The sun shone brightly on June 1, the street between Jonggak and Euljiro 1-ga Stations lit up with the colors of the rainbow. Dozens of tents lined the street and thousands of people waved brightly colored signs to celebrate the 25th Seoul Queer Culture Festival (SQCF). From the smiling faces and exuberant atmosphere, it would be difficult to imagine such an event as a wellspring of political controversy. However, despite its quarter-century history in South Korea, the SQCF and LGBTQ issues in general have been highly controversial. Queer Festivals, anti-discrimination laws, and marriage equality are contentious political matters, while online discussions routinely devolve into dirty fights. As a proud ally—someone who is not part of the LGBTQ community but supports it—I wish to focus on why LGBTQ issues have become such a volatile subject and my proposal for mediation of this problem. Hate groups commonly slander queer festivals as “obscene festivals”. Some of my university peers regularly call gay people “perverted freaks”. The Seoul government routinely rejects SQCF’s permit applications on the grounds that it “violates social norms”. You would think from this treatment that the SQCF is some obscene, profane event. But the reality is that the SQCF is an inviting place where friends, families, and individuals celebrate queer culture. At the festival, we can see: college friends running a tent for their college club, students exploring tents run by foreign embassies and human rights groups, and families with little children waving pride flags are the scenery of the SQCF. Some of the most heartwarming scenes come from Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG) Korea, an ally group made up of parents of LGBTQ people. They offer free hugs to anyone at the festival, a comfort for those who have been pushed away by their families because of their sexual orientation. The religious community is also sizable, with many Catholic, Protestant, Buddhist, and other religious groups holding prayers and blessings for those who cannot receive them elsewhere. For religious LGBTQ people, these prayers provide moments of deep comfort. Religious ceremonies, song and dance performances, human rights booths, and foreign embassies all create an environment of love, safety, and acceptance, not the sexual imagery that people assume. Participating in a Pride festival cannot lead you to the conclusion that they are “obscene festivals”. Another common line of attack against LGBTQ events is the question, “Why do they show up in public places and disturb the peace?” When the first Daejeon Queer Festival was announced this year, it faced such opposition. Many supposed-moderates often use this argument. They say they have no problem with the LGBTQ community but only wish they wouldn’t make a public scene. But if you are willing to accept people only when they stay quiet and out of sight, you are not being as moderate as you believe. LGBTQ people hide their true selves from society 364 days a year; celebrating one day of Pride is not “making a scene”. All members of society have the right to exist as their true selves. Saying that LGBTQ people need to hide themselves for others’ convenience is discriminatory. To the outsider, Pride Parades and LGBTQ struggles can be just another annoying headline or eyesore. But to the people they affect, these festivals represent the hope of being able to live as an equal member of society. Many people miss this humane aspect of Pride events. Pride festivals are safe spaces for all people to celebrate who they are. The inappropriate imagery associated with Pride Festivals is an unfair representation intended to silence the movement. As most people only see LBTQ people through media depiction, they develop incorrect ideas of what the community is like. This leads to biases, fear, hate, and alienation of LGBTQ people from society. LGBTQ people are reduced to headlines and political debates that people want to avoid. But LGBTQ people lead lives just like everyone else. They go to school, go to work, have families, make friends, laugh, cry, love, and hate just the same. Any conflict resolution for LGBTQ issues requires that people understand this. In short, due to media bias and political alienation, people dehumanize the LGBTQ community people. Instead of being seen as autonomous individuals, they are perceived as an annoyance and an obscenity. But you cannot know people through news articles, dramas, or online videos. To know people, you must see and interact with them firsthand. Come see who we are at a Pride event. We are not a dangerous “other”—not some vague threat or nuisance. We are as diverse, layered, and complex as everyone else. We are people just like you, so come see us as people. This article is written by Kim Ha-jin, 1st place winner of the The SNU Quill x The Korean Herald 2024 Student Column Contest. --Ed.

My feelings towards Florentijn Hofman’s Rubber Duck Project are complicated and intense. While most people consider the Rubber Duck to be an endearing piece of contemporary art that has been increasingly fading from cultural relevance, I have been singularly preoccupied with it for years. My obsession begins during a gen-ed course I took in my freshman year of college, where I was assigned to critique a public art piece. When the professor explained the specifics of the assignment, she emphasized how the students were not to write the critique on Hofman’s Rubber Duck. “You technically could… And many students over the past few years have attempted it too—,” she said “But I have yet to see one that is deserving of A+.” Fueled only by the overconfidence of a college freshman, I decided to take up the challenge (Oh, the folly of man!). I received a B-minus and I deserved it. Even after days of slaving away at my computer, I still failed to capture the elusive essence of the Rubber Duck. Regardless of my failures, my fascination with the Rubber Duck persisted, and today, I’ve come to understand that its story is far more complex than its seemingly benign exterior suggests—it is a tale of savage murder, legal intimidation, and many many protests. The Rubber Duck’s Reception… and MURDER The Rubber Duck is an inflatable PVC public art installation created by the Dutch artist Florentijn Hofman in the shape of, as its name implies, the iconic yellow bath toy. Its size varies from 14 by 15 by 18 metres to 26 by 20 by 32 metres. Unveiled in Amsterdam in 2007, the bright yellow sculpture has been displayed in over 16 different countries. Hofman describes the Rubber Duck as transcending boundaries, stating that “it doesn’t discriminate and lacks any political implications. The amiable, floating Rubber Duck is […] gentle, approachable, and appropriate for all ages.” The cheerful sculpture was celebrated for its playful charm, captivating audiences with its size and cute appearance. Its reception in Seoul was overwhelmingly positive, attracting over 5 million visitors to the Seokcheon Lake during the month it was installed in 2014. Yet, the Rubber Duck was not universally embraced as not everyone shared the same enthusiasm for this oversized inflatable artwork. In 2009 Belgium, the Rubber Duck became the victim of a cold-blooded “murder.” In a bizarre act of vandalism, an unknown assassin stabbed the Rubber Duck 42 times with a knife. Whether it was an extreme case of cute aggression or the work of a Dexter-esque vigilante targeting kitschy rubber duckies, the motive behind the attack remains a mystery. What this proves, however, is that the Rubber Duck is a polarizing piece of art. While some view the Rubber Duck as a harmless piece that brings simple joy through its bright yellow color and innocent exterior, others view it as an empty commercialized artwork that embodies the superficiality of modern consumer culture—a vapid spectacle. It is this divided reaction that led me down a rabbit hole of exploration into the lore of the Rubber Duck. After all, this strong, polarized response is itself evidence that the piece is of value. What Value Does The Rubber Duck Offer? Rubber Duck fails miserably as a public art piece. Public art, by definition, is art that is open to the public to enjoy. It extends beyond the sterile white backdrop of traditional “white-cube” galleries into outdoor spaces. A fundamental characteristic of public art is its accessibility. The public needs to encounter, engage and connect with art in their daily routines. In this sense, Rubber Duck is not truly accessible. Although the Rubber Duck’s appearance in different locations give it the illusion of mobility—as if it floats around from one body of water to another, or at least that the same PVC casing is deflated and inflated again in a different city— do not be fooled. The Rubber Duck is notoriously remanufactured for every showing (I will not even get into the environmental ramifications of this, though I wonder—is there a graveyard of deflated rubber duckies in the Netherlands, or does it lie lifeless in the landfills of respective countries?). Accessibility is limited to cities that Hofman deems deserving of his artwork and those that can afford to manufacture a large-scale rubber duck—even then, they are only allowed to showcase the duck for a few weeks. Furthermore, the artwork inherently fails at being site-specific, a key component of a good public art piece. Site-specific artworks synergize with their surroundings, creating a dialogue between the physical object, time, the space it occupies, and the audience it engages. Beyond the obvious reference to a bath toy in a body of water, what connection does Rubber Duck establish with its locale? Its place in Asia is confusing at best, given how most Asian countries (barring Japan) rely on showers rather than baths, making the cultural reference of a bathtub toy somewhat lost in translation. It feels to me like a misplaced spectacle only concerned with viral appeal rather than creating a lasting impact on the communities it visits. Bloomberg reporter Kriston Capps holds that Rubber Duck “sends an infantilizing message about the role of public art in cities.” The Duck REEKS of Controversy I cautiously assert that good public art is neither subversive nor overly political: it should enhance public spaces without provoking strong reactions. The irony is that because public art requires the use of public funds to procure and maintain, most public art is political and subject to controversy. The Rubber Duck is no exception. The rubber duck stirred up much controversy in 2013 when the Pittsburgh public found out it cost the city 20,000 USD to invite the enormous yellow duckie to town, and once again in 2017 when the Ontario government spent up to 150,000 CAD to rent, ship, mount, and upkeep the duck. One Rick Nicholas from Canada complained about the waste of taxpayer dollars, calling the situation an “absolute cluster duck,” and Pittsburgh Dad on Twitter cried that with the duck’s exorbitant cost, it “better be able to fill potholes.” Adding fuel to the fire, both cities faced controversies surrounding the “intellectual rights” to Hofman’s Rubber Duck: the city of Toronto, for displaying a counterfeit Rubber Duck, and Pittsburgh, for when a local business owner started selling unlicensed rubber duck merch. You see, the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust had already been selling duck merchandise when this local business owner emerged with rivaling rubber duck T-shirts. Naturally, they sent a cease-and-desist letter to the business owner, sending a stern message against “any duck shirts at all.” This isn’t the first time Hofman has complained about the unlicensed use of his rubber duck. The artist was reportedly upset by the emergence of unlicensed duck-themed transit cards and counterfeit souvenirs in Taiwan, and refused to attend the opening ceremony of the duck. In another instance, the artist went as far to condemn China for their counterfeit giant duckie in an interview with the Wall Street Journal, stating, “if I was a Chinese person, I would revolt. [...] This kills society, this kind of behavior.” Like this, Hofman holds that he only agrees to display his artwork in cities that “obey [his] rules.” Though he would never admit it himself, Hofman is a man of many contradictions. While he claims to be a “supporter of public art in public spaces,” he withholds the public’s access to it, explaining in the same breath that he is “not a big believer in art is forever.” He criticizes the cities that dare to capitalize on the duck, while he himself maintains an unrelenting grip on licensing and merchandising for the Rubber Duck. He hates those who copy his designs, while his own design is a copy of the rubber duckie made by Tolo Toys. While I do not mean to diminish the importance of an artist’s rights to their intellectual property, I must ask: does the design and concept of the Rubber Duck have enough originality to justify such strict control? Reclaiming the Rubber Duck Hofman has always sought to maintain meticulous command over every aspect of the Rubber Duck, from its access to interpretation. He insists on the Rubber Duck’s singular meaning…or rather, an intentional lack thereof. The duck stands for nothing, and it is through this emptiness that it, ironically, becomes a blank canvas for whatever message the public assigns to it. Leave it to online users to blur the lines between ownership and appropriation, transforming the inflatable icon into a vehicle for various forms of commentary. The Rubber Duck dominated virtual spaces in the early-to-mid 2010s and quickly became a target for ‘memeification.’ In 2013, an image was uploaded to a Chinese social media platform where the iconic ‘Tank Man’ photo from the Tiananmen Square protests was altered to feature a column of Rubber Ducks—instead of tanks—in front of a lone protester. Online users subjected the friendly and apolitical Rubber Duck into doing political work. Users were briefly able to share the image, bypassing online censorship restrictions, until officials got involved. It’s only somewhat hilarious (and mostly disquieting) that the government felt the need to ban the term “big yellow duck.” In Brazil 2016, the familiar rubber duck emerged once again as a symbol of resistance. This version bore striking similarities with Hofman’s Rubber Duck—in its tall stature and bright yellow color. But instead of large beady eyes, it had crosses for eyes, and on its chest, the message: “Chega de pagar o pato.” This Portuguese slogan roughly translates to “We won't pay for the duck any more” or “We won’t pay for what is not our fault any more.” The giant duck was commissioned by Brazilian industrial group, FIESP, to use in protest against government corruption and economic policies. Hofman’s team responded to this use of the Rubber Duck by saying that they “made a very unwise decision” and that he thought it was an “illegal use of the exact design and therefore copyright infringement.” The São Paulo factory that produced the duck for the protest was the same one commissioned to manufacture Hofman’s Rubber Duck during his visit to Brazil in 2008. Hofman stated that the new duck was merely “propaganda [that] misuse[s] the work which really looks similar to my work, and don’t bring the same story as I planned with my work since 2007.” This raises the question: what gives Hofman the authority to dictate what the Rubber Duck symbolizes? His insistence on relegating it to a docile, apolitical yellow duck reminds me of the high pedestal J.K. Rowling stands on as the self-acclaimed sole creator of the Harry Potter canon. It seems to me that the more one looks into the Rubber Duck’s evolving symbolism in public discourse, the more apparent it becomes that Hofman’s rigid control limits the artwork’s potential. The Rubber Duck’s story is far from over. It reappears with renewed significance in Thailand, where its symbolism evolves dramatically in response to political unrest. In Thailand, during the 2020 protests against the monarchy, the inflatable Rubber Duck took on a new role as a practical tool. Protesters used inflatable rubber duck pool toys as shields against tear gas and water cannons, turning the once-innocuous duck into a resilient protector. Images of these tattered ducks, bearing the marks of conflict, served as powerful symbols of resistance. Rubber Duck transformed from a passive art piece to an active symbol of courage and solidarity. The Rubber Duck’s journey is a testament to the unpredictable power of art to transcend its creator’s intentions. What began as a seemingly innocuous yellow inflatable has evolved into a symbol of resilience and defiance, morphed by the hands of the public to represent much more than Hofman ever envisioned. From its role in thwarting censorship in China to its practical use as a shield in Thailand’s protests, the Rubber Duck has defied its initial apolitical facade to become a beacon of resistance. While Hofman may cling to his vision of a harmless, docile duck, the world has redefined it as a fighter, embodying the very spirit of struggle and solidarity.

“Come with me and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination…” Timothée Chalamet enchanted the whole world with his performance in Wonka. The film provided our lonely world with just the thing it needed—hope. The colourful world of dreams, delightful sweets, and exotic chocolates provided the perfect happy ending. However, the film provides false hope, and for all its colour and sugar, the narrative behind the chocolate in Wonka does not have such a sweet aftertaste, nor does it have a sweet origin. There is a clear colonial narrative behind the history of chocolate and the film, which is concealed for our untainted enjoyment and innocent childhood. After roaming the world for seven years to look for special chocolate ingredients, Wonka finally decides to settle and start his business to achieve his dream—opening a chocolate shop to his name in the Galeries Gourmet. Starting off penniless, Wonka is immediately swindled by the cunning city and scammed into becoming an indentured servant (for twenty-seven years, four months, and sixteen days), laundering and ironing sheets. The audience ventures along with the penniless, imprisoned Wonka to see how he eventually achieves his chocolate dream. Although Wonka is unfairly imprisoned, scammed into forced work and later nearly killed by chocolate (literally, a near “death by chocolate”), the true injustice surrounding chocolate is veiled, even within the film. It is well known that cocoa beans — the main ingredient of chocolate, trace back to cocoa trees which are found in South America (Amazon), Western Africa, and South-East Asia. West Africa notably produces the vast majority of cocoa beans that are consumed in the world market. However, most of the world-renowned chocolatiers of today are situated in European countries, and this is a problem. Cocoa beans are grown in Africa, but European countries are the ones who make the most profit out of them. One of the most famous countries for chocolate is Belgium, and I remember being extremely unsettled when I visited in July of 2023. The country’s incorporation of a colonial item into its culture and tourism seemed unethical. Throughout the whole trip, it was interesting to note that most of the tourist districts focused on selling chocolate. Even when planning the trip, a lot of the tourist websites emphasised the world-renowned chocolatiers. In the peaceful country lined with cobblestone, it seemed easy to forget the innocent blood the country is built on. Near the end of the 19th century, King Leopold II of Belgium had colonised what we know today as Congo. The main items of extraction were ivory and rubber, and this was done through the forced enslavement of the Congolese people. King Leopold II even went as far as to cut off the hands of slaves who tried to run away and ransacked the country of its resources. Britannica further explains the cruelty and injustices of King Leopold II: “The regime, under Leopold’s unrestrained personal control, became notorious for its treatment of the Congolese. Forced labour was used to gather wild rubber, palm oil, and ivory. Beatings and lashings were used to force villages to meet their rubber-gathering quotas, as was the taking of hostages: one method employed by Leopold’s agents was kidnapping the families of Congolese men, who were then coerced into trying to meet work quotas (often unattainable) in order to secure the release of their families [...] Brutality was widespread in mines and on plantations. The population of the entire state is said to have declined from some 20 million to 8 million” (Britannica, 2023). King Leopold II exercised great cruelty on Congo, but this cruelty persists today in the form of neo-colonisation; Western countries continue to exploit their previous colonies through a pacified form, so that they can continuously profit from them. The legacy of colonialism is still relevant today, which is a sad truth as it means that we are still turning a blind eye to cruelty, discrimination, and injustice. Belgium’s fame for chocolate began around the 20th century, but Belgium was already extracting Congo’s resources starting from the 1880s. Belgium was able to export great amounts of cocoa beans from the cocoa trees in Congo. In other words, Belgium acquired the world-renowned reputation for great, fine chocolate through the exploitation and enslavement of Congo. The problem is that Belgium continues to profit from Congo’s cocoa beans, and chocolate is only the tip of the iceberg—the colonial structures embedded into Congo’s financial, political, and cultural systems continue to exploit the country’s people and resources. Belgium’s chocolate is a prime example of how colonisers are still unjustly exploiting colonies. While in Belgium, I was shocked to see how this colonial narrative became something normal and accepted. As long as Belgium’s legacy of chocolate lives on, Congo’s painful history will persistently follow. We need to be conscious of the history of colonisation behind chocolate, and the neo-colonisation that still takes place today. The need and understanding for ethical chocolate are essential because we have been at the receiving end of the sweet treats wrought from the pain of others for too long. Let’s take a look at Wonka again. With a short glimpse into the cruel colonial truth about chocolate, there are a few things we need to view differently. When Wonka reveals his chocolate for the first time in the Galeries Gourmet, there is a neo-colonial narrative which we should not overlook. Wonka sings the following song at the Galeries Gourment to reveal his fine invention: In a jungle near Mumbai There’s a little hoverfly Whose wings go at a thousand flaps per sec and that’s no lie These microscopic fleas Like chocolate more than leaves And when asked nicely, Lay precisely one little egg in each of these When it hatches from its shell It gives a happy yell, Whoo-hoo! How thrilling to be living in a chocolate hotel It beats its wings with glee And then, as you will see The chocolate will levitate and float most gracefully! (from Wonka, “You’ve Never Had Chocolate Like This (Hoverchos)”) Wonka’s “hoverchoc” contains the hoverfly captured near the jungle in Mumbai. Additionally, the chocolate contains marshmallows “Harvested from the mallow marshes of Peru” and caramel “salted with the bittersweet tears of a Russian clown” and cherries “cherry-picked by the pick of the cherry pickers from the Imperial Gardens in Japan.” One notable thing is that the countries mentioned are not European and are heavily exoticised and portrayed as the “other” from a Eurocentric perspective. Wonka mentions that the hoverflies are happy to be taken from their original homes, imprisoned in chocolate, eaten, and pooped out from the rear. The problem is that Wonka is creating more distance between what is foreign and familiar to the Western audience and emphasising the Eurocentric exoticism myth. The problematic myth, however, is watered down through imaginary and absurd concepts such as the “hoverfly”, the “mallow marshes”, the “bittersweet tears of a clown” and “the pick of the cherry pickers”. There is another problem: the Oompa-Loompas. Wonka (who is evidently white) steals cacao beans from Oompa land, and eventually “enslaves” the Oompa-Loompa (played by Hugh Grant) at the end of the film to work for his factory. The way the Oompa-Loompas are portrayed is reminiscent of how the colonisers used to describe the native people of the colonies: inhumane, uneducated and barbaric. The Oompa-Loompas are green in colour, abnormally small, and follow a culture different to European customs and traditions. The danger is that the audience is positioned to view the Oompa-Loompas as foreign and sub-human, so the explicit slavery and exploitation becomes downplayed as if it were something normal. The relationship between Wonka and the Oompa-Loompa is portrayed as comical; absurdity once again acts as an agent that waters down the danger of the colonial narrative, as the “hoverchoc” did. Furthermore, the problem regarding the Chief-of-Police needs to be addressed. The Chief-of-Police initially seems to be a good guy who humbly attends to his job. However, the audience is soon introduced to the ugly truth: that the Chief-of-Police has been taking bribes in the form of chocolate to do ‘small’ favours for the three chocolatiers dominating the city. The Chief-of-Police gradually becomes more corrupt, and this is shown through a visual representation. The Chief-of-Police grows larger and larger, almost to a stage where he cannot even walk properly, and the “small” favours become not so small as he is asked to murder Wonka. Although we are critical towards the corrupt Chief-of-Police, we fail to realise that the Chief-of-Police is simply a reflection of ourselves: we take chocolate as a bribe, ignoring the injustice for a single moment of enjoyment. Wonka ends with Willy Wonka and the Oompa-Loompa entering a yet-to-be chocolate factory that is magically built through a song. Before Wonka isolates himself in his new chocolate factory, headed towards a new dream, a strong sense of loneliness remains as Wonka is left alone after helping those around him return to their loved ones. Wonka is left alone with the Oompa-Loompa as his only companion. They leave together and decide to work together, although the roles of master and labourer are clear. The ending of the film seems to be a happy one. However, there once again needs to be a critical understanding of Wonka’s factory as a colonial symbol. In Christopher Columbus’ 1493 Letter of ‘Discovery’, there is a huge emphasis on the “beautiful” nature of the “wonderful” land. The ‘new’ land is idealised, as a neo-Eden paradise with “the greatest variety of trees reaching to the stars.” The craze of the quote-unquote New World (which was clearly inhabited even before Columbus arrived) and the highly idealised depiction of the land is reminiscent of Wonka’s “world of pure imagination” where colourful treats dissipate all worries and problems. Wonka’s ‘chocolate kingdom’ is finalised through his chocolate factory, and the colonial message this sends cannot be ignored. So what should we do? Not eating chocolate for the rest of our lives is too extreme. Fortunately, there is an alternative – ethical chocolate. Ethical Consumer says the following about the unethical nature of chocolate: “The majority of the world’s cocoa is grown by small farmers in West Africa, where it’s the source of livelihood for millions of people. But cocoa farmers receive barely any of the chocolate industry’s $100 billion revenue: estimates range between 6% and 11%. Few farmers can afford chocolate and many have never tasted it, with over half of Ivory coast’s cocoa farmers living below the global poverty line, and their countries taste virtually none of the industry’s profits either” (Ethical Consumer). Most of the chocolate we consume today is produced through unethical means established through colonization. Ethical Consumer provides the chart of ethical and unethical chocolate. Inadequately sourced cocoa brands currently dominate the mainstream market. As chocolate also involves problems such as deforestation and child labour, considering the ethicality of cocoa sourced is important when it comes to buying chocolate. Buying Fairtrade International or Rainforest Alliance certified chocolate allows for adequately sourced cocoa to be consumed ethically. As most chocolate we can find on the market in any corner store is inadequately sourced,there needs to be a higher demand for ethically sourced chocolate. It is realistically difficult to consciously look for ethically produced chocolate, but we cannot ignore the history of pain behind chocolate which remains today. The overlooked colonial narrative in the sensational film Wonka reflects the lack of consciousness about chocolate's real-life, colonial history. We vaguely attend to it but choose to overlook the painful past for a short moment of sweet bliss. The accumulation of small changes amounts to big changes, which is why we cannot overlook or gloss over even the smallest injustices. Chocolate, although seemingly faultless, carries a bitter, dark and unjust truth which we cannot ignore. Although the market for ethically sourced cocoa is relatively small, it has the possibility to grow. The history of pain, exploitation and slavery persists and we cannot let this continue.

