Hey, but what do I know? I’m just a person talking into a voice note, watching the cultural landscape slowly turn into a lukewarm cup of decaf dishwater. If you felt a sudden wave of existential dread watching this year’s Met Gala red carpet, you aren’t alone. We need to talk about why everything feels so incredibly sanitized, why the fashion industry is acting like a terrified intern, and why we’ve trapped ourselves in a hall of mirrors where no one has an original thought left. The Culture Communiqué is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. The Met Gala: Where Creativity Goes to Play It Safe Let’s start with the crown jewel of cultural compliance: The Met Gala. Historically, this was the one night of the year where the rich and famous were practically begged to be weird, avant-garde, and delightfully unhinged. It is literally a costume institute benefit. You have one job: showcase being different. Instead, what did we get? A parade of beautiful, perfectly tailored, incredibly safe gowns. Everyone is so terrified of making a misstep or offending a micro-aesthetic that they’ve chosen to blend into the background. We are playing a giant, high-fashion game of trying to please everyone, which—spoiler alert—results in pleasing absolutely no one. It’s sanitized. It’s beige. It’s fashion-by-committee. The Great Generational Stand-Off: Who is Leading Whom? This brings us to the weirdest power dynamic currently happening in pop culture. Once upon a time, the creative industries (the designers, the musicians, the directors) set the trends, and the youth adopted them. Now? The entire industry is standing around like an awkward parent at a middle school dance, desperately waiting for commands from Gen Z to tell them what is cool. The Industry: “Is this cool? Do you like this? Please don’t cancel us, we made it baggy!” But here’s the kicker: Gen Z doesn’t know what’s cool either, because they are deeply obsessed with their predecessors. Think about it. Gen Z’s entire aesthetic identity is a Russian nesting doll of nostalgia. They are obsessed with: * The Y2K aesthetic (which they didn’t live through). * 90s grunge (which their parents complained about). * 70s retro vinyl vibes. * Filming digital videos on 2005 flip phones. It’s a bizarre loop. The industry is waiting on Gen Z for permission, and Gen Z is looking backward, frantically digging through the trash bin of history to find something “new” to copy. Welcome to the Culture of Derivativeness We have entered a feedback loop of pure derivativeness. There is no room for raw, unfiltered originality because everyone is too busy curated-cooking. * We don’t create trends anymore; we create “-cores.” (Cottagecore, Cluttercore, Corpcore... please make it stop). * We don’t take artistic risks; we optimize for algorithms. * We don’t “just exist”; we brand ourselves. When did we get so scared to just be? When did art stop being about expressing something wild and start being about avoiding a negative comment section? Maybe we need to collectively agree to put down the phones, stop asking 19-year-olds on TikTok what pants we are allowed to wear, and let designers actually design weird, ugly, beautiful, confusing things again. The Culture Communiqué is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to The Culture Communiqué at theculturecommunique.substack.com/subscribe
