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Welcome to the blog for the Doomsday Girls Club! Thanks for stopping by.

We consist of three media students with a wide variety of interests but one common goal – to write as much as we can. We’re using this blog as an outlet for our creative energies, and self-publishing our experimental types of journalism and miscellaneous art.

Our diverse cultural backgrounds allow us to bring different viewpoints to the table. Through our collaboration, we hope to continue to evolve our ideas on the world around us. This blog is a love letter to our passion for learning, pushing the boundaries of our abilities, reaching our fullest potential and inspiring others to do the same.

The second most famous wall in the world

By Michelle Richardson

During a recent YouTube binge, I came across a video
called “Interviewing Instagram baddies at the Famous
Pink Wall”, introducing me to the Paul Smith pink wall. In this video interviewees visiting the wall were unable to really articulate why they were there, but yet travelled from outer state or overseas to take a selfie in front of it. With research, I found out that this pink wall has become a symbol of the Instagram lifestyle, so popular the local police have declared the site an official landmark of Los Angles.

The origins of the wall began in 2005, five years before the launch of Instagram. With the opening of a new store, the Paul Smith LA flagship on Melrose Ave had its exterior painted
to a bright bubble-gum pink colour in the hopes to encourage foot traffic. The bubble-gum shade was chosen for its ability to bring light to the surface of the building, an effect utilised
within Mexican architecture .

The launch of Instagram in 2010 saw the wall slowly
become a staple backdrop for Los Angles Instagram
Influencers. This connotation between the
wall and Instagram grew with the popularity of the platform and the rise of the social media influencer. In 2019,
over a hundred thousand photos featuring the wall were uploaded to the app under the hashtag #pinkwall. Paul Smith claims that the store’s iconic wall is the “second most
photographed wall in the world”.

While I have never been to Los Angles, I feel like I have
embodied a similar experience through visiting the Sugar
Republic Instagram museum. Similar selfie or Insta
museums, have gained popularity around the world as
they encourage interaction and photography with
various art pieces. These museums usually share similar
bright colour palettes, and unique photo opportunities.
The Sugar Republic is one of the first of these spaces
within Australia. Partnered with Myer, the Sydney pop
up location consisted of various pastel-coloured rooms
themed around confectionary ending with a adult sized,
pink ball pit.

My initial analysis of my case studies looked at various
semiotic signifiers, discourses and peformance around
branding and micro-celebrity within these Instagram
famous locations.

The presence of corporate branding was most strong
during my experience at the Sugar Republic. Each space
within the exhibition was themed around confectionery,
and most room had corporate ties ins. To better
illustrate how corporate branding was incorporated into
the Sugar Republic experience, the Arnott’s biscuit
themed room was enclosed with the exterior resembling
a gingerbread house decorated in Tim Tams and Iced
VoVo’s, two biscuits associated strongly with the brand.
The interior was decorated with Arnott’s tins and the
wallpaper had a repeating biscuit pattern.

In contrast, discourse online regarding the pink wall
often neglects to mention the association with Paul
Smith. The Paul Smith shop logo is located at the top
right corner of the building, absent from most photos on Instagram. In the YouTuber video “Interviewing Instagrambaddies at the Famous Pink Wall”, there is no mention to the brand Paul Smith. Paul Smith’s lack of corporate visibility has however recently changed. As of May
2019, half of the wall has been painted black to promote Paul Smith’s involvement with the movie Men in Black International (Moore, 2019).

At an influencer level, photos posted from both the Paul Smith pink wall and the Sugar Republic share similar aesthetics associated with Instagram popularity. These include;
brightly coloured walls, millennial pink, coordinated outfits and images which are highly posed, edited and glossy.
This aesthetics were established and made popular by Instagram influences, but many users perceive these as social normalities of the platform. My own visit to Sugar Republic
confirmed this, taking extra consideration about what to wear and how to pose with certain elements of the room to create better photos.

Often this embodiment of platform normalities is
harder to identity. In the YouTuber video “Interviewing
Instagrambaddies at the Famous Pink Wall”, the
interviewer Kris Klemens asks various visitors what
the pink wall signifies for them. He starts by asking two young girls “What draws you in? Is it the shade of pink? Is that you’re not really on Instagram unless you have a photo in front of
the pink wall?”. One of the young girls replies “we want to be basic and take a photo in front of the pink wall”. According to Urban Dictionary, the term basic is used to refer to someone that is “only interested in things mainstream, popular and trending”. I would add that the term “basic” often has negative connotations and relates mainly to interests common with young adult females, in this case Instagram, influencers and selfies. As the girls are simultaneously engaging in and mocking an act they refer to as basic, I believe the girls are attempting to prevent what it referred to as content
collapse. On Instagram, a pink wall selfie aligns their personal branding with stronger ties to social and cultural capital. In contrast, YouTube offers a different and broader audience
were pink wall selfies are less significant or even mockable. Referring to the wall as being basic or conforming to being basic, implies certain actions as being self-aware or even ironic.
The comments on this video are positive and negative, reflecting YouTubers broader audience and systems of value.

Through this analysis, the popularity of the pink wall and the Sugar Republic is demonstrated through their similarities in branding towards microcelebrity and capital. Microcelebrity refers to a form of personal branding, defined by Senft as “the commitment to deploying and maintaining one’s online identity as if it were a branded good, with the exception that others do the same. As a platform, a brandable identity is visually communicated on Instagram through the curation of photos and the visualise of taste, through content, editing and colour schemes.

