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The Guardian
22-05-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Does everything feel broken but weirdly normal? There's a word for that
In January, the comedian Ashley Bez posted an Instagram video of herself, trying to describe a heavy mood in the air. 'How come everything feels all … ?' she says, trailing off and grimacing exaggeratedly into the camera. Digital anthropologist Rahaf Harfoush saw the video, and got it immediately. 'Welcome to the hypernormalization club,' Harfoush said in a response video. 'I'm so sorry that you're here.' 'Hypernormalization' is a heady, $10 word, but it captures the weird, dire atmosphere of the US in 2025. First articulated in 2005 by scholar Alexei Yurchak to describe the civilian experience in Soviet Russia, hypernormalization describes life in a society where two main things are happening. The first is people seeing that governing systems and institutions are broken. And the second is that, for reasons including a lack of effective leadership and an inability to imagine how to disrupt the status quo, people carry on with their lives as normal despite systemic dysfunction – give or take a heavy load of fear, dread, denial and dissociation. 'What you are feeling is the disconnect between seeing that systems are failing, that things aren't working … and yet the institutions and the people in power just are, like, ignoring it and pretending everything is going to go on the way that it has,' Harfoush says in her video. Within 48 hours, Harfoush's video accrued millions of views. (It currently has slightly fewer than 9m.) It spread in 'mom groups, friend chat circles, political subreddits, coupon communities, and even dog-walking groups', Harfoush tells me, along with variations of: 'Oh, so that's what I've been feeling!' and 'people tagging their friends with notes like: 'We were just talking about this!'' The increasing instability of the US's democratic norms has prompted these references to hypernormalization. Donald Trump is dismantling government checks and balances in an apparent advance toward a 'unitary executive' doctrine that would grant him near-unlimited authority, driving the US toward autocracy. Billionaire tech moguls like Elon Musk are helping the government consolidate power and aggressively reduce the federal workforce. Institutions like the National Institutes of Health, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the Food and Drug Administration, which help keep Americans healthy and informed, are being haphazardly diminished. Globally, once-in-a-lifetime climate disasters, war and the lingering trauma of Covid continue to unfold, while an explosion of generative AI threatens to destabilize how people think, make a living and relate to each other. For many in the US, Trump 2.0 is having a devastating effect on daily life. For others, the routines of life continue, albeit threaded with mind-altering horrors: scrolling past an AI-generated cartoon of Ice officers arresting immigrants before dinner, or hearing about starving Palestinian families while on a school run. Hypernormalization captures this juxtaposition of the dysfunctional and mundane. It's 'the visceral sense of waking up in an alternate timeline with a deep, bodily knowing that something isn't right – but having no clear idea how to fix it', Harfoush tells me. 'It's reading an article about childhood hunger and genocide, only to scroll down to a carefree listicle highlighting the best-dressed celebrities or a whimsical quiz about: 'What Pop-Tart are you?'' In his 2016 documentary HyperNormalisation, the British filmmaker Adam Curtis argued that Yurchak's critique of late-Soviet life applies neatly to the west's decades-long slide into authoritarianism, something more Americans are now confronting head-on. 'Donald Trump is not something new,' Curtis tells me, calling him 'the final pantomime product' of the US government, where the powerful are abandoning any pretense of common, inclusive ideals and instead using their positions to settle scores, reward loyalty and hollow out institutions for personal or political gains. Trump's US is 'just like Yeltsin in Russia in the 1990s – promising a new kind of democracy, but in reality allowing the oligarchs to loot and distort the society', says Curtis. Witnessing large-scale systems slowly unravel in real time can be profoundly surreal and frightening. The hypernormalization framework offers a way to understand what we're feeling and why. Harfoush created her video 'to reassure others that they're not alone' and that 'they aren't misinterpreting the situation or imagining things'. Understanding hypernormalization 'made me feel less isolated', she says. 