The term ‘subculture’ used to mean a combination of taste in music, political alignment, and a system of beliefs. Identifying with a certain subculture could instantly inform others of where you stand on a social issue, or whether you are partying with the kids in the scene, or whether you hang out with crowds that went against the grain of society. Your very essence, lifestyles and attitudes would all be reflections of that subculture.
It typically happens this way: when people reach their teen years, they begin to ask themselves, “Who am I? Who do I belong to? Who are the people who resonate with me, my ideals, and my political alignments?” Each generation of teenagers has grappled with this sort of existential questioning. These days, though, instead of cultural mediums as magazines, TV shows, going to the club, or the library, the narrative of youth culture is shaped through social media platforms, specifically, TikTok. Adobe data reported that in January 2024, approximately 64 per cent of Gen Z users use TikTok as a search engine. People are increasingly turning to user-generated content as a source of information.
From left to right: Maizie and Gynne
Everything has flattened, in the sense that the youth are no longer necessarily looking to figureheads or community leaders to form their sense of self. Instead, they draw from a mix of online voices, trends, and peer networks, all fuelled by, you guessed it, the algorithm. Self-expression is more open than ever. But with no one guiding it, many are just drifting.
The signs are clear: the introduction of microtrends, the endless ‘-core’ aesthetics that lack any standing or permanence because they are fuelled by nothing but consumption. The coquette aesthetic is already passé, and ‘Quiet Luxury’ has rebranded into a more grounded ‘Back to Basics’ — a shift driven less by taste and more by the reality that few could afford the full illusion of stealth wealth to begin with. And just as the cultural tide seemed to settle, Vogue has gone and redeclared the return of ‘Tomato Girl Summer’. Perhaps we could grab a cup of strawberry matcha and enjoy some Dubai chocolate on our way out. Did I forget to mention that I am dressed pretty Normcore for the occasion today?
We are beginning to lose our way. What became of those who were part of the original subcultures of the pre- and early Internet era? And for those seeking a sense of belonging, how do their experiences entering their respective scenes differ from those of their elders?
When Subculture Was A Search, Not A Swipe
From left to right: Shawn, Sakura, and Khy
“I discovered the scene when I was window shopping. Other than that, there were only online forums I used that are now defunct.” Sakura, a Lolita (EGL, Elegant Gothic Lolita) fashion enthusiast who has been in the scene for nearly 18 years now, shared.
“I stumbled onto Tumblr at its peak era in 2014-2015. Being in those cryptic online spheres informed me of who I was very early on,” adds Khy, who has been part of the Goth scene for a decade.
We used to rummage through the Internet as if it were a dishevelled stack of papers. Effort had to be made, and even if the task at hand was menial at times, it required hours of scrolling and trawling through Facebook groups, forums, e-zines, or Adobe Flash-run websites. The pace of the culture was slow, deliberate and linear. Punks would hand one another hand- stapled zines. J-Fashion cultists would preorder their latest issue of FRUiTS or Kera magazine at their local newsstand. Accessing knowledge required commitment, which naturally filtered out casual interest.
“The difference today is the average speed of information being transmitted in real-time,” My friend Shawn, who has been in the archive fashion and skating scene since 16, tells me.
Today’s subculture entrants receive their social, aesthetic and ideological cues almost instantaneously, fed by TikTok’s algorithm and feedback loops. In-group references and aesthetic codes are disseminated within seconds, reaching millions before they even settle. However, this new pace and accessibility are not necessarily a bad thing. Where previously knowledge was a currency earned through effort, the sudden interconnectedness of social media has made subcultures more inclusive and globally cohesive. You no longer have to sift through the right people or live in the right city; you can find community, education and partake in discussion circles on your phone. In the EGL scene, you can find handfuls of education accounts engaging in mythbusting or educating on the culture. In fashion circles, some accounts serve as digital museums, curating and showcasing archival garments along with their histories.
“I think it’s possible to understand the culture on TikTok fully, but only if you find the right accounts,” Victoria, a newcomer to the EGL scene, shares.
We’ve Nailed Aesthetics, But What About The Spirit?
From left to right: Vegas, Taz, and Ker Hsien
In the age of viral trends, spirit is harder to identify. There will always be people willing to subscribe to a culture, but one thing is different: aesthetics take precedence over value. Social media prioritises fast-paced 15-second visuals over critical cultural theory, obviously. I am not suggesting there’s a lack of depth, but rather that what has been placed in precedence is visibility: style over substance.
Maybe every generation mistakes new forms of expression for a loss of meaning. After all, isn’t this new era of social media a new medium of communication that we have to adapt to, like the invention of forums in the 2000s or the way subcultures relied on photocopied fliers and word-of-mouth? Isn’t survival the real victory here?
“With the change of each medium, the initiation, if you boil all down, without the fire starter, there won’t be a fire. It’s hard to understand why people consume something. But it shouldn’t be that deep. Older mediums like forums and chat rooms, compared to TikTok, are the same thing, but the intent is more important,” says Vegas, one of the co-owners of the archive fashion shop Upstairs Garments.
It is easy to assume that newer generations are shallow, but the reality is that there will always be people willing to do their due diligence. Like those who came before us, were we not all once newbies as well? I once saw a purist take on Reddit that claimed, “The Internet is where all subcultures go to die.” While the TikTok platform was designed to minimise effort, it is unwise to assume that we are inherently lazy, because it overlooks our agency and the historical pattern of how people adapt to technological change. Tumblr was once in TikTok’s place, being accused of dumbing down the new generation; yet, the communities that emerged from it use the tools for rich cultural production and are largely responsible for the popular aesthetics we have today.
“The popularity of my scene is dwindling, so now, I’m receptive to anything. It’s the young people keeping the movement alive, and that’s enough for me,” Sakura adds. “Back then, there were stricter guidelines and codes to follow to be able to keep up. I had to unlearn all this and accept the openness of the new generation, and it wasn’t hard.”
Everyone I have spoken to has shared at least one common sentiment: a sense of optimism. The kids will be all right, no matter how gloomy it may seem. Regardless of whether we are young or old, we are all part of this timeline. Curiosity still plays a role — those who resonate with what they see, regardless of their generation, will often seek more and dive into the rabbit hole of their respective subcultures. The difference today lies in the starting point, not necessarily the outcome. Laziness may be the default of TikTok, but it is not ours. In the end, intent, not just the medium, shapes how meaning is made.
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