Aesthetinet

Hey aestheticaste, this is Sublim3, and today I’m writing my last blog post, not about a particular aesthetic but about the general trend of aesthetic flattening I believe to have taken over the internet.

Glitch feminism by Legacy Russell is all about identity and subverting hegemony by way of it. A “glitch,” in the digital refers to the disruption of a system, which glitch feminism reappropriates as a glitch in typical identity categories, such as the gender binary, thereby subverting them. Digital avatars are the means to this glitch, wherein the persona a person online is perhaps more flexible and fluid than otherwise. Especially because of the lack of bodies, which are used in the real world to categorize people into rigid gender and sexuality categories, avatars come with a high degree of configuration and reconfiguration.

What I appreciate about Legacy Russell’s “Glitch Feminism: A Manifesto” is that precisely because it is a glitch within the larger internet system, no two glitched avatars will be the same. The same cannot be said for what I consider to be generic, flat, and uninspired digital aesthetics of today, whose sole purpose is to get people to associate with certain universal connotations to then get them to buy commodities which correspond to what they believe to be a unique identity. Consider a few examples:

In the 1990s and 2000s, skateboarding, or simply skating, was on the rise. Prolific figures such as the legendary Tony Hawk, known for his wild stunts and tricks, allowed for skateboarding to reach a wider, mainstream audience. Still, there was something subversive about it. Skaters were known to smoke weed, be super chill, and generally not care about all of the distractions of modernity like career and social ascension. It was simply a hobby which people enjoyed and spent a lot of time doing in-itself.

Compare this to the modern “skater boy” or skater aesthetic. Its appeal consists in baggy jeans, which have since become popular again, thrasher T’s, and Vans off the wall. On TikTok or Instagram, anyone with any interest in skating will likely come across videos detailing how to best dress according to the identity, or how to best cut your hair like a skater. While there is nothing wrong with “looking the part,” especially as shoes like Vans are particularly made for skateboarding, I feel like much of the youth now associates being a skateboarder more with a rigid fashion sense than any authentic love of the game.

Another example of this is the rap-music label, Opium. Founded by Playboi Carti in 2019, the group, which now consists of four artists, is known for their hardcore music and dark aesthetic. Especially Playboi Carti has become known on the internet for his mysterious aura and all-black outfits. While many edgy teenagers are inspired by this look, adapting a similar love for gloomy and morose fits, my concern stems from the fact that rather than creating an individual identity whose basis is perhaps a gloomy outlook on life or simply a love for the label’s musicians, it is more of an expression of the label than of the individual. While one may perhaps think oneself to be a subversive avatar or real-life person, this conception of the subsersive stems from mass culture rather than real critique. If Adorno woke up to these internet trends in 2025, he would perhaps write an even more scathing critique.

Breeding the Future with Biopunk

Hi, my beautiful net-baes! This is [bubblegumprincess] here writing once again, and I hope you’re as excited as me for this long-awaited final blog post!

My curiosity today sprouts from Biopunk—a genre that, like Solarpunk and Steampunk, is radical in its own way. It’s not just about neon petri dishes and DIY gene sequencers; at its core, Biopunk is a challenge to the biotech giants patenting life and the growing tension between corporate control of biotechnology such as CRISPR (a novel gene editing tool) and individual body autonomy. As Marcus Wohlsen says in Biopunk: DIY Scientists Hack the Software of Life, it’s “the punk spirit applied to biology—putting life into the hands of amateurs rather than boardrooms.”

More than its fluorescent lab aesthetic and gene-spliced creatures, Biopunk forces us to ask: What does it mean to be human when our cells can be rewritten? This genre explores our anxieties around ownership of life by taking us into underground biohacker spaces, where CRISPR kits replace the vague, commodified gene therapies of big pharma. Unlike clinical labs hidden behind glass doors, these DIY setups demand transparency, experimentation, and collective knowledge.

Biohacking bacteria to produce sustainable fabrics or even glow-in-the-dark moss offers glimpses of an environmentally friendly biotech future. One of my favorite examples is the OpenCell project in London—an open lab where tinkerers engineer bacteria to create pigments, medicines, and more. If you’re curious, their livestream workshops are a must-watch. If you want to learn more about OpenCell, check out their Instagram (@opencelllondon)!

Biopunk also exposes how the very systems we rely on can embed oppression as a deliberate design choice. As Marie Hicks’ A Feature, Not a Bug shows, computing infrastructures have historically “bootstrapped” themselves on sexism, racism, and classism—these weren’t glitches to be patched but foundational features that concentrated power and silenced dissent. In the same way, today’s biotech giants lock down genes behind patents, enforce opaque clinical trials, and widen the gap between those who can afford CRISPR therapies and those who cannot. Biopunk rebels refuse this closed ecosystem: they open-source gene drives, document every step of their DIY experiments, and build community-run bio-labs so that biology becomes a shared resource, not a gated fortress. By treating vulnerability—the “bugs” in our social DNA—as opportunities for collective control, Biopunk flips the script, demanding transparent, equitable, and emancipatory futures for life itself.

It also calls to mind Michel Foucault’s concept of “biopolitics,” where power operates through the regulation of life itself. Foucault warned us that when states and corporations control reproduction, health, and genetics, freedom can slip away. Biopunk rebels refuse these controls, embracing DIY gene drives and community-run biofoundries as acts of self-determination.

Biopunk also forces us to grapple with real-world ethical dilemmas around “editing life.” As the Harvard Gazette reminds us, human genome editing isn’t just a technical leap—it raises questions about who gets to benefit. For families watching children battle devastating genetic diseases, CRISPR offers the promise of excising cruel mutations. Yet for those living in poverty, it risks becoming another privilege reserved for the wealthy. This brings into question the bioethics surrounding the ability to change life, and how this privilege can be affected by socioeconomic barriers in society.

Moreover, Robert Truog, director of the Center for Bioethics at Harvard Medical School mentioned that “The concern is that with technologies that are relatively easy to use, like CRISPR, how does the scientific community regulate itself?” Within Biopunk, the DIY setups may allow for the common working class access to bioediting, however, it raises the question to not only how, but if bioediting should be controlled. In a post capitalist world, who is to say that these laissez-faire biotechnologists would also adhere to a code of ethics and safety?

Where Solarpunk dreams of solar-powered cities in lush greenery, and Steampunk invites us to turn wrenches on brass machines, Biopunk hands us pipettes and DNA sequences. If Haraway’s cyborg is our hopeful myth for fluid identity, then Biopunk’s petri dishes and gene splices ask us: Will we edit our genes for empowerment, or let patents and profit write our cellular scripts?

So what do we take away from all this? Biopunk reminds us that technology isn’t just hardware or software—it can be woven into the very fabric of life. Should we embrace open-source genetic tools that democratize biology, or fear the corporate labs sequencing our future?

I’d love to hear your thoughts! Is Biopunk the path to a more empowered, biocentric world, or a slippery slope toward designer bodies? Let me know in the comments!

Until next time, keep questioning the world around you! <3

Aestheticaste

VIDEOS TO WATCH

What is Biopunk? Biopunk Explained

Designer Babies and Genetic Engineering

Gattaca - A movie commentary on designer babies

Good day, netties, it is [Cor3!ander] again, and I think you should ask yourselves today what conspiracies you believe in:

James Bridle tells you that you should too, in the eighth chapter, “Conspiracy”, of his book New Dark Age. He does not explain the origin of conspiracies as they manifest today in the Digital, but meticulously focuses on those which surround chemtrails and climate change. In a seemingly paradoxical effort, Bridle rationalizes them to unearth their belief systems and parallel those with ours which we often perilously dub as common sense. We, the Aestheticaste, are greatly interested in this kind of academic exercise, because it offers generosity to some symptoms of the Digital, where we often regard it as an uncompromising place.

Bridle’s narrative is chronological and cumulative rather than the point-proof-significance format of a typical essay, but this works in its favour to evoke the layered narratives which characterize conspiracy theories. Therefore, he starts with a personal story of tracking the flight plans of charter aircraft orbiting around England under the pretense of a conspiracy, to find out that they are only routine data collection trips. He then recounts the trials and tribulations of discourses surrounding chemtrails, the troubled dialogue between Inuit people in the high Arctic observing how position of the sun had changed, even though the observed symptom was actually the result of climate change, and morbidly how human violence through history has spectrally contributed to it. Bridle aims to shoot a story directly into our minds, since those that contribute to it are ours as well.

Bridle's style is a breath of fresh air to us and those that undertake this kind of critical reading and reviewing of works on such serious topics. It is a way to have fun when we should in dire times, because when you focus too hard on something for too long, you get tunnel vision and lose awareness of the world around you. Nevertheless, these topics are still serious, as cited in Bridle’s explanation of Inuit peoples’ observations and their reply. Essentially, because of the ice melting in the upper hemispheres and with how snow and ice refract light in complex ways, the “repositioning” of the sun that the Inuit people saw was not technically wrong: because of the melting ice, the sun's light itself repositioned. However, the scientific community discredited the Inuit because their language did not agree with their paradigm, despite the truth of the matter. In that case, Bridle argues that official authorities themselves contributed to a false conspiracy while the equivalent of “folk knowledge” expressed truth. Therefore, he concludes, that is only one instance out of many where the targets of conspiracies can actually be the perpetrators.

I am curious as to how this argument applies to arguably more problematic theories. Those such as the “lizardmen” theory which states that otherworldly humanoid creatures secretly control governments to enslave and/or brainwash humanity. That one is well known to be founded in antisemitism, but how do our authorities fudge rebuttals against it, and what would be the consequences?