Adding to this, Senft suggested that online identity is able to be framed through a user’s actions on the internet . Instagram as a platform relies on mobile technology, blurring the lines between online and offline actions. While people are physically visiting Instagram famous locations such as the Paul Smith pink wall and the Sugar Republic, they post stylised evidence of this online.

Social capital is found of Instagram through connectedness and popularity. Social influencers have strong ties to social capital due to their larger follower base. This also places influencers in role of tastemaker. Replicating these tastes on a user level, such as
replicating pink wall photos, often increases engagement within their own following and expresses an identity which they are aware of popular trends.

Economic capital relates to forms of monetisation, such as the relationship between Influencers, corporations and sponsored content. Sugar Republic as a corporation, held huge economic capital. They leveraged the popularity of social and cultural capital for users
on Instagram by creating an event, themed after various other companies and charged upwards of $40 a ticket. How the Paul Smith pink wall and the Sugar Republic exhibition differ relates to their
attitudes regarding visibility, Instagram and influencers. Mirzoeff described visual culture as the relations between what is seen and what these are called. It also involves what is invisible or kept out of sight. Paul Smith handles their Instagram notability
as an organic occurrence as the result of past influencer photos. The Sugar Republic markets their exhibition as Instagram user branding, promoting the opportunity for their customers to gain stronger cultural and social ties online similar to those of Influencers. This attitude
neglects the under-visualised elements of Influencer content.

Through my comparison of both the Paul Smith pink wall and the Sugar Republic exhibition, their popularity on Instagram is explained through their integrated relationship with corporate, influencer and micro-celebrity branding. In these spaces, corporate and
influencer content and branding act as a benchmark of value and popularity on Instagram.

Adding onto the concept of micro-celebrity, the act of posting a photo within one of these spaces is the users attempt at aligning the space’s popularity with their own personal branding. The benefits of this relationship is stronger ties to social, cultural and economic
capital. How these case two studies differ relates to the concept of visibility. The origins of the Paul Smith pink wall’s popularity show a linear flow between influencer impact and user response. However, the Sugar Republic markets itself as replicating the influencer
experience to everyday users, while simultaneously using influencer branding to promote the event. In reality, the status behind Influencers comes from a more thorough approach to branding and through techniques relating to engagement which are hidden
by Instagram’s main interface. What I have discovered through conducting this essay is that without past awareness, I have
embodied specific ideas regarding social normalities and perceptions of the platform. These factors contribute to and alter my form of micro-branding, creating an understanding of what is appropriate to
post and how to do so. Through posting photos at particular events or locations, I am both branding myself to align with a particular lifestyle and am improving my cultural and social capital with my connections. These behaviours becoming regulated by higher or lower engagement on my posts. Increased engagement, taking the form of photo likes on Instagram, is closely linked to postive emotions.

Finally given the rapid pace of social media, some reports suggest that changes to social trends could greatly alter Instagram culture. Younger social media influencers are rejecting the notion of a curated feed, in favour of a “messier and more filtered vibe”. While some reports reflect this move as the end of the “Instagram Aesthetic”, it just shows a change in perception regarding cultural capital on the platform.

Ten Canoes

By Michelle Richardson

Representing Australia’s Indigenous people has developed over the run of the history of Australian film. This is where Ten Canoes (2006) is unique, being set before European settlement and focusing on the Yolngu mob.

Many elements of the film are a collaboration of both Rolf de Heer’s and Peter Djigirr mutual interest in creating a film that was both faithful to the Yolngu culture which was both interesting to a wider Western Audience. The film’s narration is a drama set during the Dreamtime, a story which is told by a Yolngu man during a goose-egg hunt. Despite this making film making and script writing harder, the Yolngu participants saw this as an opportunity to revive a once common practice (Davis, 2006). Watching these scenes and the importance of ritual behind them is extremely informative to Western Audiences.

The film is shot in both black and white and colour with narration by David Gulpilil. Despite Heer being contracted to film a colour movie, the Yolngu required that their cultural history is depicted as it was in John Thomson’s photographs, namely black and white (Davis, 2006). This choice while respectful, also gave the film an interesting visual depth.

In summary, Ten Canoes (2006) is an important entry in Australian cinema as it used “reappropriation and cultural adaption” to document an important part of Australia’s history (Davis, 2006). As “one of the cast says of the film: ‘We decided to make this film for our future. Because we lost our culture and traditions” (French, 2014, p. 35).

All About My Mother / All About My Mother

By Michelle Richardson

For audiences, the film genre provides an expectation of certain narratives, styles and themes before the film has even begun. “Genre provides the conceptual space where such (specific) questions can be pursued” (Gledhill, 2000, p. 221). The genre of melodrama, for example, is often directed at women and involve unrealistic and often tragic events. Todo Sobre Mi Madre or All About My Mother (1999) by Pedro Almodóvar is a melodrama but as Allinson describes is “, self-conscious, aware of its existence in a world where film melodramas already exist” (2009, p. 142).

All About My Mother (1999) plays into its melodrama genre, framing many of its tragic events around scenes of theatre and performances within the film. The main character Manuela is a nurse working within a donor transplant program. Before the doctors inform her about her son Esteban’s tragic passing, Manuela worked with the same doctors, training them for that exact conversation.

