Author Archives: Panalee Maskati

Apple’s Utopian Core

Dew Panalee Maskati

The Apple way of life provides a spiritual path towards a utopia: one in which people and technology operate in harmony. In the years between Apple’s formation and the turn of the millennium, the relationship between the populace and computers was complex. The computer was seen as a testament to humanity’s ability and expertise — a wealth of information accessible at our very fingertips. It epitomises ideals of the Enlightenment that champion progress through rational thought and scientific enquiry. Indeed, Apple’s logo was deliberately chosen:

“In the Old Testament there was the first apple, the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, which with one taste sent Adam, Eve, and all mankind into the great current of History. The second Apple was Isaac Newton’s, the symbol of our entry into the age of modern science. The Apple Computer symbol was not chosen purely at random, it represents the third Apple, the one that widens the paths of knowledge leading toward the future.” Jean-LouisGass, then General Manager of Apple France and former President of Apple Products, 1987:9-10 (Lam Pui-Yan)

The fruit of knowledge

 

But an understanding of the way in which computers functioned eluded the average consumer. Both tantalising and terrifying, computers acquired a mystical reverence from the populace in addition to being signifiers of hope. For some, this lack of comprehension turned into fear. This is why Apple’s image is arguably one of its most remarkable achievements: it managed to capture the spirit of invention whilst assuaging distrust of the unimaginably powerful ‘black box’. Its software is easier for the average consumer to operate than other brands’, thereby inviting trust. A sentiment commonly echoed by Apple aficionados is that Macs do not “fight back” in the same way that other computers do (Pui-Yan Lam). Consumers grow ever more reliant as smart technology becomes more ubiquitous. Apple devotees can now enshrine themselves in the iHome, a harmonious web of Apple products, a marketing strategy that only works because of the trust that Apple’s products invite. Although any purchase of an Apple product entails a subscription to its harmonious ideal, the loyal superfans exaggerate this utopian element and bring it to fruition — forming in effect, a subculture.

Apple’s image stands unique, because it is a corporate giant that has managed to reject corporate uniformity. The PC, on the other hand, is a computer for the businessman — who is going out of style. From the curved elegance of its minimalist aesthetic down to Steve Jobs’s distinctive black turtleneck and slacks, Apple manages to incorporate “play” and relaxation as one of its core values (Lam Pui-Yan). Apple’s new HQ, the second Apple Campus in Silicon Valley, is designed to epitomise these ideals. Once completed, it will become a site on which the opposing streams of the corporate world and hippie culture from the 60s merge. At this confluence we see an impersonal, profit-seeking foundation finding its expression in soft, organic forms that sing of spirituality and a countercultural edge. Curves are seen as harmonious and natural; the sharp and angular, dominating and evil. It was not designed to simply function as a workspace, but rather, to pioneer a new way of life. In the same way that Disney created their utopian bubble (EPCOT), the second Apple Campus is also meant to be a monument of sorts — to what a progressive future could be (Nikil Saval). In doing so, it counters the angular and sharp oppressiveness of the corporate.

An artist's rendition of what the new Apple Campus will look like

An artist’s rendition of what the new Apple Campus will look like

Here is an extremely successful illusion at work: fans buy into Apple’s pioneering image with products that are meant to enhance their individuality — yet consumers are only offered a distilled selection of a rather small range of products. In contrast, Apple enthusiasts see Apple’s alter-ego, Microsoft and its founder Bill Gates, as profit-motivated corporate entities; consumers are merely part of a self-serving, industry-wide formula. This is because Apple founded itself on humanitarian values: its creators were not simply making boxes, machines or money; they were changing the world. Apple embodies the future — Bill Gates and Microsoft are giants from an oppressive past, to be toppled. To consume an Apple product is to participate in this movement — this philosophy of life — to lesser or greater degrees. Steve Jobs is not the ‘evil’ businessman in a suit, he is both at one with the consumers and their prophet.

