WHEN REBELLION BECOMES AN AESTHETIC

Has TikTok turned alternative culture into another product to consume?

There's something strange about the way we discover alternative culture today. You can stumble across a fifteen-second video, fall in love with an aesthetic, order the clothes, recreate the makeup, decorate your bedroom and, by the end of the week, look like you belong to an entirely different world. A perfectly coordinated outfit, heavy eyeliner, platform boots, a carefully selected soundtrack and a bedroom illuminated by red LEDs. Everything looks beautiful. Everything looks rebellious. Everything looks strangely familiar.

And I can't help wondering whether we've reached a point where looking alternative has become more important than understanding what alternative culture actually represents. Don't get me wrong. I'm not here to complain about young people, attack TikTok or pretend that everything was better twenty years ago. That's not the point. What interests me is something much more complicated: the relationship between identity, belonging, consumerism and the way social media influences how we present ourselves. Because when rebellion becomes an aesthetic, what exactly are we rebelling against?

THE BEAUTIFUL CONTRADICTION OF BEING DIFFERENT

One of the things I've always found fascinating about alternative communities is their relationship with individuality. Goth, punk, emo, metal and countless other movements have provided spaces for people who don't necessarily identify with mainstream expectations. Different music, different clothing, different attitudes towards art, society and personal expression. Of course, these communities have very different histories, and it would be ridiculous to pretend they all represent the same ideas. But they often share something important: the possibility of finding people who understand interests that others might consider strange.

Psychologists Henri Tajfel and John Turner developed social identity theory to explain how belonging to groups contributes to our sense of self. We don't construct our identities in isolation. Our relationships, communities and shared experiences help shape the way we understand who we are. For someone who feels isolated, finding a community with similar interests can be incredibly meaningful.

But here's the contradiction. What happens when a community associated with individuality develops increasingly rigid expectations about appearance? When being different starts requiring the correct boots, the correct haircut, the correct makeup and the correct collection of accessories? Suddenly, something that was supposed to represent freedom begins to resemble another set of rules. And I find that rather ironic.

AN ALGORITHM DOESN'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE

TikTok's recommendation system is designed to predict which content users might find interesting. According to the platform's own documentation, recommendations take into account factors such as interactions, video information, sounds and hashtags. That can be incredibly useful. Someone interested in alternative fashion might discover a small independent designer. Someone who enjoys a particular song might find an entire musical genre. Someone living in an isolated town might discover a community they never knew existed. These are genuinely positive possibilities.

But recommendation systems also raise interesting questions about visibility. If a particular visual formula attracts attention, creators may have an incentive to reproduce it. The same makeup, the same outfits, the same camera angles and the same carefully selected music. The same aesthetic, repeated until it becomes instantly recognizable. This doesn't mean that TikTok deliberately forces people to dress alike. There isn't sufficient evidence to make that claim. But it does invite us to consider how the pursuit of visibility might influence the presentation of personal identity.

An algorithm can recognize that you enjoy gothic fashion. It cannot understand why a particular song matters to you, what experiences shaped your interests or what belonging to a community means in your personal life. It can identify patterns, but it cannot fully understand the person behind them. And perhaps that's something worth remembering whenever we begin measuring our identities through views, likes and engagement.

THE MIRROR WE CARRY IN OUR POCKETS

There's another dimension to this discussion, and it comes from psychology. In 2024, psychologist Vanesa Pérez-Torres published a scientific review in Current Psychology examining the relationship between social media and adolescent identity development. The review discusses processes including self-presentation, social comparison, role models and the influence of online audiences. These processes are particularly interesting when applied to fashion and personal identity.

Imagine someone who genuinely loves gothic rock. They listen to the music, appreciate the atmosphere and feel connected to the culture. But they don't own expensive boots, they don't wear elaborate makeup and their bedroom doesn't resemble a carefully arranged photoshoot. Then they open social media and see people with extraordinary outfits, professional-looking photographs and seemingly perfect alternative lifestyles. Perhaps they begin to wonder whether they're alternative enough, not because their interests have changed or their connection to the music has disappeared, but because their appearance doesn't match the images they're constantly seeing.

