The Captivationof Commodity Culture

By Katherine Stegall

“Untethered” relates to an individual breaking chains, whom is held captive, whether in body or mind, to something in the material world that is deemed obligatory to thrive. You are told keeping up with societal standards and buying the newest version of everything keeps your vitality at its peak. Remain with the trends; remain with society; and remain with everything culture has to offer to your brokendown, tired soul. What do you need to remain tethered to? Belligerent bosses come close to your sunken-in, purple eyes as they say you need to come into the office more, or your skirt is too unprofessional. You remain at the feet of manufacturing companies as you clean and wipe away the dirt from their shoes with your dollar bills. The tiring cycle of remaining tethered to the pervasive means of living takes a toll on your fragile soul as you become another number in the line of impersonal beings trying to make ends meet.

our industrial mode of life. Don’t have it? You the catch: you don’t always need what’s being commodified. Your life was just the same

You think you need this product, so you stand in line with countless others hoping to get a glimpse of how your life would be “so much better!” if you just took one bite of the apple and curves. You take in all of its promises, all of its earthly wisdom, and you continue in the pursuit of what commodity culture is supposed

Commodity culture has slithered its way into our industrial mode of life. Don’t have it? You need it. You haven’t seen it on the market? You must make it so you can profit from it. Here’s the catch: you don’t always need what’s being commodified. Your life was just the same without the products being shoved down your throat. It’s all about the impersonal process of making, selling, and buying from a face you will never look in the eye or shake hands with. You think you need this product, so you stand in line with countless others hoping to get a glimpse of how your life would be “so much better!” if you just took one bite of the apple that could change your exhausted existence into something immortal. You receive the shiny, new product as you take in its crevices and curves. You take in all of its promises, all of its earthly wisdom, and you continue in the pursuit of what commodity culture is supposed to give you.

Blindly chasing after fame, money, and selling your soul to the infinite amount of companies taking pieces of your heart, you realize you’ve lost your essence. Your passions and dreams disintegrate as you shop for a new corporate outfit or slap on the $5.00 concealer to cover your dark, purple under eyes. May I provide you with some advice? Don’t. Don’t fall prey to the whispers and condescension from a society that doesn’t know your soul. Don’t fall prey to a society that doesn’t know how your eyes light up under the warmth of the golden sun, or how your nose crinkles ever so slightly when you smile at the people you most adore.

Most importantly, find your Third Place. The coveted Third Place connects to escaping all forms of consumerism and societal expectations. You can disappear from your soul – find the ones that create an authentic community in a world full of manufactured faces. There are no deadlines or monotonous meetings; it’s a place of relaxation where all the through your hands. It’s not work, and it is not your house; it is simply a place for you. Whether it be your small-town library as you rummage through pages of fairy tales and fables, or on top of a crinkled nose. May I give you some more advice? Make your Third Place your refuge. Do not isolate, but keep it wrapped within your grasp enough to separate from the calls from our world

Most importantly, find your Third Place. The coveted Third Place connects to escaping all forms of consumerism and societal expectations. You can disappear from the office, rub off your lipstick, and find your people – find the ones who warm your soul – find the ones that create an authentic community in a world full of manufactured faces. There are no deadlines or monotonous meetings; it’s a place of relaxation where all the expectations of this sinking society sift through your hands. It’s not work, and it is not your house; it is simply a place for you. Whether it be your small-town library as you rummage through pages of fairy tales and fables, or on top of a look-out where you let the omnipotent sun add a few more freckles to that crinkled nose. May I give you some more advice? Make your Third Place your refuge. Do not isolate, but keep it wrapped within your grasp enough to separate from the calls from our plastic world.

By Madison Meadows

The lady next to me didn’t know it, but she was the most intriguing person I’d ever encountered. This train ride couldn’t go any faster than it already was. I wanted to linger around for a little longer.

As I was observing her, I couldn’t help but notice how sleep had taken residence in this woman’s entire being. Her eyelids remained at a consistent droop, all the way from the East Village to Midtown. Her palms looked like they’d already bore the world and then some more of it. It was only 10 am.

Her hair reminded me of a honey suckle; sweet, shiny, and soft. But there were rough hands running through it—owned by a man nowhere near as ethereal, yet not as tired as her—but he was still there nonetheless. Her greenish eyes withheld an unavoidable beauty that seemed to be yearning for more. For better.

I stood up to leave them and head back to the library. It’s disheartening, parting from a captivating stranger you know you’ll never see again.

I ascended the stairs of the station and was welcomed to New York by the sounds of the city– sirens wailing, young children shouting at their nannies in demand for ice cream, the silent gray clouds wrapping us New Yorkers up in a blanket.

I ascended the of the station and New York by the sounds of the city– sirens young children shouting at their nannies in demand for cream, the silent gray clouds wrapping us New Yorkers up in blanket.

“Welcome back,” said Ms. Luna, a librarian I looked forward to seeing each day. In between a pitied smile, she looked at me. “My dear, you know you don’t have to come here every day though, right? Shouldn’t you be chasing the life you want out there?” I nodded and considered this.

“Welcome Ms. Luna, librarian I looked forward to seeing each day. between a pitied smile, she looked at me. “My dear, you know you don’t to come here day though, right? Shouldn’t you be chasing the life you out there?” nodded and considered this.

Back before I arrived here, knew expect nothing, appreciate everything. Be curious, stay friendly. Listen, wait ask things. and await knowledge. Observe, judge less. extend offers. Pursue not constraints.

constraints. Look embody bountiful energy. Analyze no one, accept everyone.

Back home, before I arrived here, I knew life like this: expect nothing, appreciate everything. Be curious, stay friendly. Listen, wait to ask for things. Learn, and await knowledge. Observe, judge less. Smile, extend offers. Pursue freedom, not constraints. Look for abundance, embody bountiful energy. Analyze no one, accept everyone.

It was hard to sustain this outlook on life here in the city, and essentially everywhere. I felt better when I was surrounded by Ms. Luna, the books whose spines never cracked under the burdens of the human condition. This New York Public Library was home to the finance men who needed passports, young office assistants scrambling for working printers, and even victims of the housing crisis that plagues this city. This was the third place; nothing on the surface mattered about a person, but everything internally did.

Ms. Luna glanced outside the window and then back at me. She complimented how my smile was large and my face looked like it’d been untethered.

“What do you mean when you say that, Ms. Luna?”

“I mean that you haven’t let the world consume you.”

Flashes of angry strangers, a lust— chase—for the things that cut the deepest, the craving to be burned when you’re already on fire. Being chained to constructs, money, and society must not hurt anymore when you’ve been stuck for so long. That’s what this place has brought for me. The strings we all tie ourselves to—who we associate with, what we eat, the goods we buy, the money we make, who we give ourselves to— all of these pressures can be ridden by us.

When we shop, we are consistently pursued by things and how they portray themselves. We are seduced by lace and its cursive. We are excited by the red ink bled around “SALE” and we love to play the game of match the color on the tag to the discount. And while I feel complex- capable of love and hate, having feelings so strong they need to be medicated, and a crippling need for human connection- I am easily swooned by this trick that possesses the mind and feeds the economy. Kruger looked this sheeplike quality of the greater population dead in the face. She challenged us and our humanity with large print and five words. It is a disruptive element in the frenzy of everyday life. Barbara Kruger discovered how the clock of corporate America ticks, and stuck a wrench in it.

Brandalized