transcendence. Older straight edgers, for example, developed strategies of style, recognizing both its limits and potential (Haenfler 2012a). Style (such as X-ing up) was lim­ iting when used to “prove” one’s authenticity, when it interfered with work responsibilities, when it symbolized a narrow (often hypermasculine) music-based identity, and when it drew attention away from related issues such as vegetarianism. On the other hand, older straight edgers used style to connect with similarly-aged peers, as a way to keep the movement’s legacy alive for younger adherents, and an as an overt symbol of resistance in their “adult” contexts. Strategically deploying Xs, tattoos, band t-shirts, or hoo­ dies with straight edge slogans at work or certain social gatherings became ways of distancing oneself from the perceived undesirable attributes of adulthood, especially conformity. Of course focusing less on style than substance is also a way for older participants to position their authenticity (see Chapter 5). Beyond style and beyond personal philosophy, some older sub­ culturists increase their focus on subculturally-informed politics, putting their subcultural values into practice in new contexts. Women with roots in riot grrrl have formed Girls’ Rock Camps, teaching girls to play music, create bands, make ’zines, and stage shows. Such camps provide older riot grrrls with “an institutional location in which to share punk feminist ideologies, women’s musical history and technical knowledge intergenerationally” (Schilt and Giffort 2012:147). Keeping with DIY feminist riot grrrl politics, such camps offer “more than music,” seeking to build selfesteem, foster community, and encourage cultural resistance to women’s subordination. Organizers feel “they are complicating the

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idea of what it means to grow up and ‘get a real job’” as well as the “assumption that marriage and children are the inevitable and only pathway for women” (Schilt and Giffort 2012:154). Even rave, a scene often characterized as apolitical and hedonistic, can produce profound personal and political consequences for partici­ pants. Ex-raver women reported the scene boosted their confidence, helped them cultivate non-judgmental attitudes, and guided them into helping professions such as counseling (Gregory 2012). AGEING BODIES

Ageing seems like a natural, inevitable, and often undesirable pro­ cess: skin sags, wrinkles appear, muscles weaken, hair grays or dis­ appears. Yet we interpret the physical signs of ageing through our cultural lenses. The physical signs of ageing take on social mean­ ings, prescribing certain expectations regardless of our physical capabilities. For example, in many cultures an ageing double stan­ dard persists, in which men’s ageing bodies grow more “dis­ tinguished” while women’s ageing bodies are less valued. Modern medicine and better nutrition have steadily increased many peo­ ple’s average life-span and allowed those with access the possibility of transcending physical limitations that might have been debili­ tating in generations past. Still, even as the meanings of ageing change, ageing bodies suggest certain social expectations captured by the admonition “Act your age!” Thus a 60ish-year-old body should not be moshing with 17-year-olds! The physicality of moshing – whether the average 60-year-old body can withstand the bumps and bruises of the pit – is significant, but in some ways beside the point. Moshing seems, to many observers, somehow inappropriate, even unbecoming, for people of a certain age. Fonorow (1997) found that where someone positions their body at an indie music gig symbolized their connection with the band and the scene; standing at the front of the show, near the band, signified particularly strong allegiance, while occupying the back of the venue signified a lesser form of participation. Generally, as fans age they move from the front to the back of the room and, eventually, out of the room. Fonorow’s work makes intuitive sense; ageing bodies create both physical limitations and symbolic boundaries around subcultural participation. Presumably, ageing

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traceurs will find leaping across rooftops increasingly difficult, bboys will be sorer after dancing, and skaters will attempt fewer extreme tricks. Ageing rock fans limit their alcohol use and tone down their dancing, as their stamina declines and post-gig recovery time grows (Gibson 2012). Some goths minimize their macabre, androgynous, style; goth men found it harder “to ‘get away with’ feminine clothes or makeup once bodies had become larger, faces coarser, body hair denser and, in some cases, head hair sparser” (Hodkinson 2012:141). Still, ageing bodies do not automatically coincide with declining participation, even in the examples above. Studying the hardcore punk scene, Tsitos found that “older” (over 25) participants moshed or slamdanced less than they had in their youth, due both to “concerns over age-related physical limitations” and to “their disillusionment with perceived negative changes in the scene (reflected in increased violence in the pit)” (Tsitos 2012:68). However, at times they did return to the pit, as moshing became a ritual by which to reconnect with friends, an effervescent moment of collective solidarity, emotional connection, and even physical intimacy. Ageing b-boys might feel more aches and pains, but given their years of experience they often mentor younger dancers, as “authority is often attributed to the ageing body, even after the peak performance years have passed” (Fogarty 2012:55). While many ageing subculturists tone down their spectacular styles and scene participation, some find ongoing meaning and even resistance in ostentatious stylistic displays. Given the connec­ tion between ageing bodies and social expectations, subculturists who continue (or begin) participating into adulthood upend dominant understandings of age-appropriate behavior, challenging the (restrictive) meanings of age. A tattoo-collecting 70-year-old defies conventional expectations of “old age.” Studying a queer scene in Brisbane, Australia, Jodie Taylor (2012) found that many post-youth participants continue partying, using drugs, and wear­ ing more flamboyant fashions than their younger counterparts. Rather than change their participation to match their age, they alter “their perceptions of adulthood to ensure their continuing participation” (ibid.:33). Ageing suggests a linear, heteronormative path – by a certain age, one should be married, purchasing a home, having and raising children, working a steady job, and eventually

