Maybe nothing matters, maybe everything matters – On the value of things, 方丈記, and the weight of hardships

Words by Oliver Cheung

I have a buddy named Wren in my Japanese class. She’s a master’s student in Classical Japanese Literature. Even as somebody who’s studying the language, I have no idea why you’d want to look into an infinitely more difficult version of this language that’s already kicking my GPA down the road like a rusty can. I guess the difference between myself and her is the fact that she’s actually good at speaking, I’m just some bum who’s in too deep to quit. Still, one day she brought up the topic of her own field of study, and she sent me the EPUB for Anthology of Japanese Literature, translated to English, of course. I gave it a read, I was a fan of Rashomon so I figured I would like this, and I did. I highly recommend it. But there was one short story that popped out to me, being An Account of My Hut, which was a tale by an old man writing on how the world around him had gone to smithereens and he had retired to renounce all his worldly possessions in the name of being a monk and lived alone in a hut on the side of a mountain. 

Ten square feet, at the end of the world

Also known as Hōjōki (方丈記), the story was written by Kamō no Chōmei in 1212, during the early Kamakura period. It regales the life of the author as he watches the current kingdom rise and fall, the changing of human values, and eventually his quiet life on the side of Mt. Ohara. It opens with the following quote:

The flow of the river never ceases,
And the water never stays the same.
Bubbles float on the surface of pools,
Bursting, re-forming, never lingering.
They’re like the people in this world and their dwellings.

This has become a significant passage in Japanese literature for being an embodiment of the concept of mujō (無常), referring to the impermanance of things, which is a key component of Buddhism. Things in our human life never stay as they are, and are never as they seem. We exist in fleeting pockets of space, only ever briefly affecting and sometimes never at all. Just as bubbles and pond scum will simmer to the surface of the lake, they burst and disappear all the same, and Chōmei ascribes this quality to people as well.

The story opens with Chōmei recounting his time in the old capital of Kyoto. He writes of the old ages of prosperity, but also just as quickly shifts the tone to that of disaster. A great fire rips through the city, followed just as soon by a whirlwind that causes the city to vanish near overnight. The values of people change, old samurai families are brought to indignity, and beggars tear apart the gold-inlaid pillars of temples for firewood. All the treasures in the world have been laid low as the war between the Minamotos and the Tairas (one of the biggest conflicts in Japan’s medieval history, but a story for another time) persist through the decades. Eventually, the capital was relocated to Fukuhara for a time.

“The mansions whose roofs had rivaled one another fell with the passing days to rack and ruin. Houses were dismantled and floated down the Yodo River, and the capital turned into empty fields before one’s eyes. People’s ways changed completely—now horses were prized and oxcarts fell into disuse. Estates by the sea in the south or west were highly desired, and no one showed any liking for manors in the east or the north.”

As they say in latin, sic transit gloria mundi, “glory fades.” That much isn’t new, however, everyone knows of the empires of old. Camelot, Rome, Alexandria, everything returns to dust one way or another. As living beings on this Earth, we are cursed with impermanence, and everything we are is what we bury. But the significance of Hōjōki and Chōmei’s retelling is how it ends.

As I mentioned earlier, Chōmei would live through this and renounce the world, living as a monk “into his sixth decade” and building himself a ten-foot-square hut of mud on the mountainside of Mt. Ohara, located in what is now Tochigi City. That’s where the story ends. But what does this have to do with media theory? I didn’t think much of it either, until I came to understand that Chōmei’s concept of mujō and our understanding of subjective value are actually quite similar.

Nothing good was built to last

Tim Ingold was onto something actually very Buddhist in his recounting of value, being that real value is shown in decay and in desolation, through usage and lived experience. Items take on new lives of their own in human hands, a love taken miles to forge. I found this concept extremely compelling as I reread Hōjōki again with a media theorist’s lens.

Chōmei treats objects as Ingold would, as possessions that ebb and flow and exist as the companions to people, for better or for worse. And yet, within the desolation, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief through the tragedy as these manors and mansions of old, treated as travesty by Chōmei, were repurposed by survivors or retaken by nature. For their purpose in one life had ended, and they have found different meaning in the constant movement of life, time itself had given them new value. Oxcarts were abandoned to moss, giving way to the admiration of the equine, and Buddhist artifacts that had sat collecting dust were sold and circulated for survival’s sake. In wordly pain, the movement of objects, the foundation of new value became necessary. Is this just a long-winded way of saying that human beings are resourceful and will do anything to secure their continued existence? Yes. That’s exactly what it is. But that’s what also drove me to become so interested in Ingold’s theory of value and creation.

Buddhism is centred around the concept of everything. Everything exists in context of everything else and everything is just as beautiful as everything else. If you wanted to be media theorist-y about it, you could say that all objects exist in relation to materials within a space. But that space must exist in time, and different times require different objects that then carry that memory of usage. And that’s the true humanity that lives in Chōmei’s story – the world can go to ruin however many times over, through fire, wind, and by our own hand. And yet, we do whatever it takes, making value out of anything to get our way, live another day.

The story closes with Chōmei commenting on how his own method of escape, his ten-square-foot hut, has become precious to him. He had inititally used it as a form of temporary seclusion, angry at the state of the world, but in his time on Mt. Ohara, he came to love his tiny hut for it had become more like a home than any other residence he had before. Bollmer would account this to Ahmed’s definition, but it’s far more poetic to say it how it is.

When we use something, we come to love it. When we live somewhere, we come to feel like we belong. We live in relation with everything else, and everything else is beautiful.

By Oliver Cheung

Keene, Donald. Anthology of Japanese Literature: From the Earliest Era to the Mid-Nineteenth Century. Grove Press, 2014.

Ingold, Tim. Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture. Routledge, 2013.

The Paradox of the Female Gaze

The term female gaze has become increasingly visible across pop-culture and media discourse. Generally, it is understood as a perspective shaped by women—either directed toward the self or toward the world. While the male gaze is classically sexual and objectifying of women, the female gaze is liberating– women taking ownership of their perception (as its colloquially understood). Across film, media, and social media, the female gaze is becoming an increasing popular phenomenon that both invites a larger female audience to claim female presence in viewership counts, and give stage to female artists to depict this gaze.

Importantly, this term circulates with a mostly descriptive neutrality: it names an orientation without yet assigning moral or analytical weight. In popular usage, the female gaze is often associated with alternative modes of looking, dressing, storytelling, and relating, distinct from the traditionally dominant male gaze. However, pockets of the internet pedestalize creators who embody the female gaze as opposed to the male gaze. What follows is an overview of how this concept has entered contemporary culture before examining its deeper implications. I describe the rise and implications of the idea of “female gaze” before overall concluding that that within the constraints of a patriarchal society, the female gaze, simply, cannot exist.

The Rise of the Term “Female Gaze” in Pop Culture

On platforms such as TikTok, creators use the “female gaze” to describe a particular aesthetic: gender-fluid, androgynous, or subtly expressive rather than overtly sexualized. The male gaze is typically invoked to characterize older or more traditional fashion trends that emphasize sexual appeal (take the Kardashian, Fashion Nova craze of the 2010s), while newer stylistic choices (trad wife, Sophia Richie-core) are framed as embodiments of the female gaze. Both male and female creators participate in this categorization, suggesting that the term has come to function as a stylistic shorthand rather than a strictly gendered epistemology.

This compilation encapsulates what the audience views as male vs. female gaze in today’s landscape.
In film culture, the female gaze is used to denote a woman’s perspective behind the camera and within narrative design. This often involves an emphasis on emotional intelligence, relational nuance, and inclusivity—of genders, identities, and casting choices. Films such as Pride and Prejudice or the Twilight series are positioned as examples of “feminine” direction and characterization, partly because they foreground interiority and portray male characters through a lens shaped by feminine desire and affective depth.

Let’s Start with the Male Gaze…

Film theorist Laura Mulvey argues that the unconscious of a patriarchal society shapes filmic structures, granting principle agency to men. Psychoanalysis becomes useful because, as she writes, it renders “the frustration experienced under the phallocentric order,” allowing feminists to approach the roots of their oppression. Freud’s notion of castration anxiety—the fear of losing masculine power—underpins the fetishistic fixation on women’s bodies in film.

This manifests as objectification: women are positioned to be “looked at and displayed,” their appearances “coded for strong visual and erotic impact” that connotes to-be-looked-at-ness. The woman becomes the erotic spectacle; her purpose is visual consumption. John Berger succinctly articulates this dynamic:

Men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed is female. Thus she turns herself into an object of vision: a sight.

– John Berger


Cinema extends this relation through literal mechanics—the camera follows the man’s gaze, panning on men’s desires and capturing what they want to possess in sight and materially. Film becomes a vessel for masculine fantasy, even though in ordinary life, femininity may be demeaned or vilified. For male audiences, film offers escape; for female audiences, it offers a mirror in which they see themselves molded for male desire.

