Last Rites and other poems
The Social Gaze: On Watching and Being Watched
“Today everything exists to end in a photograph.”
– Susan Sontag, On Photography
Sontag’s remarks were deemed controversial in the late 70s. In the digital age of image saturation, however, she’s the disseminator of the gospel truth. Everything today from our casual interests, beliefs, interactions across mediums, and even our personality – exists to end up in a 1080 x 1080 pixel and 4:5 aspect ratio photograph, nestled in a thoughtfully curated grid – for the feasting eyes of the other.
The malleability provided by social media platforms to alter our identities has been a matter of discourse since its inception. Our online personas have never existed in a vacuum. As social creatures, we’re in constant anticipation of the outsider’s gaze, in both awe and fear. The inherent need to be seen is always accompanied by the fearful clasp of judgment tight around its neck. The human herd instinct to seek approval makes most of our behaviour in social settings performative. From the clothes we wear and the movies we watch to the opinions we hold more often than not arise from the need to achieve a sense of belonging – the one slated third in Maslow’s hierarchy of human needs[1].
While the performances persist, it’s only human to slip up at times.
Entrée the power of social media.
Social media platforms like Instagram, Snapchat and X (formerly Twitter) allow us to not only create a production out of our existence but up the ante as well – we get to control who views our performance, along with the parts they get to see.
Here’s a thought experiment. Imagine you’re (doom)scrolling through Instagram when you come across a post by a conventionally attractive, white woman. She’s seated in an outdoor cafe. The sunbeams bounce perfectly off of her black sunglasses. Her profile faces the camera as she peers into her phone’s screen, carefully reapplying her lipstick.
Seems cool enough right? What if you zoom in just a bit?
Those sunglasses are the coveted Tom Fords in Whitney, and her lipstick is the classic Rouge Dior. What else, the bottom half of the picture seems to cut off a pack of Marlboro Lights and what appears to be an incredibly expensive lighter!
There’s at least a fifty per cent chance that you’ll believe you’ve stumbled across the feed of an heiress out to lunch in Italy. Such is the power of branding. The mere association with brands established as luxurious converts a simple photograph into an identity definer, as Professor Nita Mathur notes, “commercial brands and luxury commodities have come to serve as signifiers of identity in society”[2], allowing individuals to construct, deconstruct or reconstruct their social identities.


References
https://psychclassics.yorku.ca/Maslow/motivation.htm
https://sk.sagepub.com/books/consumer-culture-modernity-and-identity
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14JGQ1JWSgc&t=632s
https://www.forbes.com/sites/forbescommunicationscouncil/2023/01/26/why-and-how-to-implement-social-media-branding/?sh=3c975389793b
https://internetprincess.substack.com/p/standing-on-the-shoulders-of-complex
https://academic.oup.com/jcr/article-abstract/32/1/171/1796334?redirectedFrom=fulltext
https://www.wired.com/story/business-gen-z-social-media/
https://creative.salon/articles/features/is-social-media-over-for-the-younger-generation
https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life-and-relationships/new-nihilism-how-gen-z-is-embracing-a-life-of-futility-and-meaninglessness-20231016-p5ecra.html
https://www.businessoffashion.com/reports/news-analysis/the-state-of-fashion-2024-report-bof-mckinsey/
more from this issue —
Last Rites
The frail nerd on her smartphone
Typing furiously to solve an algorithm
Inside a rented room in Berlin
Her ancestral bangle on her right arm
Designed a century back by a now-dead craftsman
Somewhere in an old Delhi bazaar.
She doesn’t know a thing about her great-grandmother
The first woman who passed this superb piece to another woman
Beginning what she imagined was an unbroken chain
Of memory and desire, a continuity of shared emotions
Passed on from woman to woman, like some mythic baton
Transcending its metallic value, becoming folklore.
If you observe the girl’s immersion keenly you will know
Between tradition’s memory and technology’s sorcery
She loves the latter much more.
Between a smartphone’s endless inventiveness
And an ancient bangle’s fading sheen
A rationalist like her favors the smartphone
And in so doing announces herself as the family rebel.
Someday soon she will part with the bangle
Probably to buy a set of new ear pods or an electric blanket.
Ease is her thing, and it’s not suggestive of a moral lapse
Even if it hastens the death of a tradition,
The collapse of an imaginary unbroken chain.
There’s no one with her to celebrate or lament
The death of an idea once conceived in a Delhi duplex
Being laid to rest in remote Berlin
Amid sellers of wonderful beer and makers of great machines.
Tehri— In Memory
(Tehri, a princely estate of Garhwal region in North India was submerged under the waters of Bhagirathi and Bhilangana rivers in late 1990s to make way for Tehri dam, the tallest dam in India.)
Trapezium on a white sheet
Drawn free hand
Buildings half submerged in a river
My friend mimics a dead city’s map on a blank page
He gets it all wrong, the shapes and contours
Making obelisks of minarets, flat roofs where slopes existed.
The way a city begins is the same everywhere
Water comes first, potent enough
To make men dream, invent, breed, destroy,
To make a place soar before it begins to fall.
By the river my city was born
By the river it flourished
A farrago of new and old
Of rice fields and rhododendrons
Runners at dawn, drunk men around bonfires at dusk.
Nothing significant about it
Nothing of note you say.
When you remember a dead city
Are you feeling things that others are not in touch with?
Some days memory is just a ruse
Summoning sights mangled by imagination’s thick sauce
But as we said water comes first,
Potent enough to breed and destroy
It is where civilizations begin without fanfare
In odd cases it is where cities breathe their last.
Appears in —
Anil Petwal
Enjoyed the writing? Share it and support the writer.