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“The term paradigm, despite rampant overuse in marketing copy and mocked as meaningless jargon by The Simpsons, describes a specific phenomenon in social science: the macro-values that set the logic of our choices and aesthetics. When a new paradigm emerges, the previous established styles lose all their value” (123).

“The logic of ultrapoptimism ultimately blessed notoriety as a pathway to success. Who could question someone else’s status when their fame was backed by quantifiable—and therefore objective—metrics?” (183)

“Fame, once reserved for the select few, became an accessible aspiration for millions, driven by quantifiable engagement data. Even those without the slightest ambition to become internet stars still found themselves obsessing over digital validation” (185).

“Creative invention was not just an afterthought, but a potential hindrance on the new path toward fame and fortune” (185).

“In previous notions of monoculture, the culture industry permitted only a very narrow set of stylistic conventions. During the late 1950s, for example, almost every pop song pulled from the same handful of chord progressions. In the omnivore monoculture, artists were free to draw from any genre, provided the end result was glossy, marketable pop (with clever digital promotion). This was the culmination of the Neptunes’ and Kanye West’s fusions of R&B, gospel, streetwear, street art, rock, techno, indie rock, reality TV, and high fashion” (206).

“…including every possible style, there were no more obvious future avenues for unexpected experimentation or exploration. And with poptimism long discouraging younger artists from pursuing strange, subversive sounds, the culture industry had few exciting subcultures from which to steal. Moreover, the omnivore monoculture created steep barriers to entry for younger artists. In the past, distinct genres allowed emerging musicians to build followings in niche scenes before attempting to cross over into the mainstream. Underground movements often developed sounds that made established artists seem outdated—but those ecosystems had largely disappeared. Instead, new artists were forced to compete directly with established stars, using the same playbook but with fewer resources. And poptimist critics only took notice once newcomers had already made it big. A rising artist might land a spot on a popular Spotify playlist, but few listeners bothered to learn their name. This explained why breaking a new artist cost labels more than $1 million” (207).

“In an AI era, technology didn’t just provide new tools or platforms for fostering human creativity: It automated the act of creation itself. Aspiring creators could outsource their writing, illustration, photo editing, and even songwriting to machines. While the technology was far from perfect—large language models often ‘hallucinated’ facts with alarming confidence—it performed enough magic tricks to simultaneously delight and unsettle society” (216).

“More than just displacing jobs, AI had the potential to radically devalue the very concept of labor. Jean Baudrillard’s 2001 warning echoed loudly: ‘When computer technology and the automatism of machines are all that is needed for production, work becomes a useless function’” (226).

“the early stage of AI-generated art wasn’t offering anything very competitive—it merely copied existing tropes, pumping out clichés and stale kitsch at lightning speed. In fact, its greatest contribution was illuminating how creation was the easiest step in the process of cultural invention” (227).

“Those distraught over AI’s impact on culture offered little explanation for why computer-created pseudo-art would receive widespread interest and reverence, when 99.99 percent of old-fashioned, human-made symbolic output failed” (227).

“ultrapoptimists found something inspirational in AI. These tools removed all remaining barriers to creativity—money, time, skills—that locked noncreators out of artistic pursuits” (227).

“Culture has been central to the narrative of the last twenty-five years—but merely as entertainment, commerce, and politics. In reliving the first quarter of the century in these pages, we can feel what’s missing—there is a conspicuous blank space where art and creativity used to be. For all the energy invested in culture today, little has emerged that feels new at a symbolic level. Certainly, nothing radical enough to fully outmode the past. Audrey Hepburn, Miles Davis, and Joan Didion remain iconic because no one has emerged who can compete with their cool. Poptimists demanded equal respect for art and kitsch, which was only a short leap from equal respect to the artist and the businessperson. This inevitably crowded out the romantic ideal of making art for art’s sake” (272).

“What’s missing is an artistic mindset—the imagination to reject kitsch and pursue artworks that expand the possibilities of human perception. This requires complexity, ambiguity, and formal experimentation. These attributes are not elitist; they power the masterpieces that draw millions of people every year to museums. Why exactly should we feel bad about encouraging more of these beloved artworks? How did advocating for timeless artistry at the expense of shallow commerciality become an ‘elitist’ position?” (274).

“We owe no deference to faux artists who clog up the media with moneymaking rackets disguised as creativity” (276).

“There is no official cultural canon. It’s a shifting, contested collection of the greatest symbolic experiments—works that have endured because they reshaped the way people think, create, and interpret the world” (279).

– W. David Marx, Blank Space (2025)