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looking towards retirement. Prohibited, in many places, from marrying and forming conventional families, queer people disrupt the age timeline, as Judith Halberstam (cited in Taylor 2012:28) suggests: the “stretched-out adolescence” of “queer culture makers” disrupts “conventional accounts of subculture, youth cul­ ture, adulthood, and maturity.” Likewise, Taylor’s queer subjects resist homonormative ageing, particularly the premium that many queer scenes place upon youth and youthful bodies. In scenes where anyone over 30 is considered “old,” ageing LGBTQs might find themselves judged by their peers as “tired old queens” or “bitter old dykes.” Continued participation in supposedly youthful activities is personally gratifying and also an act of resistance. Queer subculturists (and many other subculturists as well) challenge the “successful/ unsuccessful” ageing dichotomy, thereby “queering” adulthood. Similarly, adult “alternative women” – sporting, for example, exten­ sive tattoos, piercings, and wild hair – disrupt the hyperfeminine “model woman” portrayed in the media (Holland 2004). Aging punk women often continued going to gigs and punk became a “state of mind” that imparted confidence (Way 2014, 2020). HOW DO OLDER AND YOUNGER SCENESTERS GET ALONG? INTERGENERATIONAL SCENES?

Even as many subculturists age and post-youth subcultural identi­ fication increases, in many scenes much of the energy and con­ sistent participation remains with youth. How do such youth perceive their elders? Some see older, less active scenesters as sell­ outs, as somehow less authentic (see Chapter 5). Likewise, scene elders may doubt youths’ authenticity as they construct an idea­ lized past, remembering things as better, more real “back in the day” as a way to bolster their own scene credibility (see Peterson 1997). These jaded scenesters lament the changes in, and per­ ceived decline of, the scene (Haenfler 2006). Older hobos some­ times see their younger counterparts as disrupting their nostalgic recreation of the past, while the younger train-riders see them­ selves as more authentic as they are currently taking risks riding the rails (Lennon 2007). In other scenes, participants perceive generational differences as mere differences rather than arguing about authenticity related to

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age and ageing participation, with youth even venerating their older subcultural heroes (Bennett 2006). Age brings some sub­ culturists legendary status as they find adult success while living by their own (subcultural) code (Davis 2006). For example, Keith Morris of hardcore bands Black Flag, Circle Jerks, and Off! still tours the world, wearing dreadlocks to his waist and screaming vocals to a multigenerational audience. Now in his mid-60s, skate­ boarding legend Tony Alva still skates, runs his own skate shops, and plays in a punk band. As I mentioned above in the context of riot grrrls and b-boys, these elders can serve as subcultural mentors, role models guiding new generations of participants as they pass on sub­ cultural capital. Older graffiti writers often apprentice younger artists, teaching them both technique and subcultural values (Docuyanan 2000). Some older b-boys regard younger participants in their crews as their sons, forming multigenerational extended families (Fogarty 2012). An ageing body might lead some b-boys to “retire,” but retirement was not the same as quitting. Retired b-boys might com­ pete less, focusing less on improvement, but still dance, as well as increasing their time spent teaching and judging competitive events. Somewhat ironically, as adult subculturists’ participation decreases, their subcultural capital can increase. Many scenes remain dominated by youth, going through ongoing generational turnover even as a small number of older participants remains active. However, continuing scenes feature a consistently active cohort that ages together within the scene (Smith 2009). For example, the average age of participants at the Whitby Gothic Weekend, a gothic festival held since 1994 in the UK, has increased substantially in its nearly 20 years (Hodkinson 2012). Old acquaintances reconnect, talk about careers and famil­ ies, and party, although perhaps not so vigorously as they had in their youth. Many bring their young children to the festival, often dressed in child-sized gothic attire (Hodkinson 2013b). Rather than ageing out of the scene, this ageing cohort changed its very nature, making the festival more family-friendly as organizers adapted the festival to accommodate parents with children. Festivals and reunion shows become portable or temporary communities, periodically bringing together diverse groups for relatively short spans of time (Gardner 2004, 2020). Scenes become intergenerational, at least to some extent.