K-pop songs are climbing the Billboard Hot Charts, and their artists are performing as headliner acts of global music festivals. The signs of K-pop’s global fame are everywhere. BTS, Blackpink, and Stray Kids are only some names on a long list of Korean stars whose fan base stretches across continents. As K-pop is gaining prominence in the international music scene, questions of how to define this new player have also emerged. Despite agencies’ strategizing to characterize K-pop as a new and unique music genre, critics argue that K-pop is not in itself a genre. K-pop, to the untrained eye, seems to merely be an impressive mix of already existing music genres—a simple repackaging even. But this would be an oversimplification of the complex genre that is K-pop. How do we even begin to categorize what K-pop has become today? Are there even any performative art genres that can fully encompass the aesthetics of K-pop? Perhaps sonically, K-pop has not introduced anything new. There is no doubt, however, that as entertainment and performative art, K-pop plays by a separate set of rules that is deserving of its own category. An Emphasis in Dancing at K-Pop’s Core The obvious uniqueness of K-pop is the combination of singing and dancing. Artists of other genres, notably American Pop, have also danced on stage. But K-pop’s formula of mixing song with dance is fundamentally different. In the K-pop scene, dancing is part of the cake itself: singing and dancing are equally important. Artists do not just dance during the instrumental sections of their songs. Rather, they dance with full intensity while singing the verse, chorus, bridge, and all the other parts. This is not exclusive to the idol stage, as K-pop performances that stray outside the realm also incorporate dance into song. Artists such as IU, whose career was built around her vocal skills, make sure to include choreography that conveys her message. When fans await a comeback or a stage performance, it is this singing-and-dancing combination they are waiting for, as opposed to just the music on its own. This is comparable to other genres where dance is merely decoration, or the cherry on top of the cake. It’s a component that is sometimes introduced on-stage as a special addition, certainly not the element that is planned systematically as part of the song during the production stage. In essence, producers of K-pop do not consider dance as a separate element, a key feature that defines K-pop as its own genre, rather than a mere repackaging. Even the Korean language reflects the significance of dancing in the Korean music industry. The term daen-seu-gasu, newly coined for K-pop, combines the English term “dance” and the Korean term “gasu,” which means singer. At first glance, daenseu-gasu may look similar to the English term “dance-pop artists,” but the performances these terms portray are completely different. Dance-pop artists perform to clubbing or disco music and their dances are deliberately easy for the audience to follow. In their performances, the singing and dancing parts are also clearly separated. K-pop daenseu-gasus are different—they move to impress. K-pop choreography is difficult to learn for those who are not familiar with dancing. This is made even more difficult by having to sing at the same time. The need for such a new term points towards how there hasn’t been this type of intense performance in the music industry before. Thus the dancing component of a K-pop performance is a defining and unique characteristic of the genre. Visual Aesthetics at the Heart of K-Pop Artists’ Identity The aesthetic rules surrounding K-pop also differentiate it from other types of performances or music genres. Each K-pop artist’s specific aesthetic tone is different—the empowering black and hot-pink aesthetics of Blackpink are different from the fearless tomboy aesthetics of LE SSERAFIM. The production and marketing team for each artist work hard to visually characterize their groups. This heavy focus on visual aesthetics is another defining characteristic of K-pop. The most recent event that showcased the importance of visual aesthetics in K-pop is the feud between the producers of New Jeans and Illit. The conflict arose after Illit debuted with a similar aesthetic personality. Specifically, the concept and style of Illit and the music video of their title song Magnetic adopted a Y2K concept, a style which essentially forms New Jeans’ identity. The Y2K concept is a retro style that mimics and re-interprets the fashion and pop-culture trends of the early 2000s. The style has been at the forefront of New Jeans’ persona, to the extent that audiences of K-pop automatically associate Y2K characteristics with the girl group. The Y2K concept as New Jeans’ defining trait is precisely why Illit’s similar aesthetic burgeoned into a major issue; when the music video of Illit’s Magnetic was released, first-time viewers often commented that they thought it was New Jeans’ comeback. Observing these photos, viewers’ confusion and criticism is understandable. In the first set of images, we can see how the two photos use the same idol placement, poses, camera angle, and faded filter that sets a nostalgic mood. The second set of photos are screenshots from the music video of New Jeans’ ASAP and ILLIT’s Magnetic. Again, we can see how the two groups have used extremely similar elements, including the arrangement and placement of the members, wide angle camera shot, and a retro filter that evokes a sense of dreaminess. Other uncanny resemblances to New Jeans have been pointed out, namely their makeup, costume design, and even performances. These have culminated into Min Hee-jin, head of New Jeans’ record label ADOR, openly calling out ILLIT for plagiarism. The fact that a record label CEO reproached a girl group for similarities in their entire concept and performance highlights how visual aesthetics forms a vital part of the K-pop identity. In the music industry, artists are usually accused of plagiarism when new songs have eerily similar lyrics or chord progressions. This has been the norm because such musical elements are the standard for establishing boundaries among different songs and genres. Instances of plagiarism reports against a visual concept in its entirety have been scarce, if not non-existent, thus far because they have not been considered important. Entire visual and aesthetic concepts being called out as plagiarism by both the producers and the audience is not merely an outlier; rather, it highlights how visual aesthetics is a core element that defines K-pop. Navigating the Musicality of K-pop Perhaps the biggest controversy regarding K-pop is its place in the musical world as a genre. K-pop has especially been criticized as not being a musical genre, which requires a clear and unique set of musical characteristics or structures. These genre-defining characteristics are diverse, ranging from specific musical techniques to the instruments in use. Jazz, for example, is defined by its use of swing, syncopation, and blue chords, while country music is characterized by its use of folk instruments and lyrics. The issue critics bring up against K-pop is that it does not have these shared set of rules that define it as its own genre. In the 1990s when the first K-pop groups debuted, perhaps K-pop could be defined by the language used or the nationality of the members, both of which were Korean. In the current scene, however, such characteristics are no longer attributes of K-pop. Many K-pop groups showcase various nationalities, some groups even having more foreign members than Korean ones. Some songs under the category of K-pop do not use Korean at all. The technical side offers no help in defining the musicality of K-pop—most songs are a fusion of already existing musical genres (hence the excessive, but not exactly baseless criticism that K-pop is merely a repackaging of different music genres). But perhaps this mix-match of musical genres is what defines K-pop’s sonic ethos. Even from just looking at the official introduction of songs on music distribution platforms, the genre section lists all the different genres that the song has taken from. BTS’s IDOL, for instance, is listed as a genre mix of the South African Gqom genre, trap, and EDM, while Blackpink’s Shut Down is a mix of hip hop, classical, and trap. It is precisely this synergy of genres that sets K-pop apart from existing forms of music. K-pop producers do not randomly mix and match different genres; they inventively fuse genres and develop new twists so that the final product creates something better than just a sequence of all the genres used in the song. New Jeans’ OMG uses beats and elements from hip-hop, R&B, and UK garage. The mystical yet bouncy and bright atmosphere of the song, however, creates a familiar yet new sound that defy clear-cut categorization into the three genres it takes influence from. K-pop’s musical technique creates a sort of montage. Of course, using elements of other genres must be conducted with respect and acknowledgment that you are doing so, as to avoid appropriation. Nonetheless, K-pop’s trailblazing skill in fusing genres to create its own path provides enough reason to make it its defining musical feature that sets it apart from other genres. As K-pop continues to expand across the globe, it may become more and more difficult to pinpoint exactly how it can be categorized. Should it even be encased within a musical genre, or could it be included in the broader category of performative art? With all its influences not only in music but in fashion, gaming, cosmetics, and more—how do we embody what the K-pop industry has become today? It may certainly be easier to simply categorize K-pop into an entire entertainment industry of its own. Given the sheer magnitude of K-pop, however, merely passing it off as a repackaging draws an insufficient picture of what it entails. The artistic, visual, and musical elements of K-pop deserve their own title.

