An interesting observation I’ve encountered while doing research is the simple act of searching “meme” on Google. By doing so, you are met with the graveyard of memes from the years 2007 to 2014. Memes reminiscent of the days of 4chan and 9GAG.
While they were relevant, it is clear that this format of meme (repetitive images, over-formatted, lacking originality and depth) is still what many people define as a “meme”. This perception of memes is still dominant till today, even though it isn’t the most commonly used form anymore.
By exploring the current landscape of niche and lo-fi memes, it is clear that the “Google” world of memes is stale in comparison. However, it is interesting to consider if the current climate of memes could be disposable and irrelevant in the future, or if the nicheness and high-context culture surrounding them will allow these formats to endure and cement themselves as a marker of identity and shared experience.
While the style of memes seen above is outdated and considered “cringe” nowadays, it is still an important moniker in the culture around internet language and humor. My main point of questioning is, even though it is one of the first widely recognised meme formats, why is it still the default cultural reference point of memes? Perhaps because they were accessible (online meme generators), digestible, generally easy to use, and able to be used in different languages to reach different cultures?
It seems these early 9GAG era memes have become an artefact. While not an offline artefact, but rather an artefact of the relic used to be memes.
It is becoming clear with further discovery that a lot the offline artefacts that I am discovering can commonly consist of clothing and accessories.
While discussing my project with a friend they brought up the infamous tomato purse. The fashion house Loewe created a leather purse based on a tweet. Ultimately taking the meme and literally turning it into an offline artefact.
Whilst not everyone will realise that the product was created because of a meme; since it still fits into the fashion house’s general aesthetic most would assume it is just another part of the collection.
It would be interesting to see if there are more examples in which an offline artefact is intentionally created and then sold as a product. A question does come up; since the product was intentionally made, does that take away from its legitimacy of being an offline artefact? Does turning a meme into a $3,000 luxury product strip it of its cultural edge and authenticity?
These intersection of tactile words like fashion design and online memes is an interesting phenomena. Moving forward, I want to track how offline memes can exists not only accidentally but intentionally and what that says about how memes shape culture.
Have you ever seen something that exists in the context of a meme and wondered whether that item can exist within its context in the “real world”, or, for better terms, the offline world? Memes are created and exist in online spaces; the space differs according to a person’s preference, whether that’s Instagram, Twitter, Reddit, TikTok, etc. Regardless of the type of meme you see, there is a chance it exists in the offline world, but that will depend on your personal perception.
I inadvertently began exploring the idea of offline artefacts when I created the meme shirt for my friends, which placed memes out in the offline world. Whenever each person would wear the shirt, they would be displaying their interests and sense of humor on their person.
Below you can find another example of how offline artefacts behave.
For context, the image used on the meme on the left, from the HBO series Sex and the City, we see Carrie in a black top hat and a cane, attempting to impress her crush with a witty costume, which, as an image, became shorthand for public humiliation. But offline, the combination of the hat and the cane itself began carrying that meaning. Whenever my friends or I see one in real life, we instantly reference the meme. The objects have become artefacts of that shared joke, one that only those in the know will understand.
The offline artefact can be an item, but it can also be a physical space. An example of that would be the, and people began making meme edits of it. The slide that was once only a fixture of the Boston City Hall Plaza has now become a viral meme location to visit under the name of Cop Slide.
These examples are just a starting point that I want to explore regarding offline artefacts. These moments show how memes translate into everyday life, reshaping how we see spaces and objects around us. What used to be “just a black hat” or “just a slide” is now fuelled with shared meaning. As the world my friends and I share revolves around memes, tracking these artefacts would almost be like uncovering a layer of cultural code.
This t-shirt did not start as a part of my project but as a group urge among my close friends. We decided that we needed to make something that felt inherently like us.
We decided to make a t-shirt but not just any t-shirt, a t-shirt layered with references, inside jokes and aesthetic codes that we’ve collectively harboured throughout the years of creating our own digital spaces, via our group chats or weekly group calls. My friends asked me to design it since they wanted it in my collage-style memes.
The visuals on the shirt are loud and lo-fi (the employees at the print shop kept asking if we were sure we didn’t want to send in a clearer image). The shirt is a moodboard of our collective jokes, visuals and things we relate to as a group.
The most interesting part is that this was not created for my research, but rather, it justifies my research. It takes a niche meme language and turns it into something wearable and tactile. The aesthetic is purposely illegible to most people as it is not meant for mass consumption/satisfaction but rather a visual language shared between my friends and me.
In my wider project, I’ve been exploring how these memes, the lo-fi, absurd, referential kind, operate on shared experiences and a sense of community. This t-shirt might confuse people; however, to me and my friends, it’s a shorthand inside joke, a visual code for who we are.
Without meaning to, this exercise accidentally turned out to be an intervention in disguise. Possibly my most honest one yet.