Bridle illustrates unequivocally that conspiracy theories are bred from mistrust between citizens and authorities. Although it is vacuous to say that by itself, aesthetics in fiction love to use that as a fulcrum to create worlds, and offer interesting rebuttals. For one, I greatly love grimdark: the dingy sci-fi middle child aesthetic that jumpstarted the Warhammer 40,000 tabletop rule system in 1987, and continues to thrive today. Grimdark essentially asks, “How bad can things get without it ending altogether?” I argue it is a more curious question than simply what the apocalypse might be, because it is one thing to fear finality, but another to fear suffering. Therefore, I agree with James Bridle in that both the producers and receivers of conspiracy theories can do better to reflect on the question rather than repel it.

Check your corners,

Aestheticaste

And for your education:

Graphical user interfaces (GUIs) shape not just how we interact with technology, but how we understand it. While skeuomorphic design mimics physical objects, flat design removes these cues in favor of minimalism. These aesthetic shifts are not merely stylistic; they encode ideological assumptions. Skeuomorphic design operates within cynical ideology, where users know the artifice but embrace it anyway. Flat design, on the other hand, mirrors the myths of feudalism, giving the illusion of transparency while concealing algorithmic control.

Skeuomorphism: The Aesthetic of Cynical Ideology

Skeuomorphism—think leather-textured notepads or digital bookshelves—was once the dominant GUI aesthetic. While often dismissed as outdated, it functions within what Slavoj Žižek calls cynical ideology: “they know what they do, but they do it anyway.”] Users recognize that digital objects are simulations, yet they engage with them as if they were real. The aesthetic’s power lies in this contradiction.

This design choice is more than nostalgia—it acts as a comforting veil over the abstraction of digital systems. When an app resembles a familiar object, it reassures users that they remain in control, even as real control diminishes. The textured icons of early iPhones, for example, disguised the increasing automation and data extraction occurring beneath them. Skeuomorphism knowingly maintains an illusion: users understand that their interfaces are artificial, yet this aesthetic softens the transition from the tangible to the virtual.

But this illusion can no longer hold. As platforms optimize for efficiency and data-driven interaction, skeuomorphism’s reassuring mimicry gives way to an aesthetic that erases even the pretense of user agency.

Flat Design and the Feudal Myth of Digital Freedom

With the rise of flat design, shadows, textures, and embellishments disappeared in favor of minimalist grids, bright colors, and uniform typography. The shift was framed as a move toward clarity and efficiency, but as Wendy Hui Kyong Chun argues in On Software, or the Persistence of Visual Knowledge, software aesthetics are not neutral—they discipline users while making their constraints invisible.

Flat design presents itself as transparent: what you see is what you get. But this visual clarity is deceptive. By stripping away analog references, flat design hides the complexity of algorithms that shape what we see. Social media feeds, recommendation engines, and ranking algorithms structure digital experiences in ways that are neither visible nor neutral.

Here, I once again turn to Yanis Varoufakis’s theory of technofeudalism. Feudal societies maintained power by framing hierarchy as divine order. Today’s platforms function similarly, presenting algorithmic governance as a natural, benevolent force. Just as medieval subjects were told that God determined their place in society, users are told they freely shape their digital environments—when in reality, algorithms curate, filter, and restrict visibility.

Shadow banning, content suppression, and personalized feeds are not glitches but features of platform design. Yet, the aesthetics of flat interfaces mask this control, reinforcing the belief that digital spaces are neutral and democratic. The result is a feudal-like dependency on platforms that control visibility, engagement, and monetization. We exist as digital serfs, laboring within walled gardens, believing we have control when, in reality, we are governed by unseen forces.

Conclusion: Aesthetics as Ideology

Skeuomorphic and flat designs are more than visual trends; they encode ideological functions. Skeuomorphism, through its nostalgic mimicry, acknowledges its own artifice while soothing users’ transition into digital abstraction. Flat design, by contrast, eliminates these visual crutches while concealing deeper constraints, much like feudal myths masked medieval power structures. As digital capitalism evolves into technofeudalism, it becomes crucial to recognize that what appears transparent and neutral is often the most deceptive. The way interfaces look shapes how we think, and how we think determines whether we accept or challenge the systems behind them.

Exploring Steampunk in the Modern Era

Hi, my beautiful net-baes! This is [bubblegumprincess] here writing once again, and I hope you’re as excited as me.

My question today is inspired by Steampunk—a genre that, like Solarpunk, is radical in its own way. It’s not just about brass goggles and airships; at its core, Steampunk is a challenge to contemporary technological systems and the increasing tension between automation and individual subjectivity. As Dr. Kathe Hicks Albreche, who did her PhD in Steampunk studies, says, it is “a challenge to contemporary philosophical theories, and an odd tension between the technology-driven systems seen today and the basic human need for individual expression and autonomy.”

More than its Victorian aesthetic and retro-futuristic machines, Steampunk makes us ask an important question: What does it mean to be human today? The genre explores our anxieties around technology by taking us back to a time when machines were tangible, mechanical, and deeply intertwined with human craftsmanship. Unlike today’s seamless, algorithmic automation, Steampunk machines require human labor, skill, and direct interaction, creating a contrast to the way AI and digital tech often erase human agency.