The theoretical foundation of the female gaze emerges as a response to Laura Mulvey’s formulation of the male gaze. Mulvey’s psychoanalytic analysis of film argues that cinematic form is structured around a masculine unconscious: women become objects of visual pleasure, positioned as passive recipients of a male viewer’s desire. Because the female gaze arises in contradistinction to this framework, it is not an omnipresent or dominant perspective. It operates as a compensatory idea—an attempt to name what sits outside or against the masculine framework. This responsive nature is essential, as it underscores the argument that the female gaze cannot be fully disentangled from the male one.

Universality of the Male Gaze

Examples saturate mainstream cinema: fast-paced action franchises, prestige dramas, comedies, and even workplace shows all rely on visual tropes such as unnecessary nudity, slow pans across female bodies, tight or impractical clothing, and narrative structures where women function only as lovers, sexual objects, or maternal figures. The failure to pass the Bechdel test is not incidental, it reflects a broader diminishment of women’s emotional and intellectual presence. Crucially, the male gaze is not simply how men see the world. It is: how society is presented to us, how women see other women, and how women come to see themselves.

Internalizing the Male Gaze

Berger describes the internal split within women: the surveyor (male) and the surveyed (female). From childhood, women are taught to track their own appearance, evaluating themselves from the vantage point of male approval. This produces a perpetual self-monitoring—walking, weeping, speaking, even existing—under the imagined scrutiny of an internalized watcher.

Mulvey’s conclusions fold into Margaret Atwood’s framing of male fantasy: whether pedestalized or degraded, women remain positioned within narratives authored by masculine desire. Even rejecting or resisting the fantasy becomes another version of it. Women become their own voyeurs.

Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.

Margaret Atwood, The Robber Bride

The Era of the Female Gaze

But gone are the days that media and life let men’s pesky gaze rule women’s perception… right? Entering this era of female gaze sits on one paradigm: telling women to dress for men is corrupting and disenfranchising (which I agree with). What it also says is that telling women not to dress for men is good.

In 2024, Julia Fox proclaimed that she is no longer dressing for the male gaze after realizing how internalized her internal voyeur had gotten. New York Fashion writer Leandra Medine pens a new term that would soon symbolize a sub-group of gen-z fashion: man repelling which she describes as

…outfitting oneself in a sartorially offensive mode that may result in repelling members of the opposite sex. Such garments include, but are not limited to, harem pants, boyfriend jeans, overalls, shoulder pads, full length jumpsuits, jewelry that resembles violent weaponry, and clogs

Unlike the male gaze, which was intended for film theory, the female gaze has transcended media spaces and has become a cultural zeitgeist. The female gaze is often defined by negation– what it is not. The female gaze is not attracting men, it is not dressing in the articles of clothing men often describe as desirable. Or perhaps, what would men hate? It provides a mechanism for women to discover personal style beyond wanting to be viewed as an object of attraction.

Reframing the Female Gaze

However, at the centre of the female gaze narrative still lies the very oppressive force that the male gaze imposes: catering to and considering men. It is hardly any more liberating to not dress for men, as it is to dress for them because we are still viewing ourselves thorough the lens of the man.

Not to mention, one of the second order effects of the ‘female gaze’ trend being a virtue signalling amongst women where some women claim to be ‘better feminists’ because they don’t dress for women while assuming others do. This often manifests in vicious, hostile comments, deriding women for their choices under the assumption of their intention to appear attractive to a male audience. In doing so, the liberation that the female gaze had intended to seek gets diluted into a memetic game. Furthermore, the virtue signallers too are viewing themselves and the other women through the male gaze to make this judgement. I believe this is only natural.

Given this pervasive adoption of the male gaze, the concept of a female gaze becomes complicated. If women are their own voyeurs, shaped by the same frameworks that mythologize and objectify them, then the female gaze cannot emerge fully autonomous. Its circulation in trend cycles reveals this: what is now described as female-gaze fashion is largely a resurgence of 90s styles filtered through contemporary values such as sustainability or gender fluidity. The gaze itself is not new– only the language is. The female gaze, as popularly understood, attempts to name a perspective beyond the male gaze. Yet, because it emerges as a response and because the male gaze structures not only film but socialization, embodiment, and desire, the female gaze cannot exist independently. It participates in a cyclical relationship in which its meaning is shaped by the very thing it seeks to counter. The paradox lies here: in trying to articulate an alternative, the female gaze reveals the extent to which the male gaze has already defined the terms.

Digital Surveillance: Body & Power

Introduction:

Our phones are constantly surveilling us, although we often fail to notice it. In this era of digital technology, we have grown accustomed to our devices requesting access to our data, our location, and ultimately our private lives. We have become accustomed to saying “yes” to breaches of our privacy without considering the repercussions and what these companies plan to do with our data. This passive willingness has kept us unaware of the larger political and economic systems that are at play. As society has become more polarized and capitalist, it is essential to be aware of the dangers inherent in digital surveillance. Companies are actively collecting, commercializing, and selling intimate data without informing the users. Lindsay Balfour’s Surveillance, Biopower, and Unsettling Intimacies discusses the dangers of surveillance of women’s intimate needs in the overturning of Roe v Wade. Balfour’s work reminds us of the hysteria that occurred after the overturning and the fear of period tracking apps selling our data to the United States government. In this era of political control of people’s bodies, especially marginalized communities, it is crucial that we stay aware of these dangers. These concerns become even more prevalent with the newly introduced government-funded AI-driven surveillance system to help ICE profile and hunt down immigrants across social media. This military grade surveillance system is being used to perpetuate fear and discrimination. Balfour’s analysis of intimate data and ICE’s extreme monitoring practices demonstrates how surveillance functions as a tool of power that aims to control the body and society. 

Biopower & Intimate Data:

After the overturning of Roe v Wade, I remember feeling worried about my menstrual application and the data it held. Before these political implementations, I had been utilizing a US-based company, Flo, before switching to Clue, a UK-based company that explicitly claimed that it would protect user’s health information. Looking back, this choice was more significant than I realized. Balfour discusses that in 2021, Flo reached a settlement with the FTC (Federal Trade Commission)  after being accused of sharing intimate health data of over 100 million users to third-party companies. Although Flo still claims they never sold this data, and that this settlement was “save time”, they were accused again in 2025 for collecting data and utilizing it for advising. This example demonstrates how easily our most intimate bodily data can be packaged, commodified, and circulated without our consent. While it may seem harmless for advertisers to have access to this information, the stakes become higher when such data can be accessed by the government or law enforcement. 

Through Balfour’s discussion of biopower, it becomes evident that these methods of surveillance do not simply observe the body; they regulate it. Balfour references Michel Foucault’s theory on biopower from Biopower: Foucault and Beyond, which is defined as a form of political power that regulates bodies and population by collecting and surveilling, ultimately working towards making a society that serves the government’s interest. Balfour reminds us that through collecting reproductive data that tracks cycles, predicts pregnancies, and perhaps informs about complications or personal choices, these platforms lose their neutrality. They participate in a political system that wants to govern bodies at a biological level. Balfour argues that “Platforms are no longer things outside or adjacent to us, whether hand-held or screen mediated; instead they are now embedded, both literally and figuratively in our lives and bodies”(60). The intersection between these digital platforms and our bodies can be dangerous when we understand its political consequences. With the increasingly strict regulations surrounding abortion and gender affirming care, choices that were meant to be private are being monitored without our consent. This is an attempt by the political system to limit self expression and autonomy, having society adhere to their values or be punished for deviation. We can see how the monitoring of our personal information is being used against us, putting our bodies and livelihoods at risk.

State Surveillance & Social Control:

This era of surveillance is not limited to regulating our bodies; it’s being increasingly used to control the population and immigration. As reported by The Lever, the Immigration and Custom Enforcement (ICE) has purchased a 5.7 million AI social media surveillance software that is designed to read over 8 billion social media posts a day. Although ICE claims that this software is meant to “detect threats,” there has been no public consent from social media users whose information is being run through this program. It becomes clear that the government is using digital surveillance to control and classify people as “dangerous” or “threatening” without proper investigation. This raises major concerns in this current polarized political climate, as many pro-Palestine activists have been targeted by immigration authorities after being doxxed (having their private information exposed). With the increase in anti-Latino immigration rhetoric, it is worrying how this technology will further perpetuate systems of violence. These surveillance methods work to silence political expression and place vulnerable communities at even more risk. This surveillance technology is extremely alarming, as there is a lot of secrecy surrounding it. Even after searching online, there was a surprising lack of articles on the topic. This lack of transparency demonstrates erasure of consent on digital platforms. Social Media companies that once promised to protect users’ privacy are easily allowing government access to their information without permission or warning. Serious matters such as immigration are being reduced to the qualifications of AI technology and “digital footprint”. With the rise of digital surveillance, it’s becoming clear how easily our autonomy is being stripped away, leaving our private information at risk. 

