- Feb 5, 2002
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The last quarter century in Western cultural life has been wasted. Everything is a little bit mid, as the kids say. There have been impressive individual works of art and entertainment. But taken as a whole, the picture is bleak: our artistic output is derivative and cheaply didactic, either moralizing or starved for moral judgment and ideas. Now, as cultural criticism confronts this epochal failure, it’s easy to cast partisan blame, with a still-dominant Left critical establishment training its sights on the Right.
Easy — but inaccurate.
Cultural life in the 21st century doesn’t feel tortured or ecstatic so much as muted. We aren’t truly bored anymore; boredom has been technologically abolished. Every stray second can be plastered over with a feed, a notification, a video “For You,” an algorithmic recommendation tuned precisely to prevent mental calm. But neither are we animated. There are widespread predictions of a coming civil war and calls for a political uprising, yet neither is remotely on the horizon — because we aren’t passionate enough. Instead, we drift in a gray zone between stimulation and stupor, provoked but under-engaged, surrounded by infinite novelty that no longer feels all that novel.
Our clothes arrive in two days and fall apart in three. Travel is cheaper, but cities blur into one another, interchangeable landscapes of chain restaurants, and “authentically curated” coffee shops identical from Denver to Dublin. The internet, once a wild frontier, now feels like a series of endlessly recycled aesthetics: girl dinner, cottagecore, blokecore, everything a core, everything a remix.
It’s precisely this sense of living in a stagnant wasteland that Blank Space, W. David Marx’s wide-ranging survey of 21st century-culture, tries to map. In his previous polemic, 2022’s Status and Culture, the Tokyo-based culture-vulture took a sanguine approach to contemporary life, arguing that the omnivorous approach to cultural consumption in the West — where there is no more snobbery, and where elites enjoy “not just high culture, but pop and indie, niche and mass, new and old, domestic and foreign, primitive and sophisticated” — is by and large a good thing for the sake of flattening the class distinctions of old. We were slouching toward equality.
Now, Marx worries that the lack of pretense in contemporary culture is no utopia, that it might mean we’re all eating from the same trough of slop. Across nearly 400 increasingly exasperated pages, Marx convincingly argues that art, entertainment, and fashion since the year 2000 have been some combination of uninspired, recycled, soulless, corporatized, or plainly dumb — so much so that there is a blank space where a distinct cultural imprint should be.
Continued below.
Easy — but inaccurate.
Cultural life in the 21st century doesn’t feel tortured or ecstatic so much as muted. We aren’t truly bored anymore; boredom has been technologically abolished. Every stray second can be plastered over with a feed, a notification, a video “For You,” an algorithmic recommendation tuned precisely to prevent mental calm. But neither are we animated. There are widespread predictions of a coming civil war and calls for a political uprising, yet neither is remotely on the horizon — because we aren’t passionate enough. Instead, we drift in a gray zone between stimulation and stupor, provoked but under-engaged, surrounded by infinite novelty that no longer feels all that novel.
Our clothes arrive in two days and fall apart in three. Travel is cheaper, but cities blur into one another, interchangeable landscapes of chain restaurants, and “authentically curated” coffee shops identical from Denver to Dublin. The internet, once a wild frontier, now feels like a series of endlessly recycled aesthetics: girl dinner, cottagecore, blokecore, everything a core, everything a remix.
It’s precisely this sense of living in a stagnant wasteland that Blank Space, W. David Marx’s wide-ranging survey of 21st century-culture, tries to map. In his previous polemic, 2022’s Status and Culture, the Tokyo-based culture-vulture took a sanguine approach to contemporary life, arguing that the omnivorous approach to cultural consumption in the West — where there is no more snobbery, and where elites enjoy “not just high culture, but pop and indie, niche and mass, new and old, domestic and foreign, primitive and sophisticated” — is by and large a good thing for the sake of flattening the class distinctions of old. We were slouching toward equality.
Now, Marx worries that the lack of pretense in contemporary culture is no utopia, that it might mean we’re all eating from the same trough of slop. Across nearly 400 increasingly exasperated pages, Marx convincingly argues that art, entertainment, and fashion since the year 2000 have been some combination of uninspired, recycled, soulless, corporatized, or plainly dumb — so much so that there is a blank space where a distinct cultural imprint should be.
Continued below.