'It's difficult to act when you're uncertain if you're perceiving reality clearly, but once you know the truth, you can channel that clarity into meaningful action and, ideally, drive positive change.' Naming an experience can be a form of psychological relief. 'The worst thing in the world is to feel that you're the only one who feels this way and that you are going quietly mad and everyone else is in denial,' says Caroline Hickman, a psychotherapist and instructor at the University of Bath specializing in climate anxiety. 'That terrifies people. It traumatizes people.' People who feel the 'wrongness' of current conditions acutely may be experiencing some depression and anxiety, but those feelings can be quite rational – not a symptom of poor mental health, alarmism or a lack of proper perspective, Hickman says. 'What we're really scared of is that the people in power have not got our back and they don't give a shit about whether we survive or not,' she says. Marielle Greguski, 32, a New York City-based retail worker and content creator, posted about everyday life feeling 'inconsequential' in the face of political crisis. Greguski says the outcome of the 2024 election reminded her that she lives in a 'bubble' of progressive values, and that 'there's the other half of people that are not feeling the same energy and frustration and fear'. To Greguski, the US's failings are not only partisan but moral – like the racism and bigotry that Trump's second term has brought out of the shadows and into policy. Greguski is currently planning a wedding. It's hard to compartmentalize 'constant cruelty, things that don't make sense', she says. 'Sometimes I'll be like: 'I have to put aside X amount of money for the wedding next year,' and then I'm like: 'Will this country exist as we know it next year?' It really is crazy.' Confronting systemic collapse can be so disorienting, overwhelming and even humiliating, that many tune it out or find themselves in a state of freeze. Greguski likens this feeling to sleep paralysis: 'basically a waking nightmare where you're like: 'I'm here, I'm aware, but I'm so scared and I can't move.'' In his 1955 book They Thought They Were Free: The Germans, 1933–45, journalist Milton Mayer described a similar state of freeze in German citizens during the rise of the Nazi party: 'You don't want to act, or even talk, alone; you don't want to 'go out of your way to make trouble.' Why not? – Well, you are not in the habit of doing it. And it is not just fear, fear of standing alone, that restrains you; it is also genuine uncertainty.' 'People don't shut down because they don't feel anything,' says Hickman. 'They shut down because they feel too much.' Understanding this overwhelm is an important first step in resisting inaction – it helps us see fear as a trap. Curtis points out that governments may intentionally keep their citizens in a vulnerable state of dread and confusion as 'a brilliant way of managing a highly febrile and anxious society', he says. When we feel powerless in the face of bigger problems, we 'turn to the only thing that we do have the power over, to try and change for the better', says Curtis – meaning, typically, ourselves. Anxiety and fear can trap us, leading us to spend more time trying to feel better in small, personal ways, like entertainment and self-care, and less time on activism and community engagement. Progressive commentators have urgently called for moral clarity and mobilization in response to changes like the cuts to USAID funding, which has resulted in an estimated 103 deaths per hour across the globe; the dismantling of the CDC; and Robert F Kennedy's campaign against vaccine science. 'Where is the outrage?' asks the Nation's Gregg Gonsalves. 'Too many lives are at stake to rest in this bizarre moment of frozen agitation.' 'I don't know if there's a massive shift toward racism as much as an expanded indifference toward it,' the historian Robin DG Kelley said in a February interview with New York Magazine. 'People are just kind of like: 'Well, what can we do?'' Experts say action can break the spell. 'Being active politically, in whatever way, I think helps reduce apocalyptic gloom,' says Betsy Hartmann, an activist, scholar and author of The America Syndrome, which explores the importance of resisting apocalyptic thinking. Greguski and a co-worker have been helping distribute multilingual information about legal rights and helpline numbers, to be used in the event of Ice raids. 