Airships and mechanical automations powered by steam provide another environmentally friendly way to power technology and cities. One of my favorite Ghibli films, Howl's Moving Castle, uses Steampunk technology in its storyline, and if you’re interested, I would highly recommend you give it a watch. While we often feel nostalgic about the past, Steampunk provides an aesthetic and an idea to combine the past with the modern and the future.

This connects beautifully to Donna Haraway’s A Cyborg Manifesto, which critiques the rigid boundaries between human and machine. Haraway proposes the cyborg as a political and philosophical figure—an entity that exists between the biological and the mechanical, challenging binaries like human vs. machine, male vs. female, and even physical vs. digital. She suggests that embracing hybridity, rather than resisting it, could lead to a more inclusive and fluid understanding of identity and agency.

Steampunk, in its own way, plays with these very ideas. It takes technological progress and re-imagines it as something mechanical, tactile, and deeply human, rather than an invisible force governed by faceless corporations and AI. If Haraway’s cyborg is a hopeful political myth for a future where identity is hybrid and fluid, then Steampunk’s gears and steam-powered automatons ask us to consider an alternate path—one where technology is something we see, touch, and control.

This also brings me to Jean-François Lyotard and his concerns about “human software.” He questions whether our brains (our biological hardware) will be sufficient for the future or whether we will need to integrate with new technological forms to survive. Steampunk, while nostalgic for the past, engages with this question by imagining a world where technology is still grounded in human interaction rather than an abstract, posthuman future.

Steampunk and poststructuralist thought both seek to break down binaries—whether it’s human vs. machine, past vs. future, or even natural vs. artificial. They subvert the traditional Western narratives of salvation, apocalypse, and a return to origins. Instead, they offer us alternatives: a fragmented, complex, and non-linear future where technology and humanity evolve together.

So what do we take away from all this? If Solarpunk envisions a harmonious future where technology is embedded seamlessly into nature, Steampunk makes us question how we interact with technology and whether we’ve lost something in the shift to digital automation. Should technology be something we manipulate with our hands, or something that fades into the background like an omnipresent force?

I’d love to hear your thoughts! Is Steampunk’s approach to technology more empowering than today’s invisible AI systems? Should we return to a more mechanical, hands-on relationship with tech, or fully embrace the seamless integration of human and machine? Let me know in the comments!

Until next time, stay radical and keep questioning the world around you. <3

Aestheticaste

VIDEOS TO WATCH-

Steampunk Marxism

Simple steampunk breakdown

Everything is Data!

Hey, y’all!!!!

Long time no see, that’s on me… I've been preparing for the next Y2k moment but after this week’s reading, better to feel safer than sorry.

This week, I DORFic2kPrincessཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ur favourite, Digi-loving, and all-around amazing cool chick am looking into the writings, of Lisa R. Johnson from her book Curating Research Data more specifically the section “Intro to Data Curation”.

The writing opens with Johnson mentioning how data functions as the currency of the digital world, whether it be through sharing the data and gaining a reputation in a society that prioritizes data sharing or using data to appear transparent for funding agencies. Data is any information that is written in binary with research data being used as primary sources to support research used to guide the research process or accepted in research as necessary to validate findings. The reading then mentions how different forms of data are received and used through data repositories. Data repositories are a searchable interface that stores, manages, maintains and curates data in a managed space where the data is held permanently, made accessible and retrievable. They encapsulate a variety of digital data that is optimized throughout all time. This is the difficulty of the work done by data curators as no standard form means that the data curators are looking at this data for the first time every time. this is because data can be single sets, big collections, videos, recordings of media, and applications which include the code and documentation files. This is the biggest difficulty in the field of data curation, the preservation of all the data; verifying all the metadata and supplementary information of the data, describing it, understanding it and curating it to ensure everyone else can understand it easily and quickly for time to come.

This reading was interesting to me as someone who is so fascinated with the inner workings of the technology I spend all my time on. I thought the notion of data being a currency was quite pertinent as we live in a society where data is highly commodified. Companies use any sort of information they can get their hands on to try and forecast their most profitable markets, through the information that is on social media. The idea of data as transparency is important to me as well as I have to think about how often companies will tote and celebrate the highest diversity rates of all time, while they move towards phasing out their DEI practices, working to actively distract the consumer in hopes that they simply do not care enough to notice the changes in the companies’ mandates. This has bigger implications for society as more people become less willing to look at the data when they believe it to be false.

