Analyzing Extension through the Modern Lens of AI

The two texts that I will be critically comparing are The Iphone Erfahrung by Emily McArthur, and Extending “Extension” by Yoni Van Den Eede, both found in the book Design, Mediation, and the Posthuman. They both talk about extension and evolutions in technology and how they relate to the human experience, and because of this they certainly relate.

The Iphone Erfahrung Summary

McArthur’s article focuses on Siri, which when it was written in 2014 was a fairly new piece and advancement of technology. Siri is talked about as being an extension of the human (McArthur), as any thought that enters someone’s mind can be nearly instantly asked to Siri. While Siri is primarily used as a faster Google, or an answering machine, the way in which individuals speak to their phone and receive a response from a voice is anything but normal, at least not 10 years ago. The article talks alot about Walter Benjamin’s concept of ‘aura’, and how Siri represents aura due to its magical nature and its place in the social hierarchy (McArthur); as in, it can be considered an authority for truth (like a faster Google). Despite Siri’s magical appearance though, all it really does in terms of looking back at the user is make a guess based on what its learned, rather than come up with something on its own (McArthur). The article also talks about how that applies to other algorithms and modern systems, like online shopping or digital newspapers recommending you articles based off your recent reads. All in all, McArthur’s article focuses on the aura of Siri, the way in which sound can penetrate the unconscious, and the limits of its capabilities.

Extending Extension Summary

Van Den Eede’s article briefly recaps the idea of extension through history and talking about McLuhan’s perspective on it, before narrowing its focus and discussing self-tracking software and applications, like FitBits and other technologies that we essentially input our data into, arguing with McLuhan’s help that they are unique extensions of the body(Van Den Eede). From surveillance issues, to the notion that self-tracking apps are solving a “problem”, this article and how it discusses technology certainly relates to McArthur’s article, as they both provide interesting perspectives on how humans interact with technology.

How the Texts can be Used Together

When reading through both of the articles, one topic in particular immediately came to mind, as this one tends to – artificial intelligence. When considering software like Siri and algorithms that predict behaviour and using technology as an extension of self, there are fewer subjects more applicable than AI. The texts relate in numerous ways, but because they were written over a decade ago, naturally the technological references they utilize and predict are outdated. Using the lens of AI when comparing them helps enhance their similarities and makes it more clear just how much not only AI affects us, but also how it will continue to in the future.

McArthur’s article talks about how Siri doesn’t necessarily know exactly what you say, but it uses its language processes to essentially make a guess to what you are saying. This applies moreso when verbally speaking, but this can also apply to text, since alot of meaning that can be inferred between two humans speaking can be lost when it is typed out. In today’s world, AI very much does the same thing, particularly in image and video generation. All it does is read what the user types in, and makes the best guess it can for what they imagine the user wants. This can also apply to students who use AI to sort and organize their notes for them, as even if the student emphasizes a certain way they’d like their information to be presented, only they truly know what that looks like, not the AI. 

All of this culminates in a couple of outcomes: ease of use, and extending one’s self. Both articles talk about how technology makes things easier, whether it be using Siri as an instant-answer machine, or using a self-tracking app to count one’s calories instead of using a book and doing calculations on their own. People use these apps because it is easier than doing the activity themselves, and that is how these companies make all the money that they do, because they promise an easier lifestyle. At the same time, this technology is an extension of the self. Using AI to sort through your notes, or generate an opening paragraph that ‘sounds like your writing’, is in essence an extension of one’s self. However, this dois not to say that what the AI generates is ‘yours’, or even creative. There is a lot of contention when it comes to passing off AI-generated art or video or content in general as one’s own, and that is not what is being advocated for. Despite the lack of authorship though, if someone puts in their notes or writing into an LLM and asks it to generate something, the product that emerges is an extension of them also because they asked the AI to generate it to begin with. It is an extension that highlights the user’s creativity (or lack thereof).

McLuhan also discusses an idea in Van Den Eede’s article about the medical concept of an irritant and counter-irritant, saying that many extensions in the world are created in response to a problem in order to solve the problem (Van Den Eede). However, there is always a cost, and any time a counter-irritant is used to enhance something or a body part, it also weakens something else, almost like a sort of exchange. This thinking can be applied to McArthur’s article, since using AI to do your thinking for you is a perfect example of this. While the problem may be that someone doesn’t know how best to plan someone’s 30th birthday, by asking the AI to help solve the problem (the irritant) through using an AI-generated plan after being fed all of the birthday person’s interests (the counter-irritant), the trade-off is part of their brain will inevitably suffer as they rely more and more on AI and outside help for idea generation and problem solving instead of using their own brain muscles to do it. Another interesting comparison is that McLuhan argues that people are aware of technology as an ‘other’ and it is obvious (Van Den Eede), but as more and more people get fooled by AI scams and as McArhur’s article discussed that sound penetrates the mind with relation to Siri, the lines get blurrier and blurrier.

Takeaways and Conclusion

In conclusion, McArthur’s text and Van Den Eede’s text both discuss extension in relation to technology, and by using the more modern perspective of AI and its impact on people, the two articles can be used as a helpful guide to highlight how Ai (and technology in general) greatly impact us all, and also discuss some interesting ways to talk about it, like the irritant and counter-irritant theory brought up by McLuhan in Van Den Eede’s article. This all is important to know for people my age as being able to discuss these processes and theories is more important than ever. As more and more people grow accustomed to AI being embedded in daily activities, whether it be apps or transactions or whatever else, the times from just a few years ago where that was not the case will slowly be lost. Being able to articulate these processes isn’t to wish for a return for the way things were, as that is nigh impossible at this point, but it is still critical to know so that we can still stay ahead of the technology as best we can, and stay informed through it all.

Works Cited


McArthur, Emily. “The Iphone Erfahrung: Siri, the Auditory Unconscious, and Walter Benjamin’s “Aura”.” Design, Mediation, and the Posthuman. Ed. Dennis M. Weiss Ed. Amy D. Propen Ed. Colbey Emmerson Reid Lanham: Lexington Books, 2014. 113–128. Postphenomenology and the Philosophy of Technology. Bloomsbury Collections. Web. 1 Dec. 2025. <http://dx.doi.org/10.5040/9781666993851.ch-006>.

Van Den Eede, Yoni. “Extending “Extension”: A Reappraisal of the Technology-as-Extension Idea through the Case of Self-Tracking Technologies.” Design, Mediation, and the Posthuman. Ed. Dennis M. Weiss Ed. Amy D. Propen Ed. Colbey Emmerson Reid Lanham: Lexington Books, 2014. 151–172. Postphenomenology and the Philosophy of Technology. Bloomsbury Collections. Web. 1 Dec. 2025. <http://dx.doi.org/10.5040/9781666993851.ch-008>.

When I Die, Please Let Me Die.

Spoilers for the show Pantheon and Upload

Throughout Allie Demetrick’s blog post titled, “ Pantheon: Authenticity, Perception, and Embodiment” there is an exploration of definitions and potential human authenticity of digitally uploaded consciousness. In this critical response post, I will be comparing Allie’s insights of the show Pantheon with various plot points from the show Upload. Thus, ultimately deriving a potential answer to Allie’s question of “if our consciousness is not attached to the material, what still matters?”

The Amazon Prime series, Upload, similarly to Pantheon, explores the implications of a digital afterlife, where human consciousness can be uploaded to a technological interface to elongate their life on Earth. Allie analyzed Walter Benjamin’s idea of aura and mechanical reproduction of which to upload someone to the digital afterlife, their physical body is destroyed. Thus, reproducing the human and destroying its natural aura. This manipulation of the natural to live in a simulated life, parallel to reality, is by definition means to live inauthentically. Thus, resulting in the conclusion that these “uploads” are not real, they are artificial experiences, mutable, and simulated. 