'It's easy to feel like: 'Oh, I'm in community because I'm on TikTok,'' she says. But genuine community is about 'getting outside and talking to your neighbor and knowing that there's someone out there that can help you if something really bad goes down,' she says. 'You're actually out there talking to people, working with people and realizing there are so many good people in the world, too, and maybe feeling less isolated than before,' says Hartmann. 'But I also think we need a broader vision,' Hartmann notes. She suggests looking to resistance efforts against authoritarianism in countries like Turkey, Hungary and India. 'How might we be in international solidarity? What lessons can we learn in terms of rebuilding sophisticated, complex government infrastructure that's been hacked away at by people like Elon Musk and his minions in a more socially just and sustainable way?' 'We are in a period now when it's absolutely essential to protest,' says Hartmann, citing Harvard professor Erica Chenoweth, who argues that just three-and-a-half percent of a population engaging in peaceful protest can hold back authoritarian movements. What makes dysfunction so dangerous is that we might simply learn to live with it. But understanding hypernormalization gives us language – and permission – to recognize when systems are failing, and clarifies the risk of not taking action when we can. In 2014, Ursula Le Guin accepted the National Book Foundation's Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters, saying: 'We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words.' Harfoush reflects on this quote often. It underscores the fact that 'this world we've created is ultimately a choice', she says. 'It doesn't have to be like this.' We have the research, technologies and wisdom to create better, more sustainable systems. 'But meaningful change requires collective awakening and decisive action,' says Harfoush. 'And we need to start now.
Fast Company
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Fast Company
It turns out TikTok's viral clear phone is just plastic. Meet the ‘Methaphone'
A viral clip of a woman scrolling on a completely clear phone with no user interface briefly confused—and amused—the internet. But the truth turned out to be far more literal than most expected. Originally posted to TikTok by user CatGPT, the video quickly racked up over 52.9 million views. In the comments, some speculated it was a Nokia model; others guessed it came from the Nickelodeon show Henry Danger. 'This looks like a social commentary or a walking art exhibit. I'm too uncultured to understand,' one user commented. 'It's from a Black Mirror episode,' another wrote. Turns out, it was none of the above. Just a piece of plastic. The woman seen in line is also the one who uploaded the clip. In a follow-up video posted days later, she shared the 'true story.' 'This is a Methaphone,' she explains. 'It is exactly what it looks like, a clear piece of acrylic shaped like an iPhone.' The 'device' was invented by her friend as a response to phone addiction. 'He told me that what he wanted to test was, if we're all so addicted to our phones, then could you potentially curb somebody's addiction by replacing the feeling of having a phone in your pocket with something that feels exactly the same?' she continued. 'This little piece of acrylic feels like a physical artifact that directly responds to this collective tension we all feel about how our devices, which are meant to make us more connected, are actually having the exact opposite effect.' A 2023 study by found that nearly 57% of Americans reported feeling addicted to their phones. Some admitted to checking their phones over 100 times a day, and 75% said they feel uneasy when they realize they've left their phone at home. In the comments, many questioned whether pretending to scroll on a chunk of plastic could actually help with phone addiction. 'This sounds like [an] SNL sketch,' one user wrote. 'What stage of capitalism is this?' another asked. Some were simply disappointed it wasn't a real phone. Despite the skepticism, the Methaphone raised $1,100 on Indiegogo. The campaign has since closed, though the creator says more may be produced if demand is high. Priced at $20, with a neon pink version going for $25, the Methaphone 'looks like a simple acrylic slab—and it is,' the page reads. 'But it's also a stand-in, a totem, and an alibi. It's the first step on the road to freedom.'