Aesthetically, this paper reminds me of the early days of the internet, my glory days. The entire reading emanates from Web-core and one of my favourites, Frutiger Aero.  As I sit here, I can feel the binary code coming through as if it’s behind every single word I type… oh wait it is!!!! The aesthetics of pure digits and the dialogue about pure data curation are very reminiscent of the early days of the Internet and the excitement that arose from its creation and subsequent expansions. They may seem out of place, but they share more similarities with the process of data curation than one might think. Data curation, as seen through the reading, is a painstaking and time-killing process that does not always result in the desired outcome for the researcher. This is very reminiscent of the two aesthetics of the early internet, as that is when the web made you work the most, rather than doing the work for you. This can be seen in the over-complicated processes that were present in both Web 1.0 and 2.0 and in their overwhelming and saturated backgrounds and interfaces that were clunky and buggy.

duces from ur fav Y2k baddie,

Aestheticaste

What's up my peepz all across the web, itz ur fabulous fav, the baddie of all time, or at least the 2000s, DORFic2KPrincess ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

And today, I'll be ur bae guiding you through what exactly the heck they mean, the history of some of the most amazeee e-lit interfaces, and giving u the 4-1-1 on what aesthetics of this reading and the overall vibez of speculative interfaces <3…

This excerpt from the reading explains it in the most straight-up way. “Speculative interfaces indicate the experimentation with form genre and interface, an openness and exploration of interfaces that are not yet standard… or mimicking of something that does not yet and may never exist.”

This week, I had the absolute and completely joyous pleasure of reading “Speculative Interfaces: How Electronic Literature Uses the Interface to Make Us Think about Technology” by Jill Walker Rettberg, and boy, was this one was a doozy. This paper spoke about the history of speculative interfaces, specifically looking at it through electronic literature (e-lit) and argues that speculative interfaces are a key attribute of not only e-lit but the digital humanities as a whole. The paper argued its case through three examples across time: M.U.C. Love Letter Generator by Christopher Strachey (1952), Afternoon: A Story by Michael Joyce (1987), and Breathe by Kate Pullinger (2018), all of which created new speculative interfaces to enhance the experience for the individual. M.U.C’s love letter generator was revolutionary when it first emerged as it is the first piece of e-lit in history. The love letter generator was not a writing piece that Shakespeare would applaud, but that was not the purpose. Rather, the program was able to generate these love letters, and for Strachey, it was far more interesting how a computer can give the illusion that it is thinking up the response in the form of a love letter. While the technological marvels are nothing compared to today, it’s important to acknowledge that M.U.C. was the beginning of the speculative exploration of text generation. By creating M.U.C., Strachey explores the relationship between conventional romantic partners and, on a broader scale, between humans and machines.

The next speculative work mentioned by Rettberg is Michael Joyce’s Afternoon: A Story (1987), which marks the beginning of hypertext fiction. The story was first introduced at the first hypertext conference, which brought together computer scientists, poets, and humanities scholars to talk about the technical details of hypertext systems. The spirit of exploration was intrinsic to these early hypertext conferences, specifically the exploration of technology and aesthetic practices. The speculative interface in relation to Afternoon is not simply the hypertext interface, but rather the intertwining of it with a story that tells a narrative that is the speculative interface.

The last example mentioned is Kate Pullinger’s Breathe (2018), which is a short story meant to be experienced on a mobile phone. The story follows a young woman named Flo who communicates to the reader through one to two-sentence slides, totalling 105 when the story is complete. Throughout the story, we follow her, but are also interrupted by “the ghost,” who possesses our screen and halts the story while taking advantage of permissions allowed by the reader at the beginning of the story. When first opening the story, they ask for permission to access your device’s camera and location, both of which are used against you throughout the course of the story. The speculative interface in Breathe is the interface between humans and technologies; perhaps the ghost isn’t a ghost at all, but rather the tech itself, speaking directly to us, drawing us into itself.

Thinking about aesthetics when talking about this reading was difficult because there was so much information to take in that assigning an aesthetic or ‘core’ felt difficult because there was nothing else to latch onto. That being said, I do think this reading captures the intersection of multiple aesthetics. Firstly, as I was reading, it felt like I was walking through an abandoned building, but that has more to do with the respective interface of ‘electronic book review,’ not necessarily the reading. The reading reminded me of themes of futurism, avant-garde and surrealism. Futurism was a movement crafted in response to the quickness and speed, the power of the machine, and the vitality of the 20th  century. Avant-garde is obviously intertwined with speculative interfaces, as all speculative interfaces work in areas to make something new and different, often unusual or different in form factor, allowing the interfaces to keep pushing further into the speculative. Surrealism is also something that comes to mind when speaking about speculative interfaces because both work to try and revolutionize the human experience. Surrealism is about the juxtaposition of the normal and the oddities of dreamlike imagery, while not all speculative interfaces mentioned above use surrealism, they all function to introduce ‘dreamlike’ interfaces. They are all working to create new experiences or to enhance the already mundane experiences we encounter every day.

Urz 4everrrr,

Aestheticaste

Sunny days ahead?- Featuring Solarpunk

Hi, my beautiful net-baes! This is [bubblegumprincess] here writing for the first time and I hope you’re as excited as me. 

Okay so getting straight to the point seems to be a common trend this week so I plan on doing just that.

My question is inspired from Mark Weiser’s paper The Computer of the 21st Century which considers how we make technology fade into the background of our lives in an ethical manner? For this question, I instantly thought of Solarpunk, an aesthetic genre my TA from last semester (shout out Bronte) told me about. Imagine a world fully powered by solar energy and without global capitalism that dominates society. Seemingly idealistic right now, but Solarpunk brings the hope that this is not impossible. If you can think it, there’s a chance to make it. 