And then Apple takes it one step further, overtly associating itself with creative genius. Richard Dreyfus’s poem became synonymous with the “Think Different” campaign: the poem utilises powerful imagery that encouragers rebellion through art, such as “here’s to the… round pegs in the square holes”, “they push the human race forward”, “while some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius”. None of the ads from the “Think different” campaign included any Apple products and that the participating celebrities were given Apple products and money to donate to causes of their choice; the producers took extreme care not to look exploitative. They also advertised in popular and fashion magazines — a bold move at the time — so as to merge style, artistry and practicality; Apple’s products bled out of the sphere of technology and business, and inserted itself into daily life. Here is a utopia in which human achievement sees no horizon, the individual in the masses is finally recognised, and conformity is rejected — one that can be carried around in a bag, a jeans pocket, the palm of your hand.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SswMzUWOiJg

Sacralising the bond between human and technology has led to an Apple consumer base which John Schully, former Apple CEO, describes as a “cult environment” (Pui-Yan Lam). Scientific progress and the championing of rational thought undermines organised religion — so, to subscribe to scientific thought also means, for some, to confront a spiritual absence (Jeffrey Alexander).  This brought a sense of emptiness to people’s lives. Apple capitalised on this feeling to become a spiritual medium by connecting its image with a progressive, utopian philosophy. The unusual outpouring of grief over Steve Jobs’s death — the size of which would have been more appropriate for a revolutionary icon or prophet rather than a successful businessman — is telling enough. Cyberspace has become a modern heaven of sorts, a dimensionless space which liberates us from the constraints of our body and geography: technology allows us to transcend social boundaries. A user on MacWorld says: “for me, the mac was the closest thing to religion I could deal with.” (Pui-Yan Lam)

A certain subset of the Apple fanbase has intimately and profoundly connected with Apple’s appliances. An ardent Mac user describes her physically affectionate relationship with her computer: “I mean there has been times that I hugged my computer and stuff like that. I have never hugged a PC.” (Pui-Yan Lam). Apple has this intimate appeal because Mac’s user-friendly system does not control users’ lives, but seems instead to expand them.

Perhaps even more stunningly, Apple’s most enthusiastic supporters have mobilised to form a subculture of their own. In 1997, David Every pioneered the MacKiDo website as a way to achieve enlightenment through the power of Mac. Every and other enthusiasts see themselves as saviours of humankind, promoting a radical philosophy of life accessible through consuming Apple products — whose light they believe other corporate giants are trying to extinguish.  Notice the heroic, ego-stroking and spiritual language an Apple disciple, known as the Apple Jedi, employs:

If anything characterises the history of Apple and its users, it is their sense of community. Nurture it. Help strengthen it. Guide your actions in harmony with that which binds us all together unseen and yet keenly felt by the Apple Jedi. In the arrogance of its marketing and the nature of its tactics the Dark Side understands not these things, and cannot fight them. And so, it is in the deepening of this community that the greatest responsibility of an Apple Jedi lies, for it is in this power that Mac OS aficionados can find strength to triumph. (Pui-Yan Lam)

So here we have the phenomenon of the mac evangelists — Apple superfans who see themselves as warriors, heroes, and, most interestingly, Jedi. This association with Jedi is tied heavily with the consumer’s search for spirituality: here, it finds its expression in the reductive polarisation of the world of technology into ‘the side of the force’ — Apple and its consumers — and the “Dark Side” — other technology giants, PC users. The Apple Jedi’s mission, amongst this encroaching darkness, is to introduce people to the Apple way of life. And what is this way of life exactly? It is one in which technology is associated with an equalising power, diminishing social constraints and injustices.

The way of the force

The way of the force

“In this profane world, great business people, such as Bill Gates, who seek nothing but financial gains, are rewarded. However, the Mac devotees are looking forward to a utopia created by superior computer technology. In this utopia, people are judged purely on the basis of their intelligence and their contribution to humanity.” (Pui-Yan Lam)

These fans of Apple see computers as a “reflective medium,” crucial to the way in which they form their identity (Pui-Yan Lam). The computer is seen as an extension of the user’s mind, and the brand to which a consumer subscribes provides key insight as to what their life’s philosophy is.

