Abstract
In our hyperconnected digital age of global media and virtual reality, the elusive currency of authenticity has become synonymous with cultural value. From foodies obsessed with local macrobiotics and organic raw milk to hipster beekeepers and basement homebrewers, the search for authenticity organizes meaning for affluent consumers across markets. In Authentic TM: The Politics of Ambivalence in a Brand Culture, communication scholar Sarah Banet-Weiser observes how social media mavens, street artists, spiritual leaders, and so-called “socially responsible” corporations rely on the strategies and logics of branding to enhance their public reputations and identities. They do this in part by relying on a discourse of authenticity in which they portray themselves as sincere, unfiltered, anti-commercial, spiritual, and/or ideologically pure.
In case studies ranging from the branding of postfeminism and eco-sustainability to the Church of Latter-Day Saints, Banet-Weiser illustrates the ubiquity of marketing and impression management in those realms of postindustrial society considered most resistant to commodification: religion, creativity, politics, and the self. Young women dubbed “lifecasters” aspire to become instantaneous internet celebrities on YouTube by video-streaming every moment of their everyday existence, from paying bills to having sex in their dorm rooms. Cities rely on image marketing to sell themselves as aesthetic and creative capitals bursting with art galleries, farmers’ markets, coffeehouses, and commissioned street graffiti. Petroleum companies such as Exxon Oil and Chevron employ elaborate greening campaigns to brand themselves as environmental stewards of the new century.
Of course, the art of self-branding relies on an adherence to a cultural logic designed to sow the seeds of mass popularity and increase market value, both of which can seem a little, well, inauthentic. For instance, street artists such as Banksy and Shepard Fairey rail against the commodification of the art world and the neoliberal city, but do so in the interests of promoting not only their personal artistic brands, but also the economic profits to be amassed by collecting their work. Teenagers and young adults draw on the materials of commercial popular culture and tired gender conventions to craft music videos in their bedrooms; their creations then serve as calling cards that they post to YouTube in the hopes of getting discovered by the mainstream media (just as pop idol Justin Bieber managed to do in 2008).
In these instances and others, the blurry boundary between the performance of authenticity and the entrepreneurial imperative gives rise to what Banet-Weiser refers to as “the politics of ambivalence.” Examples abound throughout her book, as they do in our postmodern world more generally. Kentucky Fried Chicken sells pink buckets of high-caloric thighs and wings in the name of supporting breast-cancer research. In mega-churches across the country as well as on mail-order DVDs, evangelists preach the gospel of Prosperity Christianity, expounding on the sacred healing powers of the free market and the accumulation of wealth. Facebook allows participants to create unique and revealing online public profiles that seem exhaustively worked over, curated for a discerning audience of one’s peers. They include links to favorite bands, television shows, books, and films, which (along with much of Facebook’s other user-generated content produced by the free labor of consumers) ultimately assist the social-media behemoth in selling its coveted advertising space to the highest bidders.
As a sociologist of culture, I appreciate that Banet-Weiser avoids some of the pitfalls in which some of her better-known colleagues in communication and cultural studies so often sink. Notably, she does not try to argue that cultural consumption always operates as a tactic of empowerment and liberation, a weapon of the weak: she recognizes that not all consumers (or creators) are agents with the capacity to resist the conventions of corporatized mass culture. Indeed, the wall paintings of street artists do not always translate into political subversion or anticapitalist protest, nor do young women necessarily “speak truth to power” by lip-synching to dance music with their Barbie dolls. Her book is at its strongest when illustrating how the logic of post-feminism in contemporary culture creates its own set of constraining parameters for girls “gone wild” on YouTube in terms of body image, racial identity, and other elements of hegemonic femininity. I also appreciate her recognition of the socially constructed nature of authenticity, emphasizing its role as an organizing principle for rendering symbolic meaning and social value under advanced capitalism, rather than some attainable goal or way of being in the world.
At the same time, Banet-Weiser’s highly theoretical approach imposes its own set of constraints on her otherwise clever analysis. As a communication scholar she does a predictably obsessive job of mining the mass media landscape for evidence of celebrity brands (and branded celebrities) that represent some of the last decade’s most well-known cultural icons: Shepard Fairey’s Obama “Hope” poster; Dove soap commercials; online videos downloaded by millions; Tila Tequila’s MySpace profile; Elizabeth Gilbert’s bestseller Eat, Pray, Love; Rick Warren and Deepak Chopra; Jamie Oliver and Al Gore. Yet for a book with so much name-dropping, Authentic ™ is surprisingly devoid of people who can speak for themselves, confusing the self-brand with the actual person behind the manufactured image. While Banksy and Fairey are fascinating (if overexposed) artists, I would love to learn more about how ordinary graffiti taggers make sense of the gentrified urban landscape; what motivates young women to perform for strangers online; how average consumers use social media to create self-referential communities of political awareness; how religious people chose among competing spiritual beliefs and collective practices; how we all search for authenticity in our everyday lives. Maybe then I could finally figure out what the deal is with those hipster beekeepers.