Conclusion:

As digital surveillance increases, it becomes more important than ever for us to be self-aware of our data and the breaches of our privacy. As mentioned by Foucault, systems of power use surveillance to control our bodies and population. These power structures want to silence our voices and limit our choices through surveillance and punishment. It’s crucial we acknowledge that these platforms that say they will protect our data are often taking hidden contracts that commodify our information, caring more about money than our safety. Although privacy issues around menstruation and immigration data occurred in the United States. These problems are not confined to only one country, as digital surveillance expands globally, and many countries are turning more conservative. This use of intimate data to control, silence, and discipline the masses is becoming normalized. It’s crucial as Media Studies students and users of the internet that we recognize the danger of surveillance. This topic is extremely important to us as media creators, as we are often using digital platforms to speak our minds. We must acknowledge that our art, our words, and our values may be surveilled and used against us. This is why we must take the time to analyze and consider the repercussions before passively saying “yes” to tracking or sharing data. We can only begin to resist these systems of oppression once we truly understand them and their consequences.

Works Cited: 

Balfour, Lindsay Anne. “Surveillance, Biopower, and Unsettling Intimacies in Reproductive Tracking Platforms.” TOPIA, vol. 48, 1 Mar. 2024, pp. 58–75, doi:10.3138/topia-2023-0025. 

Cisney, Vernon W., and Nicolae Morar. Biopower: Foucault and Beyond. The University of Chicago Press, 2016. Schwenk, Katya. “Ice Just Bought a Social Media Surveillance Bot.” The Lever, 21 Nov. 2025, www.levernews.com/ice-just-bought-a-social-media-surveillance-botice-just-bought-a-social-media-surveillance-bot/. Accessed 10 Dec. 2025.

Written by Aminata Chipembere

Gestures as mediational means

In October, I gave way to the cyclist, and they showed me their palm as a sign of gratitude. A split second before they cycled away. I’ve heard that drivers also do that – they lift their fingers off the steering wheel to thank the driver across. Maybe they let you know there’s a police car with a speedometer nearby. You just do it, and you feel connected without speaking a single word. I thought about it a lot, for some reason – about those little ways in which we connect with people in a busy city and how sometimes no words are needed to understand each other. And then we discussed mediational means in class.

Writing this post feels very LinkedIn-coded: here’s what giving way to a cyclist taught me about b2b sales kind of premise. But for this whole semester, we’ve let media studies grow roots in our real lives, reading Ingold instead of Tolkien, watching “Library of the World” instead of “Muppet Treasure Island” and citing Plato in our comments instead of just saying “me fr fr XD”. So I hope you forgive me for bringing media studies into the act of being a human and showing a fellow human your palm before cycling away.

Gestures as everyday media

Try noting how many gestures you use throughout the day. Do you shrug when asked how you’re doing? Do you wave at your friends when you see them from afar? Do you move your hands around aggressively when describing the most annoying event of the day to your family?

Flusser attempts to define gestures and comes down to this: “a gesture is a movement of the body or of a tool connected to the body for which there is no satisfactory causal explanation.” (2) There is no “scientific” or “logical” reason to raise an index finger when somebody’s bombarding you with questions while you’re clearly on the phone. The gesture becomes the symbol, it carries and mediates meaning: silence, in this case. (Flusser, 4)

Often, we don’t even notice a slight hand movement, a head tilt, a wave of a finger. Don’t be fooled – gestures are very intentional, it’s how we think through our bodies. Ever gestured something while talking on a phone only to realise your interlocutor cannot see what you’re doing? This is because gestures help us process complex information and spatial data: gestures are not simply performative.

There’s a joke about an Italian soldier who was captured during the war and, when released by his fellow soldiers, was asked: they tortured you, did you tell them anything? To which he replied “how could I have told them anything, my hands were tied?”. While it’s a silly joke, it underlines our understanding of gestures as cultural transistors of meaning that are integrated into speech. Gestures and speech synchronize to express similar meanings, yet do so in vastly different ways (McNeil, 11).

Gestures as self-sufficient mediators

We might be inclined to see gestures as “sides” to our “main meals” that is speech. Gestures can seem decorative, adding emotions to the story rather than telling it.

This is probably as wrong as assuming a tree doesn’t make a noise simply because we aren’t there to hear it or that mommy disappeared because you can’t see her. That is to say: grow up.

David McNeil describes at length the unity between speech and gestures (23-24). They are, he argues, two sides of the same cognitive process, manifesting differently through different media: both equally valuable and significant. A conversation held with gesturing will feel different in both emotional and meaningful sense from a conversation held with no gestures. Because, ultimately, not every meaning is expressible through speech: that is why we use them, after all. Spatial and temporal thinking are often better expressed though gestures, containing meanings separate from words.

Gestures as mediational means

In his “Mediated Discourse”, Ron Scollon suggests shifting attention from language as text to language as social action. In his view, meaning is produced through actions in a given context rather than simply being embedded in words. He therefore defines mediational means as cultural tools: material objects that carry out the mediated action (4). Scollon specifies that mediational means include embodied practices, be it posture or movements.

Social action is always mediated: there can be no action without tools that shape how said action is performed. No omelette without a stove and a pan, no late night calls without phones, no ratting out your country’s military plans without free hands movement. This, again, makes bodies function as sites of mediation, allowing social actors to perform in socially recognized practices, mediating whatever is required at the moment.

Scollon goes on to describe five main characteristics of mediational means as follows (121):

Dialectical – there is a dialectic between the external aspects of the mediational means as an object in the world and the internal structures of the person using the mediational means. Some gestures can feel more or less fitting this characteristic, mainly because, in my opinion, Scollon does a poor job of explaining what he means.

Historical – in both global and local ways: there can be a global history of blowing a kiss, and your favourite memory of receiving such a kiss for the first time, for example.

Partial – mediational means never fits one action exactly, only some of their characteristics being useful at a time. By being both more and less than called upon, they transform the action being performed.

Connective – mediational means link both many purposes and many participants. Today, you show me your palm when I give you way on the road. Tomorrow, somebody else does, so you do that to another person. I’m not jealous, no. It’s the connective nature of mediational means.

Representational – mediational means are not specific and concrete objects, but representative tokens of a class of objects.

“So what?” says the media studies student

In media studies, we recognize meaning as being produced through so many more things than simple semiotic representation. Gestures produce meaning through embodied actions, and understanding it is what we get from reframing them as mediational means. They translate convoluted cognitive processes into socially understandable actions. Media analysis doesn’t need to focus solely on technologies and texts, I believe we need to also pay attention to the embodied practices: they are the basics of enacting media, they are the basic of human life and cultural interaction.

If anything, this post is a nice reminder that mediation and meaning can be happening away from award-winning films, away from scrollitelling websites and complicated research papers. Sometimes it is literally right in your hand.


Work cited:

Mcneill, David. 1992. Hand and Mind : What Gestures Reveal about Thought. Chicago: University Of Chicago Press.

Scollon, Ronald. 2009. Mediated Discourse : The Nexus of Practice. London ; New York (N.Y.): Routledge.

Vilém Flusser. 2014. Gestures. U of Minnesota Press.

When the Body Disappears: Data Doubles and the Future of Fashion Media

The Image Is Not What It Appears

We often assume that an image is something simply there, a visible object presented to our eyes. Yet, as Hans Belting argues in An Anthropology of Images, an image is never identical to its material support. Images occupy a paradoxical position: they rely on a medium to appear, but they do not belong to that medium. They must be activated by the viewer’s imagination, which draws the image “out” of the opaque material and turns the medium into a transparent conduit. In Belting’s formulation, the image exists in a state of suspension between presence and absence, between embodiment and disembodiment, between materiality and mental projection. It is not the medium that ultimately “holds” the image, but the viewer who gives it perceptual life. 

From Mediation to Substitution

This instability becomes newly consequential in the age of datafied bodies. Once the medium of the image becomes databases, model weights, and computational systems rather than celluloid or canvas, the separation between bodies and their images does not simply expand, it is structurally transformed. The “image” of a person may no longer require a person at all. A digital model can be generated, iterated, and deployed without ever having stood before a camera; a dataset can circulate long after the human it references has withdrawn, aged, or refused consent. In this environment, images no longer merely detach from bodies, they begin to replace them.In contemporary conversations, terms like multimedia and mass media appear so frequently that the word medium risks losing any real conceptual depth. If we want to use the term in a meaningful theoretical way, we have to clarify what we mean when we say it. McLuhan famously describes media as extensions of the human body, technological forms that recalibrate how we sense and navigate time and space, rather than neutral channels that deliver information. Art history, meanwhile, tends to define a medium either as an artistic category or the physical material an artwork is made from. But neither of these definitions fully captures what is at stake when we talk about images today. Across media theory, a recurring insight is that the medium operates as the technical and material condition that makes an image perceptible at all. A medium is not simply a conduit; it is the condition of the image’s visibility, the material and technological ground that turns a visual event into something perceptible. The medium, therefore, is neither external to the image nor subordinate to it; it is the ground through which the image becomes thinkable, legible, and real.