Confirming to its genre, All About My Mother (1999) narrative is almost predominantly about females. “Male characters remain tangential to the dramatic action, and they determine neither the suffering of the females nor the resolution of their suffering” (Allinson, 2009, p. 147). Within All About My Mother, the play A Street Car With Desire is heavily featured, acting as a catalyst and mirror for the events in the film. For Manuela, she sees herself within the play as the role of Stella (a woman who is abused by her husband and leaves him once she has his baby) playing her both in her youth off-screen and as an understudy for roles actress Nina.

Works Cited

Allinson, M., 2009. Mimesis And Diegesis: Almodovar and the Limits. All about Almodovar: A Passion for Cinema, pp. 141-165.

Gledhill, C., 2000. Rethinking Genre. Reinventing Film Studies , pp. 221-243.

Todo Sobre Mi Madre (All About My Mother). 1999. [Film] Directed by Pedro Almodovar. Spain: Renn Production.

Psycho and music

By Michelle Richardson

Through complimentary use of film score, Psycho (1960) has remained an influential film within popular culture and the horror genre. “The music is inseparably linked with the film in the popular imagination; indeed, without it, Psycho would probably not exist” (Sullivan, 2006, p. 21). Written by Bernard Herrmann, Psycho’s film’s score works with the movie to direct audience attention and to establish the film’s tones of terror.

In many ways, the film’s score is an essential element of the film’s horror narrative. The mise en scene of both image and score created a unique cinema experience for the time. “The moment the music started, with its slashing dissonance and manic pulse, audiences knew they were in for a stomach-churning roller-coaster ride they could not get off unless they left the theatre” (Sullivan, 2006, p. 24). The addition of Herrmann’s score evokes the sense of dread and anxiety as Marion escapes her past life with the stolen money. This sense of dread is confirmed through Hitchcock’s use of diegetic sound, providing plot insight and interest to an otherwise plain scene.

As well as adding to the tone, the silences within the films score work as well to make certain scenes extra terrifying to direct the audience’s attention. While the score accoupling Norman Bate’s stabbing knife and Marion’s violin screams is famous within popular culture, the score becomes silent as all the audience hears is the diegetic sound of Marion’s car, and the evidence of her murder being engulfed by the swamp. Sullivan described these silent scenes as being “extra: ordinarily haunting” (Biancorosso, 2008, p. 262).

Works Cited

Biancorosso, G., 2008. Sound. The Routledge Companion to Philosophy and Film, pp. 260-267.

Sullivan, J., 2006. Psycho: The Music of Terror. Cineaste, pp. 20-28.

Fargo

By Michelle Richardson

The Cohen Brothers establish a narrative tone of remoteness and mystery in Fargo (1996). These tonal elements are achieved through playing with an audience’s expectations regarding space, plot and story within the movie’s narrative.

As Luhr described in his book, The Coen Brothers‘ Fargo ; the colour white in Fargo “functions as its own kind of darkness, an oppressive, ominous environment”. Even the welcome sign to the film’s location Brainerd is almost engulfed by the harshness of the white winter surrounds. The road leading into the town disappears in the backdrop, and a continued sense of emptiness is implied in the off-screen space. By establishing the space of Brainerd is this particular way, the film gains authenticity as well as a conflict of off-beat yet mysterious tones.

Fargo additionally plays with an audience’s expectation of narrative. Our introduction to Jerry is as he nervously initiates a plan to kidnap his own wife with con-artists Carl and Gaear. While this still follows a cause and effect narrative, any sense of these characters motive is left as an inferred element of Fargo’s back story. Even when Margie is able to solve the case and the suitable people go to jail, a traditional sense of resolution as seen in either documentaries or film noir isn’t met. Instead we see Margie content with her day and continuing domestic life with her husband, both appearing unphased by the environment or the narrative the audience has experienced with them.

How Instagram controls what you post

By Michelle Richardson

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. Such sentiment has been proven by the full adaption and use of the social networking site, Instagram.

A part of the web 2.0 revolution, the protocols behind Instagram place the role of control and organisation of content to Instagram’s most active and engaged users.

Instead of Instagram’s content being fixed and controlled by an overarching authority (unless content breaches terms of service), users control the site’s content through the posting of photos and videos to their profiles, available to the broader public using hashtags. This categorises Instagram among other Web 2.0 websites. Web 2.0 defines the expansion of the internet to facilitate sites which encourage audience participation or what is referred to as a read/ write culture. The development of the internet towards Web 2.0 contributes to a widespread belief that sites such as Instagram lack a sense of decentralised authority. This perceived sense of “user freedom” as well as a heavy focus on images over other social media sites has contributed to Instagram’s uniqueness as a creative outlet for self-identity. Such statements are mirrored among Instagram’s own website stating, “Instagram has become the home for visual storytelling for everyone from celebrities, newsrooms and brands, to teens, musicians and anyone with a creative passion”.

However, contrary to the belief that Web 2.0 runs with only minimal jurisdiction, Instagram and another web 2.0 sites achieve control through technological protocols. Technological protocols make the connections between users and content on Instagram possible. These connections are formed through what content is found to be most engaging within certain niche groups. These photos are further accessible to a user through the “explore” tab, a page on Instagram unique to every user which highlights this “community accepted” content. These technological protocols give enormous power to Instagram users, as their attention, likes and follows contribute to what is seen on the platform by a wider audience or even potential business sponsors. Instagram users respond well to consistency, and hence posting about particular niches or within specific style choices results in popular profiles. Success on Instagram requires a Social Media Influencer or those aspiring to be must establish their niche through their profiles and encourage engagement with these followers.