As my research and project evolved, so did my research question. I began with a broader question of: “How can memes as a form of contemporary digital art contribute to cultural experiences and relationships?” However, through the intervention and further research, I’ve evolved it into something more specific: “How can niche meme styles and culturally coded visuals act as a language for identity and connection in digital Gen Z spaces?” This evolution reflects a greater emphasis on the communicative power of memes and navigating online identity.
As part of my research into how niche meme styles and culturally coded visuals act as a language of identity and connection among Gen Z, I contacted Evan Lorent, an MSc student in Digital Anthropology at University College London His Bachelor thesis, The Gag City Grammar Police: Language and Algorithmic Community on Stan Twitter, explores online language, meme culture, and the communities that form around them, making Evan a relevant expert stakeholder for my project. While the subject of our topics differs, the core of both our works sits at the intersection of language, digital identity, Gen Z and subculture.
When our meet-up began, one of Evan’s first points was about how AI is beginning to shape how we communicate. There’s a growing relationship between human expression and machine-generated content, especially within meme spaces. He pointed out how users are intentionally changing how they speak online to “prove” they’re human. Evan explained how AI isn’t necessarily rejected in meme communities, but rather, these spaces embrace the weird, imperfect, and experimental nature of digital content, even if it’s made by a machine. That aligns with how memes are iterated, exchanged and altered in intentionally imperfect ways.
Evan also referenced Richard Dawkins’ original idea of memes as units of cultural transmission similar to genes. But what happens when these memes mutate within chaotic and informal online spaces? That mutation through misinterpretation, iterations, and subcultural layering is how meme-based communities are created. Evan described memes as a networked form of communication so dense that outsiders can’t always follow along. The feed I’ve curated on @ihate_abba functions this way; it is full of visuals that only make sense if you’re informed of the references.
Evan and I also discussed the difficulty of researching meme culture through traditional methods quantitative and qualitative methods. Evan reminded me that online subcultures don’t behave like regular academic categories as they are deeply context-dependent. This supports the point that Marcel Danesi, author of Memes and the future of pop culture, states, “Online culture is difficult to include in any systematic critical analysis, in the traditional sense, of genres, celebrity structure (which tends to be a short-lived), since it unfolds on a different technological platform and in a virtual space (cyberspace); it can mean something different to every person, thus shattering its previous habitus constitution.” (2019, p.34)
Looking back on my first intervention, where I asked people to send me memes in person and got very little response, Evan affirmed that I had hit on a cultural tension. Memes exist in a highly networked digital space, and attempting to translate them into offline settings can feel off. He encouraged me to explore the online and offline divide further and to question whether platforms are networked purely by human intention or shaped by algorithms.
Finally, Evan shared some helpful resources with me, including Because Internet by Gretchen McCulloch, which explores memes through the lens of digital language. The conversation with Evan was affirming and guided me in exploring the emotional, aesthetic, and social layers of how Gen Z uses memes.
References:
Danesi, M. (2019) Memes and the future of pop culture. Boston : Brill
Lorent, E. (2024) The Gag City Grammar Police: Language and Algorithmic Community on Stan Twitter. Sociology Honours Thesis. Dalhousie University. Available at: https://dalspace.library.dal.ca/items/45de88aa-72bc-472e-b87a-dfebd87544e3 (Accessed: 20 April 2025)
or image they felt represented them (refer to the posts below).
To my wonder, I received an overwhelming number of replies from people who sent in a wide range of memes. This marked a clear contrast to the offline version of this intervention. Unlike the first attempt at CSM, where the hopeful participants were mostly strangers, the online context had a digital familiarity. Many participants were people I already knew who shared similar niche interests. This made participation more inviting.
The submitted memes included self-made creations, screen-grabbed images, and well-circulated formats. Each was posted to @ihate_abba, with the sender’s name and location in the caption (see examples below).
The content sent in by the participants shared common traits, both visually and conceptually. The memes included chaotic graphics and lo-fi aesthetics that challenged traditional design norms. Absurd compositions and deep-cut cultural references, mainly related to Gen Z and queer-coded internet humour. Despite the chaos of the memes, they captured genuine feelings, emotions and niche experiences. Most importantly, they served as a community-driven digital vernacular. A language of references and irony that is instantly recognisable to those within the subculture.
This reinforces the idea that Gen Z users can connect regardless of geographic location through this shared visual culture. A single meme can reference music taste, fashion cues, niche internet jokes, or political sentiment. Ultimately behaving as “if you know, you know.”
Some senders sent original content, but the majority were found memes or iterated, highlighting that originality is not the point, but resonance is. In the world of memes, authorship is fluid. Memes exist to be passed on, reshaped, and iterated. As Roberta Katz et al. observe, “the desire for collaborative ways of working and problem solving is widespread among postmillennials” (2021, p.21). This collaborative Gen Z spirit is reflected in meme culture, where the content is encouraged to be iterated, shared and embraced.