The Fashion Data Double

On the surface, an AI-generated fashion model image looks simple enough: a glossy figure posed against a studio backdrop, clothes hanging perfectly, skin without pores or fatigue. It could be a screenshot from any luxury campaign, until you realize there was never a body in front of the camera. No model booked, no lights adjusted to her height, no stylist pinning fabric to her spine. Instead, what stands in for “her” is a composite built out of scans, datasets, and models that can be rendered in endless variations without ever asking for rest or consent. Data & Society’s research on “fashion’s data doubles” names this shift: the fashion model is no longer only a person who works in front of a lens, but also a datafied proxy, a version of her body extracted, stored, and redeployed through computational systems. The report shows how models’ measurements, images, and movements become training material for virtual lookbooks and automated try-on tools, and how these digital stand-ins can appear in campaigns the model herself never participated in. Her “image” moves on without her.

Disturbing Belting’s Triangle

This transformation presses on a question that has been hovering around our course all semester, and that Hans Belting formulates sharply in his anthropology of images: what exactly is an image, and what kind of body does it require? For Belting, images are never just things “out there.” They exist in a triangle: body, medium, image. The body is the living site where images arise and are perceived; the medium is the material support that makes them visible; the image itself hovers somewhere between the two, inner and outer, psychic and material, always dependent on imagination to “lift” it from its medium. We do not simply control images; they occupy us, inhabit our memory, and help us make sense of the world. If we take Belting seriously, then AI fashion models are not just a technical novelty. They represent a disturbance in this triangle. Here, the “image” of a person is produced without a living body in front of the camera. The medium is no longer film or sensor but a computational system. Yet these images still land in human perception; they still cling to our ways of seeing bodies, beauty, gender, and race. The question, then, is not only what data doubles are doing to the labor conditions of models, as Data & Society carefully documents, but what they are doing to the very definition of images and embodiment

What Belting helps us see, then, is that images are never just “out there” in the world; they are always routed through living bodies that remember, fantasize, and perceive (Belting 2011). Yet this anthropological focus on perception also has a blind spot. It tells us a great deal about how images inhabit viewers, but less about how images extract from those who are pictured, or from those whose data underwrite the image in the first place. When the fashion model’s likeness becomes training data, what kind of “occupation” is taking place? The image does not just live in my memory; it also lives in a database owned by someone else. Belting’s triangle reminds us that images need bodies, but the data double forces us to ask a harder question: whichbodies, and on whose terms?

Black Boxes and Borrowed Authority

New media rarely establish credibility by announcing themselves as new. Instead, they tend to lean on the visual authority of older forms, adopting photographic conventions while quietly concealing their own mechanisms (Bolter and Grusin 1999).The AI fashion model is made to look as though it were photographed in a studio and the polished framing of editorial fashion imagery. The result is not merely an image that looks like a photograph; it is a medium that strategically disguises itself as the photographic, so that viewers inherit photography’s habits of belief without having to confront photography’s material preconditions. What emerges is a peculiar reversal of transparency. In Belting’s terms, the medium becomes “transparent” when the viewer’s imagination extracts the image from its support, treating the support as a conduit rather than an object (Belting 2011). With computational images, the conduit is transparent in a different sense: it is deliberately black-boxed. The viewer is invited to host the image while remaining structurally distant from the conditions of its production. This distance is not accidental; it is functional. It allows the medium to expand its role, from carrying to generating, without triggering immediate skepticism about presence.

Embodiment at the End of the Chain

Yet, if the initiating body is no longer required at the moment of production, embodiment does not disappear. It relocates. Hansen’s account of digital images is crucial here: digital mediation does not “free” images from bodies so much as it demands that bodies re-enter at the level of perception, affect, and sensorimotor completion (Hansen 2006). Even when an AI fashion model is generated without a photographed body, it still requires a perceiving body to be read as sensual, aspirational, racialized, gendered, desirable. The viewer’s body becomes the final site where the image comes to life, where the medium’s outputs are translated into lived sensation (Hansen 2006). The body is not erased, but displaced, arriving at the end of the process to authorize an image it never helped produce. This is where McLuhan’s idea of extension starts to feel uneasy. Media may extend perception, but they also change our sense of what attention should feel like, how fast it moves, how smoothly it flows, and what we come to expect from it (McLuhan 1964).Van Den Eede pushes the point further: every extension entails a diminishment, a redistribution of agency and awareness that often makes the extension feel “natural” precisely by making its costs difficult to perceive (Van Den Eede 2015). In computational imaging, the extension is not only optical; it is generative. The medium extends the image beyond the body’s presence, yet diminishes the body’s capacity to delimit, negotiate, or refuse what that image will become.

At this point, the “medium” is no longer simply the condition of visibility. It becomes an engine of substitution: a system that can model presence itself. And because it models presence in familiar photographic language, its substitution can be mistaken for continuity.If the medium can produce images without bodies, then the central political question becomes: whose bodies still pay the cost of visibility?  The answer is rarely “no one.” Instead, bodies are translated into resources, and the image becomes a site where extraction can continue under the sign of realism. The Data & Society account of “fashion’s data doubles” names a structural reconfiguration: the fashion model is no longer only a worker who appears before a camera but also a datafied proxy whose measurable attributes proportions, facial geometry, movement, skin texture can be stored, and redeployed across campaigns and platforms (Data & Society). The decisive shift is not simply that images circulate; images have always circulated. The shift is that circulation can now occur with a reduced need for participation from the original subject. The model can be absent, asleep, unwilling, or contractually excluded, yet the proxy continues to “work.”

John Berger’s account of reproducibility helps frame this mobility historically. Once images become reproducible, they loosen from the singular contexts that once anchored them and acquire a new social life (Berger 1972). In AI fashion systems, that “social life” takes on an industrial form: the image is not only reproduced; it is *iterated.* It becomes parameterized, tweakable, and scalable. This is why the question “What happens to mediation when images can keep working without bodies?” is not metaphorical. It describes a literal labor shift: the work of appearing can be separated from the worker who once supplied appearance. The concept of the data double becomes most politically legible when read through Belting’s claim that images are neither identical to living bodies nor reducible to inanimate objects. 

The deeper issue is that AI converts bodily work into a durable productive asset, a form of labor that can outlive the worker’s presence (Data & Society 2024). McLuhan’s extension thesis clarifies why this can feel strangely normal. Extensions do not announce themselves as domination; they present themselves as convenience, as “just how things work now” (McLuhan 1964). Van Den Eede adds the missing mechanism: when an extension becomes naturalized, its costs become harder to perceive; the body that made the extension possible is quietly erased from the story the medium tells about itself (Van Den Eede 2015). The data double is precisely this kind of naturalized extension: the model’s bodily labor is extended into a technical system, and the extension quickly becomes treated as the primary reality. The original body is reframed as merely the raw input.

This is why “endless labor” is not only metaphorical. It is structural. Tiziana Terranova’s argument about digital “free labor” helps explain how value extraction can persist without appearing as labor at all, because participation, capture, and circulation are built into the environment rather than enforced as discrete acts (Terranova 2000). Zuboff’s “surveillance capitalism” names an adjacent logic: systems thrive by turning lived experience into data that can be repurposed without reciprocal control (Zuboff 2019). Data doubles operate along this axis. What disappears is not work, but the conditions under which work can be recognized, negotiated, or refused.

A deeper anthropological question follows:

If images can be engineered to keep producing value after the body withdraws, what happens to refusal as a bodily capacity?

If image-making is understood anthropologically rather than purely technologically, then the current crisis of images appears less as a sudden rupture and more as a breakdown in correspondence.
From this perspective, the danger of AI-generated imagery is not that it fabricates images, but that it fabricates them without requiring continued bodily negotiation. Images no longer need to answer to fatigue, refusal, vulnerability, or time. They persist independently of the bodies that once grounded them. This is where image philosophy begins to slide, almost inevitably, into political economy. When images no longer negotiate with bodies, they become ideal vehicles for extraction. The data double exemplifies this shift. A likeness captured once can circulate endlessly, generating value without requiring further participation from the person it resembles. What is lost is not only labor compensation, but the body’s capacity to intervene in its own representation. The image no longer responds; it simply continues. In this sense, the problem is not that images misrepresent bodies, but that they no longer depend on them.