Instagram’s protocol of control, shapes its users into a disciplinary society, formed by constant surveillance and reinforced by reward and punishment, seen through likes, follows and unfollows. The experience of Instagram allows users to create a literal sense of seeing the world through their eyes. However, the constant accessibility and surveillance accessed through Instagram place their users within a disciplined society. Michel Foucault explained the cycle and functions of power within a disciplined community through the metaphor of the Panopticon. A Panopticon is an annular prison containing several individual prison cells along the walls of the building. All these prison cells were made visible through an observation tower located in the centre of the building. Prisoners were never aware when there were guards within this observation tower and hence would behave as if they’re always were. ). In the case of Instagram, Influencers are the prisoners stuck within their strictly themed profile “cells”, while more casual Instagram users are the guards always watching and judging as Influencers share content. With the mobility of Instagram, access to Influencers can be undertaken at any point in time and within any location without permission. While this user control does not allow full access such as deleting photos, it influences what is widely seen and what is not. The combination of both power and constant surveillance will enable users to set and normalise the behaviours in which they deem acceptable of their community.

The community reinforces correct behaviours by not only attention and growth but through the commercialisation of their profile and image. Many advertisers are seeing the potential for marketing through Instagram. They are providing opportunities to those Influencers with large followings and reach. Such opportunities are seeing Influencers making huge annual incomes as well as free products and travel. For example, Jack Morris or @doyoutravel is a travel-themed Instagram influencer with a following of two million eight hundred thousand. In 2017 he made over fifteen thousand Australian dollars for one sponsored photo. Scrolling through Morris’ profile, there is a prominent theme of bright and airy, nature-focused travel photos. He also incorporates a lot of blue tones in his images to create a sense of collectiveness. These are the standards in his audience would come to expect. Deviation from this theme, such as a photo of a gaming console regardless if this reflects his own personal interests, would not only result in less likes and unfollows but could minimise his further sponsorship appeal, which he is dependent on to maintain his current lifestyle.

The effects of Instagram’ s Panopticon result in the power and attention of their users to shape and create self-monitoring, audience-focused Influencers. Through surveillance, Morris and other Influencers of Instagram are either validated or rejected as suitable spokespeople for their individual communities. In many cases, this means influencers such as Morris, limit the scope in which they project their full identity to appease a specific audience’s interest, whether personal or commercial. Their self-presentation reflects what their audience wants to see rather than an authentic “look through their eyes”. They are shaped by the user, and fear of losing the user keeps them in their prison.

In many ways, Social Media Influencers become the by-product of Instagram’s Panopticon. Just like within the Panopticon metaphor, Influencers can feel prisoners within the narrowing public persona on Instagram. While it may be hard to sympathise with a financially successful Social Media Influencer, publicly performing within a small definition of their personality can affect a person’s mental health and self-esteem. Such was the case for Essena O’Neill and her public rejection of her own Instagram fame. Essena O’Neill was an Instagrammer with over six hundred and twelve thousand followers. After becoming frustrated with the “contrived perfection” and “self-promotion” associated with her Instagram, she took steps to expose the behind scenes of her photos. After deleting the clear majority of her photos, she then edited her remaining image captions to portray the lengths she went to be perceived a certain way by both her followers and by potential business sponsors. She followed this by publicly announcing that she would be leaving Instagram to focus on her own website “aimed to inspire questioning”. She mentions that her new website has “no likes or views or followers … just my content as raw as I want”.

O’Neill felt pressure from the shaping control of her audience, and for her was frustrated with the limits they provided. This goes against common thoughts regarding online identity such as Bouvier, who stated that character online is not restricted as users can project their “idealised versions of self”. This may be true for more casual social media users. Still, for Influencers such as O’Neill, she felt as if she was projecting the sense of identity in which her audience and sponsors wanted from her.

In contrast, the constant surveillance which shapes influencers can create a sense of intimacy for a user. Due to their continuous accessibility, the role of Influencers for a user is that of reassurance and self-exploration. Having constant availability to a range of Influencer’s narrowly defined persona’s commercialises identity to that of a gaming avatar.

While a picture does speak a thousand words, many influencers are forced to repeat the same thousand words across their entire public profile to maintain their relevance within Instagram.

The cultural significance of Gilda

By Michelle Richardson

The continuing cultural significance of Classic Hollywood film Gilda (1946) remains due in part to Rita Hayworth and her performance as the title character. This performance by Hayworth is characterised by her own transformation to celebrity and the erotism within her portrayal.

Hayworth’s physical transformation to celebrity reflects the attitudes and standards set of womanhood and ethnicity of the 1940s. This transformation was to achieve Anglo-centric beauty norms and rewarded her the public title of “All American Glamour”. This extensive transformation on Hayworth looked to minimise her traditionally Latin heritage through such measures as changing her name, dying her hair and rising her hairline.