While this intervention didn’t yield the kind of discomfort or insight the first one did, it proved far more successful in participation and confirmed several key ideas about how memes function. It also helped influence how I will proceed with research and future interventions and that creating a comfortable, familiar, digital-first space is more likely to invite authentic engagement.
This intervention made it clear that memes are more than just funny images but rather tools of identity signalling. Each participant submission provided insight into how individuals see themselves through the style, tone, and type of humor. The memes almost behaved as self-portraits of the participants. I wasn’t archiving jokes but curating a visual map of how a specific online culture communicates, shares values, and recognises itself.
To begin testing my question, I wanted my first intervention to be simple and reflective of people’s relationships with memes. What better way to test the waters than by asking people to send me a meme? This was a way to inform my broader inquiry: How can memes as a form of contemporary digital art contribute to cultural experiences and relationships?
Since the target audience of the project is Gen Z, Central Saint Martins felt like the ideal environment to start. Many of the students are largely made up of forward-thinking, creative individuals who often reflect the kind of niche, referential humour that defines the meme culture I’m researching. Being in an art uni like CSM, many of the students engage with visual language in experiential ways, making them fitting participants for my first intervention.
The concept was simple: send me a meme, and I’ll post it. This could be a self-made meme, a candid image with referential humour, or even a well-known meme. Initially, I asked for a meme or image, along with a name or nickname and age. However, after some thought, I removed the age requirement as most students already fell into Gen Z, and I didn’t want to discourage anyone by making the process feel more demanding.
I created a sign with a QR code for the Instagram account to make participation more accessible in case they felt shy about approaching me directly. I also planned on splitting my time between The Street and the library, two high-traffic areas.
After four hours, I received just one submission from Rui, an MA Biodesign student I had briefly met before. This prior interaction might explain why they felt comfortable enough to participate. The meme they sent is screenshotted below.
The purpose of posting the memes on the Instagram account @ihate_abba is to treat it as a kind of open archive or language experiment. A platform where people from different backgrounds and even different languages can connect through shared meme literacy.
While many students stopped to read the sign, none followed through with submitting a meme. This made me reflect on the personal nature of humour and meme culture. For many, sharing a meme offline, especially in a public setting, can feel awkward or impersonal. Memes are usually consumed in the comfort of digital space. As Eli Pariser puts it in The Filter Bubble: What the Internet is Hiding from You, “the internet is a cozy place, populated by our favorite things” (2011, p.12). Attempting to bring this intimacy into an offline environment proved more difficult than expected.
Another relevant observation comes from Gen Z, Explained: The Art of Living in a Digital Age by Roberta Katz et al. They note that “Conversations often spill across offline and online contexts, though some students told us that they found conversation online easier than IRL due to shyness or English not being their first language or for other reasons.” (2021, p.100). This helps explain why students might’ve felt hesitant to engage.
While the intervention was not successful in regards to the number of memes collected, it offered valuable insight into the boundaries between digital expression and real-world interaction. It also made me realise to adopt a more active stance in the next intervention versus the more passive one I decided to adapt.
References:
Katz, R. Ogilvie, S. Shaw, J. Woodhead, L. (2021) Gen Z, Explained: The Art of Living in a Digital Age. Chicago : The University of Chicago Press
Pariser, Eau. (2011) The filter bubble: what the internet is hiding from you. London : Viking
With the topic of my project being memes, it only made sense to create a separate space to engage with memes and freely experiment. I will use the Instagram account (@ihate_abba) as an extension of my blog, a kind of playground to play around with ideas, test interventions, communicate with people and ultimately document the outcome of my findings.
Choosing a name was the first step (see iterations below). With the help of a friend who is well-versed in meme culture, we began brainstorming ideas eventually landing on landing on @ihate_abba. The title follows the structure of Gen Z-oriented meme accounts such as @still_on_a_downward_spiral.
Whilst I am not a hater of Abba, the name choice reflects the subversive and almost cynical sense of humour. After all, Abba is traditional and mainstream, so an account handle like @ihate_abba behaves as a rejection of the norm, hinting at the kind of content to expect.
“Saint Hoax, defines a meme as a piece of media that is repurposed to deliver a cultural, social or political expression, mainly through humor. “It has the ability to capture insight in a way that is in complete alignment with the zeitgeist.” (Benveniste, A. 2022)
Memes behave as cultural artefacts that carry messages and serve as a medium for shared experiences within subcultures. They also encode cultural narratives, form creative collective identities and foster relationships through shared mutual understanding. There are many types of memes, ranging from the classics, niche, brain rot, slapstick, absurdist, stan (those driven by intense celebrity fandom) and more. My focus will be on a subset of memes specific to Gen Z culture.