A Crisis of Relation

Anthropologically, this marks a profound transformation. Images have historically functioned as sites of exchange,between life and death, presence and absence, self and other. Funerary images, mirrors, shadows, paintings, and photographs all required the body to remain meaningful. Even when images abstracted or idealized, they retained a trace of bodily limitation. AI images, by contrast, risk becoming images without consequence. They do not age. They do not resist. They do not withdraw. And because they circulate with the visual authority of older media forms, they are often accepted without question.
Yet the issue is not simply deception. As Flusser warns, the true power of technical images lies not in their capacity to lie, but in their capacity to reorganize perception until their conditions of production disappear from view. Once images feel natural, their authority becomes difficult to contest. Over time, bodies that cannot match the smoothness, efficiency, and availability of synthetic images begin to appear excessive or insufficient by comparison. The image no longer reflects cultural values; it quietly installs them.

Seen this way, the crisis of AI imagery is not a crisis of realism, but a crisis of relation. When images stop corresponding with bodies, they cease to function as mediators and begin to operate as autonomous systems. They no longer translate human experience; they overwrite it. And because images structure how the world becomes intelligible, this autonomy carries real consequences,for labor, for aesthetics, for gender and racial politics, and for the very concept of embodiment.
The task, then, is not to abandon image-making nor to nostalgically recover a pre-digital past. Anthropology teaches that images are unavoidable. We live in them, think through them, and remember with them. The question is whether images can still be made to correspond—to materials, to bodies, to lived limits. Without this correspondence, images risk becoming a runaway cultural force: endlessly productive, endlessly circulating, and increasingly detached from the human conditions that once gave them meaning. In the end, the problem is not that images have gained power, but that they have lost negotiation. And once images no longer need to negotiate with bodies, it is no longer clear how bodies can negotiate back.

Works Cited

Belting, Hans. An Anthropology of Images. Princeton University Press, 2011.

Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. Penguin, 1972.

Bolter, Jay David, and Richard Grusin. Remediation: Understanding New Media. MIT Press, 1999.

Data & Society. Fashion’s Data Doubles. Data & Society Research Institute, 2024.

Flusser, Vilém. Towards a Philosophy of Photography. Reaktion Books, 1983.

Hansen, Mark B. N. Bodies in Code: Interfaces with Digital Media. Routledge, 2006.

McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. McGraw-Hill, 1964.

Terranova, Tiziana. “Free Labor: Producing Culture for the Digital Economy.” Social Text, vol. 18, no. 2, 2000, pp. 33–58.

Van Den Eede, Yoni. Tracing the Medium: Technological Mediation and Postphenomenology. Lexington Books, 2015.

Zuboff, Shoshana. The Age of Surveillance Capitalism. PublicAffairs, 2019.

We’re All Born Naked and the Rest is Performative Materiality: Drag, Gender, and Audiences.

In Materialist Media Theory, Grant Bollmer argues that media are not passive carriers of meaning but material processes that act upon bodies, shape subjects, and generate the conditions through which identities can emerge (Bollmer). Media, in this sense, does not simply represent; it performs. It intervenes in the world. It exerts force. It structures what bodies can do and how they appear.

The art of drag is a productive lens for understanding Bollmer’s notion of performative materiality. Rather than treating drag as an exceptional or marginal cultural form, I use it as a case that makes visible the broader media-ontological operations Bollmer attributes to all mediated identity. Drag helps us see, in concrete terms, how gender emerges from interactions among bodies, objects, technologies, and audiences. Drag exemplifies Bollmer’s core argument: Identity is the outcome of material practices, not an interior essence, and media such as prosthetics, language, and audiences participate in performing identity alongside us.

The Body as Medium

If media is performative, then the body is one of its primary sites of action. Bernadette Wegenstein describes the body as “our most fundamental medium,” a surface continuously shaped, rewritten, and extended through material practices (Wegenstein 2010). Drag performers make this process visible.

Egner & Maloney’s study documents performers who articulate gender not as a fixed inner truth but as something produced through embodied technique: padding, contouring, binding, layering, staging, and stylizing. These techniques are not superficial decorations; they are operations that actively reorganize the performer’s physical and social presence.

In Egner and Maloney’s study, performers consistently describe drag as something that operates beyond fixed categories of sex or gender. Performers move fluidly between masculine and feminine embodiments, sometimes within a single act, and anatomical exposure does not necessarily disrupt the gender being performed. What matters is not the visibility of the body’s “biological” markers, but the larger assemblage of gesture, costuming, movement, and audience orientation through which gender becomes legible.

Image Credits: BobTheDragQueen.com

Bollmer’s framework is useful here because these transformations are not simply symbolic gestures layered over an already-existing identity. They are material operations that actively reorganize how the body functions in space. Wigs, makeup, padding, and prosthetics act as media technologies that exert force on perception, movement, and social recognition. Drag performers, therefore, exemplify Bollmer’s argument that what we call “identity” is inseparable from “the material relations that allow subjects to be produced at all”. Gender is not expressed through media; it is generated through media.

Drag as Material Performance

Drag’s power lies not simply in its visual transformation, but in the convergence of materials, practices, and infrastructures that produce a performative body. As Egner and Maloney note, “acting in a way that disrupts expectations of how ‘normal’ people do gender allows drag performers to subvert gender expectations for both their everyday and on-stage gender presentation” (Egner and Maloney, 2016, p. 877). This disruption does not occur only at the level of meaning or representation. It happens through specific material actions such as costuming, makeup, bodily stylization, movement, and staging.

This is where Bollmer’s idea of performative materiality becomes especially useful. For Bollmer, media do not simply communicate identity after it already exists. Media are part of the process that brings identity into being. When drag performers alter their bodies through makeup, padding, wigs, and gestures, they are not expressing a pre-existing gender that lives inside them. They are using media technologies to actively produce gender as something that becomes visible and legible in the world.

From this perspective, the subversion that Egner and Maloney describe is not only cultural or symbolic. It is material. Disrupting how “normal” people do gender works because drag physically reorganizes bodies in space and changes how those bodies can be seen, interpreted, and responded to. What counts as masculine or feminine shifts because the material conditions that support those categories are being altered in real time. This is exactly what Bollmer means when he argues that identity emerges from material relations rather than from an inner essence. Drag does not represent gender. It participates in making gender possible in different ways.

Video Credits: RuPaul’s Drag Race

Audience as Medium: Interaction as Material Process

One of the most significant contributions of Egner and Maloney’s study is the claim that audience interaction is not supplemental to drag performance but constitutive of it. Performers report that their gender presentations shift depending on the audience present, the reactions they observe, and the boundaries they attempt to breach. What is being performed is therefore not a fixed gender identity but a relational process that only takes shape through response.

This is where Bollmer’s concept of performative materiality becomes especially clear. For Bollmer, media are environments that shape what actions can occur and what forms of identity can emerge. The audience functions as part of this media environment. Their reactions operate as material forces that influence how gender is performed in real time. Laughter, discomfort, silence, and shock are not just interpretations of drag. They actively condition what kinds of gender expressions become possible in that space.

Egner and Maloney show that performers adjust their performances depending on the setting. When performing for mixed or university audiences, performers often wear more clothing and reduce sexual content because less is required to breach dominant gender norms (Egner and Maloney, 2016, pp. 897 to 898). In queer venues, performers intensify their gender transgressions in order to generate the same disruptive effect. This demonstrates that subversion is not located in any single costume, gesture, or body. It is produced through a dynamic interaction between performer and audience.

From Bollmer’s perspective, this means that gender is not performed by an individual subject alone; it emerges from a media system composed of bodies, space, sound, attention, and reaction. Identity forms through ongoing material feedback rather than through internal psychological intent. Drag makes this process visible by showing how gender must be constantly adjusted in response to the media environment in which it appears.

Fluidity as a Media Condition

Drag performers in Egner and Maloney’s study frequently describe gender as fluid, shifting, and multiple. Rather than explaining this fluidity as a psychological experience or an inner truth of the self, Bollmer’s performative materiality allows us to understand it as something produced by media conditions themselves. Gender becomes fluid because the material relations that generate it are fluid.

Bodies become sites of repeated inscription through costume, makeup, gesture, and movement. Audiences function as interpretive infrastructures that change what kinds of gender presentations become legible or disruptive. Performance spaces shape how far gender can be pushed and in what direction. The result is that gender is not simply flexible in a personal sense. It is procedural. It is continuously built and rebuilt through interaction between bodies, materials, and environments.

Egner and Maloney describe this process as “gender bending,” rather than “gender acting” (Egner and Maloney, 2016). This wording emphasizes process over representation. Gender shifts within performance as performers respond to audience reaction. In some cases, new understandings of identity emerge through drag itself. Identity is therefore not something that exists first and is later expressed through performance. It takes shape through the material act of performing.