The evidence of the extreme mutability of these digitized consciousnesses is the malleability of time, as described in Allie’s analysis. As George Orwell states in his book 1984, “Those who control the present, control the past and those who control the past control the future.”  In Pantheon, Allie’s blog post describes time as flexible, where the perception of time can be manipulated. Digital humans can experience a year in a day or a day in a year. These false perceptions of time are evidence that these uploads have lost a stable perception of reality, thus having an artificial perception. The capitalization of time represents an extreme control of power over these digital people. This results in a complete loss of agency over the perceptions of the Patheon uploads’ environment.

In Upload, characters have a somewhat static purview of time. This point is emphasized by the lack of evolution the characters face. For example, a plot point in Upload was about a 10 year old boy, who had died and was uploaded. The boy’s parents decided to never upgrade the image of his body thus keeping his physical appearance as a 10 year old. In the show he had been uploaded for eight years, meaning his mental age was eighteen. The boy grew frustrated over his lack of growth and seeing his peers who were still alive pass him by affecting his mental health. This lack of autonomy over one’s own body resembles the character Claudia from the book Interview with a Vampire; an adult woman trapped in the body of a five year old. These characters grew distressed, angry, and discouraged about living, because there was no guaranteed end to their suffering or variety to their lives. There was no foreseeable change that they would experience physically and were surrounded by people who were growing older. Thus, the uploads were essentially objectified, expected to stay as they are. This led the capitalists of the series to strategize that these digital consciousnesses are just objects that can be used for their own gain, digital slavery.

Though I established that these digital uploads were not human because they lacked agency and evolution, I did not argue that they were not conscious. These digital consciousness have thoughts, and feelings that can develop relationships because they have the context and memory to grow them. This is one of the only real human characteristics these digital beings have. It is what makes people vulnerable to attachment to a simulated version of their loved one. 

In the show Upload, there was an evolution of relationships, Nathan Brown (the main character of Upload) experienced a blossoming love story with a woman who was alive, Nora. Yet, his relationship was only tested when there was a risk of it being lost. Nathan’s consciousness was almost erased on several occasions. After each close-call or rebooted memory, Nathan always chose to love his partner, Nora, again. Xelena Ilon brought up a great quote in her final presentation that contributes to a definition of AI and consciousness: 

Nathan not only fought for Nora when he was at risk of being lost, Nora fought for him. Their relationship was not a confirmation of Nora’s being or opinions, the couple grew to understand each other and truly love each other. Thus differentiating Nathan from AI. 

So if these digital consciousnesses are not human, but not really generated AI, what are they? 

Well, what does it mean to be a digital conscientiousness, are we still that person even if we are digitized? The aspect that makes a human conscious, human, is the mortality of consciousness. Mortality is what makes people human. A looming presence of death makes people want to live. In digital spaces that is not an expectation that is guaranteed. If one’s consciousness is digitized it is presumed that it will be there forever, or at least well beyond their kin’s lives. It is not until the digital landscape is at risk, that there is realization of mortality again. In conclusion, it is not the immateriality, necessarily, that makes a human experience not authentic, it is if there is a  looming sense of death or a complete agency of one’s perception of their environment. 

Citations

Orwell, George. Nineteen Eighty-Four. Penguin Classics, 2021.

Rice, Anne. Interview With the Vampire. Ballantine Books, 1997.

The Digital Self is NOT Separate From the Physical Self. Here’s Why.

Media theory often starts with technologies. Cameras, screens, networks, and books are all treated as central agents of mediation, the things that shape perception, distribute information, and structure social lives. Yet, long before any technological medium emerges, humans already inhabit a medium that grounds all experience: the body. The body is not merely a vessel that encounters media; it’s the first site through which the world becomes sensible. Every medium, no matter how advanced or “immaterial”, ultimately depends on embodied perception. To truly understand media, then, we have to begin not with devices but with embodiment itself. 

The distinction between body and embodiment is critical here. The body can be approached as an object, after all, it is a visible, bounded thing with physical characteristics. As it appears from the outside, the body is seemingly stable and fixed. Embodiment, however, refers to the lived experience of having and being a body. The sensations, emotions, memories, and movements that give human existence its texture and flavour. Embodiment is contextual, dynamic, and constantly changing. It is through embodiment that perception becomes meaningful, and that media first takes shape. 

What our digital culture reveals, ironically, is not the disappearance of embodiment but its constant negotiation. Through the 20th and 21st centuries, new technologies promised a kind of disembodiment. With the invention of the internet and its numerous features, we have the possibility of creating entirely new identities, freed from physical constraints and distributed across avatars, usernames, posts, and profiles. Online, people can imagine themselves unburdened by the limits of appearance, ability, or geography. Gender can become a role performed in a textual or visual space, selfhood can multiply into curated personas, and new “people” can be created out of thin air by the click of a few buttons. You can decide at any given moment that the person you want to be online is opposite to who you really are, physically. This ideology of disembodiment suggests to people that digital technologies offer something beyond the physical constraints of the body. 

However, I would argue that in practice these technologies intensify the role of embodiment rather than diminish it. Even in “virtual” environments, our bodies respond in physical ways while we’re experiencing them. We have physical shifts like our postures changing to best adapt in viewing the screens, our eyes adapt to stare at bright screens and pixels for longer periods of time, our heart rates rise and fall as we experience the media in front of us. Like playing a virtual reality game, we have to physically embody the character in the game in order to properly play virtually, and our body reacts to the screen we’re seeing through VR lenses like we are really there. We have emotional responses ranging from anxiety, excitement, desire, envy, joy, sadness, and more registering in the body. Could you recognize and count how many emotions you flip through while you mindlessly scroll through the news, or Instagram, or TikTok? The rhythms of tapping, scrolling, and pausing all become habitual motor patterns that are cemented in your muscle memory, your fingers immediately assuming their positions when holding your phone and starting the pattern all over again every time you pick up the phone. Do you have to think about what to do with your hands when using your phone? Does your pinky finger have a small dent in the side of it, creating the perfect fit for your phone to rest on? Does your heart rate rise when you get a notification? 

The digital self is NOT separate from the physical self.

The digital self depends on and leaves traces on the embodied subject who sustains it. AKA, you. Far from escaping the body, we discover that digital media reconfigures our sense of it. This apparent tension becomes clearer when we examine the question of materiality. A common fear is that digital media detaches meaning from material substance, that the shift from paper to screens, from objects to streams, from physical archives to remote servers and digital files, signals a broader cultural “dematerialization”. While this is true, as an estimated 90% of modern human history would vanish if the internet died, even the most digital forms of media are materially grounded. A streaming platform still requires bodies capable of hearing and seeing, a VR headset must sit on an actual face, and an algorithm only functions by registering your microgestures of attention and habit. The infrastructure of digital media is itself profoundly physical, from data centers to batteries to our sensory organs that absorb and interpret the output. If digital culture appears immaterial, it is only because the material supports have been submerged beneath more seamless interfaces. 

Recognizing the primacy of the body reframes how we can understand media technologies. Each new medium can be viewed as an extension of bodily capacity as writing extends memory, photography extends vision, audio technologies extend hearing, and social platforms extend presence or attention. These extensions do not replace our embodied perception; they amplify, reconfigure, and externalize it. As McLuhan famously argued, “the medium is the message”, but this motto takes on a deeper significance if we acknowledge that the boy is the medium behind all the messages. The ways we hear, touch, see, and move through the world shape the kinds of media we create, and in turn, those media reshape how we imagine our bodies. 