More than for the art and visual, solar-punk is highly regarded as an important literary movement for our future.  The aesthetics of solarpunk mainly center on its beautiful greenery that makes up civilization with simple yet still advanced green technology. As Jay Springett says in his blog post SOLARPUNK: A Reference Guide, Solarpunk provides a creative space that gets creatives to think productively about our future asking, “what does a sustainable civilization look like, and how can we get there?”. I could spend hours talking about different technologies architects of this aesthetic have come up with, but we might have to save that for another day. In the meantime explore intriguing design ideas from the aesthetic I’ve found interesting here. 

A common trait in today’s generation is our detachment from the world around us and in turn ourselves by being too absorbed by our screen without even realizing. Technology with screens may be helpful in completing many tasks but as a negative side effect causes us to be separated from the natural world. In The Computer of the 21st Century, Mark Weiser explains how throughout history, "literacy technology" has always seamlessly integrated into our daily lives. However, as Weiser critiques, today's multimedia machine makes the computer screen into the focal point of attention rather than allowing it to truly fade into the background of the natural world. I agree with Weiser's team at Xerox Palo Alto Research Center that “the idea of a "personal" computer itself is misplaced and that the vision of laptop machines, dynabooks and "knowledge navigators" has not reached it’s real potential of information technology. ”

As a solution, I propose an incorporation of Solarpunk as an area of focus to invest in alongside Weiser’s idea.  The technological designs in Solarpunk, if achievable, will be sustainable and smoothly incorporated into everyday life. Now I am no engineer so I will need someone of that major to share their thoughts with me, but the idea of turning away from our waste heavy cities into a green and nature friendly one is worth the thought. By embedding future technology into the environment in sustainable ways seamlessly, we might develop technology that doesn’t hinder and disconnect humanity. We should aim to create a world where business, technology, and nature all work in harmony and balance. Capitalism hinders the ability to create for the betterment of the society by being consumed by just producing what will sell best (which is usually some extravagant combobulated bs).  Entrepreneurs such as Simon Blackler has already started proposing projects such as his work ‘Krystal’. They have already started with their first creation which is a web host and public cloud provider called Krystal Holding Ltd. They run on 100% renewable energy and pride themselves in running an ethical tech company rewarding all employees for their good efforts as well. As a company they claim they planted over 2.7 million trees and continue to invest in bettering the environment and world. 

Last year, as part of my SASAH final exhibition, I was proud to contribute to Western’s own Solarpunk-inspired project: the agrotunnel using agri-voltaics, led by Dr. Joshua Pearce. This project focuses on building an underground farming tunnel powered entirely by solar panels, allowing crops to be grown year-round in a sustainable and energy-efficient way.

Although still carrying concerns such as ownership, privacy, security, and surveillance, I believe the inspired technology from Solarpunk aesthetics align with the vision Weiser has for our future and serve as a productive next step. Instead of forcing humans to adapt to computers, computers should adapt to human needs. With growing concerns on AI, this is the type of ideas and optimism we need. 

Quote from A Solarpunk Manifesto: 

“In Solarpunk’s vision we’ve pulled back just in time to stop the slow destruction of our planet. We’ve learned to use science wisely, for the betterment of our life conditions as part of our planet. We’re no longer overlords. We’re caretakers. We’re gardeners.”

So it’s up to you to decide, will you choose to be comfortable staying a weed in the garden or choose to be a gardener of the world?

A video from Youtuber Andrewism who talks a lot on Solarpunk:

Stay hot and thinking,

Hi again you internet mud-sloggers, it’s [Cor3!ander] with you in the trenches again, and I need to get straight to the point:

Do I hate the player, or do I hate the game? I have yet to decide after finishing Oliver Misraje’s article The Internet is a Graveyard, which discusses the different kinds of “ghosts” that proliferate in the Web3 era of the internet. Yet, we at Aesthetinet have to be good humanities writers and engage with texts we are challenged by, and now is my turn to carry the burden. So, I will prime you on phenomena such as HTTP ghosts, thanotechnology and ghost crypto, then propose how they might matter to you. Yet I will remain hesitant as I ruminate because I have not even figured out how they matter to me.

Misraje is a self described “hauntologist” who specializes in what he calls “ghosts” in the internet, which he presents in concise and accessible miniature case studies through his article, and provides limited opinions on them after. Now, there is a lot of them, so I have to run through them quickly to save for time. HTTP ghosts are pieces of content left up on the internet originally posted by people who are now dead; thanotechnology are programs and services that produce AI- or otherwise digitally-constructed simulacra of dead people; ghost crypto is literally memorial NFTs that are minted on the blockchain. You see the issue? There are so many sub-types of each phenomenon too, that they preclude a concise summary in this format, so I will instead try to put forth the implication they pose.