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SUBCULTURAL CAREERS: HOW DO “OLDER” SUBCULTURISTS BLEND PARTICIPATION WITH MORE “CONVENTIONAL” RESPONSIBILITIES? Born in Aberdeen, South Dakota in 1930, Fakir Musafar, father of the “modern primitive” movement and legendary figure in the body modification, fetish, and kink scenes, continued to tour, write, and film into his eighties. He earned degrees in electrical engineering and creative writing, served in the Army, and ran his own advertising agency. After practicing piercing and other forms of body play in relative secret for many years, Fakir “came out” at a tattoo convention in 1979 and thereafter made body play his career. His subcultural career, begun in his youth, became his livelihood later in life. Once a deviant outsider, Fakir eventually lectured at universities and passed on his skills to students in his San Francisco piercing school. And he was far from the only sub­ culturist to incorporate his passions into “conventional” life. Early influential skateboarders such as Stacey Peralta and Tony Hawk, now well into middle age, not only started their own skateboard companies but have branched into filmmaking, video game pro­ duction, and philanthropy. They have children, homes, and many of the trappings of “normalcy.” Now in his late fifties, David Ellefson of world-renowned metal band Megadeth, a band some­ times criticized for its violent imagery, has beaten his drug and alcohol addictions and returned to his Lutheran religious roots, starting his own ministry and studying at seminary (DeSantis 2012). Ice-T, the godfather of gangsta rap and singer of Body Count, is now perhaps better known for his long term role in police drama Law & Order. These lives mirror the circuitous life course of many subculturists who, while perhaps not so famous, blend their sub­ cultural identities and behaviors with other pursuits. Rather than casting subcultural participation in opposition to “conventional” life (what does that mean, anyway?), much better to observe exactly how subculturists age, what they do, and how they make sense of what they do. Recall from Chapters 1 and 7 that scenes are fluid and porous rather than stable and fixed. Likewise, the boundaries of “youth” shift and change; one does not step over some imaginary line and magically, irrevocably, become an adult, as the number of adults

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who enjoy comic books, video games, toy collecting, and other “childish” pursuits can attest. Rather, young people in their twenties, especially in developed countries, see themselves as slowly progressing toward adulthood as they explore a variety of identities and possibilities for their futures. Emerging adulthood describes the period from late-teens to mid-twenties when young people have significant independence from their parents but have not yet committed to marriage, children, home ownership, or a lasting career (Arnett 2000). Many young people, including many subculturists, do not see these transitions as clear markers of adulthood, emphasizing instead taking personal responsibility for one’s life. So adulthood is ambiguous, and as we have seen many sub­ culturists do not make a “clean break” from their respective scenes. Rather, we can think of subculturists’ involvement as part of a deviant career (Becker 1963), in some ways paralleling the stages of conventional careers. However, deviant careers differ from conventional careers in significant ways. Where conventional careers are typically linear paths of increasing status, stability, and compensation, deviant (and subcultural) careers tend to be less linear, with people exiting and entering lifestyles (Best and Luckenbill 1982; see also Adler and Adler 1983). Subcultural careers may peak rela­ tively early while offering little or no financial compensation, as in the case of graffiti-writers. BOX 9.1 GRAFFITI-WRITING CAREER Nancy Macdonald’s (2001) study of New York and London graffiti subcultures reveals that many writers follow a similar progression through their deviant careers:

� � � �

Noticing graffiti: wherein a potential writer discovers graffiti and learns it can confer a sort of “fame.” Tagging/bombing: a new writer chooses a graffiti name (“tag”), develops a style, and illegally tags her moniker in public places. Making a name: the writer’s fame grows the more she tags. Throw ups: the writer progresses from simple signature tags to larger, more complicated depictions of their tag.

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� Piece promotion: in which the writer graduates to even larger, more mural-like designs often utilizing images in addition to stylized letters. � Career decline: reputation established, many older participants write less often. Legal penalties increase, financial and family responsibilities take on greater importance. � Retirement or going legit: Some writers “retire” their names and fully enter into conventional roles. Others go legit by painting only in legal spaces, doing mural commissions, or turning their skills into full-time work as designers or other professional artists.