Research on social comparison suggests that comparing ourselves with others can influence how we evaluate our own identities and self-worth. The effects aren't always negative. Social media can also encourage experimentation, inspiration and connection. But the possibility of feeling inadequate is worth taking seriously, especially when we're discussing communities that are often associated with accepting people who feel different.

REBELLION, NOW AVAILABLE AT CHECKOUT

Let's talk about something slightly uncomfortable: money. Alternative fashion has always had a complicated relationship with commercial culture. Long before TikTok existed, alternative styles were being sold, reproduced and marketed. The commercialization of rebellion is hardly a new phenomenon. Dick Hebdige explored the relationship between subcultures, style and commercial culture in his influential 1979 book Subculture: The Meaning of Style. So blaming everything on one social media platform would be historically inaccurate.

But today's online environment makes it remarkably easy to move from discovering an aesthetic to purchasing the products associated with it. See an outfit, find the clothes, buy the accessories, recreate the look, post the result and repeat. There's nothing inherently wrong with buying clothes that make you happy. Fashion is creative, experimenting with appearance can be fun, and not everyone has the time, skills or resources to make their own clothing. What bothers me is the possibility that identity becomes something we feel obligated to purchase.

Being alternative starts to look like an endless shopping list: the correct boots, the correct jacket, the correct jewelry, the correct bedroom decorations and, of course, the correct photographs to prove that we own them. It's almost funny when you think about it. A culture that can involve questioning social expectations becomes another opportunity to sell people a standardized image. I'm not suggesting that everyone should start making their own clothes or reject every commercial brand. That would be another ridiculous rule. I'm simply asking whether we've become too comfortable confusing personal expression with consumption. You shouldn't need an expensive wardrobe to prove that you belong somewhere.

BUT WHERE DID THE MUSIC GO?

This is probably where the discussion becomes controversial. Can someone be goth without listening to gothic music? Can someone be emo without knowing anything about emo music? Can someone be punk simply because they enjoy punk-inspired clothing? I suspect the answers will depend heavily on whom you ask, and that's precisely why the subject interests me.

These communities have histories that extend far beyond their visual identities. Goth developed through musical scenes associated with post-punk and gothic rock. Emo emerged from hardcore punk and evolved through several distinct musical periods. Punk has encompassed music, visual art, fashion, political expression and independent cultural networks. Reducing these movements to clothing ignores much of what made them meaningful.

But here's where I think people sometimes become unnecessarily aggressive. Someone might discover gothic fashion before discovering gothic rock. Someone might love punk music while dressing in completely ordinary clothes. Someone might simply appreciate an aesthetic without wanting to identify with its associated subculture. All of those situations are perfectly reasonable. There's a difference between enjoying a style and claiming to represent an entire cultural tradition.

I don't see anything wrong with saying, "I love goth fashion, but I don't really listen to gothic music." That's honest. What I find less convincing is the idea that cultural history becomes irrelevant simply because an aesthetic has become popular. Music, art, independent venues, record shops, local scenes and personal relationships are not insignificant details. They're part of what makes these cultures interesting. A photograph might introduce someone to a movement, but there should be an entire world waiting behind that photograph.

THE GATEKEEPING PROBLEM

Now, before anyone starts preparing a list of obscure bands that newcomers must identify to earn their membership card, there's another issue we need to discuss: gatekeeping. Some people seem to treat alternative communities like exclusive clubs. You need to know the correct bands, understand the correct references and dress the correct way. If you make a mistake, somebody will inevitably appear to explain why you're not a real member of the community. I find that attitude exhausting.

Nobody is born knowing the history of every musical movement. Everyone discovers things somewhere. Maybe through a friend, a concert, a film or, yes, TikTok. Why should the starting point matter more than someone's genuine curiosity? At the same time, I don't believe that explaining a culture's history automatically qualifies as gatekeeping. There's a difference between educating someone and humiliating them. Telling a newcomer about the musical roots of goth culture can be an invitation to explore something fascinating. Mocking them because they don't already know those roots is something entirely different.