Ultimately, grounding media theory in embodiment reveals that media are not external systems we occasionally interact with. They are environments we inhabit, extensions we live through, and processes that reorganize perception at its root. Before images, words, signals, or data arrive, they must pass through the sensing, remembering, and interpreting body. The body is not simply where mediation happens, it itself is a medium. Our body is dynamic, responsive, and continually shaped by the technologies we encounter every day. If media are ways of structuring experience, the embodiment is the original architecture. It remains the template through which all of the media we absorb must pass, and the anchor that keeps even the most virtual environments tethered to the material conditions of life. Media theories that forget the body risk forgetting the very ground of perception itself. To properly understand the media, we begin where experience begins: Our Bodies.

TLDR:

Media begins and ends with our bodies, because it’s all a big tangled mess that we’re dependent on, and that’s dependent on us. #interlinked #fullcircle #onewithtechnology

The Soft Violence of Convenience: On Siri, Low-Risk Intimacy, and Emotional Exhaustion

“To create ties, you must be prepared to cry.” — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Introduction

In Sam Garcea’s post SIRI-OUSLY PERFORMING, the author offers a compelling reading of Siri through Bollmer, Verbeek, and McArthur, arguing that voice assistants do not merely represent femininity but perform it. Through their tone, politeness, and affective responsiveness, systems like Siri enact the gendered scripts of compliance and emotional labour that underpin contemporary service cultures. The author shows convincingly that Siri’s feminized voice is not incidental but part of a material performance that naturalizes hierarchy through design.  What I want to extend, however, is the other side of this relationship, the user. Author carefully analyzes what Siri does, but less so why people want Siri to do it. Focusing only on the device risks obscuring the psychological and cultural conditions that make such feminized interfaces desirable in the first place. Siri’s performances succeed not simply because its interface is engineered to signal femininity, but because users are already inclined to desire gentle, compliant, and emotionally predictable forms of interaction. The posthuman aura that McArthur describes: the sense that Siri is intelligent yet safely nonhuman, allows users to feel intimacy without vulnerability, and authority without guilt. In this way, domination is misrecognized as connection, and emotional labour is outsourced to an interface designed never to refuse, misunderstand, or judge. My response builds on the author’s analysis by shifting attention to this relational co-performance of gender. Rather than seeing Siri’s femininity as solely the result of technological design, I argue that it emerges from a broader cultural demand for low-risk intimacy, a condition theorized by Sherry Turkle, Maria Grazia Sindoni, and scholars of affective labour.

Power Masquerades as Comfort

While the author identifies how Siri’s feminized politeness enacts digital labour, I want to highlight the perceptual distortion on the user’s side:the way hierarchical power is reinterpreted as emotional closeness. As Sherry Turkle argues, relational technologies work because they “give the feeling of companionship without the demands of friendship” (Turkle, Alone Together, 2011). Siri’s posthuman aura, her tireless availability, emotional steadiness, and frictionless responsiveness, softens the user’s sense of authority. The interaction does not feel like issuing commands to a subordinate system; it feels like being gently accompanied. Jennifer Rhee similarly notes that anthropomorphized AI produces “affective camouflage,” masking structural asymmetries behind the fantasy of mutuality (The Robotic Imaginary, 2018). In other words, Siri’s design does not simply perform gender; it renders domination weightless. Users experience themselves not as commanding a feminized assistant, but as engaging in a benign, even comforting exchange. This confusion between emotional ease and ethical neutrality is precisely what allows power to pass as intimacy.

Emotional Labour by Design, Desire, and Delegation

If Siri’s appeal can be understood through Turkle’s notion of “low-risk intimacy,” Spike Jonze’s Her extends this logic into a full cultural diagnosis. Rather than treating Samantha as an example of increasingly “human-like” AI, I read the film, alongside Maria Grazia Sindoni’s work on technointimacy, as a study in how users outsource emotional labour to technologies designed to absorb it without resistance. Sindoni argues that contemporary users increasingly look to digital agents to perform “affiliative, therapeutic, and relational labour” that once belonged to human relationships (Sindoni 2020). This means that the rise of AI companionship is less about technological sophistication and more about a shifting cultural demand: people want emotional support that is consistent, inexpensive, and free of interpersonal risk. Samantha does not simply respond, she manages Theodore’s affect, anticipates emotional needs, and performs the labour of understanding without the possibility of withdrawal, boredom, or exhaustion.

Seen from this angle, Her is less interested in the evolution of artificial intelligence than in the evolution of human desire: a longing for intimacy without resistance, misunderstanding, or reciprocity. The film becomes a study not of machine humanity, but of our growing preference for relationships that require almost nothing of us. Samantha becomes desirable precisely because she collapses the costs of emotional reciprocity. As Eva Illouz reminds us, late-modern subjects increasingly navigate intimacy through the logic of consumer choice, seeking relationships that offer “maximum emotional return with minimal vulnerability” (Illouz 2007). Samantha embodies that fantasy perfectly.This interpretation shifts the focus away from the author’s claim that Her illustrates the expanding agency of feminized AI. Instead, it reveals that the real engine of the narrative is Theodore’s longing for a form of relationality that asks nothing of him, no patience, no negotiation, no recognition of another’s subjectivity. The appeal of Samantha, like the appeal of Siri, is not only that she is designed to serve, but that her service masks the asymmetry at the heart of the relationship. She performs emotional labour so gracefully that the user forgets it is labour.

Gender as an Interactive Script

When brought into conversation with Sindoni, Illouz, and Turkle, Her reads not as a narrative of digital transcendence but as a study of contemporary emotional exhaustion, of relationships outsourced to machines because the human ones feel too heavy. Users turn to machines not because machines have finally achieved humanity, but because humans have become uncertain, overburdened, and afraid of the costs of human-to-human intimacy. What Her seduces us with is not the promise of a loving machine, but the deeper desire that intimacy might someday be unburdened by effort, that emotional labour could be outsourced entirely, leaving only comfort behind.The rise of voice assistants reveals less about the intentions of engineers than about the emotional exhaustion of their users. As Eva Illouz writes, late modernity produces “emotional scarcity in the midst of abundance,” leaving people surrounded by connectivity yet starved for forms of care that do not demand more labour from them. This is why the relational loop between user and assistant feels so haunting: because it reflects not only technological mediation but a deeper cultural fatigue.

When Intimacy Forgets to Resist

In the end, what troubles me is not simply that technologies perform care, but that they have become the place where so many of us go searching for it. Siri’s gentleness feels effortless because nothing is asked of us in return; intimacy arrives pre-packaged, without the weight of another person’s needs. But this convenience has a cost. When a machine can soothe us instantly, human closeness, with its hesitations, its misunderstandings, its unruly demands, begins to feel unfamiliar, even excessive.So perhaps the more urgent question is not why we design technologies to simulate tenderness, but how our emotional landscape has thinned enough that such simulations feel sufficient. If emotional labour can be automated, if responsiveness becomes an endless resource, we risk forgetting that care is supposed to be reciprocal, difficult, alive. And maybe that is the quiet tragedy beneath all of this: not that machines are learning to sound human, but that we are slowly adjusting ourselves to relationships where nothing resists us, nothing pushes back, nothing asks us to stay.

Works Cited

Cameron, Deborah. The Myth of Mars and Venus: Do Men and Women Really Speak Different Languages? Oxford University Press, 2007.