Queer media representation in Korea is reaching its peak in the 2020s and is expected to continue to rise in the coming years. But while the entertainment industry capitalizes on the popularity of homosexual erotica, wider Korean society protests against anti-discrimination laws and openly expresses homophobia. Queer identities introduced in the public domain are thereby accompanied by a mix of expectations and misgivings. Despite the positive trend toward increased visibility, Korean media still relies on superficial and conventional depictions of queer characters; it needs to achieve a deeper understanding of queer lives, identities, and relationships for a more authentic representation of queer dynamic. For this to occur, Korean creators must understand the scope of representation of queer relationships, and hard as it might be in a rigidly heterosexual system, try to overcome the stigma and censure surrounding queer relationships to broaden the spectrums of identity. Extraordinary Attorney Woo and Run On are two prominent dramas that show important shifts in the portrayal of queer relationships. Wowing Attorney Woo: Going Beyond Plot Twists In Korean media, arguments for non-heterosexual relationships often revolve around the conventions of heterosexual romance. Many, if not most, of the popular shows depict a romantic relationship between two people of the same perceived gender. They intentionally draw upon the common ground of monogamous love, arguing that partners of same-sex relationships have similar desires for relationships and marriage. It feels like the only difference between these queer relationships is that the participants of the romance are either two men or two women. A more authentic portrayal of queer relationships would provide alternatives to heterosexual marriage and even convey the actual difficulties surrounding non-heterosexual marriage. Extraordinary Attorney Woo (2022) focuses on queer relationships as a politically controversial issue foremost, depicting same-sex couples and marriage from a legal standpoint. This Netflix original hit follows Attorney Woo, an autistic lawyer in a Korean law firm, and the different legal issues she deals with in each episode. It features Park Eun-bin as Woo Young-woo, a rookie attorney with autism, employed by a prominent Seoul law firm. Despite her unique communication style, which is perceived as unconventional by her neurotypical colleagues,Woo proves herself through her exceptional intelligence and photographic memory. The drama was well-received for its sharp depiction of social issues since it addressed topical issues such as discrimination against people with disabilities, children's rights, gender-based violence, and discrimination against women in the workforce. The drama’s second episode, titled “The Wedding Dress That Slipped Off," deals with marriage laws and heteronormative expectations. In its climax, the episode reveals a plot twist where the engaged legal client Kim Hwa-young, is revealed to be in a long-term, same-sex relationship. At a luxurious wedding organized by a hotel corporation, the bride Hwa-young’s dress slips down when she stumbles, exposing herself. Her father, who arranged the wedding for financial gain, hires Woo’s firm to sue the hotel instead of accepting their compensation. The man pretends to be enraged on his daughter’s behalf, but he just wants more money out of this legal mess. Hwa-young, the actual victim, is unsatisfied and sullen about the whole matter, but it seems like her unenthusiastic attitude toward the wedding is hiding something else. The episode ends dramatically with Hwa-young withdrawing from the lawsuit and declaring independence from her father by announcing that she has a long-term romantic relationship with her girlfriend, Jung Min. While the show successfully served as an entry point for many Korean spectators into queer relationships, boasting the highest viewing rate of 17.5 percent, its discussion of queerness lacks depth. Primarily, it presents a same-sex relationship as merely an alternative to the heteronormative marriage narrative. Each episode, serving as a secondary plot to the overarching legal drama, misses the opportunity to delve into the intricate court rulings surrounding same-sex marriage rights. Instead, the series places the obligated marriage and the indignant father at the forefront of its narrative. Moreover, the show weaves in heterosexual romantic tension between Attorney Woo and her love interest even in this episode centered on queer individuals. Their legal struggles merely serve as the backdrop to the progression of Woo and her love interest’s relationship; the subplot of marriage becomes a convenient vehicle for Woo’s male love interest to see Woo in a wedding dress. Through this tactic, the narrative cleverly draws comparisons between the heterosexual tension of the protagonists and the queer relationship of their client. After withdrawing a lawsuit due to the catastrophic failure of an arranged marriage ceremony, the ex-bride declares, “If I had to marry someone... It’ll be with her. With the person I love.” Two minutes later, the legal episode concludes with the couple slowly exiting the courtroom, their hand-in-hand walk resembling a wedding march. However, I find that this march, while symbolically powerful, replaces—rather than presenting more possibilities departing from—a heterosexually coded processional. Further, Extraordinary Attorney Woo spotlights same-sex relationships primarily as a legal and societal issue. Famed for its portrayal of controversial issues, the drama only handles homosexual relationships as a final plot twist. In Korean society, where rampant homophobia and the legal erasure of queer identities persist, same-sex marriages are indeed a controversial legal issue. Instances of homophobic protests against queer characters in other dramas further highlight the challenges. Considering these voices of opposition, it seems valid for Extraordinary Attorney Woo to focus on the legal and societal dimensions of same-sex relationships, particularly in the context of the father's religious expectations and greed in forcing the arranged marriage. The drama sheds light on factors contributing to the oppression of queer women and expresses hope for the bride's independence from her relatives. However, the depiction leaves me wishing for further attempts to center a queer narrative. While the drama effectively reveals the social stigma against queer identities and provides alternatives to heterosexual marriage, queerness is used for its shock value—a plot twist for the viewers. The frequent naming of queerness at the beginning of several episodes reinforces the notion that queer relationships are mere novelties. The attorneys' frequent use of "wow" and "extraordinary" following the bride's momentous coming out scene reflects the drama's agenda. It is attempting to toe the line by refraining from saying anything radically progressive and coaxing the audience to cheer for this new type of romance. So how could this be improved? Well, for instance, more information could be given about Jung Min, the partner, to give the queer plot more depth. Drawing on the courtroom drama genre, the show could have further explored the current legal standing of queer relationships, rather than just using queerness as a ‘controversy' to add an element of surprise. The legal struggles that occur in reality could have been included in the plot, with each case facing uncertainty about whether the court rule will recognize same-sex relationships. While the drama brings same-sex relationships into the marriage discourse, portraying the couple’s struggles before or after the bride’s coming out would have brought the drama closer to the true struggles of being queer. Running Onward: To a Nuanced Representation A hint of how more nuanced representations could be encouraged lies in Run On, a JTBC love drama that aired from 2020 to 2021. According to the show’s official introduction, the characters “find love and comfort that may not be passionate or intense.” The plot revolves around two main heterosexual couples but goes beyond heteronormative conventions. The first main couple is Ki Seon-gyeom, a marathon-runner-turned-agent who is disenfranchised about his regimented life, and Oh Mi-joo, a subtitle writer who challenges any sympathy regarding her background as an orphan. The second couple is Seo Dan-ah, Seon-gyeom’s ambitious agent challenging her patriarchal family, and Lee Yeong-hwa, a dedicated art student. This drama successfully resists the temptation to tokenize queer identities by allowing these characters to exist authentically within the storyline. While Extraordinary Attorney Woo challenges heterosexual assumptions with its plot twist, Run On questions and destabilizes these assumptions with sufficient character development and exploration. It introduces queer supporting characters, such as Go Yae-joon, a gay childhood friend of Yeong-hwa (the artist), and Park Mae-yi, an asexual character who appears as Mi-joo’s mentor (the translator). These diverse character settings and relationships challenge heteronormative relationships. Though it is not free of flaws—as it was criticized for queerbaiting—, Run On largely explores the complexities of identities and relationships by urging viewers to question fixed stereotypes in romantic narratives. Mae-yi, though a minor character in the overall plot, plays a crucial role as a friend and housemate to the female lead. She boldly presents her sexuality, challenging heterosexual norms with a nonchalant attitude. While she identifies as arosexual (experiencing little to no sexual attraction), she is not aromantic (experiencing little to no romantic attraction). When the main characters discover her romantic relationship, Seon-gyeom poses a question that confuses the aro and ace spectrum, asking why, as an asexual, she is in a relationship or kissing. Mae-yi's simple response is, “Oh, I’m not aromantic.” To the confused Seong-yeom, Mi-joo explains: “Y’know, the spectrum is really broad.” She accompanies this remark with a quick look, asking her lover to take a hint and try not to be rude. I was pleasantly surprised by this, as there has been minimal recognition in Korean society for the meanings of the aro and ace identities, and even fewer instances in the media correctly identifying each aspect. This scene matter-of-factly presents the idea of gender as a spectrum, firmly asserting that heterosexual audiences should not have been surprised. Despite this insertion of a queer lifestyle, the show has not escaped unscathed from criticisms of heteronormative clichés. Mae-yi is, after all, a short-lived character. Much of the show’s flaws come from the portrayal of a more prominent gay character, Go Yae-joon, the third wheel in Yeong-hwa and Dan-ah’s relationship. Throughout the show, we consistently see scenes where Go Yae-joon is pining after Yeong-hwa, his best friend. However, this is accompanied by cliché queer tropes: we witness as he grapples with his first love, attempts to understand Dan-ah, his rival, and open up to his staunchly Christian mother about his sexuality. Marking an idealistic but important moment in Korean media, Yae-joon’s coming out is received with a gradual acceptance from his friends and family. When his family witnesses his conflict with a past male lover, his mother’s immediate response is a resolute refusal of his identity; she continually says “don’t” and “it couldn’t be,” and even pushes religious homophobic rhetoric like "starting this weekend, you’re coming to church with me." Beside her, his younger sister watches with silent but unmasked sympathy. Yae-joon, who looks resigned but resolute, simply responds to his mother with: “You can deny it all you want, but this is who I am.” Although the mother immediately leaves the scene, she repents “not seeing things properly” and not paying attention to his son. This is immediately followed by the younger sister's finding Yae-joon, making a lighthearted yet meaningful remark that "she likes men as well.” These reactions sketch a sympathetic picture of an imperfect but mending Korean family. While the elder generation struggles with diverse sexualities, they try to come to terms with new identities for the family’s sake. The younger generation finds gender spectrums easier to accept and communicate solidarity. Before I end this section, I must address the concerns of queer-baiting within Run On from a scene where Dan-ah falsely comes out as a lesbian. In many ways, Dan-ah’s coming out process confuses the viewers, as it seems incongruous with her romantic entanglements with Younghwa. Until the last episode, the show does not clarify whether she is a lesbian, a bisexual, or simply someone who must escape a forced marriage. Only in the end is it revealed that Dan-ah falsely came out to escape the patriarchal expectations of her family. (Noting the contrast between Dan-ah’s and Yae-joon’s households, viewers will find the show does not enforce only positive perceptions of the family.) Dan-ah is thus reestablished as an independent heroine with a solidly heterosexual identity. But she does not gloss over her mistake or treat the phrase “coming out” as a meme like many other Koreans. Instead, she apologizes honestly to Yae-joon. “[Coming out] might’ve been a lifelong burden for somebody but I used it as an excuse, so I’m sorry.” Yae-joon only faintly smiles in response. We are left to wonder whether the conflict is fully resolved or whether it is a bittersweet smile. Either way, he does not deny the apology, and he does not easily offer words of forgiveness. The confusion regarding Dan-ah’s coming out, I feel, is in part designed to keep audiences interested in the plot by using the “Will-They-Won't-They” trope in romance. But this is not all the story is trying to do. It also brings heterosexual perspectives into a queerer narrative. In my opinion, Dan-ah’s honest apology in Run On can be interpreted in two ways. It might be directed toward those who have been burdened by the process of coming out. Or it might be a pointed remark about how Korean audiences consume queer-coded relationships, without thinking about the interpersonal conflicts and social repercussions within a queer narrative. After all, the confusion regarding Dan-ah’s sexual identity is something all individuals might go through in societies where spectrums of identities are recognized. While watching this show, I found myself asking the question: Are we entitled to know someone’s sexual identity to enjoy a romance show? Dan-ah might be bisexual or demisexual, for all the audience might know. Run On does not end in marriage, nor does it advertise the need for a romantic relationship for all individuals—it recognizes people with their own complicated stories and identities and leaves parts of these characters unknowable to one another and the audience. Thus, the drama forces the viewer to question fixed stereotypes of affectionate relationships by bringing queer identities and relationships into consideration. Queering the Narrative - Where The Crossroad Leads In analyzing Extraordinary Attorney Woo and Run On, a common theme emerges: the need for a more nuanced portrayal of queer relationships in Korean dramas. Extraordinary Attorney Woo introduces same-sex relationships as plot twists, missing opportunities for deeper exploration. In contrast, Run On subverts heteronormative norms, integrating queer characters organically into the plot. Both dramas underscore the crossroads in Korean media's approach to queer representation, calling for more authentic and nuanced portrayals beyond surface-level entertainment. The inclusion of queer themes in mainstream entertainment reflects a broader societal shift towards acceptance; yet instances of censorship and show cancellations highlight the persistent challenges faced by the queer community. As the future of queer representation unfolds in Korean media, a continued dialogue is crucial. Spectators are entitled to, and should, celebrate positive portrayals of more diverse individuals. But in going forward, we must also critically examine the pitfalls and shortcomings in current depictions. The emphasis lies on moving beyond superficial entertainment to achieve a deeper understanding of queer lives, identities, and relationships. In doing so, Korean shows can create a media landscape that authentically mirrors the richness and diversity of the queer experience.