SUBCULTURAL WORK

Subcultures may appear to be (and in some part are) escapist retreats in stark contrast with conventional work. They seem to foster leisure and play, while work suggests responsibility, punctu­ ality, and perhaps even drudgery. The classic film Quadrophenia depicts mods feeling truly free only when hanging out with their mates, just as Saturday Night Fever portrays the disco scene as a fun refuge from the protagonist’s boring, oppressive work life. Yet the work/play dichotomy in which work is mundane and boring and leisure fulfilling and liberating is misleading (see Haenfler 2012b). Sometimes people enjoy their jobs; the bike messengers I discussed in Chapter 7 transform their work into play (Kidder 2011). Others, like some hardcore MMORPG gamers, turn their leisure into work, grinding through repetitive tasks in what should be enchanting virtual worlds (Rowlands 2012). Subcultural experiences translate into careers in several ways (Haenfler 2018). Scene careerists such as professional musicians, promoters, record label owners, and artists create full-time employment related to a subculture. Professional musicians may be the most obvious example, but others include pro skateboarders, parkour fitness trainers, and mechanics who customize cars or motorcycles. Most of the older punks Tsitos (2012) studied main­ tained their connection to the scene by running record labels, playing in bands, or booking shows. Some hip hop dancers find ways to make a living while pursuing their passion, through

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teaching or touring (Fogarty 2010). Hybrid scenesters combine conventional and subcultural work (for pay), or sometimes blend the two, as in the case of Brazilian graffiti artist Nunca, whose work is found both on the streets and in art galleries. Semi-retired subculturists have even less connection to a scene, yet still somehow bring their subcultural values to bear on their work. Danielle Konya, a tattooed vegan straight edge desert chef, uses her Vegan Treats bakery not only to produce delicious food but also to pro­ mote cruelty-free living. Her business very consciously and openly advocates for animal rights, actively supporting a variety of animal advocacy organizations (Konya n.d.). Konya’s example shows that some subculturists infuse their subcultural practices into even see­ mingly “conventional” careers. Parents often worry that their child’s subcultural involvement will negatively impact the kid’s future: subcultural involvement is a waste of time better spent focusing on academics or more pro­ ductive, resume-building extracurricular activities. Perhaps of even greater concern for parents are that the more permanent, bodily transformations – namely, tattoos and piercings – associated with many subcultures might be off-putting to future employers. While it is certainly the case that subculturists often face stigma in con­ ventional settings (see Chapter 6), subcultural identities and bodily symbols can actually be assets in some careers. Tattoos, piercings, subcultural knowledge, and scene networks may advance careers in tattooing, fashion, music, and small businesses such as boutiques catering to subculturists (Driver 2011b). Hackers and gamers may go on to work in computer science, drawing upon skills they learned in the amateur hacking scene. Riot grrrls grew into “riot women” and used their DIY skills to organize feminist music festivals such as Ladyfest (Schilt and Zobl 2008). Someone with neck tattoos and stretched ears may have trouble landing a job at a major law firm. That same person looking to start an online “alternative” jewelry business might have an advantage, might carry a certain cache or authenticity in the eyes of potential cus­ tomers. Subcultural skills, identities, networks, and even bodies serve as subcultural career capital in many jobs. In an era in which traditional manufacturing and even white collar jobs contract, the ability to create one’s own job, even a DIY career, might be increasingly relevant.

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Finally, subcultures resonate in unexpected ways even as older participants have little or no connection to their scene of origin. The “maker” subculture applies the DIY ethic to technological innovation, bringing together an array of people of all ages who love tinkering, building, experimenting, and learning. Participants make everything from robots and laser harps to aerial surveillance planes and cigar box guitars, often publishing (free) online guides detailing their work. They gather in online forums and also at Maker Faires. Some adherents come directly from other sorts of subcultures, but many do not. Still, the roots of the maker movement draw upon punk, open source, and hacker subcultures. As an example, in 1988, prominent maker Mark Frauenfelder cofounded “The World’s Greatest Neurozine,” bOING bOING, now an established blog with paid employees. His career, launched by a print ’zine, has since inclu­ ded being an editor at Wired magazine, authoring several books, and editing MAKE magazine. Makers’ entrepreneurial spirit has caught the attention of venture capitalists, with The Economist (2011) maga­ zine suggesting “The ‘maker’ movement could change how science is taught and boost innovation. It may even herald a new industrial revolution.” Sounds similar to the hobbyist hacker culture of the 1970s that spawned Apple and Microsoft. PARENTING

In his book Punk Rock Dad: No Rules, Just Real Life, Pennywise singer Jim Lindberg (2007: xxi) describes the balance between parenting three girls and screaming the lyrics to the punk band’s anthem, “Fuck Authority,” writing: The whole alternative/punk movement can be seen as one childlike refusal to grow up and take on responsibility, and the image of the immature, tattooed, and pierced alternative slacker/stoner, addicted to Internet Porn and video games, has become the archetype that defines our entire generation. For me, becoming a parent became the one thing that finally forced me to grow up and accept that I wasn’t a kid anymore.