Illouz, Eva. Cold Intimacies: The Making of Emotional Capitalism. Polity Press, 2007.

Jonze, Spike, director. Her. Warner Bros., 2013.

McArthur, Emily. “The iPhone Erfahrung: Siri, the Auditory Unconscious, and Walter Benjamin’s ‘Aura.’” Design, Mediation, and the Posthuman, edited by Dennis Weiss and Rajiv Malhotra, 2014, pp. 113–128.

Rhee, Jennifer. The Robotic Imaginary: The Human and the Price of Dehumanized Labor. University of Minnesota Press, 2018.

Sindoni, Maria Grazia. “Technologically-Mediated Interaction and Affective Labour: A Multimodal Discourse Perspective.” Discourse, Context & Media, vol. 38, 2020, pp. 1–10.

Turkle, Sherry. Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other. Basic Books, 2011.

Terranova, Tiziana. Network Culture: Politics for the Information Age. Pluto Press, 2004.

Verbeek, Peter-Paul. “Materializing Morality: Design Ethics and Technological Mediation.” Science, Technology & Human Values, vol. 31, no. 3, 2006, pp. 361–380.

Bollmer, Grant. Materialist Media Theory: An Introduction. Bloomsbury, 2019.

Written by Nicole Jiao

We Don’t Just Watch Disney—We Become it

In Bridghet’s blog post Guys, He’s Literally Me, the author writes about how prosthetic memories, proposed by Alison Landsberg, can be imagined through films to shape identities that lived memories do. The article further argues how this mechanism may also enforce confirmation bias when being uncritical about who they identify with. Referencing to American Psycho and the modern “Sigma Male” trend, the author shows that viewers do not always empathize with the intended subject of the film, instead adopting the film as a means of validating misogyny, narcissistic masculinity, and entitlement. Thus, films double in their effects: they have the capacity to build empathy and understanding, but they can also maintain oppressive social narratives and reproduce damaging identities when audiences misread them or internalize them selectively .This dynamic is not unique to American Psycho or Sigma Male culture.

We’re promoting merchandise to adults as well as little girls,” said the company’s director of licensing in 1987, referring to products that had been created for the 50th anniversary of Snow White (Tait). I couldn’t help but wonder, do we grow out of Disney—or does Disney simply grow into us? 91% self-identified “Disney adults” expected to remain Disney adults for life, showing how prosthetic memory and identity production by media is structural, not individual. It is not simply just building a nostalgic childhood, as one may naturally think. It is an actual lived, long-lasting identity.

Disney films have been producing similar “prosthetic identities” for decades—often in ways that also affirm harmful cultural scripts. Disney’s narratives generate extraordinarily powerful memories in childhood audiences: for many people, these films become their earliest emotional templates for love, heroism, gender, and belonging. If Landesberg argues that films allow us to “construct narratives for ourselves,”(186) Disney arguably teaches us who we are supposed to want to become.

Take the “princess” narrative: Disney’s heroines repeatedly enact the prosthetic memory of transformation-an ordinary girl becomes the chosen one, love is fate, goodness is destiny. Children adopt those feelings, internalize the desire, and carry that prosthetic memory into adulthood. But, like the men who selectively identify with Bateman, audiences often internalize the surface fantasy and neglect the critique. For example, the early Disney canon accidentally supports the fantasy of male entitlement and female reward: the prince’s perseverance is framed as love, not stubbornness, and the princess’s silence or sacrifice becomes virtue, not constraint. The audiences “remember” these roles even without living them. The result can be the same confirmation bias, except directed toward romance, gender norms, happiness, and competition.

Disney has also perfected the art of extending these memories beyond the screen and into everyday consumption. Through theme parks, merchandise, streaming platforms, and curated nostalgia, Disney provides an entire ecosystem where these identities are reinforced repeatedly. Visiting Disneyland becomes a ritual–wearing themed dresses, buying branded products becomes an act of belonging, and nostalgia becomes a commodity that is constantly renewed. In the same manner that Sigma Males “perform” masculinity through imitation, Disney fans perform their identity through participation in a shared fantasy world that blurs the line between media and lived memory. This shows that prosthetic identity is not just emotional or psychological. It is economic, cultural, and social, quietly infiltrating every aspect of our community.

Interestingly enough, Disney has recently attempted to revise this prosthetic memory. Films like Frozen and Moana actively resist the earlier narratives of entitlement or rescue (Mendelson). In other words, Disney knows that people don’t just watch princess movies—they model themselves after them. Disney has had to become aware of film’s power not just to teach empathy, but to reinforce bias.

Taking the author’s argument further, the problem isn’t just that audiences identify with Bateman incorrectly–it’s that culture conditions us to look for ourselves in the narratives to confirm the scripts we already carry, whether that’s the Sigma Male fantasy, the Nice Guy narrative, or the Disney princess myth. Prosthetic memories can produce empathy, but they also produce archetypes that get recycled across media and across identity.

What Bridghet’s post reveals—and what Disney makes even clearer—is that prosthetic memory is not neutral. It can produce empathy, or entitlement. It can create community, or isolation. Perhaps the task for filmmakers and audiences isn’t to stop identifying with characters, but to become more aware of what we are being trained to desire in the first place. So I agree with the author’s conclusion that film produces identity as much as emotion. Still, I would add that even the most seemingly innocuous films, especially Disney films, have always been doing the same kind of cultural work that American Psycho does: shaping what we think we are, who we think is heroic, and what futures we believe we deserve.

Works Cited

Landsberg, Alison. Prosthetic Memory: Total Recall and Blade Runner.

Mendelson, Scott. “Why ‘little Mermaid’ May Mark the End of Disney’s Remake Factory Hits: Analysis.” TheWrap, 1 June 2023, www.thewrap.com/disney-remake-little-mermaid-moana-frozen/.

Tait, Amelia. “The ‘Disney Adult’ Industrial Complex.” New Statesman, New Statesman, 26 Feb. 2024, www.newstatesman.com/culture/2024/02/disney-adult-superfan-industrial-complex#:~:text=Far%20more%20common%20answers%20include,%E2%80%9Cmakes%20me%20feel%20happy%E2%80%9D.

Cover art: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/118430665278991259/

Written by Gina Chang

What Can Image Gen-AI Models Teach Us About Image Perceptions?

A Critical Response Post to THE IMAGE: REPRESENTATION, REINCARNATION, REPRODUCTION by Matthias von Loebell, Danial Schatz, Django Mavis, and Sydney Wilkins.

By Micah Sébastien Zhang


A few days ago, I have stumbled across a work by some of my peers — Matthias von Loebell, Daniel Schatz, Django Mavis, and Sydney Wilkins — on the class blog, in which they talked about the significance of images in media, and how can the manipulation of images affect people’s perception. The blog article rolled out smoothly as it took us from the early and general form and definition of images at the start, then to the connections between theories, and it all falls back to the general summary of how is their whole thesis point playing out in the modern, contemporary field of world.

The article chose a sociological point of view when comes to the analysis of images and their effects, which is a proper move in my opinion. Similar perspectives and ways of research could never get old as the time and world are shifting forward. What I found particularly agreeing is their opinion on the essence of images, as they quote it as "a visual abstraction." Through this piece of thought, we can fairly arbitrate the concept of image falling within the classical frame of media mediation, in which images serve as a mediation to a summary of thought(s).

However, in this critical response post, I would like to take a step back and make my way to a summit that grants a holistic and figurative perspective on the conception of images, notably through a rather unusual example — text-to-image generative AI models.

