I generally found Merchants of Cool to be quite insightful, but on one point I found it rather hyperbolic. One of the experts interviewed as part of the documentary compared American teens to Africa and the corporations marketing to them to European imperialists. The essential problem with this analogy is that modern teens can choose not to be exploited. The inhabitants of Africa could not simply decide to not be affected by Western conquest, but to a degree we can choose to do exactly that. The mook will always exist as a stereotype in media marketed to teenagers, but I can (and do) choose not to watch that media. (In my case this really isn't even that difficult, as I find the kind of media inhabited by mooks to be quite boring). Likewise, the fact that what is fashionable is chosen by a few large corporations doesn't really matter to someone (like me) whose clothing decisions don't factor in what's "cool" on any given day. It's certainly possible to be exploited by the corporate advertising juggernaut (and many teens are) but it's also possible to escape from it. Most of the entertainment media I consume are webcomics, podcasts, Youtube videos, etc. which have very little direct influence from large corporations. Even when I do watch movies or TV shows, I deliberately avoid those that perpetuate the stereotypes created by companies in their quest to define teen culture. In short, we as the consumers do have the ability to defend ourselves from the commercialization of culture (and the class for which I'm writing this is a significant help in that regard), and it is our choice whether or not we exercise this option. We are being exploited, but it is entirely within our power to avoid this exploitation.
(This poem may make more sense if you’ve seen what it’s about. If you haven’t, you can search for “Falcon Heavy Test Flight” on YouTube and skip to around 21:30 in the resulting video.) On the launch pad The first Falcon Heavy stands Fog flows from its three towering cores Jets of water rise in salute At the fire which kindles in their midst Surging smoke pours out from under, expanding outwards The rocket ascends Riding a tail of incandescent white Soaring into the wide blue Both boosters fall away Spinning and plummeting back Two pillars of steel pierce the sky from above And settle to Earth amid rings of flame Lines of glowing red stripe the upper engine’s smooth, wide nozzle The payload’s walls blast away In a blinding blaze of reflected sunlight A convertible drifts through the void Our planet’s reflection oozes across the car’s polished red surface A spacesuit is driving One arm draped over the side, it looks forward And flies off into...
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