This directly mirrors Bollmer’s claim that identity is always produced through performances composed of material relations (Bollmer, 2020). Drag makes this visible by placing gender into a system where it must respond to bodies, media technologies, spatial conditions, and social reaction all at once.

Image Credits: RuPaul’s Drag Race

Gender as a Media Event

When viewed through Bollmer’s concept of performative materiality, drag becomes more than a genre of entertainment or a symbolic critique of gender norms. It becomes a system in which the material production of identity can be seen in real time. Gender does not appear in drag as an inner truth that is later expressed outward. It takes shape through concrete media operations such as makeup, costuming, bodily technique, spatial staging, and audience reaction. These elements do not decorate identity. They actively generate it.

Drag makes visible what Bollmer argues is always happening across media more broadly. Bodies become media surfaces through modification and stylization. Audiences become part of the media environment through their responses, which shape what kinds of gender expressions become legible, disruptive, or acceptable. Repeated performance turns gender into a process that must be continually recalibrated rather than a stable essence that simply endures. Identity, in this sense, is not located inside the performer and later communicated outward. It emerges through the material relations that connect performer, body, object, space, and audience.

Because drag requires constant adjustment to audience response, it makes clear that gender is not produced by individual intention alone. It is produced through feedback. The meaning and force of a performance change depending on who is watching, how they react, and what norms are already in place. This directly enacts Bollmer’s claim that media do not merely transmit meaning but operate as environments that shape what subjects can become. Gender in drag is therefore not just represented. It is materially organized through circulation, response, and repetition.

What drag ultimately reveals is that identity itself operates as a media process. The instability of gender in drag is not an exception to how identity normally works. It is an intensified version of the same material dynamics that structure identity in everyday mediated life. Drag shows with unusual clarity that subjects are not formed in isolation, but through ongoing interaction with media systems that exert force on bodies, perception, and social recognition. In this sense, drag does not only critique gender. It exposes the media conditions that make gender possible at all.

Works Cited

Bollmer, Grant. Materialist Media Theory: An Introduction. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2019, https://www.bloomsburycollections.com/monograph?docid=b-9781501337086. Accessed 5 December 2025.

Egner, Justine, and Patricia Maloney. ““It Has No Color , It Has No Gender , It’s Gender Bending”: Gender and Sexuality Fluidity and Subversiveness in Drag Performance.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 63, no. 7, 2016, pp. 875-903.

Wegenstein, Bernadette. “Body.” Critical Terms for Media Studies, edited by W. J. T. Mitchell and Mark B. N. Hansen, University of Chicago Press, 2010. Accessed 5 December 2025.

Header Image by Fernando Cysneiros (Taken at UBC!)

Mediating the Idol Body: K-Pop Femininity Through the Lens of Media Theory

Early Bodily Discipline

I used to sit on the counter while my mother made breakfast, watching her move through the same quiet routine every morning. She cracked eggs with a small flick of her wrist, wiped the table in slow circles, and shifted between silence and conversation with a rhythm I somehow fell into. I learned when to swing my legs and when to stay still, when a question would be welcomed and when it would feel out of place. None of this was ever explained. My body just mirrored the atmosphere,the clatter of dishes, the steady breathing, the sense that everything should move smoothly without interruption. Back then, it simply felt like comfort. Only later did I realize how early the body starts practicing things it doesn’t yet have words for.

Foucault reminds us that discipline settles into the body through repetition rather than force, long before we have the language to name it (Foucault 1977). Bordo adds that habits feel “natural” not because they originate within us, but because they are practiced until they seem inevitable (Bordo 1993). I didn’t know any of this then. I only knew that the “good” body was the one that blended in, the one that didn’t interrupt the rhythm, the one that stayed neatly within the frame drawn for it. And perhaps that is why Bollmer’s idea of the body as media materiality stays with me. Even as children, we were already being tuned for legibility, for smooth circulation, for being seen in the “right” way (Bollmer 2016). Long before I encountered pop culture or performance, I had already absorbed something: that the body becomes visible only after it has learned how not to disturb the picture.

Algorithmic K-Pop Visibility

The visual language of K-pop girl groups has become one of the most globally recognizable media phenomena of the past decade. Even for people who pay little attention to K-pop, its images still appear constantly in the background of online life.  They show up not because users seek them out, but because the algorithms that structure digital platforms treat these visuals as universally recognizable and easy to distribute. Over time, this steady, almost passive exposure creates a sense of familiarity, as if the look and rhythm of K-pop girlhood were something we already understood, even when we know very little about the cultural or industrial context that produced it. They appear in TikTok edits, airport fashion compilations, Spotify banners, Vogue covers, and YouTube recommendations. In this way, K-pop girlhood has become a global aesthetic shorthand for “Asian femininity,” detached from its origins and recontextualized through international media flows.

Industrial Origins of Idol Femininity

Scholars point out that the figure of the female idol did not emerge organically: it is rooted in South Korea’s rapid industrialization during the 1960s–1980s, when Confucian patriarchal management structures and the exploitation of young female labor shaped how women’s bodies were disciplined, displayed, and commodified in public culture (Gooyong 2017). The choreography of cuteness and submission that defined early K-pop was far more than a stylistic choice; it crystallized the broader sociopolitical conditions that cast women simultaneously as disciplined laborers and as consumable cultural commodities.

The Marketed Shift to “Crush” Empowerment

More recently, the industry has embraced the so-called “crush girl” aesthetic,confident, charismatic, emotionally restrained, aligned with global discourses of empowerment (Sun, Paje’, & Lee 2023). Blackpink has become the emblem of this shift, their public personas marketed as the definitive repudiation of earlier girlhood tropes. The dominant narrative circulating online suggests that Korean femininity has undergone a genuine transformation: that the cute-to-powerful arc signifies increased autonomy, feminist progress, or ideological change. However, as media theorists remind us, visibility is not synonymous with liberation. When empowerment becomes an easily exportable aesthetic, packaged for global consumption, it becomes difficult to distinguish structural change from a strategic recalibration of marketable femininity. What forms of feminine subjectivity are being legitimized through these hyper-mediated performances, and which possibilities are being constrained, erased, or rendered unimaginable?

Discipline as Affective Technique

When we look at the bodies of contemporary girl-group idols, it is tempting to treat what we see as a kind of distilled personality, confidence, coolness, a stylistic refusal of vulnerability. But the media theories we’ve worked with suggest something more complicated: what feels like a “self” on screen is often the afterimage of systems that have already moved through the body long before it appears in front of a camera.Foucault gives us the vocabulary for this calibration. Discipline, he writes, works not by coercion but by embedding micro-habits: the turn of the chin, the straightened spine, the practiced smile (Foucault 1977). What seems voluntary is often the sediment of countless corrections. Bordo extends this insight by observing that once such corrections settle into muscle memory, we mistake them for personal inclination (Bordo 1993). A particular walk, a particular emotional poise, a particular restraint begins to feel “natural,” not because it arises from the self but because it has been rehearsed until it replaces whatever existed before.

The Body as Media Materiality

This is precisely where Bollmer becomes crucial. For Bollmer, the body is not merely disciplined by media, it becomes a medium, a material surface optimized for circulation and readability within a given cultural system (Bollmer 2016). The gestures we associate with the “crush girl” aesthetic, cool confidence, perfectly metered charisma, emotional containment, are not spontaneous expressions. They are industrial techniques that render the body legible within a global visual economy. The body is trained to be smooth, efficient, and expressive in highly specific ways because these qualities travel well across platforms. A certain tilt of the head or unbothered gaze becomes a replicable template, not an authentic disclosure of subjectivity.

The Limits of Distant Vision

Sometimes I think about how vision itself is organized in East Asian media cultures. In glossy MVs and perfectly lit close-ups, the idol’s face does not simply appear; it is delivered to us already curated, polished, legible, engineered for instant recognition. But real women’s lives never arrive in that state. They require nearness, texture, and time, forms of attention that cannot be automated or algorithmically scaled. You have to move closer before anything becomes truly visible. Media theory teaches us that distance is one of capital’s most effective visual strategies: it offers the appearance of empowerment while softening, even silencing, the voices that underwrite the image. The farther the image travels, the quieter the body becomes. So the question is not only whether East Asia is distant from “real” empowerment, but what our eyes have been trained to perceive from afar, and what becomes audible only when that distance is refused.

Works Cited

Bollmer, Grant. Inhuman Networks: Social Media and the Archaeology of Connection. Bloomsbury Academic, 2016.

Bordo, Susan. Unbearable Weight: Feminism, Western Culture, and the Body. University of California Press, 1993.

Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan, Vintage Books, 1977.

Gooyong, Kim. “Cute but Deadly: The Commodification of Female Labor in Early K-pop.” Journal of Korean Popular Culture, vol. 5, no. 2, 2017, pp. 15–32.

Sun, Wanning, D. Paje’, and Haein Lee. “Rebranding Femininity: The ‘Crush Girl’ Aesthetic in Contemporary K-pop.” Media & Culture Review, vol. 12, no. 1, 2023, pp. 44–62.

AI Isn’t Being Regulated and I’m Sick of It

Growing up in the digital age and with constant technological advancements happening left and right, it’s easy to become numb to the frequent sayings of “this is inevitable” or “everyone’s using it so you better get used to it”, or anything related to normalizing the rapid progress that tech receives. This particularly applies to Artificial Intelligence, as AI has become the central focus of not just young people, but the global economy as a whole, with OpenAI desperately trying to keep the bubble from bursting as companies send each other billions of dollars worth of “IOU’s”. Corporations and billionaires need AI to succeed, but governments seem to be sleeping at the wheel when it comes to actually regulating it, with the laws written either being outdated or nearly prevented from being made outright (Brown). I’ve written about AI a lot this semester, and in this blog post I am going to pull from various sources I used from this term to make the argument for why it needs strict regulation.

There have been countless news stories of people being scammed via fake AI voices of family members, to deepfakes and other image-generation technology used to sextort young individuals, and while the acts themselves are illegal, it’s still just as easy to go on a website and generate an image of someone without their consent as it was a few years ago. The only thing that’s actually gotten better is the tech itself, not the laws or guidelines surrounding it. Emily McArthur’s article, The IPhone Erfahrung: Siri, the Auditory Unconscious, and Walter Benjamin’s “Aura”, talks about technology when it comes to extension but it also highlights the responsibility that is shared between technology users and makers (McArthur). This is particularly applicable to AI today, since while obviously the users of the tech who use it for nefarious and illegal reasons should be punished, the creators of the tech itself should also be held accountable. There was a recent example of a teenager who committed suicide after a conversation with ChatGPT encouraged him to, and the parent company, OpenAI, denied responsibility because the teen had ‘misused’ the AI (Yang). If their response to a teenager killing themselves after being encouraged to by their product is “sorry, you weren’t authorized to talk to it that way”, there is clearly something extremely wrong with the way that the technology was created to begin with for this outcome to even have happened.

Another strong reason to support the increased regulation of AI is that our history depends on it. Photographic evidence and video evidence is a crucial part of our society and how we function as a people, how lessons are taught in school and how people are determined to be guilty or innocent in a court of law. The fact that those concrete forms of information are now at risk of being questioned forever should be an alarm bell for anyone who cares about truth. In Tony Horava’s article, eBooks and McLuhan: The Medium is Still the Message, Horava talks about how we can interpret and process the same information differently depending on the medium in which we consume it. The concept directly relates to AI images and videos, since a video made by a trusted source on a subject will be given more weight than an AI-generated version, even if it draws upon the same sources and delivers the same information. People already distrust AI videos since all we’ve seen them used for is memes and making fun of others, and so naturally if someone were to be accused of robbing a store for example, who’s to say that the security footage is even real to begin with. AI video and images only create distrust in the real, secure versions, so regulation needs to be in place to either limit or prohibit using the likeness of a real person, or ensure that any generated material has a permanent watermark that is easily visible or accessible. The alternative is that misinformation will only continue to spread at levels never seen before.

Relating to the believability of existing materials and physical media, Ingold in Making: Anthropology, Archeology, Art and Architecture discussed Michael Polanyi’s concept of ‘tacit knowledge’, and it talked about how Ingold did believe that all knowledge could be communicated or that even innate knowledge could be communicated (Ingold 111). I bring this up because when it comes to discerning whether or not an AI-generated creation is real or not, outside of the more obvious tells that sometimes appear, like messed up fingers or inconsistent patterns, people like to think that they can ‘tell’ when something is real or not. The whole concept of the uncanny valley is dedicated to this, the idea that people are able to tell when something looks off, or not human. Up until recently I was of the opinion that laws would come in place before AI-generation got to the point where it was impossible to tell what was real and what wasn’t, but Google’s most recent Nano Banana Pro model is already at that point, and the population isn’t ready. This technology threatens to make us lose our innate ability to tell between truth and fiction, to the point where trying to find irregularities may not be possible to communicate, which goes against Ingold’s thinking but as of this moment in AI history, it’s what appears to be the case.

While I have little faith that meaningful laws and regulations will be put into effect any time soon, I am still hopeful for the future and for the idea that AI will eventually exist in a limited capacity, driven by rules that prohibit stealing others’ likenesses, and ensuring that a permanent watermark resides on every piece of generated material.

Works Cited

Brown, Matt. “Senate pulls AI regulatory ban from GOP bill after complaints from states.” PBS, 1 July 2025, https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/senate-pulls-ai-regulatory-ban-from-gop-bill-after-complaints-from-states. Accessed 5 December 2025.

Horava, Tony. “eBooks and McLuhan: The Medium is Still the Message.” Against the Grain, vol. 28, no. 4, 2016, pp. 62-64. Library and Information Science Commons. Accessed 16 November 2025.

Ingold, Tim. Making: Anthropology, Archeology, Art and Architecture. 1st ed., Routledge, 2013, https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203559055. Accessed 4 December 2025.

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>.

Yang, Angela. “OpenAI denies allegations that ChatGPT is to blame for a teenager’s suicide.” NBC News, 25 November 2025, https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/openai-denies-allegation-chatgpt-teenagers-death-adam-raine-lawsuit-rcna245946. Accessed 5 December 2025.

Ways of ‘Telling’ and ‘Knowing’: How We’re Able to Communicate ‘Tacit’ Knowledge

In the second-to-last chapter of Tim Ingold’s Making: Anthropology, Archeology, Art and Architecture, Ingold centres around the idea of ‘the hand’ and brings up philosopher Michael Polanyi in his opening statements to highlight ideas of ‘telling’, ‘articulating’, and ‘knowing’. Ingold believes that while everything can be told, not everything can be articulated, and to strengthen his argument he uses one of Polanyi’s notable pieces of work, the book The tacit dimension, as a framework for what Ingold believes about knowledge and how it is communicated.

Background on Michael Polanyi and his work

Michael Polanyi was a physicist, chemist, and philosopher who was born in 1891 and passed away in 1976. He lived through both world wars, even migrating from Germany when Nazis took power (The Polanyi Society), and his philosophical work that he developed later in life was heavily influenced by living through those global events, being introduced to philosophy via Soviet ideology under Stalin (Polanyi 3). The book that Ingold refers to, The Tacit Dimension, was originally published in 1966 and introduces Polanyi’s idea of “we know more than we can tell” (Polanyi 4). 

Formal vs. Personal Knowledge

Polanyi’s view on thinking and knowledge was that ‘we know more than we can tell’ (Polanyi 4) and he classified knowledge into two camps: personal and formal. Formal knowledge is knowledge that can be specifically articulated and explained clearly to someone else, whereas personal knowledge cannot. Personal knowledge, to Polanyi, is the type of ‘know-how’ that only comes from the experience and practice that an individual goes through, whether it be perfecting a craft or learning how to hunt, which he also described as tacit knowing (Polanyi 20). It is not able to be articulated and thus, it cannot be taught. Ingold very much disagrees with Polanyi’s sentiment about personal knowledge being ‘untellable’ and argues, for example, that the idea that the age-old example of a craftsman being suddenly unable to explain how they do what they do when asked, is unfounded (Ingold 109). Ingold argues that people are absolutely able to communicate and “tell” others what they do, no matter how innate or personal it may seem. However the telling is not necessarily verbal, but it can be shown and demonstrated. This ties into Ingold’s belief that people correspond with the world and think through making. Polanyi’s perspective doesn’t make sense through Ingold’s lens, because if unspoken stuff or lessons couldn’t be taught since they were ‘personal’, then no one could learn through making, and learning through doing is a well-established fact of life. Polanyi’s view on knowing is also a bit confusing, as when he describes it in detail when describing an experiment involving a frog, he seems to assume that knowing what a frog is and knowing to do an experiment is tacit knowledge (Polanyi 21), despite the fact that a frog very much can be taught about. The ‘otherness’ of a frog might be innately human and ‘tacit’, but to suggest that that cannot be described makes me agree with Ingold.