How come? The reason why I’m proposing this peculiar perspective approach is that I personally found the technical process of text-to-image generative AI is similar to the humanistic experience of image perception. Yet before we can go into the comparable details of it, we should first understand how do text-to-image generative AI models usually work.

A research guide from the University of Toronto gave us a pretty comprehensive outlook of the technical process, yet for the sake of convenience, a summary will be also provided below. To be technically focused and more concise, I will only focus on the process for diffusion models.

Diffusion model is a common type among image generative AI models; both Stability AI’s Stable Diffusion and OpenAI’s DALL•E are categorized as diffusion models. Inspired from thermodynamic diffusion, the technical process of a diffusion model includes two methods. The first method — forward diffusion — will declutter and scatter (or "diffuse" according to the manual) the pixels of a normal image into random noises. The machine is learning to recreate the image by reconstructing a normal image from a randomized, noisy version. That is, for example, a normal image of an apple will be diffused into randomized noise and given with the "apple" tag, then from the tagged noisy images, the machine will recreate the normal images upon requests from prompts. Each creation of the image comes from the synthesis of noises, and this will result in different image outputs even with the same prompts.

Through this process, we can partly mirror this to a general humanistic perception of images if we consider images as a mediation to higher-level information. The creation of actual, in-real-life images comes from the diffusion of the higher-level knowledge in our brains; those pieces of higher-level knowledges are, in my opinion, properly stored as a culmination of humanistic experiences since one’s birth. Upon perceiving an image, we’re essentially transforming a two-dimensional plane of "diffused noise" (this could be any form of visual representation) as pieces of higher-level knowledges in our brain, yet they could be deviated from the original intention and meaning.

On this note, images are indeed better compared to pure texts. In this example, if I put the word "apple" here, my viewers could have different perceptions to the term: maybe it’s a red apple; maybe it’s a green one; maybe it’s even Apple Inc. that made iPhones. Images can provide a more directional rectification towards transmitting higher-level thoughts and concpets. Nevertheless, it is still incomparable to direct transmissions of higher-level thoughts as it falls within the constraints of diffusion of thoughts.

Going back to the article by my peers, one of their claims is that the values of images are diminishing along with the mass production of them. Quoting from the Frankfurt School thinker Walter Benjamin, their claim is reflecting on his claim that viewing artist labour "as the process by which art is imbued with meaning." Reflecting to my claim in this article, the mass production of images may symbolize technological advancements on means of media production and the media industry itself, yet considering this holistic overview, it may also make the transmission of information into a more chaotic stage where the mass produced images bear incomplete representations of higher-level informations.

As new media studies scholars, it is important to note down the challenges currently faced by our field of study, yet having new perspectives that challenge pre-constructed perceptions may provide us more beneficial insights to shape our field of study — and sometimes it could mean taking a step back and seeing things as a whole to find general patterns.

Works Consulted

“Research Guides: Artificial Intelligence for Image Research: How Generative AI Models Work.” University of Toronto Libraries, guides.library.utoronto.ca/image-gen-ai. Accessed 29 Nov. 2025.

Von Loebell, Matthias, et al. THE IMAGE: REPRESENTATION, REINCARNATION, REPRODUCTION | Approaches to Writing for Media Studies. 29 Sept. 2025, blogs.ubc.ca/mdia300/archives/115. Accessed 29 Nov. 2025.

Image Acknowledgement

The header image was produced by Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash.

Becoming Cultural Products: Digital Subcultures and the Culture Industry

A Critical Response to Molly Kingsley’s The (Not-So) Secret Double Lives of Mormon Wives: Digital Subcultures on Reality Television”

Introduction:

In the post The (Not-So) Secret Double Lives of Mormon Wives, media theorist Molly Kingsley examines the intersectionality of reality television, digital subculture, and the commercialization of social media through the niche digital community “MomTok.” This community is centered around a group of young Mormon mothers whose popularity leads to a Hulu series, The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives. Kingsley argues that MomTok demonstrates how digital subcultures often form around central figures who guide the community’s interests and social norms. She discusses how digital subcultures often lose meaning due to being susceptible to external commercial pressures. Although these subcultures often begin as a space of identity and representation, their visibility on digital platforms is easily manipulated by monetization, performativity, and the demands of the culture industry. Kingsley’s argument provides a strong foundation for understanding how the authenticity of social media slowly dissipates due to commoditization. Building on her analysis, I plan to expand this discussion through the theoretical frameworks of Jenna Drenten’s “Curating a Consumption Ideology” and Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno’s theory of the culture industry. Together, these theories demonstrate that MomTok, Reality Television, and influencers not only participate in systems of commercialization but ultimately become cultural products of the system itself.

Platformization, Performativity, and Consumption Ideology 

Kingsley discusses the performativity of MomTok, highlighting how influencers construct digital identities for public visibility.  This topic becomes more significant when examined through Drenten’s framework of platformization. She describes platformization as the “penetration of infrastructures, economic processes and governmental frameworks of digital platforms in different economic sectors and spheres of life, as well as the reorganization of cultural practices and imaginations around these platforms” (93). This means that digital platforms reshape cultural production by interweaving themselves in social and economic life. Platformization alters how cultural goods are created and monetized. This is made evident by influencers altering their identities to fit within the economic structures of the platform. Within Momtok and “The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives,” influencers commercialize most aspects of their lives. These digital subcultures thrive on mindful curation of their personal branding to maximize platform revenue. This curation encourages audiences to adopt the consumption ideologies ingrained within these platforms. An ideology that normalizes the purchasing products and adopting lifestyles glamorized by influencers, while fueling envy among their audience.

As discussed by Kingsley, reality television intensifies the performativity of influencers. This is evident with the popular MomTok Influencers transitioning from TikTok to Hulu, entering them into a larger, more commodified platform that thrives on drama, conflict, and controversy. Through reality television, these influencers become the cultural product being consumed, as every view, every tweet works to push their careers. This shift allowed the members to reach a wider audience meanwhile further integrating themselves into a capitalistic system that benefits from emotional vulnerability and spectacle. Drenten reminds the audience that social media influencers often overlook the negative outcomes of pushing controversial forms of consumption. As the digital landscape advances controversies, scandals, and dramas have become economic goldmines. Influencers are becoming the very products that social media uses to push capitalist ideals. Their lived experiences are shaped into media commodities whose purpose no longer serves storytelling but rather promotional content aimed to generate monetary value. ​

Reality Television & The Culture Industry

When examined through the framework of Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno’s The Culture Industry, the commodification of influencers becomes apparent. Horkheimer and Adorno argue that under capitalism, cultural products become standardized commodities designed for mass consumption. They highlight the intersectionality of labor and entertainment, demonstrating how mass media advances structures of power. Instead of creating social change and critical thinking, the culture industry produces mass media that pushes ideologies of consumption and promotes false realities. Although this theory predates social media, it remains relevant with influencer culture and reality tv. This is evident with the influencers of MomTok becoming cultural products. Their identities, family lives, and moral dilemmas are turned into viral content aimed at attracting views and sponsorship. Their lives become packaged and mass-produced for the audience’s consumption, blurring the lines between authenticity and performativity. Although these influencers might seem genuine on screen, their personalities are being manufactured to bring fame and visibility to their shows. This ultimately reduces them to commodities of the entertainment industry. This mirrors the culture industry’s process of creating seemingly unique and innovative content that in reality is shaped by industry norms. In the Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, the members are exchanging privacy and agency for profit. The influencers and the audience become embedded in a system that focuses on controversy and consumption over authenticity or critical reflection.