Such comments betray a sense of intractable tension between parent­ hood and subcultural identity, children “forcing” their irresponsible

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parents to grow up. Indeed, the tension between being a good father and constantly being away from home on tour prompted Lindberg to leave the band. (He rejoined in 2012.) Yet Lindberg does manage “punk rock parenthood,” explaining he still wears band t-shirts, he still skates and plays music, and his daughters listen to his music in the car. Perhaps more importantly, Lindberg emphasizes the punk rock values he hopes to pass to the next generation, even as the more mundane aspects of parenting threaten to quash his punk ideals: If instead of forcing our religions, dogmas, and short-sighted way of thinking on them, we could encourage them to think for themselves, and show them how to be gracious and tolerant, rather than selfish and close-minded, maybe we could in fact make the world a better place, simply by being good parents. Wasn’t this supposed to be the under­ lying goal of punk music in the first place, that we were to expose society for the sham it was, in the dim hopes of replacing it with a better one? (Lindberg 2007:193)

Past scholars made much of the “generation gap,” emphasizing the vast differences – in values, tastes, language, and practices – between adults and youth of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. Popular musicians and youthful subculturists reinforce this gap, claiming that the older generation has sold out, or, in the words of rap duo DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, that “Parents Just Don’t Understand.” More recently, others suggest the gap may be narrowing, as the distance between generations’ attitudes and interests closes. Andy Bennett (2008) finds that classic rock bands – Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, AC/ DC – continue to appeal to younger generations, taking on almost mythical significance as the original, most authentic expression of rock music. Such music becomes part of a “heritage discourse of rock” that “enshrines particular rock musicians of the late 1960s and early 1970s not merely as sub- or countercultural icons, but as key contributors to the essential character of late late-twentieth-century culture” (Bennett 2008:266). Similarly, young metalheads continue to almost universally revere Black Sabbath as the originators of “heavy” music, despite being born long after the band’s original demise. Many youth discover such music listening with their parents or thumbing through parents’ vinyl record collections. YouTube makes watching classic perfor­ mances easy, providing younger participants a time capsule in which

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to perpetually explore. Thus punk, hip hop, skateboarding, goth, and other subcultures are increasingly intergenerational. Joe Kotarba (2002: 119) found that baby boomer rock’n’roll fans shared both their musical tastes and values as they became parents and grandparents, with rock music serving as a “bridge across the generations” despite the common perception that music is a source of intergenerational tension. Parents and Kids attend certain con­ certs together, or teach their children to play guitar. Certainly parents and their kids will argue about music, curfews, and cloth­ ing choices. But many parents also facilitate subcultural identities and scene involvement by purchasing concert tickets, taking kids to gigs, and, even if grudgingly, allowing their children to experi­ ment with subcultural identities. The 1960s and 1970s British Northern Soul scene, united by a love for obscure American soul music, has ebbed and flowed for several generations, peaking in the 1970s but persisting to today (Smith 2009, 2012). Early generations of “Soulies” teach their kids to dance, play soul music, and share their record collections with their children. Subcultural capital becomes a “family heirloom” and a scene that might otherwise have died off is given (thus far) perpetual life. Given that youthparent “cultures” are not necessarily opposed, it makes sense to think of subcultures not only in terms of youth resistance but also in terms of adult influence. Parents with subcultural backgrounds can pass on subcultural capital (e.g. record collections, knowledge of scene histories) to their children – who may or may not be appreciative! Subculturist parents, like any parents, pass on a certain set of values. These values may at times contradict their own subcultural experi­ ences (Do as I say, not as I do!), but may also reflect subcultural pol­ itics. Thus a riot grrrl mother might take extra measures to encourage her daughter to be heard and to be a “cultural producer” rather than only a consumer (Schilt and Giffort 2012). They are also many times modeling to their kids a different approach to adulthood. MOVING ON: WHAT ARE SUBCULTURES’ RESIDUAL IMPACTS?

While some subculturists willfully choose to remain “outsiders” throughout their lives, others eventually shed most or all of their subcultural identities. (And there is some evidence that women