Luckily, Misraje spends the latter part of each case study talking about the implications and ethical issues of the proliferation of each kind of ghost, by sharing perspectives from other peoples’ experiences while keeping his criticism gentle. For example, he talks about how Project December, a thanotechnology powered by GPT-3 has been used to make AI text simulacra of deceased loved ones to help with grief. Okay, I remain open to reading this because he cites a real user who had a reportedly positive experience with it, but then he goes on to conclude that the user “Believes in the capacity for technologies like Project December to revolutionize the way people will grieve in the future”. This is where Misraje’s perspective and tone fail for me: that single sentence disregards generations of philosophy and literal grief, while we still have yet to seriously consider our relationship with AI in more mundane applications.

I wish I could talk more, because I legitimately appreciate Misraje’s article while I still have serious reservations about its position. To conclude, I think it is best I expand the point of his article and share how fictional narratives and aesthetics have handled the question of his digital “ghosts” before. I will cite one of my favourite media: director Mamoru Oshii’s animated film adaptation of the manga Ghost in the Shell, sharing the same name. The film by itself displays a cyberpunk-esque world where human consciousness are understood as “ghosts”, that can be hacked, invented, erased, transferred over the internet, bought and sold over and over. Memories have effectively become commodities as well as weapons for crimes such as corporate espionage and sabotage. The memory of digital things has already become a commodity with ghost crypto, as Misraje explains. Yet Oshii is much more of a challenger than Misraje, and frequently asks the viewer right in their face through his characters and scenes of what the worth of our human experience really is if it is reduced to bits.

Stay existential,

Aestheticaste

And the article, for your interest:

Greetings faithful followers, I am one of Aesthetinet’s contributors, [Cor3!ander], and I would like to share my thoughts about a curious article:

Hyperbole is the order of the hour when Large Language Models (LLMs) are discussed, such that common parlance unanimously likens them to Artificial Intelligence (AI). Such a consensus calls all scribes of the digital age to hail coming times of prosperity when all our woes are dispelled of by our machines, or times of doom when those same machines have decided that they have outgrown us. If you ask us at aestheti/net, we are giving LLMs too much credit. We also find that Luke Stark, author of the article Animation and Artificial Intelligence, tends to agree with us. However, Stark proposes a different paradigm which we might adopt that neither embellishes nor downplays the capabilities of LLMs and their effects on our worldviews, and that is to interpret them as animated characters. By considering Stark’s arguments, we may develop a method of dialogue that decelerates our frantic efforts of trying to interpret and implement LLMs before we can understand and judge them more maturely.

Stark argues why LLMs should be understood as animated characters by first proposing a framework of theories which define them, followed by his arguments for his framework’s efficacy, and conclusions of what benefits it might provide. His framework incorporates anthropologist Teri Silvio’s “structuring type” which outlines how relationships of human-computer interactions (HCIs) function and supports it with a linguistic “grammar of action” theory to describe how LLMs’ expressions appeal to human attractions. That section essentially defines how the “human component” of LLMs work to proliferate themselves, which allows him to further liken their attributes to those of classical animated characters, e.g., Mickey Mouse. With that correlation argued for, Stark concludes that it is beneficial because we are thus enabled to appreciate how LLMs appeal to us while also conservatively considering their differences the same way as we would mark the distinction between fantasy and reality with animated characters.

We ultimately judge that Stark’s argument is a novel and needed provision to the current dialogue about LLMs, however, it still possesses weaknesses. To be more charitable to start, the emotional aspect of Stark’s thesis—that new paradigms over LLMs must be more reserved and ambivalent to produce more constructive arguments—is important by itself because of the unavoidable noise surrounding the current LLM dialogue. The steps he takes to get there, however, leave more to be desired because the language he uses is academic to the extreme, such that his points may not be as easily accessible to the people that could benefit from reading them. So, while the end result is certainly not merely a weightless academic curiosity, it does indirectly call for more proponents of his paradigm to experiment with new modes of expression to reach greater audiences.

Two questions stand out from our reading of Stark, which ask less in order to criticize but more in order to expand his work. The first is: who was the original intended audience for the article? Its content suggests it was for a more pedestrian readership to add more depth to common discussions about LLMs, but its language requires more prudence to dissect. The second is: may the pretense of interpreting LLMs as animated characters to reduce hyperbole have some fault, since animated characters, as cultural artifacts by themselves, impart so much influence on the communities that receive them?

We believe that those questions may inevitably fall to us and everyone else who will have to open up their stances regarding LLMs in the future, as they develop. As we see in our course, it is frequently found to be the most daunting kind of personal responsibility to “keep up with the times” as it were, especially as our nostalgia grows more potent with age while the days get shorter and the news stays on for twenty-four hours at a time. Yet, Stark reminds us that LLMs are a human innovation and cultural artifact as any other, such that we have always had more control and discipline to judge their relationships to us with, and we should now, more than ever.