Similarly, much of the action of the character Gilda are the result of the restrictions placed upon her. Throughout the film, Gilda is defined by how she conforms or ignores the male-led ideals of wifehood and subservience expressed by Johnny and Ballin. It is fitting that before we are introduced to Gilda, her husband Ballin Mundson describes her as “canary”, a commonly small, pretty and caged animal.

Another defining element of the film Gilda surrounds its portrayal of sexual politics, surprising for a 1940’s film. In “Gilda: Textual Analysis, Political Economy and Ethnography”, Miller and Johnson described Hayworth’s rise to due as “sultry torch-singer activities and exotic dancing in the film made her famous. A study of working-class women in Chicago in the mid-1950s found that Gilda represented “luxury and glamour … and sexual availability”. Scenes featuring Gilda are almost shot exclusively for the male gaze, appearing in glamorous and lavish, costumes which engulfing her in sequins and feathers such is in her dance sequence to “Put the blame on Mame“.

A Sensory Description of “Pink + White” by Frank Ocean

By Samantha Yih

With the highly anticipated new Frank Ocean music soon to be released, we take a look back at his past releases to satiate us while we wait patiently.

Contemporary R&B artist Frank Ocean is notoriously private. However, in the song “Pink + White” from his critically acclaimed album “Blond(e)”, Ocean allows us a glimpse into the life he’s lived with one of his most introspective songs to date- a bittersweet ode to his youth and lost relationships.

The song begins with a sudden swell of strings that crescendo like a flurry of butterflies being released, before a waltzing beat kicks in. The bass line is a light arpeggio provided by an upright bass, while Ocean speaks of sunsets and describes the reckless activities of him and his friends in the hot days of summer. Light trills of birds harken back to the times Ocean spent with his lost summer love, who he serenades in the chorus. While he reflects on things learnt by being with this person, such as how to love, his lazy crooning invokes sadness as he laments that life has only gone downhill from then.

In the final moments, the music melts together with intricately layered instrumentals, coupled with vocalisation provided by a female voice. As Frank’s last words ring out, the song ends with birdsong as heard earlier, as if awoken from a daydream from laying in the grass, reminiscing better times.

Listen to “Pink + White” here.

Why is Dance Themed TV so Popular?

By Michelle Richardson

Dance themed reality television has proven to attract a large viewership. In 2008, So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD) Australia’s first auditions, finale night and winner announcement episodes were all within Australia’s top watched programs for the year (Screen Australia, 2008). These viewership numbers show that dance themed reality television transcends past that of just dancers and is enjoyable to the general public. This post seeks to discuss some of the different explanations of this popularity and of other reality television dance phenomena such as Dancing With The Stars (DWTS) and Dance Moms. Explanations for the popularity of such reality shows will be demonstrated in this paper through their abilities to encourage social cultural activity, its suitability to the modern audience, its ‘family friendly’ nature, and their highlighting of dance as being widely accessible. Additionally, it will also discuss that while dance reality television is created with entertainment in mind, the focus on pulling in mass audience results in less authentic displays and depictions of the presented dance style. To support these cases, I will draw from the work of Bonner (2013), Broomfield (2011), Cardinal (2013) and McMains (2010) as well as my own experiences of commercial dance forms and my own television viewing.

One vital element of reality television dance shows is their competitive narrative. The popularity of shows such as SYTYCD and DWTS could be due to their competition narrative as it promotes social cultural activity among its audience, whether this is within real life situations or throughout digital platforms. In SYTYCD, the judges provide criticism on highly athletic and experienced dancers, but the overall decision of who leaves each week comes down to public vote until one dancer wins the title of SYTYCD. In contrast, DWTS involved celebrities with little to no dance experience being partnered with a professional dancer. The judges scoring on an episode is converted into a percentage and then is combined with the percentage of votes received by each contestant. The contestant couple with the lowest combined score is then eliminated from the competition (ABC,2017). A part of the show’s experience for an audience is to be up to date with who was voted off, what were the best performances of the night and to theorise with others who will be voted off next and who will win the competition (Bonner, 2013). Missing an episode results in losing a full understanding of the competition’s long running narrative. The drama behind a “shock elimination” has no weight for an audience member who has missed previous performances. This fear of missing out was reflected in my own experiences watching SYTYCD. During the peak of SYTYCD, I was in high school and often felt this pressure to be up to date with episodes, so I was able to discuss them in school with my friends the next day. Staying up to date and discussing the competition details of SYTYCD with my friends enabled a sense of belonging to something important and enforced our friendship through another common interest. While these shows are entertaining, many audience members might fear social isolation if they do not up to date with their peers, boosting the show’s ratings and popularity as a result.

This fear of social isolation is also a well-documented social cultural effect online. McMains (2010) notes that these dance themed reality television shows are formatted to suit the attention span of the modern population of television ‘screen jugglers’. The term screen juggling, or sometimes media multitasking describes when an audience member multitasks with a second screen device such as a smartphone or laptop computer while simultaneously viewing a television broadcast (Ainasoja et.al, 2014). Further, in a study by Ainasoja et.al (2014), it was found that the primary use of this second screen in the viewing experience depends on the individual but noted its popularity for social aspects and commenting. They conclude that the combination of the two screens can strengthen social ties in a group setting or if alone to avoid the feeling of watching alone. Many television shows including DWTS in the US are beginning to utilise the popularity of screen juggling. For the first time in 2018, DWTS is incorporating live viewer voting, further emphasising audience connectivity (Barton, 2018). This two-screen juggling is also often reflected in my own television viewing. I still remember discussing SYTYCD online with friends, during the “lulls” of the show instead of focusing on the full show. Evidence of this is still shown online through hashtags such as #sytycd or #dwts on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram, particularly when these hashtags appear as people are watching the show. While this is an avenue for fans to discuss the show, it also acts for advertising to promote to a wider audience, further helping their overall popularity.