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decrease their participation more than men as women still take on a disproportionate share of childcare (Gregory 2009; Holland 2004).) Moving on does not, however, mean that subcultural par­ ticipation has no lasting impacts. In fact, subcultural involvement often leaves strong residual effects, beliefs and behaviors nurtured in subcultural settings that transcend direct involvement in a scene. Studying ex-straight edgers, Jason Torkelson (2010) shows that despite abandoning abstinence and their edge identities former straight edgers claim the scene provoked lifelong changes, including spiritual seeking and activist identities such as animal rights and veganism (see also Wood 2007). Many became dis­ illusioned with the movement’s shortcomings, questioning its authenticity and its occasional militancy. Yet they also report that straight edge encouraged significant philosophical shifts lasting long into adulthood. Older subculturists are not “inappropriately” hanging on to youth; they are “growing up” without forgetting their roots, often creatively reconciling adult responsibilities with scene identities (Hodkinson 2013a). The appeal of subcultural commu­ nity, of living in some capacity at society’s margins, transcends youth. As early participants in the “spectacular” subcultures of the 1970, 1980s, and 1990s establish careers and become parents and grandparents, subcultural meanings change and boundaries shift. In fact, subcultures are part of a larger redefinition of youth and adulthood, providing adherents the space to question what it means to “grow up.”

KEY INSIGHTS �

�

While popular media and even scholars portray subcultures as exclusively the domain of youth, adults do participate, even as many pursue careers and form families. Structural changes – in the economy, education, and gender expectations – make possible the extension of “youth.” Subcultural identities can resonate across the lifecourse, even as scene participation ebbs and flows. Older subculturists tend to focus less on style and consistent scene participation and more on the internalized values, lifestyles, and practices cultivated in the scene.

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� �

Contrarily, many subculturists do continue their participation, periodically using style as a strategy and subcultural identity as a form of resistance to age-appropriateness. Subcultural careers are similar to conventional careers in many respects. However, while in conventional careers one’s status tends to increase over time, subcultural careers are far less linear, with participants exiting and re-engaging over their lifecourse.

EXPLORING FURTHER Ageing and Youth Cultures: Music, Style and Identity, edited by Andy Bennett and Paul Hodkinson, 2012 (Berg). The first edited collection of studies examining older subculturists’ experiences, including sections on style, the body, and community. Destined for Greatness: Passions, Dreams, and Aspirations in a College Music Town, by Michael Ramirez, 2018 (Rutgers University Press). A wonderful ethnography about the trials and tribulations of trying to make a living while pursuing one’s music-making dreams. Music, Style, and Aging: Growing Old Disgracefully? by Andy Bennett, 2013 (Temple University Press). Explores how varieties of music, from house to punk, as well as subcultural styles, continue to have personal and political significance to aging fans. Punk, Gender and Ageing: Just Typical Girls? by Laura Way, 2020 (Emerald Publishing). An engaging study of ageing punk women that touches on how they challenge expectations of women’s ageing, navigate work and family life, and continue to find meaning in their subculture identities. Rock On: Women, Ageing, and Popular Music, edited by Ros Jen­ nings and Abigail Gardner, 2012 (Ashgate). A collection focused on the ways women, both performers and fans, negotiate ageing in relation to popular music. “Spectacular Youth Cultures and Ageing: Beyond Refusing to Grow Up,” by Paul Hodkinson, 2013 (Sociology Compass 7 (1): 13–22). A brief article highlighting some of the key issues around subcultures and ageing.

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The Other F Word, directed by Andrea Blaugrund Nevins, 2011. A documentary exploring the joys and contradictions surrounding punk rock fatherhood, including interviews with members of Pennywise, Blink 182, Rise Against, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Bad Religion, NOFX, and other bands. The Geriatric Ravers Still Smashing Drugs, produced by Tir Dhondy, 2022. A short documentary about older rave-goers, focusing espe­ cially on their drug use and their commitment to partying into old age. Available on YouTube. Tony Hawk: Until the Wheels Fall Off, directed by Sam Jones, 2022. An HBO documentary following the career of legendary skater Tony Hawk, from his days as an innovative outcast in the skating world, to conquering the X Games, to becoming the star of a video game franchise. Featuring interviews with many skaters of that generation, the film shows how passion for skating contends with ageing bodies, as well as how subcultural authenticity com­ petes with professional opportunities. Death of the American Hobo, produced by Jackson Fager, 2012. Not all subcultures persist or continue to thrive. This short documentary follows young train hoppers as they make their way from Oakland, California, to Britt, Iowa, home of the annual national hobo conven­ tion, where they consider whether hobo culture is alive or dead. Available on YouTube.

REFERENCES Adler, P. and P. Adler (1983) “Shifts and Oscillations in Deviant Careers: The Case of Upper-Level Drug Dealers and Smugglers.” Social Problems 31 (2): 195–207. Andes, L. (1998) “Growing Up Punk: Meaning and Commitment Careers in a Contemporary Youth Subculture.” In J. S. Epstein (ed.) Youth Culture: Identity in a Postmodern World. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, pp. 212–231. Arnett, J. J. (2000) “Emerging Adulthood: A Theory of Development From the Late Teens Through the Twenties.” American Psychologist 55 (5): 469–480. Becker, H. (1963) Outsiders: Studies in the Sociology of Deviance. New York: Free Press. Bennett, A. (2006) “‘Punks Not Dead’: The Significance of Punk Rock for an Older Generation of Fans.” Sociology 40 (1): 219–235.

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INDEX

Note: bold terms indicate key ideas bolded in the main text. 4Chan 187, 202 affective appropriation of space 164 age/ageing 30, 121, 213–220; see also youth alternativity 28 anarchism 66, 67, 70, 72, 100 Atlanta School 4 authenticity 111–6; criteria of 116–21 Banksy 114 BDSM 117, 197 bedroom culture 11, 91 bike messengers 122, 164, 222 bikers 91, 126 Birmingham School 8–11; contribu­ tion of 11; and resistance 10, 58–9; and style 10 black metal 63, 88, 90, 139, 149–50, 176 blues music/musicians 86, 117, 118, 120 b-boys/b-girls 123, 178, 217, 219 body/bodies, and ageing 216–218; body competency 123 Boogaloo 205 bricolage 10 burlesque 58, 92, 93–4, 100, 213 Burning Man 13, 128

cabaret 58 chavs 83–84 Chicago School 5–7, 26, 213; con­ tribution of 8; theory of deviance 47–48 Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies (CCCS) see Birmingham School clubculture theories see post-subculture studies commercialization 124–7, 129, 189–90 consumption 13–4, 43, 60, 124 commodification see consumption and commercialization cosplay 66, 189, 198 Cottagecore 195 counterculture 25, 28–29, 42, 63, 97 ‘cripple punk’ 101 critical theory 10, 124, 197 cultural capital 49; see also subcultural capital cultural hegemony see hegemony culture industry 95, 124, 197 deviance 5–7, 39, 126, 136, 140; theory of social disorganization 5, 47 defining deviancy down 198

234

INDEX

defusion 128–9 deviant career 221–2 diaspora 169–70 diffusion 128–9, 169–73, 176 disability 101 Drag 58, 99–100 Dungeons & Dragons 27, 154–5 edgework 50–51 electronic dance music (EDM) 11, 13, 67, 129 emo 62, 95–96, 100, 144, 150, 193 Fairey, Shepard 114 fan culture see fandom fan fiction 27, 73, 92–3, 196–7 Fakir Musafar 23, 117, 220 fandom 27, 91, 94, 196–198 femininity 61, 64, 91, 93–96 folk devil 140, 142, 149, 154 football hooligans 9, 27, 86 gamers/gaming 21, 194, 125, 126–7, 149; careers 199–200; and moral panics 148, 200–2; and sexism 204–5; women 94 Gamergate 202 gang 5–6, 26–27 gender 64, 90–3, 97–8, 195, 202, 206; and authenticity 118; and resistance 93–5, 102 gender threat 206 generation gap 225–6 globalization 162, 167–70, 177–8; and homogenization 171–4; resistance to 63, 174–6 glocalization 171–2 go-go music 166 goth 89, 90, 115–6, 141, 217 graffiti, graffiti-writing 44, 114, 164; and Instagram 192–3; graffiti-writing career 221–2 grime 72, 119, 152 hardcore see punk and straight edge

heavy metal 47, 63, 72, 88, 104; and globalization 170–1; moral entrepreneurial campaign against 139, 145, 153 hegemonic masculinity see masculinity hegemony 9–10, 57–58, 74, 102, 171 hidden spaces of hate 205 hip hop 45, 65–6, 86–7, 93, 102; and the Arab Uprisings 71; and authenticity 113–4, 117–8, 119–20, 129–30; and globaliza­ tion 170, 172, 175, 178; moral entrepreneurial campaign against 152; nerdcore 96 hipster 43, 89; and authenticity 115, 120, 122–3, 125 hobos 213, 218 homology 10, 86 homosexuality 96, 196–7 human ecology 5 hyperreality 190 identity 12–3, 20, 68–70; ascribed 40–1; queer 99–100; and authen­ ticity 114–6; virtual 186, 197 idioculture 8

imagined affinities 178

implicit religion 28

incels 73, 187, 202–4

incorporation 129–30

individualization 41, 49, 124

influencers 43, 130, 187, 190

intersectionality 101–2

Juggalos 12–3, 48, 146

kogal culture 14, 94

labeling theory 7

leisure 13–4, 41, 50–1, 59, 222;

deviant leisure 28, 46 lifestyle 12, 23–4 lifestyle movement 66–8

INDEX

Lolita culture 92–4

lowriders 85

mainstream 12, 18, 21, 49, 49, 56;

vs. underground 60, 102,

116–117

maker culture 224

manosphere 203

masculinity 64, 93, 102; female

masculinity 100; hegemonic 95–6;