Entrepreneur
09-05-2025
- Business
- Entrepreneur
Five Strategy Lessons from The White Lotus to Make Your Brand Culturally Relevant
Three seasons in, The White Lotus has become more than just a TV show: its distinctive aesthetic, sharp social commentary, and layered symbolism make it a cultural moment – something people talk about, memeify, and analyse. Opinions expressed by Entrepreneur contributors are their own. You're reading Entrepreneur United Kingdom, an international franchise of Entrepreneur Media. Brands can learn a lot from it. Today, cultural relevance is essential for brands, fuelled by the technology-catalysed shift from passive to active consumerism. Brands today must participate in the same conversations as their audience, with a clearly defined point of view. For brands aiming to embed themselves in culture, The White Lotus offers five essential strategy lessons. 1. Understand what 'culture' actually means Culture can be defined as the shared values, beliefs and behaviours that turn individuals into crowds. The White Lotus' popularity is thanks to the way it centres and dramatises inequality – arguably the issue that people care, worry and talk about more than any other right now. Brands take note: for them to participate in culture means actively highlighting, shaping or accelerating such issues. Take fashion brand MSCHF's disruptively clownish approach to its culture of, as the name suggests, mischief – a timelessly resonant shared behaviour. Veuve Clicquot's less provocative but equally effective approach to culture the sunny optimism forged by combining its compelling backstory and ownable yellow hue – inherently challenges the traditionally male-dominated, frequently old-fashioned worlds of luxury and wine. The White Lotus' culture is independent of its era: its themes – privilege, class, sex, death, spirituality – transcend the zeitgeist. Just as brands should. 2. For brands, culture isn't trends Culture mixes timeless and new. The White Lotus resonates because it taps into our age-old fascination with power, privilege, and moral decay – exposing the fallibility of an elite that's often worse than the rest of us – but presenting this through today's lenses in its fashion, music, and language (dialogue). Culture marries current trends and age-old human truths: the satisfying schadenfreude of watching the elite's downfall is timeless, yet made more acute in 2025, with our ever-increasing awareness of the gulf between the 1% and the 99%. Brands should note this balance of historic and contemporary. Johnnie Walker's "Striding Man" is rooted in history yet continually refreshed through campaigns like its Squid Games collaboration, its AI venture, and Jane Walker, connecting the brand to current cultural narratives while preserving its identity. Like The White Lotus, it balances old and new. Oatly, too, goes beyond dairy-free milk by championing plant-based living; its bold, activist voice aligns with enduring ideological shifts. Like The White Lotus, these brands thrive by honouring timeless themes while adapting to today's world. 3. Show before you tell The White Lotus does more than tell a story: from its sun-drenched landscapes to opulent hotels and perfectly styled wardrobes, every frame draws you in with its sensory allure. It's a show about (inwardly) ugly people doing ugly things, but it wraps its critique of wealth and privilege in a layer of undeniable beauty. It appeals to our eyes first, and later to our hearts and heads, leaving the unflattering exposition of the 1% to linger and resonate. The way to make people care about something is to first seduce them through their eyes – after all, brands need design to 'do culture. In the case of The White Lotus, people come first for the beauty, and stay for the schadenfreude. It taps into desire before anything else. For brands to be culturally relevant and have a point of view, they can't forget the importance of looking great and leading with that first. 4. Familiar but flexible Each episode and season of The White Lotus is simultaneously similar and different. Regular viewers start to recognise patterns in the way the show is shot, choreographed and soundtracked. Likewise, McDonald's golden arches icon is remixed constantly, evolving across generations – even riffing on colloquialisms like 'Maccy Ds' – but with a singular, constant colour palette that's instantly recognisable. By having an identity that can flex over time, brands can be a part of culture as it shifts. After all, culture never stands still – and it's vital that brands keep up. 5. Don't just spectate, participate Many brands show up in culture when it suits them, only to disappear when the moment passes. But cultural engagement must be embedded in a brand's DNA. The White Lotus doesn't just reflect culture: it shapes it. The show meaningfully engages with its audience by building a world we can immerse ourselves in for an hour. All with a plot that encourages conversation long after the closing credits. Like the show, brands shouldn't play it safe: they need to be on the dancefloor, not watching from the wings. Take Nike. It doesn't just sell sportswear – it creates sports culture. As campaigns like Colin Kaepernick's Dream Crazy, or So Win for female athletes show, its entire identity is inextricably tied to the world of movement, ambition, and perseverance. In it for the long haul A brand's approach to culture is most effective if it authentically resonates with the things that people care about, talk about, relate to, and enjoy the most. As The White Lotus' success proves, 'doing culture' is actually the opposite of what many people think it is – chiming with fleeting fads; limited editions, flash-in-the-pan subcultural movements. Cultural relevance isn't a campaign, it's a commitment forged over time.
