RND/ To consider a painting of the Dark Academia aesthetic.
I am sick to death of poor people
– The Riot Club (Dir. Lone Scherfig, 2014)
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In which every time you now hear the word ‘AESTHETIC’ (online, natch) you feel queasy, and think of posing white hipsters with high disposable income – andor just straight up Fascism. If you want to dress like Harry Plotter, here’s a hot tip – don’t do it at an English university that’s not Oxford or Cambridge (and even then.) Otherwise real people* who don’t live entirely up their own arts will stare at you like you’ve arrived through a wormhole from another (non-existent) age ‘where Class really meant something’, amirite? From some permanently, pathologically cosy, photoshop-shit-brown faded Green And Pleasant land where dog lovers and old maids with slightly hairy upper lips bicycle to holy communion through the morning mist and the sound of leather on willow echoes over perfectly manicured lawns owned by sippers of Dear Mother’s cream tea, rustling their curtains while staring at the invading foreign neighbors and penning frightfully angry letters to the Enlightened Times about the rising cost of sex dungeon equipment. In short, you will have the piss ripped right out of you (be made an object of ridicule) whereforever thou saunter on campus, hardback book of 15th Century Italian love poetry faithfully stained with the butterdrips of artisan crumpets under your slender yet strong arm (made strong by constantly jerking in the mirror at how utterly DAPPER you look, Jeremy darling.) You snobby little ponce; take of that tweet-Tory jacket and stop writing bad poems nobody should read with that expensive bullshit fountain pen you stole from your dead Grandfather. You are not the reincarnation of Arthur Conan Doyle or Donna Fucking Tartt – and the Dead Poets Society sucked. Your life is not a YA thriller set at a boarding school with a polite Eurocentrist revisionist narrative; kill all darlings and decolonize the ashes.
RND/ To historically double down on one’s philosophical dislike of the (problematic) mere notion of “Someone like David Foster Wallace” – consider a satirical ‘Infinite Jest‘ painting of modern literary sainthood:
RND/ To consider that even something as apparently innocuous as desktop or smart phone wallpapers can be ideologically expressive and sinister. That something as insidiously puke inducing as ‘Aspirational Lifestyle Wallpapers For White™ Millennials’ can actually exist.
All credit to original photographers (w/ nice expensive cameras);
Design choices do not merely reflect an artist’s personal subjective whims, but – especially when seen as a cultural trend – contain the embedded ideology of that person’s society. In the examples shown here, it is possible to detect desire – an ‘Aspirational Lifestyle’ which actively seeks to belong to a global hyper-Capitalist society of ‘prosumers’. A high income, upper class twit deep into cool ‘elite’ shit like global travel, IP startup flotations, bitcoins, snowboarding, etc. But always with the well practiced quiet sophistication of endlessly smug, brain dead tossers who take the very notion of Apple-As-A-Brand remotely seriously. (“It’s a sweatshop made slab of Earth destroying plastic, darling – not a fucking social movement.”)
These kinds of images often have low contrast, often bright but not garish color schemes, a dusty or smokey finish or surface sheen, and display quiet or low key subject matter. A pier at dusk. A mountain pass (with your bags carried by some suitably Ethnic local, no doubt.) Storms at night. Listen carefully and you can almost hear the lite ‘smooth coffee jazz’ playing in the background. All of it very offensively-inoffensive. Designed to the max from the outset to ‘harsh nobody’s karmic mellow’. A perfect little Selfie World of deliciously snappable little moments of lukewarm nothing.
Impolitely go fuck yourself. We’re about to beam in the Hard Real. ‘Digital Nomad‘ is another term for ‘Total Cunt’. Rip the Instagram filter from your soulless eyes for a change, why don’t you. You’re fucking boring; even your goddam wallpaper choice marks you out as somehow who lives in an entire universe permanently zonked out on prescription mood levellers.
Don’t let the ‘lite side’ win; let this be your mantra – “I have come here to destroy all you love that is false.”