Added to this competitive narrative, dance themed reality television often have special cross over, promotional events or season themes. For their thirteenth season, in 2016 SYTYCD focused their attention away from adult contestants and instead auditioned young dancers ages eight to thirteen. To promote this season the star of Dance Moms, Maddie Ziegler joined the U.S edition of SYTYCD as a season judge (Connolly, 2016). Maddie herself had a large fan following, as she got her start at age eight dancing on Dance Moms and then later in music videos for the music artist Sia. Promotional moves such as incorporating Ziegler as a season long host, would promote viewership among the younger fans of Ziegler and Dance Moms. Many of these fans have proven to already enjoy dance related media and were perhaps too young for the shows initial premiere. Similarly, the 2018 U.S season of DWTS is incorporating an all athlete contestants such as Olympic figure skater Tonya Harding and former Los Angeles Lakers superstar Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (Barton, 2018). These promotional moves also endorse initial social cultural activity and media coverage, attracting a new, enthusiastic audience.

Another explanation for the popularity of these dance themed reality television shows is that they break down any perceived socio-economic barriers associated with dance and instead promote dance as being diverse and easily accessible for all. This message of diversity is documented through these shows’ casts, showcasing dancers from a wide range of ages, genders, races, ethnicity, abilities and backgrounds (Cardinal, 2013). Short clips of contestants describing their life difficulties and their passion for dance before performances is common place on shows such as SYTYCD. Dance Moms showcases dancers as young as eight who perform technical routines well beyond their years. Such clips demonstrate the everyday life struggles of contestants and the abilities of such diverse groups reinforces the idea that anyone can dance. However, McMain (2010) argues that these constants are carefully picked to be diverse, to enable the audience to imagine themselves within the contestant role and believe that it is something they can also do. Growing up with these shows, I always found them as a source of encouragement and motivation in my own dance pursuits. Showcasing dance as diverse and accessible breaks away many gender, age, privilege or race barriers set by commercial dance. Audiences can be united by the shared experience and universal joy of dancing.

While these shows promote social activity and the accessibility of dance, they also hold on to their popularity by relying on outdated race and gender stereotypes to remain “non-threating” and family friendly. Broomfield (2011) discussed how SYTYCD escalates the stigma of “gayness” in male dance, listing the times in which judges commented on or questioned the masculinity of their male contestants. While they might be unaware of this, the SYTYCD judges act as the audience’s key to understanding dance as a technical artform, and their comments on masculinity reconfirm dominant gender normalisations without accountability. Again, being a fan of this show as a teenager I do remember judge Nigel Lythgoe’s fascination and comments about masculinity and dance. Respecting Lythgoe’s authority in the dance community and being uneducated about sexuality at that age, I understood his comments as being a part of legitimate dance critique. As a result, this influenced how I saw the contestants, as I often overlooked what were technically advanced routines if they did not conform to this small restriction of gender. This documents the negative impact these shows can play perpetuate specific stereotypes, which is common in many popular television shows. This confirmation of stereotypes hopes to play into a mass audience and retain their popularity, rather than properly educating their audience on wider issues.

Lastly, the popularity of dance themed reality television can be explained through the entertainment nature of dance performance and how it is presented in a television format. Unfortunately, many shows choose to maximise what is entertaining to a mass audience, rather than showcasing a more authentic dance experience to a targeted audience. One factor that demonstrates this is the overreliance these television shows have on controlled poses and high precision tricks to create excitement and emotional rushes for their audiences. Contestants are pushed hard to meet these expectations and levels of entertainment, by being taught choreography and tricks in preference over the true foundations and technique in the style they are learning (Cardinal, 2013). This “narrow” depiction of dance can be quite frustrating to those in the audience who study these dance styles. During the Australian version of DWTS’ peak popularity, I participated in regular ballroom classes, from the ages of eight to thirteen. While the show was popular with my friends, I found it to be very frustrating as the dance styles often didn’t reflect the dance foundations and techniques I was learning in class. I became further annoyed when such shows demonstrated lifts and tricks, as these were not allowed during competitions and grading I participated in. Instead I came to learn that such dance moves were reserved for more commercial ballroom. While dance themed reality television are designed to be entertaining to the masses, in my experiences they were alienating audience members who practiced and understood the more technical side of dance. I also have experienced the opposite side of this problem, letting dance themed reality television define my ideas surrounding ballet. During my independent practice this semester, I constantly found myself frustrated with how hard ballet is without the formal training. My expectations had been shaped by contestants on SYTYCD, which learn flashy and elaborate routines in genres unfamiliar to them within a week. However, contestants who successfully achieve this often fall back on previous training from similar styles.This lack of authenticity can similarly be shown in the styles of dance showcased on SYTYCD. They tend to represent a narrow definition of dance, with the styles showcased often being popular, front facing and skill-oriented styles (Cardinal, 2013). While these techniques worked well in a television format and reinforce the popularity of these shows through excitement these chosen styles create, this form of dance entertainment creates limitations and removes authenticity to the variety of styles shown.

