Subcultures are fascinating. And there are so many of them.
I became brightly aware of the phenomena of subcultures when I got into motorcycles. I had a Kawasaki EX500 in the 1990s. Riding on any road or highway, other bikers passing in the other direction would lift a palm from their handlebars in greeting. Except Harley Davidson riders, of course. They had their own subculture, looking down on us cats riding “rice burners.”
But that’s okay. It was a great feeling, those waves on the highway. I was part of the club, having something in common with all these people I didn’t know.
I found myself in another subculture when I rescued a puppy from Redwood Regional Park: the Dog People club. That poor pup, white with patchwork colors, looking part-beagle, part-chihuahua, was dirty and flea-infested but very sweet-natured. I named him Sequoia, took him back to my apartment—stopping for flea bath and dog food on the way—and cleaned him up. I’d always wanted a dog. I love dogs.
But my apartment complex did not allow them. I had just started dating my future husband, and we were traveling, falling in love. This canine companionship would be temporary. But until I found a nice family to adopt him two weeks later, I was in the Canine Club, rockin’ with rover, parlayin’ with the pooches.
On the second day that Sequoia was with me, an acquaintance called me for a dog walk. The next day, another canine companion called me. A few days later, another. None of them had ever invited me on a walk before. On the trail, other people with dogs smiled, made eye-contact, recognized me as one of their own.
I was in a subculture in college at UC Davis. On the late 80s campus, dominated by business and science majors, I found my home in the Drama Department. I performed in a play or a theatre project almost every quarter, including a crazy ensemble musical in which we stripped down to long underwear, and Cloud 9 by Caryl Churchill in which I faked an orgasm on stage and did fourteen costume changes, and a new work by an MFA playwright in which I died a dozen times. There were always people hanging out in the green room. There were lots of shoulder massages and cast parties. The dark wings of the theatres, the crowded prop and costume rooms, the construction area, smelling of pine sawdust and wood glue, was all other-worldly. We called all our professors by their first names. They often appeared in productions with us. We partied with them.
After shows, Professor Everard DeHarnecourt invited everyone to his house for hot tub parties (no clothing allowed in the tub). Everard had been a professional tennis player until stepping near a landmine while in the German Army in World War II. One of his legs was stiff (and it was rumored that another part of him couldn’t get stiff at all). He taught film history and as an author defining pornography, was sometimes called into courtrooms as an expert on the subject.
Perhaps nowhere have I appreciated subcultures more than at Burning Man.
There are three things I love about Burning Man:
Photo by Peter Fitzpatrick on Unsplash
1. The gift economy. Only two things are sold at Burning Man: ice and coffee at the Black Rock café. Everything else is given away. In the Birthday Tent, it was everyone’s birthday. Everyone was given a small cake, a present and serenaded with the birthday song. At the Black Rock Boutique, I picked out a cool black vest, put it on and walked out with a “Thank you!” There were gifts of food, drinks, entertainment and art. And trampolines. Everywhere! (I attended three years: 2001 to 2003, five months pregnant the last time, which landed me a lot of TLC—foot massages, Baby!) At Burning Man, it was such a relief to take a break from capitalistic and commercial culture!
Burners. peter-fitzpatrick-kKM_C2-FsMk-unsplash
2. The creativity. The art installations—a giant chandelier you could climb on, a pillowed pink vagina inviting you to cozy up inside, a ladybug art car, any art car, the circle of speakers buried way out on the playa playing music in mesmerizing surround-sound—they were just there to be enjoyed by all, unsigned, expressions of the artists and makers. Of the human experience.
3. The subcultures.
At Burning Man, subcultures existed side-by-side without judgment. It was so refreshing!
The S&M tent wasn’t far from the neon Dr. Seuss forest, which wasn’t far from the Mad Max dome, which neighbored a 70-foot teeter-totter. People were dressed—or undressed—in every manner of clothing. There were all-night ravers and families with small children.
A scene from Burning Man. Photo by Bry Ulrick on Unsplash
Burning Man itself is a counterculture, “fostering community through interaction, curiosity, and cooperation.”
Our society has so many subcultures: Trekkies, hikers, mountain-climbers, swing dancers, Magic gamers, gardeners, karaoke singers, car enthusiasts (with many sub-groups passionate about one brand or type). There are foodies and wine-aficionados, opera lovers, house party-goers, fire-eaters, accountants. You name it!
People create subcultures out of their passions and interests, their fashions, habits, self-identities or experiences. They could be fans of a specific band or musician. Readers of a certain comic book. They can be people who love all things Italian. They can be Burners (anyone who has ever been to Burning Man).
It can also be people that follow a specific politician or believe in unproven conspiracy theories.
Belonging is a powerful force in human nature.
“Belonging is defined as a unique and subjective experience that relates to a yearning for connection with others, the need for positive regard and the desire for interpersonal connection (Rogers, 1951).”
A psychological theory, “the need to belong,” proposes that people’s sense of social belonging, a feeling of good relationships with others, is a fundamental human need, as important to human health and happiness as having food, water, and shelter. I think we know this, feel this intuitively.
As adults, we have some control over this, some freedom of movement in society to find like-minded people with whom we can feel we belong. But what about children and teenagers, who have less control when it comes to their families, schools and peers?
You know those cliques in high school? Yeah, the stereotypes: the geeks, the stoners, the leaders, the jocks, the partiers…Breakfast Club. They exist to serve a deep psychological need at our most sensitive and vulnerable time of life when it comes to social belonging.
An art installation at Burning Man. Belonging. Photo by Manny Becerra on Unsplash
It’s biological. Neural imaging shows that the brain in adolescence develops and matures—or not—specifically in regions involved in complex social processes. So, experiencing rejection or ostracism in childhood and adolescence can be way-damaging. Australian Psychologist Dr. Kelly-Ann Allen, in a piece for the Australian Psychological Society, says “Peer groups and the need to belong become important for social identity, transition into adulthood, psychosocial adjustment, along with coping-skills and resilience.”
It’s no wonder that teens without this kind of social support get jumped into gangs.
Going back to the idea that “neurons that fire together wire together,” if you don’t get a chance to belong anywhere, that feeling that you don’t belong can become habitual, a default belief. But it’s a perception based on previous experience and isn’t necessarily true. It doesn’t have to remain a belief or a way of living. Of course, changing negative patterns takes work and practice and is damn hard. A little easier with help. Either way, it’s worth it!
The phenomenon of subcultures only starts to get dangerous, in my mind, when they are driven by a sense of superiority to and judgment of other subcultures or when they lead to subjugation or violence, either to others or themselves. Those subcultures are out there too, of course, like gangs, extreme religions and cults.
The point is, we all need to belong.
And there is nothing wrong with being part of a purple dragon, marshmallow-popping, unicycle-loving subculture if that’s what you’re into!
As long as your awesome group isn’t violent and understands that the pink bunny, taco-crunching, robot-dancing group next door, well, they’re having a good time too, providing fellow human beings what they need to survive.
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash