What is at stake here is The Scene: an analysis of cultural production and the formation of aesthetic judgments, a system which allows for the mobilization of cultural creativity. Not only in the production of a cultural artifact but also its promotion, packaging and transformation into some kind of successful spectacle -- the marriage of The Underground to black, ill-fitting wool pea coats, with the Rebirth of Cool. Embraced by a subset of individuals who favor innovation, a lifestyle redefining standards, whose general aesthetic runs counter to the normalizing force of tradition, it is no wonder this demographic was once associated with pretension. Its underlying notion called for the expression of an idea -- that idea differing from the mainstream, while also claiming to be closer to the truth than what the mainstream has to offer. Indeed, giving way to a sense of elitism, placing emphasis on the profundity of insight of the Mod lifestyle. But what resulted was a paradigm of the Mod. The revolt against systematic thinking, pre-packaged fates -- bad hair, bad music, bad style -- only too quickly became an overtly conscious, cookie-cutter-template for overall lifestyle: vegetarian or vegan, art or lit or photography, cars with over 100,000 miles or no car at all, too thin or lanky, thick frames, bobs and bangs, jagged edges, black hair, too-small jackets, up-turned collars, faded worked-in denim, studded belts, strategically placed pins, Converse All Stars, Doc Martins, Saucony. Autonomous attitudes slowly replaced by prescribed patronage. Mods exhausted themselves.
Hot Topic, Urban Outfitters and Marc Jacobs began mass producing a semiautonomy of this exhausted cultural sphere, now destroyed by the logic of late capitalism. Saves the Day, The Flaming Lips and The Microphones. Does it matter that hierarchy exists if these all appear on the same compilation one receives free of charge when you spend over seventy dollars on Mod-in-a-bag? Just add water and let it grow. Conveyor belt demeanor pushing towards a material aesthetic rather than the social values and alternative ideology never in search of widespread legitimacy. This is the kind of circularity within the cultural mass which brings together the social idiot, pretentious bastard and prom queen. The invention of Mod has come full circle. The longer you look, the more you see what it takes to remake/remodel yourself as someone you were never meant to be. Mod culture has grown so restless, so conscious of itself, that it has been moving toward catastrophe with tortured tension. It is a river that wants to reach the end, wants to pour itself into an ocean -- it no longer wants to reflect, is afraid to reflect, is unable to reflect. Mods abandon prescribed notions and habits essentially calling for sanctions into nihilism-- a devaluation of the elite by the elite-- in an attempt at reevaluation of values, a quest for a new morality. What we are left with, then, is the existence of the new breed of scenester: The Postmod. The Postmod has become aware of the means by which he or she is stylish, unable to be hip by the standard means -- silk-screened shirts? V-neck sweaters? Betty Page haircuts? -- and instead is concerned with the means that make one stylish. Our new breed of super-scenester revels in the form itself, in a kind of visual noise. At this point, the Postmod may indulge in their newfound self reflexivity -- Devo did this to a great effect -- or they may deny what they have become entirely. Options at this point are endless: There is nothing to lose but your chichi ball and chain.
