We've all seen the Instagram–worthy photo sessions at the concert halls of the Metropolitan Opera House or the Academy of Music. It's the same with countless other institutes of fine arts; flocks of people dressed to the nines in sheer tights or suit jackets, posing their way through the night, the art of the PMA in the backdrop. One might think: What does this person know about art, much less classical music? Could they name one interesting observation about the Puccini that they apparently went to see? It doesn’t matter that this can't be answered—the very idea that someone could publicly enjoy art that they don’t understand (and here elitism rears its ugly head) seems to us tacky and embarrassing.
But art is, after all, meant to be enjoyed, and posting museum outings, concerts, or ballet performances on social media is quite logical. Instagram is in part about the curation of beautiful things, and not much is more curated and beautiful than, say, an opera at the Metropolitan. Why, then, does this notion annoy so many? Why are we so mad?
There seems to be a popular notion—particularly in the classical music world—that those who seek out art "for the aesthetic" lack genuine interest in the art itself. What “doing it for the aesthetic” actually means is a bit vague, but it entails doing an activity for the enhancement of a personal brand—to seem cooler or hotter. Our disapproval of these personal brand–driven motivations could ostensibly be rooted in sincere concern regarding “core culture” and its effect on the consumption of media.
Core culture, put simply, refers to the (online) craze surrounding ever–increasingly niche aesthetics. (Think #cottagecore, #goblincore, #thatgirl, #downtowngirl, #coastalgrandma; The list goes on and on.) Core culture represents an important move in the history of social media aesthetics, from static photography to curated compilations of images. Specifically, core culture videos (in the form of swipe–through TikToks or those seizure–inducing moving image collages on Pinterest) project the illusion of being wholly representative of a certain aesthetic, but the harsh exclusionary lines they implicitly draw are problematic.
Oftentimes, these “aesthetic” compilations will solely feature photos and videos of attractive, young, thin, white individuals—and thanks to lifestyle influencers and celebrities, there is an increasingly blurred line between these aesthetics and human identity. Influencers push the notion that someone can embody an aesthetic, as opposed to merely assuming it in the form of specific sartorial choices. The exclusivity of core culture, coupled with this dwindling distinction between person and perception, creates a toxic, segregated corner of the Internet that can reinforce ancient Eurocentric ideas about who is entitled to enjoy art, and who is not.
But ironically, it doesn’t seem to be the exclusivity of core culture that people scorn; it is rather the democratization of art, which core culture has in some part contributed to, that many take issue with. Even though the Internet has certainly exacerbated certain pre–existing structures of prejudice, there is no denying that the digital revolution has made access to information—and as a result, access to art—possible for parties that are traditionally excluded from niche intellectual and creative circles. The Internet made classical music available to the everyman, and now hoes mad.
There are two issues with this anger. The most concerning and most obvious issue is that it is based on the very same principle that the worst aspects of core culture are based on: that classical music should only be enjoyed by a certain kind of person. This stance is, needless to say, problematic and wrong. In fact, “core culture” and the aestheticization of classical music may be the very key to saving the genre from extinction. As was the case in countless examples throughout history. It turns out that the inbred nature of the classical music world may very well lead to its downfall. But if it somehow can get over its elitism and let the better angels of the Internet revive its prominence, then the classical music world may succeed where many others have failed.
The post–COVID, TikTok–informed classical music scene saw a significant uptick in younger audience engagement. According to a study conducted by The Violin Channel in March of 2024, 54% of UK audiences at ballet, opera, theater, and orchestra performances were “first–bookers” (audience members who had never attended a classical concert of that genre before). This was a near–record high for the decade, second only to 2013 (55%). It is also true that classical audiences are getting younger—18% of attendees being under the age of 35, as opposed to 14% a decade ago.
It seems counter–intuitive that new interest in the genre would arise in the years after COVID, but one reason for this is likely the #darkacademia trend, which glamorized classical European artforms, including orchestra and opera. Countless “core culture” videos can be found under this TikTok hashtag, featuring photos of yellowed sheet music, gleaming grand pianos, and young women playing the violin. This trend took off after the pandemic, with the return of live performances and the reopening of museums fueling the generation of dark academia content on Pinterest, TikTok, and Instagram.
Dark academia is one of those core culture aesthetics that at first glance seems extraordinarily problematic—after all, it over–romanticizes Eurocentric ideals of beauty. But along with this romanticization comes a certain democratization—anyone on the Internet can participate in the #darkacademia trend, which opens up genres of art and lifestyle that have previously been deeply exclusionary. Classical music is a prime example—because of #darkacademia and other aesthetics akin to it, posting things like museum dates, university tours and orchestral concerts have become somewhat trendy, instead of out of touch or elite. Dark academia has not only democratized classical art (on a small scale, admittedly), but also brought it back into relevance.
So what’s holding the conservatives of the classical music world back from embracing this new era of digitized, romanticized music? The answer seems to be elitism. We might say our disgust is because these people are doing things “just for the aesthetic,” but that argument is shallow and reductive. If we examine that a little further, we realize that art has always been aesthetic—that’s kind of the whole point. High–brow critics and connoisseurs have historically built their elevated social status on their impressive art collections or expansive libraries. If you’re concerned about art being objectified and reduced to a status symbol, why not take on the main offenders first and leave these Insta baddies alone?
The intimate link between art and “aesthetics” means there will always be an interdependence between the two. Art’s move to the online world is a double–sided coin, no doubt: old systems and prejudices are perpetuated by new technologies and trends. But there is a bright side, too. The digital rekindling of interest in classical music means more people can discover it, love it, and maybe even save it from being buried.