Ways of Telling

To further help prove his point, Ingold in this chapter highlights the different forms of ‘telling’ to both debunk Polanyi’s ideas, and set up Ingold’s overall argument, which is that everything can be ‘told’. Ingold talks about storytelling, which is a form of telling where a narrative is told that includes lessons and patterns, and then there is ‘telling’, which is the more discernible approach where people search for ‘tells’ in others. For example, studying someone’s face while playing poker is a ‘tell’, since you are using environmental clues such as the furrowing of their brow and the tapping of their fingers on the table to make a judgement for yourself about what is really going on. Ingold brings up an example of being able to tell the tone in which a handwritten note was meant (or not meant) to be received, based on the inflection marks on the letters (Ingold 110). These two methods of telling come together in storytelling as well, but if Polanyi’s method of thinking on ‘tells’ were accurate, Ingold states that that would mean all stories would have the same exact meanings or lessons because of how rigid Polanyi’s ‘formal’ and ‘personal’ knowledge perspective functions. Stories do not work that way though, as they are purposely told with a degree of open-endedness so that the audience can bring about their own meaning and takeaways from it. As an example, Little Red Riding Hood is a classic tale that, in effect, teaches children about stranger danger. The story does not set out to literally warn children of actual wolves that can eat one’s grandparent, but it is close enough to a real example of a wolf being a shady stranger that readers can figure out the lessons behind the words. For Ingold, the lessons that stories give are less of an ‘answer’ and more of a path or trail that one can follow (Ingold 110), and from there everyone gets something unique out of it.

Ways of Thinking

To close out his argument regarding Polanyi’s words specifically, Ingold talks about ‘articulate thinking’, which is the process of thinking about one’s words before speaking them, organizing them in the brain all in advance before sharing the thoughts with anyone else. He argues that if every time people thought it were ‘articulated’, no thinking or ‘making’ would happen because everything would have to be thought of in advance, which goes against the learning-through-doing that Ingold has mentioned in the past. While Polanyi sees the ideas of formal and personal thinking as an iceberg nearly completely submerged in water, with only the formal tip of the ice peeking out of the water (Ingold 109), Ingold sees it as a series of islands that water flows freely around, knowledge being a mix of the two (Ingold 111), instead of a cut-and-dry one or the other. Ingold highlights the fact that in Chapter 1 of Making, he also talks about the idea of ‘knowing’ and ‘telling’ being the same thing, and he argues now that Polanyi is wrong because to know is to tell (Ingold 111), and so to suggest that people possess knowledge that cannot be conveyed is preposterous. Once again, this is not to say that everything ‘told’ will be in a neat verbal package, but rather that everything a person does is telling something in some way. So while not every scholar can articulate their knowledge, they can all tell it (Ingold 111). 

Polanyi in The tacit dimension draws upon Plato’s theories to try and explain how someone can’t search for an answer (if they know what to look for they’re fine, and if they don’t know what to look for then they don’t know) as support for Polanyi’s arguments about how knowledge cannot be ‘explicit’ (Polanyi 22). This is an interesting perspective that Ingold does not write about, since if you break it down you can find a sort of through-line for all knowledge, like how you go to school to learn, ask teachers questions for more information, and so on. Despite this, it still does not address Polanyi’s flawed claim that personal knowledge cannot be taught, giving Ingold the more compelling argument.

In short, Ingold uses Polanyi’s ideas on ‘telling’ and ‘personal knowledge’ to highlight how his own perspective is correct, because to know is to tell, and even if it’s something as simple as a mechanic tuning up a car or a person knitting a sweater, even without step-by-step instructions they are wholly able to tell what they are doing to others.

Works Cited

Ingold, Tim. Making: Anthropology, Archeology, Art and Architecture. 1st ed., Routledge, 2013, https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203559055. Accessed 4 December 2025.

Polanyi, Michael. The tacit dimension. Edited by Internet Archive, Gloucester, MA, 1983. Internet Archive, https://archive.org/details/tacitdimension0000pola/page/4/mode/2up. Accessed 4 December 2025.

The Polanyi Society. “Michael Polanyi.” The Polanyi Society, https://polanyisociety.org/michael-polanyi/. Accessed 28 October 2025.

Why We Fight Online: Environmental Polarization in Digital Media

Introduction

Even though everyone has come to realize that internet has always been a medium of chaos and conflict, but it has always been mildly confusing for us that while verbal sparring in reality is a relatively mild and civilized form of exchanging viewpoints, online it becomes a genuine battlefield—strangers clash fiercely over differing opinions, or sometimes simply to provoke, with conflicts erupting openly for all to see. I’ve also seen many ordinary content creators who share their daily lives eventually forced to turn off private messages after gaining attention, because clearly, many people use such channels like random assailants, aiming only to wound without reason. 

If aliens studying Earth were to witness the spectacle of online discourse, they might be astounded by the stark contrast with the polite and respectful demeanor most people display in real life. What causes such a clear divide in behavior between the online and offline worlds for the same individuals? Does the digital environment inherently make people more irritable, less tolerant, and unwilling to understand others? In this article, we will explore this very question—specifically, the causes of environmental polarization and the role the media plays in it.

Network Polarization and the Online Environment 

Network polarization refers to the phenomenon where issues that might be understandable in real life are continuously amplified and fixated upon by online communities to the point of harsh criticism. People become less tolerant of differing viewpoints online, while growing increasingly exclusive within their own labeled groups—even if their so-called “allies” might struggle to hold a two-sentence conversation with them in real life. Environmental polarization makes everyone more sensitive and defensive. In this climate of pervasive insecurity, individuals seek solace in groups, yet this very process only deepens the divides between people. While cooperation and understanding thrive offline, online, certain opinions are immediately branded as heresy worthy of burning at the stake—judged with absolute, uncompromising harshness.

If we look back at the online environment around 2000, although media technology was far less efficient and accessible than today, the atmosphere of communication was generally much healthier than the current state, where a single comment can rapidly poison a community. Does this mean the advancement of media technology is not truly a positive development? Perhaps, as Umberto Eco wrote in Chronicles of a Liquid Society (2017), “Progress doesn’t necessarily involve going forward at all costs.” While Eco was mainly discussing the unnecessary “diversification” of physical inventions that replace what already exists, I suspect he would also disapprove of today’s digital landscape.

Potential Reasons Behind Network Polarization and the Influence of Media

To understand why online environments intensify conflict, we can turn to Gibson’s ecological perspective, which helps explain why digital environments intensify conflict and relies on what the environment makes available to us. Applied to online usage, this suggests that when people use social and online platforms, they shape the exact platform they are using while the platform itself simultaneously shapes them. 

In The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception, Gibson emphasizes that the “animal and the environment make an inseparable pair” (p. 8). Gibson writes that the perceiver is always surrounded by “the medium in which animals can move about (and in which objects can be moved about) is at the same time the medium for light, sound, and odor coming from sources in the environment.” (p. 13), meaning that perception is shaped by whatever information the environment supplies.

One major factor of polarization is selective perception. Our online feeds are not a neutral environment, as algorithms curate and amplify content that they assume the user appears to be “looking for.” This makes polarization feel natural and unavoidable because the environment reinforces the observer. Online, this means users often search for confirmation validation that aligns with existing emotions and beliefs.

Gibson also reminds us that perception is active, not passive. He states, “we must perceive in order to move, but we must also move in order to perceive. ” (p. 213). Online, there is constant “movement” in scrolling, liking, and reposting, which affects what the users perceive next based on the algorithm. The environment is always refreshing, adjusting to user behaviour. This repeated cycle then boosts reactions and reinforces patterns, making it easier for polarization to become a way of interacting.

Looking into Media: a Tool or an Amplifier?

Concluding from Gibson, we can say that the internet we are looking into is not a neutral environment, and media does not only act as a tool for our voices. Depending on algorithms, the pages shown to everyone are different, designed for our own taste. By manipulating what people perceive, media and the internet can easily influence the opinions of people, and the information cocoon will naturally feed towards the minds of the opinions already there, making the opinions increasingly polarized and entrenched. People use the internet to voice themselves, but the internet will also amplify what they are saying to other people’s ears. 

Sources:

Eco, Umberto. “Have we really invented so much?”. Chronicles of a Liquid Society. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. 2017. https://archive.org/details/chroniclesofliqu0000ecou 

Gibson, James. J. The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Psychology Press

. 2015. https://library.uniq.edu.iq/storage/books/file/The%20Ecological%20Approach%20to%20Visual%20Perception%20Approach/1667383098The%20Ecological%20Approach%20to%20Visual%20Perception%20Classic%20Edition%20(James%20J.%20Gibson)%20(z-lib.org)%20(1).pdf

Törnberg, K.P. (Petter). “Social media polarize politics for a different reason than you might think”. University of Amsterdam. 2022.https://www.uva.nl/en/shared-content/faculteiten/en/faculteit-der-maatschappij-en-gedragswetenschappen/news/2022/10/social-media-polarize-politics-for-a-different-reason-than-you-might-think.html?cb

Collaborators:

Siming Liao, Aubrey Ventura