French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre's 1938 novel "Nausea" revolves around the experiences of its main character, Antoine Roquentin, a writer who finds himself in the fictional French town of Bouville. Roquentin is haunted by a peculiar sensation he calls "nausea." This "nausea" isn't a physical ailment but a deep existential discomfort he experiences when confronted with the inherent absurdity and meaninglessness of life.
I haven't reached Roquentin's level yet, but I've begun to experience certain feelings related to his nausea. I name it as "social media." If Sartre's protagonist had the chance to experience the existential discomfort brought about by social media, the novel's title would be "Death."
Social media emerged as one of the biggest proponents of individuality. It was meant to grant each person the right to express themselves, contribute to the world from their micro-atmospheres, and celebrate and nurture individual forms of existence. Everyone would showcase their personality, and creativity would flourish.
Then, we discussed how social media seized individuality, making people an indispensable part of popular culture and catering to capitalism by uniting everyone with the same tastes. We discussed how all the elements that made our individuality unique gradually faded away.
Now, authenticity has died, and the era of sameness has begun.
The concept of authenticity, influenced by Sartre's theory, underscores the significance of recognizing and embracing one's freedom, taking responsibility for choices and actively shaping one's life according to personal values and self-awareness. Beyond that, it's a call to resist yielding to external pressures or societal norms and instead engage in an ongoing journey of self-discovery and self-definition.
In these days when we're searching for authentic individuals as if with a candle, I believe there's nothing happier in the world than not having yet surfaced amid the sea of mediocrity. However, as you move away from the center, being on the periphery truly creates a sense of isolation for individuals. What I'm trying to convey isn't just about the last remaining intellectual survivors observing others from a distance and lamenting from their ivory towers. It's about the complete disappearance of individuals with authentic self-identities. Everyone appears ordinary and the same. Colors have entirely vanished.
So, why do we use these platforms every day? Is it to repeatedly see the mundane posts of people who are mere replicas of each other? Everything seems to be losing meaning, to the point where individuals even unconsciously desire to sever connections with those they interact well with in daily life. This, too, creates another form of isolation. People feel a strong sense of "cringe" toward those close to them.
Cringe is a colloquial term that describes a strong feeling of discomfort, embarrassment or secondhand embarrassment elicited by something perceived as awkward or socially awkward. It's an internal and natural reaction to inauthenticity.
Something might be labeled as "cringe" when it appears forced, insincere or out of touch with social norms. This could include awkward interactions, attempts at humor that fall flat, overly dramatic expressions of emotion or content that tries too hard to be trendy or relatable.
Under the concept of trendiness, we can observe the homogenization of clothing, makeup, lifestyles and even the rapid burial of personal preferences. For some, these preferences didn't exist before, and social media conveniently packaged these preferences for individuals. Both scenarios bury the state of being an authentic individual even further.
Individuals don't even have a music preference that could somewhat define their identity. Whoever heard a song from someone else or saw it being used in content thinks, "Ah, I'll use that too." Maybe with the added belief that they can use it better or create better content with it.
You wake up in the morning, place your coffee somewhere, and there's a beautiful view with bright sunshine ahead. A post must be made. Accompanying music? We might not know English, but we've all memorized "good morning." Let's add "good morning" to the music search query and voila, the quirky cuckoo-bird-like "Good Morning" song by The Puppini Sisters.
You visit a place, have a nice day, and it's time to make a post about it. We need to share our overestimated happiness. But what about the song? Tim McMorris' "It's a Beautiful Day."
And then there's the even stranger phenomenon of almost everyone using Jain's "Makeba" song as background music. "Ooohe, Makeba" lyrics echo through my ears, unfortunately. This song was released in 2015 and dedicated to singer and songwriter Miriam Makeba, one of the most popular anti-apartheid activists in the world. With its African rhythms, is everyone sharing this song as a celebration of culture or as a tribute to Makeba? I have little hope in this regard.
Of course, it's also a social media strategy, but only for a few. One common feature of these videos is using the same songs to make them even more viral or prevalent in feeds. I don't think a 60-year-old worries about this. He or she is just mimicking what he or she hears.
A ubiquitous imitation of tastes, I might add.
Turkish pop also had glorious days like any music genre, but the current period is far from those times.
There are a few names frequently mentioned in the market, both used and glorified to no end on social media. They're praised with cliche phrases like "great voice," "amazing song," "incredible production," and people genuinely agree with these praises. However, I can't position these so-called melodies as a "song" or as an art form.
In these songs, the lyrics are always the same. Either someone has left or been left. Either someone loved or wasn't loved. There's no other depth or meaning in the lyrics. On top of that, idioms and proverbs are thrown in; the song is adorned with them to push the song forward. Currently, almost 85% of Turkish society listens to these songs and becomes captivated. It's like mass consumption of opium, with an air that others are missing out.
The so-called structure they call production is often the same rhythm, generally a cheap beat, with just different melodies added. Especially one of them has oddly become like an anthem for a Turkish sports team. There's no place it isn't played, listened to or used. But enough is enough. We are tired of hearing these, exhausted.
Meanwhile, these days, especially in Türkiye, the biggest activity among friends is to attend the concerts of these artists. "Artist X at Harbiye Open-Air," "Dying for Y," "Diva," "Oh my God." Then, the same songs keep circulating, the same stories.
Most of them have only released four or five songs in total. The rest of the concert is filled with interpretations of these and those songs, a bit of covering, and there you go with a concert. But the saddening part is this: People enjoy this mediocrity and staleness.
The feelings of the singers regarding their songs being used so extensively might be positive. But for some, it's just a feeling of nausea.
So here's an aphorism: In a place where everyone loves the same things, they can be perfect.
*Culture & Arts editor at Daily Sabah