To conclude, the popularity of danced themed reality television such as SYTYCD and DWTS can be explained through the ways in which their competitive narrative and shared experience of dance unites a mass audience. The audience evidence of this is well documented online, such as the #sytycd and #dwts hashtags. However, this popularity can also be shown through a heavy reliance on outdated stereotypes and entertainment focused choreography. While the outcomes of this produces an entertaining and family friendly show enjoyed by the masses, it similarly creates narrowing expectations of what dance and dancers are.

References

Ainasoja, M., Linna, J., Heikkilä, P., Lammi, H., Oksman, V. (2014). A case study on understanding 2nd screen usage during a live broadcast: A qualitative multi-method approach. UBICOMM 2014: The Eighth International Conference on Mobile Ubiquitous Computing, Systems, Services and Technologies, Rome, Italy, 24–28 August, pp. 196–203.

Barton, A. (2018). How to Vote for Dancing with the Stars: Athletes 2018. Retrieved from http://abc.go.com/shows/dancing-with-the-stars/news/updates/how-to-vote-for-dancing-with-the-stars-athletes-2018

Bonner, F. (2013). Celebrity, work and the reality-talent show: Strictly Come Dancing / Dancing with the Stars. Celebrity Studies, 4(2), 169-181

Broomfield, M. (2011). Policing Masculinity and Dance Reality Television: What Gender Nonconformity Can Teach Us in the Classroom. Journal of Dance Education, 11(4), 124-128.

Cardinal, M. (2013). Deciphering Dance in Reality Television: The Good, the Questionable, and the Unconscionable. Journal of Physical Education, Recreation & Dance, 84(1), 7-10.

Connolly, K. (2018). ‘SYTYCD’ Maddie Ziegler joins the judges in exclusive first look. Retrieved from http://ew.com/article/2016/07/11/so-you-think-dance-maddie-ziegler-judge/

Dancing with the Stars: Athletes Vote FAQs. (2018). Retrieved from https://dwtsvote.abc.go.com/#faq

McMains, J. (2010). Reality check: Dancing with the Stars and the American dream / Juliet McMains (pp. Carter, Alexandria. The Routledge dance studies reader Ch. 25, p. 261-272). London: Routledge.

Top 20 programs 1998-2009. (2018). Retrieved from https://www.screenaustralia.gov.au/fact-finders/television/industry-trends/in-the-archive/top-programs/top-20-programs-1998-2009

PROFILE ON JESSE JENSEN-KOHL

One man’s journey to bridge the gap between circus arts and highbrow society through academia.

By Samantha Yih

Photo by Vidal Balielo Jr. on Pexels.com

THE funny thing is it took years before I fell in love with it. I actually didn’t like it for a long time… it was just a career choice
he chuckles.

Odd thing to say about getting into the flying trapeze business, but for 33 year old Jesse Jensen-Kohl, it’s his normal. Self-taught juggler, YouTube comedian, flying trapeze artist, and now university research Masters candidate. 33 year-old Jesse has taken life by the horns and has leaped from career to career, simply by being open to opportunities that come his way.

I am sitting on some bleachers facing a large, square staging area in a lecture theatre at Macquarie University where Jesse and I had agreed to meet. Early in the morning before the hustle and bustle of students, the Macquarie University Circus Performance group congregate for a gruelling two hours of stretching, conditioning and apparatus work. This place represents the crossroads of Jesse’s life: academics and circus.

On a cold Tuesday morning, bleary-eyed and clutching paper cups of coffee, the handful of university students trickle into the theatre of the Macquarie University arts faculty. The room silent except for heavy breathing and rhythmic stomping of feet as the students perform their warm ups, before a particularly flamboyant student struts his way to plug in his phone to the AV unit. With a loud outburst of Nicki Minaj and a flick of the warm stage lights that now light the theatre, the grey atmosphere flourishes to reveal the smiles the circus group exchange with one another as they hold their plank positions, and it becomes clear to me that for these students, circus training with Jesse is the highlight of their week.

After some brief introductions, I pull Jesse away from his exhilarating stretching exercises for a quick chat. Deftly swinging his legs over some seats, coupled with a loud squeak of the metal bench beneath us, he settles in. Now sitting across from me, his legs are crossed and tucked underneath him and his hands are clasped in his lap, fingers fidgeting. His nervousness reminding me of a boy waiting outside the principal’s office after being caught doing something naughty.

“My biggest motivation is to encourage circus at the level where you can do both and it should be accepted.” He says, speaking about university studies, while looking out at the stage area where students are precariously dangling off various hanging aerial apparatuses. “It’s to help the Australian circus sector that we’re involved in here to show that it is an art form and valid as much as other art forms are. And I get a piece of paper saying I have a masters, so, pretty good actually” he throws his hands up nonchalantly and grins. But, when asked about whether he personally had struggle with such polar opposites in life, he furrows his brow and pauses for a brief moment before answering no.

This is because Jesse lives and breathes circus and its lifestyle and is surrounded constantly by the tight-knit circus community that resides in Australia. When I ask for what people’s normal reactions are like when they ask him what he does, Jesse laughs “They go, “You do that? Wow, that’s rare.” And we [circus people] are like, “It’s not that rare, everybody I know does it, so what do you mean? You’re rare! So, you’re an accountant? Tell me about that. What’s it like to be sitting in an office?” It’s weird to me.” While jokingly calling non-circus performers “muggles”.

Having been involved in the arts since the age of 12, it’s no wonder his friends and network are all involved in the performance profession. The origins of his passion began when he was living in a small country town and was gifted a small joke book titled “Little Book of Juggling” by a family friend. At the same time, his mother, meticulous as ever, noticed that children from the town would end up in a downward, boredom fuelled spiral and was determined that her two sons would not end up stuck in the same cycle. She noticed how high school kids would begin to get restless and begin riding their bicycles around the block, and as they became older would start driving their cars around the block, and potentially drink and drive around the block before inevitably crashing and ruining their lives. Concerned that her own children would fall victim to the it, she kept a keen eye out on Jesse. When he began cycling around the block was when the family packed up their life to move to Adelaide… only for Jesse to save up his pocket money, purchase his own unicycle and begin unicycling around the block to his mother’s shock (and possible dismay). After getting over the initial doubtfulness, and a stern word with their son to ensure that he does not give up on life as some sort of circus bum, his parents were supportive of Jesse’s pursuit of circus arts at a professional level.

Having proven his skills as a juggler by age 18, Cirque du Soleil reached out to him for an audition just as Jesse began to research potential universities and degrees. After flying to Melbourne, Jesse was asked to work on diversifying his circus skill set before coming back when he was 21. Heeding their advice, he stumbled across a job opening for a flying trapeze artist for which he applied and spent a while honing his abilities. Oddly enough, Jesse tells me that flying trapeze has lucrative career opportunities in the circus sphere. “Flying trapeze, I knew would broaden my skills to be more employable elsewhere… it’s a pretty small market to get yourself in” he explains. This led to his many years as a flying trapeze instructor and, not long after, the co-founder of Sydney Trapeze School with Frank Taylor. “These opportunities just kept arising” he says reflecting on his past “It’s just like every step is just, “This is a good opportunity, this is a good opportunity…” and kept going.” And this rings true for how he stumbled into doing his master’s degree at University.

In 2017, Jesse heard it through the grapevine that a professor had launched a new unit for Macquarie University, as well as founded the Macquarie Circus Training Group of which rehearsals I sit in now. Dr Jon Burtt is lecturer of dance and performance, as well as a former performer himself, and was approached by Jesse simply for him to express his appreciation for what he was doing for circus. Burtt had mistakenly assumed that Jesse was a prospective student for a Masters in circus arts. When Jesse revealed that, firstly, he had not come with any other objective than to meet Jon and secondly, that he did not have an undergraduate degree, Jon Burtt though simply replied with “Well, it better be a good application then”. In his signature fashion, Jesse threw caution to the wind and send in an application to the best of his ability and was surprised to find that he was accepted. At the time of our conversation, he was in the finalising portions of his thesis.

“I’m writing about the motivations of contemporary circus artists in Australia.” Jesse says, his demeanour shifting slightly becoming solemn “I wanted to find out why people like myself, usually choose not to do university and dedicate their lives to circus performance.”. Using his vast network of other circus performers, he is able to research and interview them through an insider’s perspective, gaining more information than someone who wasn’t in that world would otherwise obtain.

With its roots tracing all the way back to Roman times, circus has certainly been around for a long time. Through its evolution has a great divide occurred in modern circus; the only performance troupes reside on the extreme opposites in today’s circus between traditional and contemporary. If I asked you to close your eyes and think about a circus, it’s either one of two binaries: attractive shirtless men doing backflips in jeans, or clowns and lions performing in a marquee. The evolution of circus hasn’t been a new phenomenon though, as it changes rapidly to stay relevant. Pushing the art form to places it has yet to be, and keeping it fresh, alive and most importantly, entertaining.

Jesse though, has certain reservations about the evolution of circus. Circus performance has become increasingly institutionalised as a result of the birth of contemporary circus – the National Institute of Circus Arts being a primary example. On one hand, he says, it brings circus arts to the same level as other institutionalised performance art forms, bringing it to the mainstream and away from the traditional image of a tent with carnies. Jesse laughs, leaning forward as if to let me in on some insider secret, and says, “Carny’s one of those words we can call ourselves carnies, but you can’t call us carnies.” Quickly remembering that we were going off topic, he continues by saying that institutions can potentially cause the art form to lose its sense of individuality. “I can tell someone’s a NICA student. And I can tell someone who’s more of a street performer, so you can tell styles. And it is losing a bit of individuality by having it so structured… I just hope it’s a fashion and doesn’t become watered down like that, like just becomes this one thing. I hope it’s just a fashion where at the moment and enough people push it further beyond that, and it’s not limited to that.”. Instead, he suggests that circus arts institutions bring in the academic side of the history and origins, as well as cultural discourse into the unit to maintain the balance. Such as what is being done in Macquarie University.

After our interview, he stands and announces that he would be getting on his apparatus of choice – the static trapeze. A horizontal bar held by rigid beams that hangs 6 feet in the air. He climbs on and hooks his knees onto the beam before letting himself hang that way completely upside-down. He looks serene, almost as though it was his natural state, and quietly collects his thoughts.

It seems that with such passionate people such as Jesse pioneering the research into contemporary circus, will it afford the future children the luxury Jesse himself did not have, to be able to pursue both academics and circus performance at the same time.