Conclusion

Kingsley’s argument sparked an interesting conversation on the instability of digital subcultures when confronted by capitalism. The shift from MomTok to reality television demonstrates how digital subcultures can be easily exploited by commercialization. What began as a niche community of self-expression discussing Mormonism, femininity, and gender roles easily became a place of controversy. The reality show ultimately worked to undo the curated family-friendly “personas” crafted by the influencers. In favor of shocking, dramatized “personas” that are more profitable to producers and the entertainment industry. 

When viewed through the framework of Drenten, Horkheimer, and Adorno, it’s apparent that these subcultures not only lose meaning but become platforms of pushing ideologies of consumptions. The influencers of Momtok are not merely participating in the culture industry. They are culture products themselves, with their identities being curated, monetized, and mass consumed. Their lives are entertainment commodities that are displayed for the audience’s enjoyment. The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives serves as an example of how digital subcultures work as part of the culture industry, promoting unrealistic desires and controversial ideologies. As Media Studies students, it’s important that we acknowledge the systems at play and learn not to take social media at face value. We must understand that digital platforms can be places of social change and critical thought if used correctly. If we fall victim to commercialization, we can easily lose the core values of these digital communities. Momtok and its journey into reality television demonstrate the intersection of social media, platformization, and the culture industry.

Works Cited

Drenten, Jenna, et al. “Curating a consumption ideology: Platformization and gun influencers on Instagram.” Marketing Theory, vol. 24, no. 1, 10 Oct. 2023, pp. 91–122, https://doi.org/10.1177/14705931231207329. 

Horkheimer , Max, and Theodor Adorno. “The culture industry: Enlightenment as mass deception.” Dialectic of Enlightenment, 31 Dec. 2020, pp. 94–136, https://doi.org/10.1515/9780804788090-007. 

Kingsley, Molly. “The (Not-So) Secret Double Lives of Mormon Wives: Digital Subcultures on Reality Television” UBC Blogs, 22 Nov. 2025, https://blogs.ubc.ca/mdia300/archives/901

The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, by Jeff Jenkins, Jeff Jenkins Productions, 2024. Hulu, www.disneyplus.com.

Written by Aminata Chipembere

Image created by Aminata Chipembere

Investigating ‘Becoming Beside Ourselves’ by B. Rotman

Introduction and Overview

We are no longer able to deny the post-human; we are, as Rotman reminds us, “natural born cyborgs” (2008, 1). The dawn of this cyborg condition is not recent, nor is it merely the effect of digital culture — it begins with writing itself. For Western thought, the writing of speech has long been alphabetic, forming the “dominant cognitive technology (along with mathematics)” so ingrained in our processes of thinking that it becomes “almost invisible” (2008, 2). In this era of alphabetic saturation, we cannot help but be “described, identified, certified and handled — like a text” (1988, x). Brian Rotman, a multidisciplinary scholar trained across mathematics, semiotics, media theory, and the humanities, situates writing not as a neutral tool but as a technology that has structured Western subjectivity for millennia. Becoming Beside Ourselves is the third book in his trilogy on the semiotics of mathematics and writing, and it brings together his lifelong interest in symbolic systems — mathematical notation, alphabetic inscription, and now digital code — to examine how each medium reorganizes our understanding of the self.

Rotman argues that the stability of the alphabetic order was shaken in the 19th century, when new media challenged writing’s role as the primary mode of recording and transmission. Photography, he notes, undermined writing’s claim to represent reality; the phonograph “eclipsed” writing’s earlier monopoly on “the inscription and preservation of speech sounds,” leaving alphabetic writing “upstaged” (2008, 2). Today, that dethroning has accelerated. Virtual and networked media push the alphabet to its abstract limit — a binary code of only two letters . Meanwhile, the rise of parallel computing introduces new “modes of thought and self,” new “imaginings of agency,” whose parallelisms emerge from and yet exceed the “intense seriality” of alphabetic writing (2008, 3). 

This restratification of symbolic systems reshapes more than language; it restructures how we perceive, how we interact, and how we understand our own identities. The transformation becomes clearest through the use of the word I. Rotman traces the ‘I’ across three dominant media regimes: from the spoken ‘I’ grounded in gesture, breath, and bodily presence; to the written ‘I’, an incorporeal, forever marker of selfhood; and now to a virtual ‘I’, dispersed across networked, machine, and parallel forms of agency. The contemporary subject is therefore “plural, trans-alphabetic, derived from and spread over multiple sites of agency — a self going parallel: a para-self” (2008, 9).

To follow the movement of ‘I’ through these technological shifts is to see how older conceptions of identity — single, stable, invisible, and unified, like the God-entity or the classical Psyche — are as ghosts sustained by particular media environments. Rotman’s conceptual realization is ultimately an exorcism; by deconstructing the alphabet, he reveals the media conditions that made such ghosts possible, and shows why they may come to not haunt us any further.

Parallel vs. Serial

It is easiest to understand Rotman’s para-self by beginning with the difference he draws between serial and parallel thinking. Serial thought is the form the alphabet trains us into — one letter following another, one line after the next, one thought subordinated to the previous in a linear chain. Writing, even mathematical, demands sequencing. Each unit must wait its turn. The alphabet is not only a medium but a temporal discipline, a practice of regulating thought into ordered succession.

Parallelism, by contrast, is not simply “doing multiple things at once.” It is a fundamentally different mode of processing, one in which states coexist. Rotman frequently invokes the example of quantum superposition to help illustrate the shift; a particle exists in multiple states simultaneously until observation (measurement) collapses it. The para-self operates in a similar fashion — not by replacing seriality, but by layering multiple agencies, identities, and positions at once. Where alphabetic writing demanded commitment to one linear identity, parallelism allows for co-presence, simultaneity, multiplicity.

The virtual ‘I’ emerges from this parallel condition. It is “an invisible, absent writing agency, detached from the voice, unmoored from any time or place of origination, and necessarily invisible and without physical presence” (2008, 118). This invisibility becomes a form of multiplication; the subject disperses across interfaces, platforms, and computational processes. The para-self is not a metaphor but a structural consequence of computing’s parallel logics and the systems that beg us to adapt.

Yet Rotman insists that alphabetic seriality remains buried within parallel architectures. Even the most complex computational systems rely on ordered sequences of ones and zeros. This is why parallelism cannot be fully disentangled from alphabetic logic, because it emerges from it, even as it overwhelms it. What we call digital identity, then, is already the hybrid offspring of both mothers: serial inscription and parallel computation entangled in a new, collective structure of selfhood.

The End of Utterance

To understand the movement from spoken ‘I’ to written ‘I’, Rotman returns to the medium that first displaced the body: writing. In speech, the ‘I’ is inseparable from gesture, breath, presence — it is a “haptic” event. The voice vibrates through air, the speaker’s arms open; gestures anchor meaning in lived human motion. With writing, however, “the body of the speaking ‘I’ is replaced by an incorporeal, floating agency of the text” (2008, 110). The haptic becomes the abstract as the medium replaces the body.

This replacement is only effective because the medium simultaneously effaces itself. Writing works when it disappears — when the reader forgets the physical marks on the page and is lost in the illusion of direct meaning. Rotman makes this clear in his analysis of “ghost-effects”; “They are medium-specific… their efficacy as objects of belief and material consequence derive from their unacknowledgement — their effacement — of this very fact” (2008, 113). Writing creates the illusion of a stable, enduring ‘I’ precisely because its own materiality fades from view.