“Click the link in bio” is a phrase that no longer exists in the world of TikTok. In September 2023, Gen Z’s favorite social media app unveiled a new way to shop online, and quite literally, shopping has never been easier. With that ease comes a mix of good and bad, though I must admit to some hesitance in using the word “good” to describe TikTok Shop. While TikTok Shop has boosted views for small businesses and increased their profits, long-term success is a rare occurrence. Rather, those who have benefitted from the introduction of this new platform are conglomerates in the fast fashion industry. The structure of TikTok and TikTok Shop has allowed for the platform's impressionable young audience to spend money on shabby products at the touch of a finger. And further still, the incessant waves of advertisements that have flooded the For You Page, drowning out other content, have negatively affected the platform’s user experience. My personal issue with TikTok and TikTok Shop is that they have been abusing the For You Page—the main page of the platform—in order to boost sales. I can’t speak for every TikTok user, but I know that the majority of the time that I spend on the app is just me scrolling past advertisements or videos with product placements. I see ads for countless brands on my For You Page, but there is one that is more frequent than the rest: a brand by the name Bloom Nutrition. This brand sells drink mixes which claim to provide users with nutrients and vitamins, and alleges their concoction can boost gut health, while still tasting good. Bloom Nutrition has hired so many different creators from so many different industries that even those who don’t make health-related content whatsoever have created videos promoting their drink. For instance, in these sponsored videos, the creators could be sharing their thoughts on some upcoming political campaign before making a random and abrupt segue about being thirsty. They would then transition into a shot of them pulling out a glass of water and their Bloom mix to make themselves a drink. This constant and indiscriminate bombardment of Bloom advertisements, of course, annoyed TikTok users, so they had to resort to stealthier tactics. Creators then no longer explicitly talked about the drink; they just subtly placed it somewhere in the background of their video to expose the product to users. It got so crazy that TikTok users started playing a game: “Is this a normal TikTok, or is it a Bloom ad?” An insidious element to all this is the difficulty users have in differentiating normal videos from videos that are glorified advertisements. Sometimes the only way that you can figure out whether a video is an advertisement or not is the tiny “#ad” at the end of their caption or the “Eligible for Commission” sticker above their username. This inconspicuous labeling means that unless you are actively remaining vigilant, you will miss the sign marking the video as an advertisement. Regretfully, I did fall victim to the Bloom trend. As someone who struggles with gut health and has a few nutrient deficiencies, I figured that this drink mix would be a great option for me. I would be able to get all the extra nutrients I needed in just one glass of a—supposedly—delicious drink! But when the product arrived, I was utterly disappointed. I ordered the most popular flavor of the greens mix, only to realize that it was not what everyone had been hyping it up to be. Not only was it hard to stomach because of its…shall we say…interesting… taste, I also saw no changes in my gut health. I soon stopped forcing myself to drink it, and the product has since been sitting on a shelf in my cabinet for months. After my poor experience with the drink, I saw countless other Bloom consumers uploading their videos onto TikTok detailing the same shortcomings. Bloom is a brand that started as a small business then skyrocketed to popularity because of its incessant advertising on TikTok, but this hasn’t always been the case. Many other small businesses have gained a lot of traction through TikTok, but since the app is constantly changing the kinds of content that it promotes, presumably to attain user attention, countless new products are exposed to the public eye every day. As such, a lot of the fame that comes from TikTok virality doesn’t last long. This is especially prevalent if the small business cannot keep up with the influx of new orders or if their products don’t live up to the expectations of the buyers. In the cases where businesses miraculously manage to stay relevant, their social media traction might not necessarily equal sales. A lot of viewers who come across small businesses on TikTok don’t end up purchasing the product. This is because these types of shops tend to have higher prices because their products take much more time and effort to produce, and they can’t achieve the low costs of production large corporations can. Since TikTok’s primary audience is fairly young, a large portion of that demographic would probably opt for cheaper alternatives. To this, TikTok Shop once again enters the equation to solve that issue—well, sort of. TikTok Shop began providing a 30 percent off discount, as well as free shipping, for people’s first orders on the platform. This discount was not introduced solely for the use of small businesses, but it ended up benefiting them immensely. It effectively allows people to purchase those more expensive products sold by small businesses at a lower price, while still providing the sellers with the full value of their product. Though this marketing tactic is great for the short term, it is not so great for the long term. Rather than promoting brands by showing the rationale for purchasing their products, TikTok promotes by telling users to buy the products because of how much they would be saving with the sale. However, the one-time use deal nature of this marketing strategy dissuades any possibility of brand loyalty. After that first purchase, users will have to pay full price for the products from then on out, which is much less appealing to the average user. In fact, now that we are months after the introduction of the discount, small business sales are plateauing and many users are also making this exact realization. The biggest issue that I’ve noticed with the introduction of TikTok Shop is the influx of fast fashion present on the app. Many of the products that have been gaining popularity on TikTok Shop are dupes of famous clothing brands or items that chase the latest clothing trend. Unfortunately, most of those items are produced by fast fashion companies. For a full understanding of TikTok’s involvement in fast fashion, we need to examine TikTok’s app economy before the creation of their shopping platform. Many fashion content creators on TikTok used, and still continue, to use “shopping hauls” as a part of their influencer brand. If you are interested in fashion (like myself), your “For You Page” will likely be covered in videos like that. TikTok’s algorithm, which incentivizes creators to post videos every day to stay relevant, encourages fashion influencers to keep pace with the algorithm through the use of fast fashion. Shopping haul reviews of fast fashion companies like “Shein Haul”, “What I Bought at H&M”, “Uniqlo Lookbook”, and so many other similar titles make up the bulk of fashion content on TikTok. Since these fast fashion giants are the only companies that can keep up with the swift trend cycle of TikTok, many creators rely on fast fashion for new items to review. However, with the introduction of TikTok Shop nowadays, those same video titles from before now read something along the lines of “TikTok Shop Haul”, “What I Bought on TikTok Shop”, “TikTok Shop Lookbook”, etc. This is, of course, still fast fashion that’s just been repackaged with a different title. Fast fashion is not a problem unique to TikTok; it is a problem that has plagued the younger generations since the rise in popularity of brands like Shein, H&M, and Uniqlo. The idea that fast fashion is bad has been circulating for a long time now, but it has not been taken seriously by many. Most consumers know that purchasing clothes from fast fashion companies isn’t the best idea, but a majority choose to ignore that sentiment to get cheaper clothes. Or they might think, “Ordering one more time won't hurt, will it?” However, since these mindsets are held by so many people, those businesses grow larger every day. The reliance of synthetic fabrics is what particularly makes the fast fashion industry so detrimental to our society. I personally have not purchased any clothing items off of TikTok Shop, but the only reason that I have not is because I have seen other people’s reviews of the items. I have seen countless scathing videos of creators reviewing fashion items that they had bought on the platform. Jewelry that turns your skin green, sweaters that are falling apart at the seams, shoes that break after one wear, and so much more. Though I am sure that there are some items on TikTok Shop that are good quality, from what I have seen, it is a safe bet to say that most are not. I have purchased clothes in the past from fast fashion brands, before I knew of the negatives of the industry, so I have first-hand experience with the downfalls of products made out of synthetics materials. Synthetic fabrics are coarse, stiff, and just generally subpar. Even still, a lot of those products are thrown away and end up being burned in a landfill somewhere because of their poor quality. It’s at the landfill where an even bigger issue arises. Synthetic fabrics are made out of chemicals that are similar to those that comprise petroleum. Therefore, when those fabrics get burned they release those chemicals into the atmosphere. But this is not the end of the negative environmental effects of synthetic fabrics. Synthetic clothes also release little bits of fabric into the air as we wear them, and as of yet we have no idea what effect these have on our bodies and the environment. The only thing we can be certain of is that it can’t be good. Boosting horrible production practices, pseudo-promoting small businesses, and just being overly pushy, TikTok Shop has stained the reputation of TikTok itself. No matter how convenient the shopping platform is or how many businesses it has made viral, I am positive that it isn’t worth the negative side-effects that it has brought along. Now, if only we could get corporations to care… The past has proven that to be unlikely, but who knows—there's a first time for everything, right?