The Guardian
08-05-2025
- General
- The Guardian
Ginseng Roots by Craig Thompson review – a genre-defying graphic novel about class, religion and globalisation
G enre is a slippery beast at the best of times, but Craig Thompson's new book is particularly hard to categorise. It's a memoir, graphic novel, and piece of social commentary, all based around ginseng. Living in the dirt poor (literally) midwest in the 1980s, his family farmed the plant, with its weird humanoid roots, and Thompson and his brother spent their youths caked in mud and chemicals plucking them from the ground for a dollar an hour. Ginseng is an essential ingredient in many Chinese medicines, as well as a range of health gimmicks, and for various reasons, Wisconsin has been an unlikely centre of global production for several centuries. Originally published in 12 issues from 2019 to 2024, Ginseng Roots is epic in length and breadth, but simultaneously pleasingly narrow in scope. It plays out in multiple strands that examine both the minutiae of a man's life and the cultural history of a difficult-to-grow crop (once harvested, it cannot be grown in the same field again). Thompson's reputation is built on his first memoir, Blankets, published in 2003, in which he drew the story of his coming of age, including the rejection of his Baptist parents' strict beliefs. It was one of those rare comics that broke into the mainstream, and was deservedly heaped with praise. In 2024, Blankets was one of 13 books banned from libraries in the state of Utah, the reasons presumably being that it contains depictions of masturbation, abusive parents, and the repudiation of evangelical Christianity. Some of those themes recur in Ginseng Roots. We hear about why his parents were in this strange business of small-holding ginseng agriculture in the first place, and again about their conservative Christianity. As his father dies, Thompson reflects on how he depicted them in Blankets. But he has a disarming and uncanny knack for switching gear without you noticing. Perhaps this is something peculiar to the medium of the graphic novel, where the art keeps a sense of an overarching narrative despite a change in view. All of a gentle sudden, we are deep in the 18th-century world of trade between Iroquois and Chinese merchants, paddle steamers and canoes, learning about this untold history of American globalisation that pivots on ginseng. In 1784, the first ship to set sail from the newly independent America for China carried 30 tons of American ginseng bound for the herbal medicine market, the cargo's value 250 times its weight in silver. Then we are back on the farm, immersed in the conundrums of midwest politics: farmers being subsumed by corporations, swamped by pesticides, but seemingly happily committed to an apocalyptic theology that will deliver them the promised land when the rapture comes. In this sense, Ginseng Roots is one version of the broader American story. This odd plant, with mystical properties (or, to put it another way, its unregulated and scientifically questionable active ingredient) took root in the midwest, became big business through export, and left behind disgruntled small-holders, who eventually got replaced by immigrant workers. Class and poverty play major roles, and Thompson himself is full of working-class doubt, about his talent and his choice of career a long way from home. It's all suffused with a love of comics: the dollar an hour that Thompson and his brother earned as children doing back-breaking, knee-crippling work was always spent on superhero and Star Wars comics. The normalisation of graphic literature in mainstream culture is enormously rewarding for those of us for whom faded monochrome dot-printed words and pictures were how we learned stories. 'Comics helped me survive my childhood,' he tells his brother later in life, their younger selves looking on as they go through old boxes of ewoks and X-Men. 'But what will help me survive my adulthood?' Memoirs are meant to have an elegiac quality to them, and this one, despite being about root vegetables, is soulful, funny, and exquisitely drawn. Like Blankets, Ginseng Roots is a modern classic: moving, and weirdly educational – a gentle yet perspicacious story of global politics, capitalism, religion, and life at the edges of all of those forces. Ginseng Roots by Craig Thompson is published by Faber (£25). To support the Guardian order your copy at Delivery charges may apply