Within Gen Z, one’s taste in memes can also be indicative of one’s interests in music, humour, fashion, films, etc. This is largely because subcultural content tends to be layered and referential. Many of the meme accounts I follow blend unassuming queer humor, alternative fashion, pop culture, and niche music. Yasmin Ibrahim (2022), author of Digital Icons: memes, martyrs and avatars states that “In modernity, the media and popular culture play a vital role in circulating cultural codes and symbols reiterated through our patterns of socialization.” (page 27)
Since memes are open to interpretation, something as obscure as a pixelated image of a sink can carry shared meaning. My research and initiative in this project is to explore how imagery and language can be created and adapted within subcultures to the extent that they influence how we speak and what we find humorous offline as well. Understanding the impact of memes can also illuminate the broader implications of how digital art forms influence societal norms and human interaction. “Memes manifesting in cultural settings through objects, behaviours and belief systems, such as clothing, vernacular terms, rumours or even abstract beliefs, spread from person to person through emulation or repetition.” (Ibrahim, Y. 2022, pages 8-9)
What led me to choose this topic as the starting point of my final major project is my personal relationship with memes. I utilise memes as a way to connect with my friends through both social media and in person. The image displayed below is an archive of self-made memes that I’ve shared. This has all led me to my initial research question “How can memes, as a form of contemporary digital art, contribute to cultural experiences and relationships?“
Through action research, I plan to analyse a specific subculture and assess the influence memes have within it. Can this research highlight the broader implications of memes as a new cultural medium? Could it inspire greater recognition of memes in academic and artistic discourse?
Stay tuned…
References: Benveniste, A. (2022). ‘The Meaning and History of Memes’. Available at: https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/26/crosswords/what-is-a-meme.html (Accessed: 18 February 2025) Ibrahim, Y. (2022) Digital icons : memes, martyrs and avatars. London : Routledge
The current iteration of my research question is “How does character-building in video games challenge default identities and disrupt norm chronology, fostering alternative self-concepts?“
Default Identity: One’s self is shaped by societal, cultural and familial expectations and often adopted without personal exploration or a deviation from norms.
Norm Chronology: The societal timeline where the life path of a straight, cisgender, abled person is the norm. Those who deviate often discover their authentic selves later due to environments that don’t encourage individualism.
Whilst I am passionate about the relatively unexplored concepts of norm chronology and default identities, I have been struggling with actualising my intentions into a comprehensive process. Identity has been at the forefront of my projects for many years, and I want the course of Applied Imagination to be the driver that pushes me to create a question that drives my personal/professional journey, both within and outside UAL.
My passion for video games has been relevant from my earliest memories. The fictional world of role-playing and character-building in video games often serves as a mirror for real-life identity exploration. However, after further reflection, I have begun contemplating using video games as the “driver” of my themes of identity and gender. It was a convenient pathway; however, after some assessment through discussions and research, I have begun reconsidering my approach.
Taking a step back and reflecting on my learning ecology will allow me to review each step of my journey and the experiences and learnings that led me to this moment. I aim to ensure my project reflects my perspective, abilities, and strengths as a researcher and designer.
The learning ecology exercise below signifies the moments that have led me to who I am today. The gender symbols are categorised in different stages to represent my comfort with my sexuality and identity.
Identifying the critical incidents and moments in my life has explained my urge to tackle the subject of identity continuously, perhaps in an attempt for some form of self-indulgence and justification. Exposure to diverse media, moving to London, and building a community of friends have all shaped my self-development and discovery.
While I might want to continue pursuing my topic of identity, I am currently feeling detached from the research and action research portion. Dealing with a personal topic has created some roadblocks for me; if I focused on an outcome that is more relevant to what I want my experience to be after this degree, would that be of better use?
A quote by Christopher Johns, author of Becoming a Reflective Practitioner, explains my current position quite well. Johns illustrates that reflection is a lens through which practitioners can examine and focus on themselves within the framework of their lived experiences. This process allows them to identify, confront, and work toward resolving contradictions between what is desirable and actual practice. By engaging with these conflicts, committing to desirable work, and understanding why things are as they are, the practitioner can take more appropriate action in future situations (2013).
As I approach the end of my first year of this course, what is the next step? Formulating an idea by sitting across a screen will not yield the fruitful results I hope for. Adopting a greater effort at action research will allow me to collect first-hand research that will more comprehensively inform the impact of my work.
Scepticism about the validity of my process will only harm it. My next step is to re-evaluate my research question. While it will likely evolve throughout research and interventions, I am eager to take a few steps back and create a more relevant guiding framework—one where I am not constantly battling my inhibitions.
References: Johns, C. (2013) Becoming a reflective practitioner. 5th edn. Oxford : Wiley-Blackwell