Tumblr is renowned for being the original hellsite. Most users on Tumblr call it so in an affectionate manner: a testament to how the site has become a strange comfort zone for users, one that grew on them like mold. While Tumblr has its tendency to grow on users, it is infamously known to be fairly dead. Despite that claim, however, the website does seem to be alive to some capacity. It is worth questioning: will this website ever actually die? By answering this, the website’s convoluted history reveals something crucial to shaping a site’s life and culture. A Cringe History Tumblr is distinct from many other forms of popular social media. As a microblogging platform, Tumblr relies heavily on users personalizing their blogs, creating new content for each of their interests, and interacting with one another as a social media platform. One of the big giants in delivering that engagement and content is fandom culture. Thus, fandoms have occupied a huge part of Tumblr from the start. Historically, Tumblr’s fandoms have had one main trend that has powered the website through the 2010s. Perhaps not so surprisingly, it is a meme of the ages. “Superwholock” was a large but brief phenomenon in the early 2010s. While Tumblr did not invent fandoms, Superwholock was one of the first crossover collaborations between fandoms that profoundly made an impact on internet culture. A mix of three large fandoms (Supernatural, Doctor Who, and BBC Sherlock), the trend was made almost universal on Tumblr. The popularity of this collaboration even led to several users complaining that there was no way to scroll through content without encountering at least one reference to it. This was peak fandom culture on Tumblr, fostered by creativity and connection. And yet the large movement fell apart in an instant in late 2014. Though there are many reasons as to why, one key event that broke Tumblr’s peak was the interference of the website staff, after Yahoo bought Tumblr during its peak period. Under the new management, the tagging system quickly spiraled out of order, along with the filtering system. More importantly, though, changes in the website coding caused reblogs to have more weight than likes in exposure. The unfortunate part about this change was that people did not reblog posts more than they liked them. Since the reblogs had an unskippable pop-up with the option of adding onto a post, users had to click twice to reblog anything (unlike X/Twitter, which has an immediate repost option). Liking was an easier alternative to show appreciation than reblogs, so users largely used likes to mark which posts they enjoyed. But since Tumblr was a website that functioned heavily on reblogs for user interaction, the visibility of posts was greatly affected. The imbalance between the ratio of likes and reblogs, compounded with the problem of reblogs being given more exposure weight destroyed the ability of Tumblr’s fandom audience to connect with each other. Yahoo’s NSFW (Not Safe For Work) content ban exacerbated matters. This change impeded interactions on the website because the ban turned out to be largely ineffectual: the ban flagged posts that were SFW as well. The ineptness of the embargo became such a large problem that it drove content creators off the website, regardless of whether they approved of the NSFW ban or not. With the platform’s ability of creating connections and encouraging creativity severely compromised, many users left the website. All in all, these changes made the creative culture of the community ultimately crumble—which meant that big collaborations such as Superwholock were no longer possible. The Perpetual(?) Cycle of Tumblr Tumblr was considered fairly dead by 2018. Despite this, the people who remained on Tumblr adapted to the new landscape. The community on Tumblr continues to thrive in the year of 2023. The vacuum left behind by Superwholock is filled by other fandoms, such as Homestuck, various anime fandoms, and most recently, Good Omens and Our Flag Means Death. The Tumblr culture continues to live on as it did in the 2010s with Superwholock—by continuously generating fandom content, interacting with others on the platform and collaborating on a smaller scale, and so on. The core components of what made Superwholock such a huge phenomenon have continued to power the website. The creativity of the users allows new content to be created, which in turn prompts others to join in. People can engage actively with the content and its creators, which in turn sparks creativity on both sides. The two components bouncing off of one another is what makes Tumblr a goldmine for fandom people—explaining how Superwholockians managed to become so widespread back in the day. This relay effect of creativity and connection on Tumblr is represented best in reblog chains. While ask boxes can offer one-on-one interaction with content creators, reblogs make up most of the connectivity on the platform. The chains often create richer content than simply posting a single image or fanfic. Various posts are often reblogged through many communities, with many people adding their own drawings and short writing. Thus, a whole new form of content is made via website-user collaboration. As such, the way creativity and connection can interact with each other on Tumblr is testament to how a website gains its value: through user engagement and an environment that can foster a culture that keeps users connected to one another. This is essentially how an online culture is created. By having many users actively participate in the cycle and by continuing efforts to maintain an environment that is appropriate for the key components of the platform culture, a website’s lifespan can be lengthened. The Inevitable End As productive as Tumblr’s creativity-connection cycle is, it is undeniable that it will also eventually come to an end. A website’s popularity will reach its peak, then eventually drop until it becomes obsolete. Tumblr is past its peak popularity; the culture as a whole lacks the momentum it had in the previous decade. Following the large exit of users in the 2010s, Tumblr’s user base has been in a decline. However, Tumblr is not quite dead yet as many claim. Rather, it is currently in a simmer period, or a time when the past peak point is powering the website for an extended period of time. Unfortunately, the website’s own management does not assist in continuing to foster the culture that made Tumblr so popular in its heyday. Tumblr’s major method of community engagement being reblogs is ineffective on a user base that is slowly shrinking. Compared to X, where likes can also have the potential to cause posts to pop up on a user’s dashboard, Tumblr’s reblog-based system is not that effective. The newer addition of post recommendations on a user’s dash (based on a user’s followed tags) is rather hit-or-miss with how engaging it is. Since users on Tumblr are not as actively involved as they were in the 2010s, people are less likely to reblog as rapidly as they used to. More than often, a post’s like to reblog ratio is unfortunately skewed towards the likes, which does not allow users to interact with a wider audience. That, coupled with the ineffective content embargos, has both ends of the creativity-connection cycle rapidly fraying. This can effectively cut the simmer period short, as it did for Tumblr’s peak period. Basically, Tumblr’s administrative efforts to mold it into something else was ill-suited to its user base. Though some adapted to the implemented changes, the damage has already been done. The coding is less user-interaction-friendly, and the implemented content bans not only cut off a type of creative outlet but also interfere with other types of content. The two components of Tumblr culture are effectively cut off, and ultimately foreshadow the website’s inevitable end. The Colors of Tumblr X users flocking out of the website back to Tumblr has brought a moment of “Tumblr revival” talk, and it does look like Tumblr has become a tolerable form of social media compared to some other hellsites. But in the long run, the death of Tumblr is simply inescapable. Even with that peak moment acting as a backbone of the modern day Tumblr, Tumblr will most likely meet its end under a slowly malfunctioning cycle of creativity and connection. Based on this evidence, it can be seen that an online culture at its peak can easily crumble if the environment the culture stands in is forced to undergo changes that stifle the culture’s functioning. While exemplified best by Tumblr, the fact is that every website management has the risk of stifling a platform’s culture to the point of counterproductive management. Therefore, the most important part of theplatform managers’ part is to carefully examine the type of culture the website users cultivate and create something surrounding it. As such, while the age of Tumblr is now coming to an end, it is worth thinking about the lessons it can teach the future platforms that will replace it.

I was blessed with an opportunity to hike in the Karakoram range in Pakistan this summer. My friends and I trekked from Askole to the K2 Base Camp, over Gondogoro La pass, and finally to our last stop – Khaplu. We were a group of six, with a staff of 15—including a guide, cooks, porters and horsemen who accompanied us, or rather, enabled this trip to happen. It was an eye-opening and humbling experience because I was acutely reminded of my own smallness in the face of sublime nature, as well as people who were greater than me in body and heart. But one thing troubled me during the journey—the realization that I was so dependent on the people who came with us, yet hardly knew them. Desiring to reach the base camp and complete the journey without accident, the other people assisting us—however intimately—blended into oblivion as ‘background characters.’ So immersed in my own thoughts and emotions, admittedly, through the difficulties of the hike, it didn’t even occur to me to find out the names of the porters who carried our bags for the whole trip. It was only after the 11 days of the trip, when I wanted to call out to them for a photograph together, that I realized I didn’t know the name of the assistant cook who had filled up our water bottles every morning and every night. I only knew him as “the cook’s brother” or “the guy who is younger than me”. The moment of realization was also a dawning moment of humiliation. In my pursuit, I had become so narrowly focused on a goal that I failed to consider and see that others were also on the same journey as I was. Actually, do we not all have this experience—especially in our travels—of people becoming a means of our own happiness? Travel problematics In A Small Place, Antiguan-American writer Jamaica Kincaid throws shade on tourists in her homeland of Antigua, and by extension, to tourists around the world. To Kincaid, tourists are ugly beings who derive pleasure from being plucked from the “banality” of their existence in their own homes, to be transported to a carefully constructed and barricaded land of their fantasies. Their destination is a place where they can escape the responsibilities of the place they come from, as well as to the place they are now. The tourists’ enjoyment lies in their ability to distance themselves from their location—the tourist is blind, ignorant, and willingly so, to the reality of life for the people around them. Enjoyment is contingent on the maintenance of this imagined fantasy land as a place that exists for the tourist and nothing else. Tensions between tourists and locals in Hawaii are a good case in point for the disconnect between the tourists and their destination. In August 2023, wildfires raged across Maui, one of the main islands of Hawaii, killing over 100 people and destroying over 2,200 structures, a tragedy that is expected to cost $5.5 billion to rebuild. It was the worst natural disaster in Hawaii’s history, and the deadliest US wildfire in over a century. The disaster plunged the islands in mourning, trauma, and anger. A dilemma arose from the conundrum of what to do with the tourists. In the immediate aftermath of the tragedy, Hawaiians took to social media to tell tourists to stay away. There was a public outcry as a snorkeling company continued its snorkeling tours in the name of raising funds for disaster relief, in the same waters where dead bodies were still being retrieved. The problem was the uncomfortable and contrasting picture of tourists blissfully holidaying right by the physical destruction and emotional devastation of the Hawaiians. Yet, the cry to keep tourists away was accompanied by another fear that they cannot keep tourists away—because tourism is Hawaii’s economic driver. Thus creating a situation where the economy is reliant on tourism, but the locals are uncomfortable with it. Such tensions have been long-standing in Hawaii, and the outbursts surrounding the recent disaster were a symptom, not a cause of it. Is travel all bad? Horror stories about tourists and scathingly disapproving views on tourism question our own implication in objectification, exploitation and voyeurism. Could the answer to the problematics of tourism—both on an individual and collective scale—be to stay at home at all costs, as Kincaid suggests? Could more good be done, both for the individual and for the world, if people simply stayed at home and did not travel at all? Yet voices from the very tourist destinations suggest otherwise. Just as the disconnect between tourists and the environment is the “problem” in tourism, things may be mended through a connection with the location again. John De Fries, the first Native Hawaiian leading the Tourism Authority of Hawaii, is not looking forward to eradicating tourism. In a 2022 interview with The New York Times (NYT), De Fries argues that Hawaii is not for Hawaiians, or at least, not just for Hawaiians. Rather, he points to the bidirectional relationship between tourists and locals—“local residents have a responsibility to host visitors in a way that is appropriate. Conversely, visitors have a responsibility to be aware that their destination is someone’s home, someone’s neighborhood, someone’s community.” Likewise, in another 2020 interview with the NYT, Kyle Kajihiro, an activist and lecturer at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, lays out his intentions for tourists to think about for their stay: “Who are you in relation to this place? Are you bringing something that will be of value to the host, the people who live here? What will be your impact and your legacy be?” After all, the benefits of tourism cannot be denied as well. Tourism can help to preserve culture and heritage—by attracting traffic and attention to the very cultural sites that need preservation, thereby accumulating the financial resources required for cultural preservation. For the tourist, visiting these places provides a cultural understanding that transcends book knowledge—a moving of the heart that might not have happened if we stuck to our shores. In an article on dark tourism published in the National Geographic, journalist Robert Reid reflects that his most memorable travel experiences were to sites of macabre— concentration camps, sites of massacres, political assassinations, and battlefields. His experience in these places was a way for him to face the reality of the horrors of men which made history more real for him, and drove to the core of his heart an anti-war message that he would have already heard over and over again. To be harmless: Thoughtful and responsible tourism Tourism boards and agencies are realizing that tourism, if it continues the way it is now, is not sustainable in the long run. An example is Amsterdam