One encourages curiosity; the other discourages it. Personally, I'd rather see people sharing music recommendations than interrogating strangers about their playlists. If someone discovers one band today and becomes passionate about an entire musical scene tomorrow, isn't that a wonderful thing? We should be opening doors, not standing in front of them with imaginary membership lists.

THE INTERNET ISN'T THE ENEMY

After all of that, I think it's important to acknowledge something. Social media isn't exclusively responsible for the problems we're discussing, and it certainly isn't incapable of doing something positive. For people living in places without active alternative scenes, online communities can provide access to music, art, conversations and friendships that might otherwise be difficult to find. A teenager in a small town might discover people who share their interests for the first time. Someone uncomfortable expressing themselves publicly might find inspiration and encouragement online. An independent musician might reach listeners thousands of miles away. These possibilities matter.

Research into online identity development recognizes that digital spaces can provide opportunities for exploration, self-expression and social connection. There's no reason to dismiss those opportunities simply because we dislike certain aspects of social media culture. I also think it's important to remember that subcultures have never existed in perfectly isolated environments. They've always evolved, borrowed influences, encountered commercial interests and contained disagreements about authenticity.

TikTok didn't invent those tensions. It simply provides a new environment in which they can unfold. The challenge isn't necessarily to reject social media. Perhaps it's to use it without allowing it to define everything about us.

WHAT I ACTUALLY THINK

I don't hate TikTok, I don't hate trends, and I certainly don't hate people who discover alternative culture through a fifteen-second video. If someone finds a new band, experiments with their appearance or discovers a community where they finally feel comfortable, I think that's fantastic. I also don't believe everyone needs to become an expert in cultural history simply to enjoy a particular fashion style. People should be allowed to like things. It really doesn't have to be more complicated than that.

But I do have a problem with the idea that individuality might gradually become another performance. Another carefully constructed identity, another collection of products, another set of expectations and another competition to see who looks the most alternative. I love the freedom of mixing influences. I don't see why someone should have to fit neatly into a single category. You can enjoy gothic fashion, listen to metal, love grunge, appreciate punk culture and wear something completely different the next day. Who cares?

I don't want alternative culture to become an exclusive club where people are constantly judged for not knowing enough. But I don't want it reduced to a commercial aesthetic either. Surely there's room for something more interesting between those two extremes. A place where music matters, where history is worth discovering, where creativity is encouraged, where people can disagree without immediately becoming enemies and where nobody needs to spend hundreds of dollars to prove that they're different.

For me, the most interesting thing about alternative culture has never been the idea of looking exactly like a particular group. It's the possibility of discovering who you are without constantly asking for permission. And if we need to follow fifty rules to demonstrate how different we are, perhaps we've missed the point entirely.

I don't think the solution is to reject the next generation or complain that they're doing everything wrong. I'd rather encourage them to look beyond the surface. Discover the music, explore the art, learn about the history, meet people, create something, make mistakes and develop your own taste. Most importantly, don't let an algorithm decide what kind of person you're supposed to be.

Because at the end of the day, alternative culture shouldn't be about becoming a perfect example of an aesthetic. It should leave room for being yourself, even when being yourself doesn't look particularly fashionable.

SO, WHAT DO YOU THINK?

I'd genuinely love to hear different perspectives on this. Do you think TikTok is helping alternative communities evolve, or gradually transforming them into commercial trends? Can someone belong to a subculture without adopting its visual style? Is gatekeeping ever justified when it comes to protecting cultural history? And have social media made alternative communities more welcoming, or simply created new expectations about how people should look?

Whether you're goth, emo, punk, metalhead, grunge, somewhere in between or completely outside these communities, I'd love to hear what you think. You don't have to agree with me. Actually, I'd be a little disappointed if everyone did. Where's the fun in that?

— KINK-FLIP