The minority status of Apple fans before the turn of the millennium served to strengthen their subculture. PC users, who were the majority at the time, often derided Macs, calling them “toys” or “pieces of junk”. The harassment the Apple disciples endured seemed to have increased their sense of righteousness. An anniversary issue for MacAddict (now branded as MacLife), a magazine that promotes all things Apple, captured the spirit of the times perfectly:

“We’ve had enough. We’re tired of Apple being carelessly labeled as lagging, failing or dying. We’re tired of people maligning our Macintoshes. We’re sick of the slams, digs, and taunts directed at us by know-nothing PC hacks. It will stop. NOW. We will not surrender to the ‘inevitable’ of passively pray for the health of our platform. No, it’s time for revolution. Tell your family, tell your friends. Join us not just defending the Mac from attacks on all sides but also in an assault on the attitudes that provoke them. Join the Mac resistance.” (Pui-Yan Lam)

From the impassioned tone of this excerpt, it is obvious that Apple’s products stood for more than efficient and aesthetically pleasing technology. This is not only a call to protect Apple’s reputation, but also a declaration of war on the “attitudes” of the opposition: the ignorant consumers of corporations other than Apple were enabling a way of life that promotes business interests and subjugates the individual. By contrast, “mac resistance” is composed of people — “family” and “friends” — that are seeking to undermine the system that controls them.

But it is important to remember that these mac enthusiasts are only a subset of all of Apple’s consumers, and that their movement peaked before the turn of the millennium. Nowadays, Apple has become hip. In fact, the new wave of young consumers has caused older devotees to lament the lack of loyalty of the recent addition to their fanbase. Whilst Apple retains the utopian appeal it held from the beginning, the strong, progressive philosophy that came with the Apple way of life has receded; what seems to be left is the nebulous but attractive aura of a softly fading visionary movement.

Of course, Apple’s utopian image is not perfect. It’s products are becoming ever more similar, losing the visionary quality that made the brand so appealing in the first place: Wired magazine, in its critique of the iPhone 5, describes the smartphone as “completely amazing and utterly boring” (Mat Honan). And the ironic undercurrent that runs parallel to this essay’s argument, that completely undermines Apple and its superfans’ enterprise, is the fact that Apple is ultimately another profit-motivated corporate giant. The truly humanitarian values that may have inspired Apple’s creators have since become perverted: Apple’s utopia is simply an effective marketing strategy — packaging that cloaks Apple’s true profit-motivated interests. The illusion biases Apple fans against reality. Some are content to demonise Bill Gates, even though he is a well-known and respected philanthropist; meanwhile, Apple has recently come under fire for condoning exploitative practises abroad through Asian contractors.  Apple’s products have always been a symbol of wealth and status, a utopian bubble only accessible to some, breeding a subculture founded on privilege.

 

Bibliography

Lam, Pui-Yan. “May the Force of the Operating System Be with You: Macintosh Devotion as Implicit Religion.” Sociology of Religion 62.2 (2001): 243. Print.

Alexander, Jeffrey. “The Sacred and Profane Information Machine: Discourse about the Computer as Ideology.” Archives De Sciences Sociales Des Religions 69, Relire Durkheim (1990): 161-71. JSTOR. Web. 19 Nov. 2016.

“MacKiDo – Mac Information & More.” MacKiDo – Mac Information & More. Web. 19 Nov. 2016.

Saval, Nikil. “Google and Apple: The High-Tech Hippies of Silicon Valley.” The New York Times. The New York Times, 28 Mar. 2016. Web. 19 Nov. 2016.

Honan, Mat. “The IPhone 5 Is Completely Amazing and Utterly Boring.” Wired.com. Conde Nast Digital, 9 Dec. 2012. Web. 19 Nov. 2016.

Stomachable Propaganda: “The Breakfast Club” and Reagan’s Politics

By Dew Panalee Maskati

Pop culture was in it’s prime during ‘80s America, with the release of popular classics such as “Karate Kid” and “The A-Team”, and the advent of synthesisers and digital recording in music. It was the age of self-reinvention and rising consumerism — glamour, now on sale at your nearest mall — laced with political turmoil, increasing unemployment rates, rising inflation, and xenophobia.  It was in this spirit of dissatisfaction and idealism that “The Breakfast Club” was made. Five high school tropes —“athlete” Andrew, delinquent Bender, Brian the “brain”, “basket case” Allison, and “princess” Claire— overcome their initial aversion to each other to unite in friendship and defy the disciplinarian, Mr. Vernon; they are armed, of course, by the teen rebel’s trustiest weapons: drugs and rock and roll. From its opening title, ‘The Breakfast Club’ establishes itself as a patron of rebellion by paying homage to David Bowie, the nullifier of category and God of self-reinvention, with an excerpt from “Changes”:

“And these children

that you spit on

as they try to change their worlds

are immune to your consolation

they are quite aware

of what they are going through”.