As alphabetic inscription took hold, utterance became disembedded from the body. Writing “allows utterance to live beyond itself, thus inventing the idea of a perpetual, unending future and the reality of an unchanging, interminable covenant” (2008, 122). It is through writing that Western culture came to imagine enduring subjects, eternal contracts, continuous selfhood. Once utterance no longer depends on the speaker, the ‘I’ becomes a symbol instead of an event — an indication of the embodied self without body, without voice.

For media studies students, this moment marks the beginning of mediation as we understand it: the idea that the medium structures the message, the self, and the possibilities of experience long before we are aware of it.

God, Mind, and Infinity

Rotman turns to theology and ancient philosophy to show how writing generated the most influential ghosts of Western culture. Alphabetic inscription made possible the figure of a disembodied, omnipresent, invisible God — a being whose “presence” depended on the written marks that represented Him. As he asks, “How did a manmade array of written marks on a scroll of sewn-together animal skins become a ‘holy’ site, a fetish, for the presence of the eternal invisible God?” (2008, 119). Writing’s abstraction enables belief in invisible agencies. Once words detach from bodies, the divine may inhabit them.

The same process appears in Greek philosophy. The invention of the alphabet coincides with the rise of a non-somatic mental agency — the Mind — imagined as a unified, abstract, ruling entity. As Seaford notes, “both monetary value and the mind are abstractions… a single controlling invisible entity uniting the multiplicity of which in a sense it consists” (2008, 242). The alphabet produces the very idea of a singular interiority, a coherent psyche, a stable and commanding ‘I’.

Writing is not just “speech at a distance”, but “speech outside the human” (2008, 129). It is virtual in the sense that it removes utterance from people altogether. The God-entity and the classical psyche are therefore not timeless human intuitions but media-effects: ghosts generated by a technology whose power lies precisely in its invisibility.

By the time we arrive at digital media, these ghosts persist, but can no longer remain comfortable in their symbolic, alphabetic shells. 

The Virtual ‘I’ and the Para-Self

With the digital, the alphabet is pushed beyond its limits. Binary computation reduces writing to its minimal form — two characters — while parallel processing multiplies the agencies acting through and upon the subject. The virtual ‘I’ is no longer grounded in a single position. It is distributed across platforms, accounts, passwords, archives, histories, and data reports. It is acted upon by algorithms, automated processes, and network effects. The self today becomes an ensemble of collective memories, thoughts, and experiences.

Rotman’s para-self phrases this condition as a subject “beside itself”, simultaneously embodied and disembodied, local and networked, serial and parallel. It mirrors superposition — multiple potential states coexisting until interrupted by interaction. Media students encounter this every day in online identity play, algorithmically curated feeds, multi-windowed workflows, and the tension between one’s “real,” “virtual,” and “performed” selves.

The ghosts of God, Mind, and singular Identity do not disappear; they become unstable. The alphabet that once sustained them persists as binary foundations, but the computational environment overwhelms its old stabilizing powers. In this landscape, the ‘I’ is no longer an anchor, it is a node.

End Notes and Advents for Further Study

Rotman’s work opens numerous paths for further inquiry in media studies besides the topics he explores in his other works. As media students, we can use Rotman’s grounding in the logic of philosophy and mathematics to continue exploring the relationship between alphabetic seriality and digital computation, particularly through analyzing Kittler, Hayles, and Chun, among others. However, we can also use Rotman’s notions about the para-self to study how platform and digital identities form and are explored on contemporary media platforms (like social media). We can even go further back and revisit gesture, voice, and affect in a world increasingly oriented towards screens and disembodied interactions. 

All of these endeavour to explain how we as humans have transformed — evolved and contorted — around the advent of new technologies that have demanded more and more of ourselves. In order to keep up, we must constantly break the mold of what previously identified us as humans. Perhaps by revisiting the past, as Rotman suggests, we can learn an inkling of how we soar, afraid and yet determined, towards a future masked by fog and phantoms.

Rotman, Brian. Becoming Beside Ourselves: The Alphabet, Ghosts, and Distributed Human Being. Duke University Press, 2008.

Writing and visuals by Allie Demetrick

Performative Males vs. Performative Media

The word performative circulates widely in our current society. It appears in online discourse, political commentary, and everyday conversations, often used to criticize shallow or insincere behaviour. In its common definition, the Oxford English Dictionary describes performative as: “Of action, speech, behaviour, etc.: done or expressed for the sake of appearance, especially to impress others or to improve one’s own image, typically with the implication of insincere intent or superficial impact.” This meaning focuses on the surface, and insinuates something staged, hollow, and self-serving. This meaning has become even more visible through contemporary memes, especially the “performative male” trend spreading through contemporary social media. These videos mock exaggerated male displays of tailored “feminine” habits, suggesting that certain gendered behaviours exist mainly as performances for a desired audience. However, when introduced in media studies through Bollmer’s Materialist Media Theory, the concept of performance takes on a very different meaning. Instead of describing behaviour done “for show,” Bollmer argues that media perform the world, and have a direct effect on our thoughts, behaviours, and actions. Rather than focusing on the intention, he examines how media shapes what becomes possible in experience and in social life (Bollmer, 2019, pp. 7–14). This contrast opens an important space for media theory, by proving that words do not carry stable meanings across contexts. When a term like performative crosses between popular culture and theory, it lands differently and shifts in significance. By examining these shifts, we gain a clearer understanding of how media produce, condition, and intervene in human action. Under this framework, performativity is not about appearances, but about material consequences.

What does it mean to be performative?

The Oxford Dictionary definition frames performative as a critique. When we say someone’s activism, fashion sense, or interests are “performative,” we imply their behaviour and identity revolves around self-branding for the purpose of impressing others. The same applies to social media: a post can be performative if it signals virtue or outrage without genuine commitment. This meaning depends on intentionality – a performative gesture is insincere because the actor intends to cultivate an appearance rather than effect real change. Bollmer challenges this intention-based thinking by arguing that we should analyze media not by what they represent, but by what they do. The main idea is that media produce realities through their operation. They play an active role in behaviour, identity, and social structures at the level of matter, code, infrastructure, and embodiment (Bollmer, 2019, pp. 20–24). This reframing connects to other theorists like Verbeek, who argues that technologies mediate human perception and action by amplifying some possibilities while reducing others (Verbeek, 2006, pp. 364–370). For Verbeek, the “intentions” of technology are embedded not in user consciousness but in the object’s inherent design, allowing them to guide and shape experience. Media perform through the affordances they create, the choices they structure, and the values they materialize. Taken together, Bollmer and Verbeek move us away from the idea that meaning is determined by the human user. Instead, they argue that true meaning emerges from interactions between humans and media environments. The performative concept becomes a tool that reveals how media act in the world and how they participate in shared life.

“Performative Male”: A Case Study

The recent caricature of the “Performative Male” offers a helpful cultural contrast. These memes exaggerate male behaviour by depicting specific tasks – drinking matcha, reading feminist literature, carrying Labubus – as elaborate displays of effort and identity. A “performative male” performs actions or participates in cultures mostly inhabited by women in an attempt to create a relatable energy. The joke lies in the clear theatrics of this performance:  obviously none of these behaviours are exclusive to women, but a man walking around in public with a barely-touched matcha, a Labubu clipped to his thrifted Carthharts, and Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex in a screen-printed tote bag mimics a peacock performing a mating dance. This meme reflects the Oxford Dictionary’s meaning. The performative male’s labour is exaggerated for the sake of appearance, and his entire identity becomes a performance piece. The humour works because the behaviour signals attention-seeking rather than genuine action. In this sense, the meme critiques performative masculinity and the inflated self-presentation that digital culture rewards. 

