I've Got Mixed Feelings About 'Aesthetic'
Today I roasted a chicken that I did not post on Instagram. I shared it pre-oven, the cast iron pan aesthetically dressed with spring-hued vegetables; the chicken spatchcocked and slathered in a garlic, dill and chilli butter. And then after two martinis, things got a bit sloppy. My decision to pour some leftover white wine into the pan where my cute little vegetables were nestled resulted in the opposite effect (soggy) than I had intended (crispy). After a longer cooking time than usual, I ate some of the chicken (which was, admittedly tender and very well cooked) at the counter and messily plated up the vegetables and salad. I ate the rest sitting on the floor, a bottle of Kewpie mayo on hand, whilst watching Blue Crush. It wasn’t pretty but that wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t aestheticise the moment. It simply didn’t need it.
I am not a food photographer, nor do I take much pleasure in capturing food in a certain way – I’m more excited by the process of cooking, closely followed by the pleasure of eating it. But I am no stranger to the power of aesthetics. I save recipes and dishes on Instagram to make or get inspired by based on the pleasing appearance of a kitchen counter, of farmer’s market produce, of a final flourish of herbs. I am a true consumer, for better or worse. But lately, I’ve been noticing a tension between looks and feelings in many areas of my life. And questioning why we place so much importance on aesthetic, and what it says about the world and myself.
In the late 19th century, a new artistic movement was rising up to the surface. Aestheticism dared to remove deeper sociopolitical meanings or allegories from works of art – be it literature, architecture, painting or music – and instead proposed that beauty could and should be art’s sole purpose instead. It was the birth of ‘art for art’s sake’ and the era of decadence, where books, poems, pieces of art and music, could be created outside the boundaries of Victorian moral, political or religious ethics; instead focusing on elevating the senses, experiencing pleasure and establishing a mood. It was the beginning of art (and aesthetics) reflecting our interior worlds:
The aesthetic movement was lifestyle with a vengeance. It was Rossetti in his beautiful tenebrous house in Cheyne Walk, furnished with an eclectic mix of old and new and an ever-changing entourage of rather mangy animals, who invented the style later known as shabby chic. Following his lead, art became self-definition. Your choice of paintings, objects and interior decoration told people who you were and indeed who you were not. – Fiona MacCarthy, The Guardian
The scene was set.
Now, almost two hundred years later, we’ve joined the likes of William Morris and Oscar Wilde as a bunch of Aesthetes. But along the way, the intense commodification of beauty has changed the notion of ‘aesthetic’. What I’ve been thinking about is the homogeny and the recycling of trends that we deem ‘beautiful’ and ‘aesthetic’.
These days, ‘aesthetic’ is not simply synonymous with ‘aesthetically pleasing’; it’s an indicator of what is popular, highly commodified and sought after – even if it doesn’t pertain to the traditional standard of beauty. Aesthetic might refer to “THAT Girl” morning routines in the same breath as full on Goblin Mode. If it can be commodified – whether it’s skincare, smoothies and self-care or sweatpants, pizza and video games – then it can be aesthetic.
What intrigues me is our willingness to buy into certain aesthetics that breed total uniformity. New York Magazine’s Grub Street piece, Welcome To The Shoppy Shop, is a great example of this, discussing the homogeny of upmarket delis and boutique grocers, and how they’re simply turning into a bricks and mortar version of an Instagram feed.
“We know these minimalist-ish generic aesthetics are not connected to any true local origin, but we see them as indicative of some kind of authenticity. My current thought is that they don’t feel local to a place, but instead they feel local to the internet, which is, after all, where we all live.”
Buy into these brands and you’re buying into a certain aesthetic – an identity that differentiates you from (or connects you to) your friend, neighbour, partner or family. This is part of the commodification shift; aesthetics are no longer confined to fashion or art, but now food, too. You are quite literally what you consume. This is a cultural signifier that simply does your self-expression for you. Scroll through your Instagram feed (or more tellingly, your saved posts) and someone will figure out your ‘aesthetic’ (and therefore your perceived identity) in minutes.
All this same-same-but-different aesthetic can come in various guises, and we (especially me) are experts in adopting one and then another. The viral TikTok that told everyone how to dress like a fashion influencer at Copenhagen Fashion Week was amusing, but also troubling, especially in how it manifested in my own sense of self-expression. In packing for my trip to Copenhagen, I began to think more about the environment I was dressing for than my own personal style (although, I’m aware that our collective sense of style can only come from the environments we find ourselves in; we didn’t emerge from the womb liking balaclavas and ruffled collars).
Walking around in Copenhagen, I felt a certain kinship with the Danish aesthetic: the casualness, the layering, the subtle mix of minimalism and punchiness. But I was also aware of how a lot of the beautiful women whose aesthetics I would admire on the metro look kind of the same, and then came the internal tension: I want to dress more like them, but I also don’t want to look like everyone else. I had felt the same way in New York, where I would see a sea of Brooklynites descend upon Williamsburg, uniformly dressed in beanies, mom jeans, New Balance trainers and oversized jackets. I would question my style, and as a result felt oddly insecure, despite knowing that the principle of buying is to like what you spend your money on. So why did I suddenly feel at odds with my own aesthetic? Because of that, I couldn’t find my aesthetic groove in New York. Yet it had nothing to do with the city and everything to do with myself; I was so influenced by uniformity, that I too wanted to the uniform. To blend in rather than stand out.
I worry that my exposure to and obsession with internalising certain aesthetics is leading me to experience the opposite effect. Instead of finding joy and pleasure in beauty, am I so in pursuit of aesthetics (i.e. are we trying to financially possess or own it), that I’m missing the point? Is the homogeny of beauty in fact the anaesthetic stopping us from deeply feeling my life?
I like the definition of anaesthetic here: insensible. I like that it suggests that aesthetic should be more about feeling than looking.
I started this essay wondering whether aestheticism was a problem in and of itself. Whether it signalled a collective vanity, or a trouble relationship with standardised beauty. But in fact, I think I’ve come to the conclusion that we have to be curators of our own lives; we’re all deeply embedded in aesthetic pursuits, and that this is entirely ok, as long as we’re finding pleasure in it. As soon as it becomes stressful or painful or comparative or simply mind-numbing, that’s when I know to take myself out of it.
I suppose my issue with ‘aesthetics’ then, is actually the ephemeral nature of beauty. The slipperiness of it and the way it shape shifts across borders and generations and timezones and eras. Perhaps it’s about reframing ‘aesthetic’ in the way the Aesthetes did. To not take it too seriously. To delight in the sensory pleasure of it. To not worry about whether ‘everyone else is doing it’, and to enjoy it.
A friend admired the aesthetic of my home the other day. It felt good to have my joyful curation of found and made objects recognised. It reminded me how much I love looking and feeling through beauty. Sometimes I’ll spend a morning sitting in, walking through or cooking in my flat, simply admiring the home I’ve built for myself. I’m reminding myself that it’s not shameful or vain or superficial to see my identity in the environment I live in.
We can exist in this liminal space of art and artifice, uniformity and individualism, as long as we aren’t numb to it – as long as we keep our eyes open to beauty in all its forms.
This is so thoughtfully written!
I love this! Hits the nail on the head