These lines highlight how the movie corroborates the image of the defiant and heroic teen rebel — the counter-culture revolutionary yet untainted by the adult world — and in consequence, is full of vicarious appeal to the teenager’s angst-filled heart. But the movie’s premise and resolution is entirely a fabrication, a fact made visually apparent in the opening sequence, as the camera zooms in beyond the shattering black television screen, and draws us into a realm beyond reality. This heartwarming tale is, in effect, a mask for an underlying, sinister ideology, one gets the viewer to think more favourably of conformity by marketing it as unity. Tropes aren’t transcended; rather, certain accepted stereotypes are subliminally reinforced over others.

The opening title sequence

Opening title sequenceThese stereotypes are so pervasive that the students do not formally learn each other’s names until half-way through the movie. As soon as they do, further labelling is generated: “Claire” is a “fat girl’s name”. Bender as a human being “may as well not even exist in this school”, as Andrew says, because in the eyes of others he is but the stereotype of a criminal. Certain issues remain unaddressed, and are subsequently reinforced, such as male chauvinism: Bender, looking to “impregnate” Claire, does have his wish granted – they fall in love – Claire “couldn’t ignore [him] if [she] tried”. The movie is unsuccessful even in its self-proclaimed mission — abolishing high school stereotypes — because in their final moments of detention, the teenagers each dance in a style that parodies their tropes. Some might interpret this as a euphoric moment of acceptance, but really, it soberingly demonstrates a lack of change — these teenagers still conform.

However, the movie goes beyond this: it seeks to favourably portray the elimination of diversity — more specifically, to see stereotypes deigned unacceptable by society abolished. Let’s take, for example, the outcasts Allison and Bender: due to social conditioning that encourages wariness when confronted by nonconformists, their crude, sexual language and atypical manner, initially gave them the most disdain from other characters and viewer alike.  Claire’s response to Bender’s graphic description of sex is to ask “do you want me to puke?”.  Allison, on the other hand, embodies the uncivilised: feral behaviour; wild appearance; her endorsement of the “mountains”, “Afghanistan or Israel” over the Chicago “streets”. Yet, they are the most perceptive of all the characters. It is the distance between them and society that cultivates comments such as Allison’s iconic “it’s unavoidable, it just happens… when you grow up your heart dies”, or the critical eye on social convention that leads to Bender’s rejection of Claire’s ability to apply lipstick with her breasts — a bourgie talent that highlights her superficiality and privilege. The others reject their discomforting comments: Andrew has been socially conditioned to interpret Bender’s insight as “insult” when Bender is really just “being honest, asshole!”.

Allison presciently realises that there is no escape from being labelled, by pointing out that once Claire reveals the truth behind her enigmatic sex-life, she will be skewered by a triple-pronged sword: categorised as either a “prude”, “slut” or a “tease”. And indeed, rather than a movement towards acceptance of their quirks, the movie sees Allison and Bender normalised into socially acceptable stereotypes. Allison is given a makeover that turns her into a cookie-cutter doll — note the aggressive way in which she is made to conform through makeup — “don’t stick that in my eye”. She only truly receives Andrew’s approval — “it’s good” — after the transformation. If she had outwardly remained a “basket case”, would Andrew have kissed her? Bender’s indoctrination is less explicit: he puts on Claire’s earring, a trinket from the upper classes. So yes, “The Breakfast Club” does champion acceptance — but only at the price of individuality. Mr. Vernon’s obviously devilish character masks the true evil in the movie: Andrew and Claire, instruments of a cultural ideology that instills “sameness”.