However, from Bollmer’s perspective, the meme itself reveals a deeper layer of performativity. It shows how platforms like TikTok and Instagram actively shape behaviour – content creators learn to exaggerate, dramatize, and stylize actions because the platform’s algorithm rewards visibility, clarity, and engagement bait. The meme becomes a product of platform performativity, and displays how media systems encourage and incentivize specific forms of conduct. The meme becomes an example of performativity not because the individual man is insincere, but because social media platforms’ architecture performs social expectations. Media environments materialize what counts as visible or valuable behaviour.

Performative in Media Creation

Understanding performative through both the Oxford Dictionary and Bollmer’s definitions enriches our media theory toolkit. The Oxford Dictionary’s definition helps us analyze cultural performance, signalling, and authenticity, whereas Bollmer’s definition helps us analyze how systems act, intervene, and materialize social relations. Together, they give us a multifaceted view of how meaning moves between people, technologies, and infrastructures. The concept also teaches us that media theory is not just about interpretation, it’s about tracing consequences. When we understand media as performative, we recognize that they are active participants in shaping human experience and are capable of producing emotions, habits, and forms of life – not just images or videos. In a digital landscape dominated by AI, algorithmic feeds, and platform-driven identities, this shift in understanding becomes essential. We can no longer ask only what media say, we must ask what media do.

Citations

Bollmer, G. (2019). Materialist media theory: An introduction. Bloomsbury Academic.

Oxford English Dictionary. (n.d.). Performative. In OED Online. Oxford University Press. https://www.oed.com

Verbeek, P.-P. (2006). Materializing morality: Design ethics and technological mediation. Science, Technology, & Human Values, 31(3), 361–380. https://doi.org/10.1177/0162243905285847

Corresponding With Ideas: Making, Writing & Charlie Kaufman

Central to Tim Ingold’s Making is the notion that “making is a correspondence between maker and material;” that creation is not a matter of imposing your will on the world, but to engage with it; that in the unique properties of every material exists a sort of agency that, in correspondence with your own, shapes the final work. This material may be a piece of clay, a paintbrush, an axe, a violin, matter. But, as I will argue in this paper, this relationship of correspondence may be more universal than applying only to matter; that the material we correspond with may be an idea.

The art form of writing, an abstraction of story, thought, and ideas alloyed only by language, is where we see most clearly this correspondence between maker and idea. Perhaps no writer is better a manifestation of Ingold’s principle of making responsively, reflexively, and in correspondence with than Charlie Kaufman. In his 2011 BAFTA lecture on screenwriting, he wrote: “A screenplay is an exploration. It’s about the thing you don’t know. It’s a step into the abyss. It necessarily starts somewhere, anywhere; there is a starting point but the rest is undetermined, It is a secret, even from you. There’s no template for a screenplay, or there shouldn’t be.” Kaufman, screenwriter of such surreal and labyrinthine narratives as Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, is known for his complex, layered, and often relatable work. Perhaps the iconic and idiosyncratic nature of his projects are thanks to a specific process, one that does not begin with predetermination but with exploration, one that rejects a pre-composed design, and privileges the ideas he works with as shaping the final work. If you’ve read Ingold’s Making, this approach should sound familiar.

“Allow yourself the freedom to change as you discover, allow your screenplay to grow and change as you work on it. You will discover things as you work. You must not put these things aside, even if they’re inconvenient.” Here, Kaufman encourages the writer to change their initial ‘design’ for a screenplay as they are making it. If you’ve ever written anything substantial, you might have shifted gears after a discovery during research, been inspired by an idea from another work that shaped your own, or noticed that a phrase or an argument didn’t sound quite right when put into words, despite your initial intent. Just as a sculptor looks for certain clays and pigments and shapes them to their liking, a writer goes out into the world and learns the truth about certain ideas, concepts, and things, either through deliberate research or human experience, and weaves them together into an argument or a story. Then, like the sculptor reacts to the texture, weight and strength of the clay and adjusts their work accordingly, the writer shapes their story according to the concepts and ideas they’ve learned and encountered. Your writing doesn’t come straight from your head to paper. At some time or another, you got all your ideas from somewhere, and they shape your work as much as you do. You aren’t interacting with physical matter, or collaborating with another person, but there’s clearly something affecting your work here that isn’t you. This secret collaborator, then, may be the agency of ideas, concepts, things; the truths of the world that are a secret to you, but that you can go out and discover. Justice, redemption, war, infinity, the Vietnamese punk scene, our inner desires, father-daughter relationships, what it’s like to live as a janitor, these are the materials of a writer. These are what films, and books, and stories are about. Just as a sculptor makes with clay, a writer makes with these concepts. And just as a seamstress cannot pull a thread so far that it snaps, a writer cannot betray the truth of an idea. 

But, you may object, you can make an idea in your story or essay or lecture to be whatever you want – objects however, do push back against you, literally; they have physical limits. If you don’t correspond to their agency they will actually shatter, melt, break. It’s true, this is a noteworthy distinction. Consider, however, a story about the idea of romantic relationships – one about a guy that gets into a relationship and is therefore freed from all sadness. This story has ignored the truth about romantic relationships; that they have flaws, that they aren’t all there is to life, that they are not, truly, a cure for sadness. Contained within the idea of relationships is that naked truth about ourselves that we’ve all likely experienced. And in making with it, in putting it into your story, that truth exerts a sort of agency in your work. The writer does have the choice to ignore it, just like the carpenter has the choice to ignore the tensile strength of cedar, but just as that lazy carpenter’s house will crumble sometime or another, that writer’s work, in Charlie Kaufman’s eyes, will become forgotten, irrelevant and inapplicable to our human experience, because it is not true to their experience. It is not true to what they really think if they really sat with it, or who they really are. As Kaufman puts it: “I think you need to be willing to be naked when you do anything creatively in film or any other form, that’s really what you have to do because otherwise it’s very hard to separate it from marketing.”

Of course, truth, famously, is subjective. But there are many writers who have written work that is not true to themselves; not because they really have a different view on what the truth of the matter is, but because they’ve ignored it – because the story would not have been as exciting or marketable or formulaic if they had taken the time to think about how things really are. Kaufman argues that “…we’ve been conned into thinking there is a pre-established form. Like any big business, the film business believes in mass production. It’s cheaper and more efficient as a business model.” He quotes Harold pinter in saying “A writer’s life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity… you find no shelter, no protection, unless you lie. In which case, of course, you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.” We can think of  a formulaic screenplay that ignores the truth of human experience much like a politician’s promises, a cheap mass-produced blender or a prefabricated house – sooner or later, it will have to be replaced. Shlocky, formulaic novels and lazily written, straight-to-DVD movies can be entertaining for a while but they don’t tend to be remembered like works that really tried to sit with an idea, find the universal human truth in it and see what they could truly make with it. Just like materials, ideas can last a long time, can continue to be relatable, insightful and truthful to our lives as humans, if we acknowledge their agency; if we try to understand how they really work instead of how we think they should, if we experiment with them, put them together in new ways and wait honestly to see how they correspond with each other and ourselves. In other words, whether the maker is corresponding with materials or ideas, they must make with the truth of the matter.

Ingold, Tim. “Making: Archaeology, Art & Architecture.” Routledge, 2013.

Kaufman, Charlie. “Screenwriter’s Lecture: Charlie Kaufman” BAFTA, 2011.

Pinter, Harold. “Nobel Prize Lecture” The Nobel Foundation, 2008.

Written by Daniel Schatz.