and incels 202–204; inclusive

and hybrid masculinity 95–97; recuperative 206; right-wing 205–6 modern primitives 23, 46, 117, 220

modernization 40–42 mods 45, 48, 138–9, 166, 174

moral crusade see moral entrepreneurial campaign moral entrepreneurial campaign 143–147, 150–4; rule creators and enforcers 145–6; see also moral panic moral entrepreneur see moral entrepreneurial campaign moral panic 10–1, 137–143; and Dungeons and Dragons 154–5; and power 150–152; processual and attributional models 142–3; role of the media in 148–150; and video games 200–202 MTV 43, 70, 130, 169

neo-tribe 13, 60

new religious movement

25–6

Northern Soul 50, 86, 226

Otaku 138, 146,

Parent Music Resource Center

(PMRC) 146

parenthood 223–6 parkour 50, 128, 189

participatory culture see fandom Patreon 190

place 87, 163–4; regulation of 164–5 postmodernism 12, 42–43 post-subculture studies 11–5, 23–4, 50; contribution of 14–5; and resistance 59–60 prefigurative politics 58, 66–68 privilege 73, 85, 88

Proud Boys 205

psychological problems 46–7, 145

punk 10, 45, 55–57, 58, 61, 90,

147; and gender 92, 95, 99;

and politics 67–9, 71, 74;

Latinx 87;

and disability 101; and authenticity

123; and globalization 173

Pussy Riot 55–56 QAnon 142

queer 58, 69, 97–100, 170, 196–7;

and ageing 217–8

race 4, 67, 71, 84–87, 102; and

authenticity 118–20, 130;

colorblind racism 87, 89, 120;

racial

segregation 85; whiteness 86,

88–90, 119–20

racism see race, white power, and white racial frame rave 11–12, 64, 140–1, 164, 216

resistance 10, 20–1, 44, 87, 93–5,

218; and colonialism 176–7;

dimensions of 62–3; effectiveness

of 58–59, 64, 73–4, 128–30; and globalization 174–6; meanings, sites, and methods of 61–2; and music 71; political 68–73 retrospective reinterpretation 153–4 riot grrrl 55–6, 74, 94–5, 102, 130,

170; and ageing 215–6, 219, 223;

and ‘zines 67

Rock Against Racism 68, 71

roller derby 50, 92–3, 112

235

236

INDEX

Sanguinarium see vampires la Sape 176–77 Satanic panic 2, 139, 141–2, 151,

153; and black metal 149–50; and

Dungeons & Dragons 155

scene 11–4; continuing scene 219;

local, translocal, and virtual

166–67, 188

(the) self 41, 51

sexual script 99

sexuality 64, 92–3, 97–100;

intersections with gender 102

sharpies 166

signification spiral 149

skateboarding 28, 45, 97, 111; and

ageing 219–20; and social media

191–2

skinhead 9, 10, 44, 48; anti-racist 90;

far right 67, 69, 88; and resistance

58–9

social class 8–9, 49, 82–4, 136–7 social disorganization 47

social media 141, 155, 186–8, 193,

195, 203; and content 191

social movement 24–5, 56, 60,

64–5, 68–73

space see place spatial regulation 164–5 steampunk 14, 73, 99

street art 114

subcultural capital 49, 71, 112,

122–24, 129–30, 191; and ageing

219

subcultural career see deviant career subculture: working definition and characteristics of 19–23; emer­ gence of 39–45; as free spaces and abeyance structures 68–9, 73; importance of studying 28–30; and innovation 45;

participation in 45–51; as sensitizing concept 19; as strategy 16, 51–2

stigma 6–7, 47, 102, 141, 153

stigma management see stigma

straight edge 28, 61–2, 64, 70, 96–7,

141–2; and ageing 214–5, 223,

227; and moral panic 148–9;

online 192

strain theory 6–7; and status

frustration 48

style 10, 12, 43, 58, 73, 81; and

ageing 214–5, 217; supermarket

of 12

suicide 30, 47, 144; and moral

panics 155

Suicide Girls 97–8, 123

surveillance capitalism 201–2

symbolic interactionism 8,

16–7, 19

tattoos 82, 120–1, 123, 128; and

careers 223; and defining

deviance down 198; and

diffusion

169; and social media 189

traceurs see parkour

Twitch 199, 204–5

vampires, human 46

VSCO girls 194–5

West Memphis Three 153

white power 2, 66–7, 69–71, 86

white racial frame 88–9;

counter-frame 89–90 whiteness see race youth 41, 44, 59; emerging

adulthood 214, 221

‘zine 63, 67, 68, 169, 170; as

resistance 94–5