in the Netherlands. Renowned for its historical and cultural heritage and its beautiful waterways, Amsterdam has a strong tourism sector and has never had a shortage of visitors. Yet Amsterdam is the quintessential case of a victim of its own success. Problems of over tourism—including overcrowding, disrespectful behavior, and even the displacement of local people—have been a top concern for the city’s administrators for the past several years. However, Amsterdam sets itself apart for its active, and what could be considered severe, stance on tourism. In June 2021, it developed the “Tourism in Balance in Amsterdam” plan— a model of tourism designed for citizens and travelers to cohabit in symbiotic harmony, rather than an extractive relationship. And this vision has necessitated some boundaries and curbs on tourism, namely a maximum number of visitors. To maintain quality of life for residents, new tourist shops have been banned to maintain ‘shop diversity’. Holiday rentals are banned in 3 neighborhoods and large tour groups are also no longer allowed. The administration is also carrying out investigations on the tourism carrying capacity of the various districts of the city. The city also launched a “Stay Away” campaign to discourage visitors visiting Amsterdam from engaging in activities related to alcohol, drugs and sex. A digital advertisement shows ‘nuisance’ tourists being locked up with regret, with the blunt tagline reading “So coming to Amsterdam for a messy night? Stay Away”. These measures might seem harsh, but they are necessary boundaries to ensure that tourism is not at the expense of the locals, so that tourism can be sustainable in the long run. What could regulations, like that of Amsterdam to protect their residents from the detrimental effects of tourism, signal to us? Indeed, governments and corporations have the greatest power to enact change, but unlike in Amsterdam, decisions on tourism may not always be aligned to the welfare of local communities. As tourists, and accepting tourists in home countries ourselves, we can recognise that the locations we visit do not exist in a vacuum—existing solely to make us feel good about ourselves. The locations where we seek rest and leisure are homes to communities living their own lives on this earth; individuals and families work to gain a livelihood as we do, raise families as we do, with hopes, dreams and struggles as we do. Recognizing our common humanity would go a long way in making tourism empathic, responsible, and sustainable, because it introduces an attitude of care. Care for the places we visit and the people we meet. This attitude translates to a more thoughtful approach to traveling and more thought-out decisions whilst traveling: reading up on local laws and customs, checking attractions for human-rights records, choosing sustainable travel operators, making sure that the tourism dollar goes to local communities, avoiding contributing to over tourism and being intentional with photographs. For individuals and communities, it may be short-sighted to say that all globe-trotting is bad and harmful. Travel—even if not leisure travel—has brought benefits to individuals and communities: it can be a viable and sustainable means of income. Overall, cultural exchange has enlightened and broadened perspectives—for the betterness of the individual and the society. The problem could be boiled down to our attitudes and balance. How hosts and guests reap from the exchange depends on how they view each other. I remember one of my group members talking to our guide regarding the benefits of improving the infrastructure and regulations of the trekking tourism industry in Pakistan. As someone who had believed that tourism is inherently extractive (ironic, I admit), it did not occur to me that tourism could be a honorable and viable means of income to these regions. Measures, even severe ones, would need to be put in place to ensure that tourism does not amount to exploitation. Putting a cap on visitors, outlining trekking seasons, imposing fines and punishment for certain behaviors such as littering, and placing a firmer grip on trekking companies are some of the solutions to resolve harmful tourism practices that are already in place. Expectations of tourist behavior are also needed—just as tourists have expectations of their holiday experience. But if done correctly—through an emphasis on mutual respect and a vision of connectedness, tourism may avoid the tourist-centric trap, and be enriching and beneficial to both the hosts and visitors.

“Théâtre D’opéra Spatial” sounds like it is an 18th-century fancy French oil painting. It looks like an 18th-century fancy French oil painting. In reality, it is barely a year old. It is a piece of AI-generated artwork created by Jason M. Allen—which has won first prize in Colorado State Fair’s annual art competition, shocking people across the global art community. The fears have become reality: whether artists like it or not, AI art is slowly seeping its way into an industry once thought to be dominated by humans alone. One of the largest points of current contention in the art community concerns Artificial Intelligence. While barely a few months ago the differences between AI art and artist-drawn art were discernible, the differences are becoming rapidly non-existent. AI image generation has quickly surpassed expectations of generating random, funny images and has become sophisticated enough to create detailed art pieces. While AI-generated art may have been created for casual fun, it still has a significant impact on professional art. In fact, there is so much impact that people have very polarized opinions on the topic. One end of the spectrum argues that AI art is revolutionary. Kaloyan Chernev, the founder of Deep Dream Generator (a company specializing in AI), claims that AI is “rapidly approaching a level of sophistication and complexity that will allow it to generate highly realistic and nuanced images”. Chernev also suggests that AI-based content will not only assist in bettering the art field but also enable new forms of artistic expression. More neutral opinions put forth various ideas on the matter. One of the larger opinion groups suggests that AI, with a faster pace at creating images than artists, can be used in industries and companies that value maximal efficiency. Corporations would thus profit greatly in time and money by using algorithms over artists. While artists take hours to months to create a single piece, algorithms only take minutes to produce artwork with a few typed words. Thus, the production of artwork takes less time and in turn, allows more time to be used on other projects. Economic efficiency is achieved as well, as companies do not need to hire extra artists if they choose to use AI-produced art instead. Such predictions are not in the far future; they have already happened. Nestlé has utilized AI-generated art of Vemeer’s “The Milkmaid” to promote La Laitière yogurt, and large companies such as Google are jumping into the scene to create algorithms for the specific purpose of generating art. Some also suggest that AI art will not degrade or harm the industry of artist-drawn art since AI art will not be able to catch up to the level of works done by humans. Others still advocate the idea that AI art will become irrelevant in the future, just as NFTs have in a short time. On the other end of the spectrum, there are artists who strongly oppose the use of AI-generated images, claiming that it devalues the work of artists. Dapo Adeola, winner of the Illustrator of the Year at the 2022 British Book Awards, says that “the increasing use of AI will also lead to a devaluing of the work of artists”. As negative prejudice regarding creativity-focused industries already exists, “something like this reinforces an argument that what we do is easy and we shouldn’t be able to earn the money we command”. With the worries of artists on the rise, many solutions have been proposed to alleviate this anxiety. One such solution, a new tool for artists, was introduced on March 31, 2023. Glaze, created by a team of Chicago University students, professors, and professional artists, is designed to protect digitally drawn art from mimicry. Artists are suing algorithm companies for mimicking their art styles. Notably, late South Korean illustrator Kim Jung Gi’s art style was copied by an AI software, which was met with large disdain. Glaze was developed to prevent art style copying. Glaze works as follows: it uses a style-transfer AI to recreate the original image in the style of past artists. The styled images are then used as part of a computation, through which the end result maximizes patterns that algorithms will use instead of the original artist’s style. The result adds very small changes to an artist’s artwork before the art is posted online. While the changes are hardly able to be discerned by the human eye, the small details still effectively work as a "style cloak", preventing any algorithms from mimicking the artist’s style. The reactions to this program are starkly divided, with arguments over art-related AI, in general, becoming heightened. Artists who want their art protected from AI celebrate the introduction of such a tool. From their perspective, they are able to produce art without worrying about art theft, with minimal changes to their artwork. However, not all welcome Glaze. People who use AI to create art and develop their algorithms are angry that images that use Glaze, if added to the database, will muddy the results for their programs. What is more, is that the developers of Glaze admit that this tool can only be useful in the short term. According to the project website, "Unfortunately, Glaze is not a permanent solution against AI mimicry. AI evolves quickly, and systems like Glaze face an inherent challenge of being future-proof. Techniques we use to cloak artworks today might be overcome by a future countermeasure, possibly rendering previously protected art vulnerable". In other words, if the art community continues with polarized stances on AI, the future can easily lead to an endless race of algorithms finding new ways to use art for their database and tools being developed as countermeasures against them. With all this taken into consideration, the core issue of AI art is clear. In the process of trying to find a foothold in the art community, it is mainly trying to replace what currently-existing artists can do instead of forging an entirely new path in artistry. This forces the art community into an endless circle of protecting and overcoming instead of progressing in a new direction. AI art so far has been shown as a stepping stone to AI surpassing human abilities and thus replacing them. While not inherently bad from a technological perspective, this is a gross undermining of a technology that could have more potential. In that case, what comes next? The varying views in the AI art uproar show that there is clearly a divide in values of aesthetics that is strongly linked to artistic copyright in the creative community. Those who refuse to acknowledge AI art as part of creative work seem to value human creativity, process, and work put behind the end result. These people put high importance in giving credit where it is due in creative works. Those who support AI, or at least are neutral on the topic, seem to advocate the idea that all creative artwork is an amalgamation of all the knowledge the creator has collected in the past. Thus, they advocate for artistic democracy and everyone being able to participate in artistic creation. Should these two views continue to be polarized, there can be no real progress in artistry for AI. It can be easy to think that this divide in opinions is unable to be bridged. Certainly, the bridging process to come to an agreement can be long and will take a lot of effort. However, history claims that it still can be achieved. Philosophy has had its fair share of furious debates over what kind of purpose art has in life, where it comes from, and what kind of characteristics it has, ranging from Plato to Tolstoy. The most relevant argument to look at, however, is Walter Benjamin’s argument on aura. Benjamin argues that “[i]n principle a work of art has always been reproducible. Man-made artifacts could always be imitated by men…Mechanical reproduction of a work of art, however, represents something new”. He notably points out photography as one such example. Benjamin holds that “the situations into which the product of mechanical reproduction can be brought may not touch the actual work of art, yet the quality of its presence is always depreciated”. As such, the aura surrounding the original art piece disappears, since the art itself can be reproduced through mechanical means, and it can spread through the masses. This is not necessarily a bad thing; however, if anything, it furthered the democratization of art, allowing others to participate in creatives with ease. Some may argue that photography did not democratize art; it monopolized art by taking over portrait painting. Despite this, photography has continued to thrive, and not in the manner of replacing a specific art form. When Joseph Nicéphore Niépce took the first photograph in 1822 and later publicly announced in 1839 by Louis Daguerre, the public embraced the new medium. Ironically, the artistic movements in Europe before the 19th century had always been focused on realism. When photography took away the necessity for artists to depict realism, art movements slowly moved away from it, starting with Impressionism and moving on as far as Dadaism. In a way, artists have no reason to fear that AI art will cause artist-made art obsolete or devalued as a craft, as art has always found a way to survive and continue pursuing creativity throughout the years. More importantly, it is worth noting that photographers did not immediately assume photography to be a substitute for portraits and landscape paintings. They spent many years experimenting with the types of photos that could be taken and thinking of what kind of role this new technology would take in society. World War I and II did cement photography as a part of a medium. It solidified photography as a modern way to express culture and World War II photography showed the brutality of war. However, it was the work of photographers giving serious thought to the craft that resulted in photography being a widely respected form of media today. The artistic value clash in the present is an echo of a similar conflict in the past in the invention of a new art medium. Thus, the answers to solving the modern value clash can be found in the past as well. In other words, AI artistry must go through the same process as photography to be accepted as a mode of creating art. While Glaze and plagiarism protection tools to come will function as a necessary precaution, what is most needed in the AI art industry is for the artists to think about their craft. What purpose does their art serve in the industry and to society? What types of technology can be used to make AI art differ from other art forms? Instead of looking to take over the art industry as a whole or replace other media, AI-generated art should focus on its unique strengths to create a new medium, as many hope it will become. All in all, Artificial Intelligence may have come a long way in a short time to develop to the level it is now, but it still has a long way to go in order to be refined into a method of art that all people can accept. In order to break a potentially endless cycle of art-generating algorithms against protection algorithms, AI developers must turn to aesthetic values and forge a new path for their creations to walk.

“Crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out…” This iconic line from Conan Gray’s song, Crush Culture, is exactly how I feel about our generation when it comes to love. We pine for love, we desire love, we feign love. But is this a fault? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not cynical of love—I’m cynical of people who instil the wrong idea of love into young people. As a generation, we have, and we are still being fed the misconception of love. Through our excessive use of social media, our ideals of love have become very superficial. With this fast-food approach to love, we begin to develop an unhealthy relationship with the instant gratification of ‘physical’ love. The ads on the streets are covered in images of what beauty should be like. TV shows only highlight the excitement of physical love. Social media forces us to compare ourselves with ‘perfect people.' Beauty has become a thing we need to achieve, not something that already innately exists in each of us. Love has become something superficial. The music video of Crush Culture (dir. Conan Gray) begins with Conan Gray, who stars as “Bitter Boy” sitting with his supposed lover “Lollipop B****." As Lollipop B**** stares intently at her phone, Bitter Boy receives less attention than the heart-shaped lollipop she is holding. Triggered by all the texts Lollipop B**** receives, Bitter Boy grabs her lollipop and smashes it to the ground in exasperation—hence the name “Lollipop B****” and “Bitter Boy.” These scenes depict the reality of modern love where people have become too fixated on the idea of ‘being wanted’ and where our worth has been reduced to the number of texts we receive. We have chosen to be connected through the Internet, only to be disconnected in the real world. This explains Bitter Boy’s anger and frustration—we meet up with people only to become disconnected within the connected space of what used to be intimacy. Social media has caused us to place more importance displaying our relationships rather than living in the reality of our relationships. We have become more fixated on the idea of the images we can portray, rather than focusing on what already is. We have become reduced to mere instances, photos, and short videos. Bitter Boy continues to disrupt romantic moments between different couples. His lyrics explain that love has become an exclusive ‘culture’ which involves the “kissing cult” where they “kiss then forget you.” A certain catharsis is achieved when Bitter Boy messes up these romantic moments. The constant overhype of love causes many insecurities. We draw up fantasies of love and when we are unable to achieve this goal, we begin to believe that there is something wrong with us. We brainwash ourselves to believe that we have to fit into certain ideals and change so that we can be loved by our ‘crushes.’ The term ‘crush’ itself even suggests that this one-sided love can only end in a ‘crushing remorse,’ or that a ‘crushing’ of one’s original identity is needed to acquire this love. We either crush our identity to fit the other’s standards, or we crush the other’s authentic self in order to fit them into our ideals. The ‘Crush Culture’ of our generation entails the following: unrealistic expectations, the need to ‘show love,’ and self-centredness. These standards isolate us from the genuine meaning of love, making us crave it even more. Social media portrays unrealistic expectations of love—luxury brand gifts have become a sign of how much you love someone, and the size of your wedding dress train or the number of hearts or comments you get from your significant other has become a way of ‘proving’ love. Through this repeated culture of social media, the need to ‘show love’ has become prevalent, and a vicious cycle of unrealistic expectations and the showcasing of love has started to emerge. This creates fertile grounds for competition as we begin to visually accept the fact that some people are loved more than others, and this perpetuates loneliness and insecurities. We begin to believe that we lack certain aspects in the criteria of love which makes it impossible for us to be loved. Our generation’s ‘crush culture’ depends heavily on visual representation. However, when we start valuing others based on their physical appearance, we unconsciously simplify them into an ‘object of desire’ who has an obligation to fill our empty voids. Instant love disregards the truth that love is difficult. We tend to think that ‘real love’ is easy and that it all naturally plays out like in the movies: a damsel in distress, a knight in shining armour, or a villain who disturbs and ironically strengthens their love. This magical, fairy-tale element of romance films is not wrong, but it creates a dangerous, unrealistic image of love. Romance movies should not be condemned. We just need to learn to train ourselves to understand that love is not completed by the momentaneous ‘happy ending,’ but that there is a story after this point. Love requires time, patience, understanding, and sacrifice. The butterflies when we start loving someone don’t last forever, and we can’t expect it to last forever. This good feeling cannot continue if it is one-sided and self-centred. We must put in the work and effort in figuring the other person out. As my English teacher used to say, “love is a verb.” Love is not simply an instant gift, given as a concrete noun – it is an ongoing action. Love is a verb, and this can be seen through the implementation of the five love languages. The five love languages are acts of service, physical touch, quality time, gifts, and words of affirmation. Each of the five love languages requires a ‘verb.' Doing an errand, giving a hug, going on a date, buying flowers, giving a compliment. Love comes with actions, and we need to be willing to love. However, loving someone completely different from ourselves proves to be difficult as we have to learn to navigate the way we love through these differences. Even though these differences may feel like a barrier, they make us grow, as the joy of love comes from learning the differences of the people we love. By getting to know someone else deeply, we subconsciously start to learn more about ourselves. This helps us experience an authentic, richer love. While the media distorts the reality of love, movies depicting the reality of love do exist. (Incoming spoiler alert…) Waymond and Evelyn from Everything Everywhere All at Once are good examples of what real love looks like. At a glance, the middle-aged couple seems mundane, wrapped up in everyday ordeals of running a laundromat. There seems to be no passionate love between them, but rather a stagnant comfort. This dangerous comfort conceals the uncomfortable truths which are later revealed in the film when Evelyn is faced with Waymond’s divorce papers. This, however, is the reality of love (not divorce, the hardships). Passion can easily be outlived and the consequences of love amount to a reality of unwanted responsibilities and the essential sacrifices. The downfall of modern love tropes is that this transformation of love is not depicted after the ‘happy ending.' While the quarrelling couple seem to suffocate each other, the realisation of love begins when Evelyn sees that Waymond chooses to be with Evelyn in every alternate lifetime. No matter how harsh or luxurious their lives are, Waymond chooses to love Evelyn, and this truth becomes a universal truth that binds them together with love. This is similar to the way the importance of love is portrayed in the Netflix series The Good Place. Chidi and Eleanor are characters with completely contrasting personalities who are mismatched as ‘soulmates’ after they die and end up in the good place, i.e. ‘heaven.' However, they learn that “the Good Place” is not necessarily a good place, and with this realization, their memories are wiped out. As the plot goes on, it is revealed that in every simulation of ‘Operation Good Place’ where they are supposed to be tortured by each other’s presence, they end up falling in love. A love that penetrates all memory and time begins to formulate, and this becomes their ticket to ‘real heaven.' No matter how much they fight and seemingly hate each other for their differences, Chidi and Eleanor end up being in love. Every time their memory is wiped, no matter how far apart they are, they end up together, face their insecurities, and become better people together. (No more spoilers from this point) Love only becomes complete when we start understanding each other’s imperfections. While crush culture focuses on the prospect of an already perfect person who will solve all our problems, the reality of love focuses on two people who are able to accept each other’s weaknesses and insecurities. We can only begin to love and be loved when we allow our differences to show. Additionally, love entails the element of ‘choice.' Contrary to popular belief, while we cannot choose who we love, we can choose how we love. We need to choose to love, instead of waiting until we are chosen to be loved. With this choice comes sacrifices, unacknowledged services, and the need for patience; but all this becomes worth it in the face of the people we love. Unlike the instantaneous, passionate love we desire, real love takes time and requires patience and persistence. “All this love is suffocating, just let me be sad and lonely…” Conan Gray truthfully expresses the frustration of our generation when it comes to looking for love. However, in the final scene of the Crush Culture music video, we are betrayed by Bitter Boy as he lays motionless and unsatisfied on a bouquet of broken flowers, until he receives a text reading, “Hey. Wanna date?” We are left with Bitter Boy’s smile, which ironically leaves the single viewers to be “sad and lonely." This shows how unfulfilling superficial love is, which is why when we love right, it is one of the best feelings in the world. Love is a human instinct, and it is natural to crave romantic relationships. How we view love, however, should not be tainted by what is shown in the media. Love is ironically one of the easiest yet hardest things we do.