Allison’s makeover

Let’s explore this dichotomy a bit further: students are good and adults, evil. Mr. Vernon’s character actualises the quasi-dictator that haunts every student’s educational experience; more importantly, he embodies Althusser’s “educational state apparatus” and elements of the “repressive state apparatuses” — instruments within a system of oppression (society) that seek to excise individuality and maintain the existing social order by doing so.  He shares in their dehumanising methods when he snaps his fingers and repeats commands at Andrew as if to a dog, and exercises their repressive violence through language that goads and humiliates. To the other students: “look at [Bender], he’s a bum”.  “What’s the matter, John? You gonna cry?”. The other prominent adult, Carl the janitor, has a characteristic that, at first glance, seems to spare him from the general criticism: he understands.  Although an incongruously angelic figure in the prison-like school, what he says bears a disconcerting semblance to totalitarian propaganda from the likes of George Orwell’s “1984”: “I listen to your conversations — you don’t know that but I do”; “I am the eyes and ears of the institution”. Add to this his identification with the lower classes — “you guys think I’m some untouchable peasant… serf” — and he has, in effect, become the voice of Adorno’s “culture industry”. Therefore, the audience is disinclined to sympathise with them.

Since the audience directs its sympathy according to human-object interaction, the objects in the movie reinforce the contest between vessels of a repressive culture (adults) and adolescent resistance. Objects antagonise Mr. Vernon multiple times: to the students’ and the viewer’s amusement, he is proved wrong (and importantly, Bender proved right) when the chair meant to hold open the door springs out of position, thereby granting the teenagers their privacy. Other slapstick instances include coffee spilling over his table, and, unbeknownst to him, toilet paper dangling out of his pants. On the other hand, objects function harmoniously with the students; they reinforce the viewer’s support for the teenagers’ cause. The viewer too, feels victorious when Bender scales the mountain of school supplies to escape solitary confinement. But beyond this, the objects are implementing an equally important task on the viewer’s subconscious: the cues that polarise teenagers against adults have created a battlefield of the school building — a stomachable replica of the ‘Nam, bringing to mind public fear during the Cold War. The students utilise tactics of guerrilla warfare to combat Mr. Vernon — stealth when avoiding him, and “fire and movement” strategy when Bender distracts for the others’ safety.

screen-shot-2016-10-15-at-3-02-33-pm

Dominant during the 1980s was general disgruntlement with the shortcomings of liberal government (the old order) and a favourable view of modern conservatism. National industries faced losses, increased layoffs; Japanese technology and products outstripped the West’s. The Cold War reached its apex, and the generally displeased public agreed with Reagan’s claim that Carter’s liberal government should have chosen to, but did not, “stay the course” in regards to Vietnam. This political divide pervades the movie: the teenagers and adults represent two existing orders, the new and the old, which are at war; its battle ground, the classroom. Mr. Vernon says as much: “these kids have turned on me”. Ultimately, the teenagers emerge victorious: free to do what they please from the second half of detention onwards, Mr. Vernon’s authority ultimately overturned, and stronger in their unity. Andrew gives a strikingly industrial description of his dad as “this mindless machine” programmed to “Win! Win! Win!” that he proceeds to reject; here again, is the dismissal of an archaic, ineffective order. Therefore, the movie’s heartwarming ending insinuates triumph of a new, conservative order over the old — conforming to public sentiment that perceived a weak, ineffective, liberal government. By guiding the audience firmly onto the teenagers’ faction, the movie succeeds in indoctrinating Reagan’s political propaganda.

What’s more, the implications go beyond America’s borders, creating an ideological conflict of international proportions— but with America, of course, as its heroic centre. During the 1980s, Japan and America were in contest for technological superiority, and it was obvious as to which country was emerging as the dominant force. This was a time in which the American public felt alienated by the imported commodities around them — dissatisfaction that culminated in demonstrative destruction of Japanese cars. The movie overturns this dynamic; it provides the average american with an illusory resolution that appeases fear of their country’s growing global impotence against Japan’s booming economy. The teenagers, symbolic of Reagan’s America and therefore vessels of an ideology along the lines of “Let’s Make America Great Again”, operate in harmony with objects. Meanwhile, the enemy, Mr. Vernon, is obstructed and humiliated by the products around him. An alternate picture is painted: within this constructed conflict, America emerges victorious and the ultimate commander of products. So, through cues that align the viewer’s sympathy with the teenagers’ cause, the movie sentimentalises American patriotism and xenophobic distrust of the foreign — effective even on a present-day audience. The teenagers impress acceptance of Reagan’s politics, as well as illusory American supremacy over the Japanese, on the viewer’s mind.