Warm regards,

Aestheticaste

And here’s where you can find the article:

Hey aestheticaste, I am Sublim3, one of the contributors to our digital aesthetics blog. This week, I’d like to talk about an aesthetic I call Technofuturism. I went to a museum IRL this week, and it wasn’t half as boring as I expected. It’s an exhibition at the McIntosh Gallery at UWO called “Memories of the Future,” whose oxymoronic name lends itself well to the seemingly disjunct themes it encompasses. Laura Moore, the artist behind the art, did a study of the relation between culture, nature, and tech that I found very intuitive. Some pieces highlighted the natural and biological nomenclature of much of our tech, like “thumbdrives,” or usb “sticks.” Other, more speculative pieces, were meant to get us to reflect on the ecological impact of our tech, whose waste will far outlast us mere mortals. My favorite was called “The Future from Above” and it gave me the idea to write about the technofuturist aesthetic. It shows typical medieval hillfort villages with stone buildings that have the topography of microchips. The same way an archeologist might find artefacts of a hillfort today, people in the future will be digging up technological waste in hundreds of years. Unlike its nominal inspiration from the natural world, there is nothing BIOdegradable about tech. This brings me to the Question Concerning Technology (Heidegger lol): we are often led to believe that technology will fix all of the world’s problems, and that any problems it itself might cause are just bugs. I am more cynical. When you look at various technologies, they are definitely useful in doing things more easily than before, but those who benefit from the efficiency gains brought about by it are made up almost entirely by the 1%. A company like Tesla is a perfect example. Elon Nazi has amassed a net worth of over 300 billion by hijacking a company that makes eco-friendlier cars for people in the west, while the children mining the lithium in places like the Congo don’t gain anything from this advancement. Human rights violations aside, we should be asking ourselves just how much more cars can help us reduce our carbon and ecological footprints. Just like with tesla, the internet, while useful to many billions of people, sees success concentrated in a small number of people, with barriers to entry set up along racial, gender, class, and geographic lines. In his article, “a feature not a bug,” Marie Hicks debunks the neoliberal myth of meritocracy in silicon valley, the birthplace of the internet, whose greatest innovators have often been more endowed with privilege than genius. While Marie Hicks aptly criticizes the intentional exclusion of minorities in big silicon valley corporations, I feel like the downsides of technology more generally are features rather than bugs or glitches. In a capitalist economy, innovation is seen as a mere means to profit instead of solving problems faced by our society. Technofuturism exemplifies this phenomenon: While you sometimes see aspirational concept art of a high-tech, green cities, where technology ends up saving us from the problems it creates, its most common use on the internet is in ironic memes:

Hey Net-Heads!

We are so happy to be coming to you today with our inaugural post on the blog. aesthetinet is a special place built by us, Aestheticaste, where we will reflect on various genres that have either been erased, been massively overhauled as a result, or been given brand new definitions as a result of the creation of the Internet.

This week, we’re talking about the book Dark Age: Technology and the End of the Future by James Bridle, more specifically, the first chapter of the book “Chasm.” This chapter speaks about the dangers technology can pose when it is used in ways we are unaware of. This chapter speaks about how technology has helped shape the planet, our communities, and ourselves but how it has not transformed our understanding of the issues we face. Bridle goes on to say that It has only been helpful in that it allows us to stop thinking, but that technology also works to promote some of the greatest challenges we face today.

For these reasons, Bridle calls on us all to be critical of technology, not only of its use but also of who made it, who it was made for, and what its intentions are. Bridle then brings up the cloud, which was invented in the 1950s?! and notes that it began as an idea among the developers as a way to reduce the complexity of explaining how it worked. However, it became much more important as the internet grew, to the point that clouds are so big that they have become a resource that can do various processes. This brings us to the present, where the cloud is more of a business buzzword. It goes further than this, though, as we know, the cloud doesn’t really exist in the sky but rather in various warehouses in various countries owned and operated by various companies.

All this to say that from where the cloud began, it has moved far beyond to the point that the creators of the cloud might not even recognize it. This is a very interesting and important piece from the reading to highlight because it brings us into aesthetinet. From its conception, the idea of the cloud has gone through various hands and experienced change through time interaction with the internet. It went from being something that was used as a shorthand into a buzzword, into various ecological and moral crises.

Here is where we come in: Aestheticaste, is here to investigate some of your favourite aesthetics to see how, throughout time and exposure to the internet, they have changed aspects, transformed in nature, or been given completely different names. This reading, while not pertaining to aesthetics at all, touches on the capacity that technology, and therefore the internet, can change and distort. This is one of the scariest parts of technology to Bridle, as it allows the technology to hide its intentions and harms that may be present within, such as the clouds that have all of everyone's information that we don’t often think about for the reason of it being “in the cloud.”

The reading ends with a reflection on where the internet is now and where the world could be heading as a result, into a new dark age. Various factors such as the insistence on simplistic narratives, conspiracy theories, and post-factual politics, Bridle believes will bring in the new dark age. One where the value placed on knowledge is destroyed by the abundance of profitable commodities. This reading was very interesting as This decline can literally be observed on your devices every day, think about what the internet has done irreparable damage to the idea of News. While the internet provides many opportunities to see different sources of News, it does not care which ones hold the most variety but which will work for their algorithms.

You'll here from us again soon,

Aestheticaste

Link to the reading of the chapter can be found below: