Journal articles on the topic 'Business-books=2022-12-11'

Nickel ore export ban has been imposed by Indonesia as the leading actor on the global nickel supply chain which created a disruption and has not been perceived well by other countries, especially the European Union (EU) countries. This paper will analyze the implications caused by the export ban to EU countries and the actions following it, including the enactment of the palm oil ban. Starting with the World Trade Organization (WTO) panel, the EU’s strategy of forcing Indonesia to lift the export ban has not yet succeeded. With the tit-for-tat strategy, this paper identifies the EU’s palm oil ban as a form of retaliation for the Indonesian nickel ore export ban. Although the tit-for-tat strategy often is used in a positive-sum game, the conflict between Indonesia and the EU is a negative-sum game with both parties putting their economies at risk. Keywords: nickel ore export ban, palm oil ban, tit-for-tat strategy, Indonesia, European Union REFERENCES Adam, B., & Ahamat, H. (2022). Indonesia’s Mineral Export Prohibition and Legality of Export Duties Under the GATT Rules. Sriwijaya Law Review, 6(2), 239. https://doi.org/10.28946/slrev.vol6.iss2.1661.pp239-253 Bloomberg. (2022, September 30). Export ban triples nickel investment in Indonesia’s Morowali. Mining Weekly. https://www.miningweekly.com/article/export-ban-triples-nickel-investment-in indonesias-morowali-2022-09-30 BNamericas - Why nickel prices are rising – and will rema... (2022, March 28). BNamericas.com. https://www.bnamericas.com/en/interviews/why-nickel-prices-are-rising--and-will-remain high#:~:text=The%20main%20point%20that%20will Codingest. (2023, January 16). Threats in Europe, for Indonesian Palm Oil in 2023. BPDP. https://www.bpdp.or.id/en/threats-in-europe-for-indonesian-palm-oil-in 2023#:~:text=The%20EU Commodity Watch Indonesia: Zooming In On Nickel, A Valuable Metal With A Bright Future | Indonesia Investments. (2022, June 7). Www.indonesia-Investments.com. https://www.indonesia investments.com/business/business-columns/commodity-watch-indonesia-zooming-in-on-nickel a-valuable-metal-with-a-bright-future/item9521 Decena, K. (2019, May 9). Chinese firms lay out processing facility plans after Indonesian ore export ban. Www.spglobal.com. https://www.spglobal.com/marketintelligence/en/news insights/trending/l19hkna_dqquro-fmklifa2 Dunne, T., Kurki, M., & Smith, S. (2021). International relations theories : discipline and diversity (5th ed., p. 119). Oxford University Press. EU Needs Nickel, But Discriminates Palm Oil. (2021, March 8). Indonesian Palm Oil Association (GAPKI IPOA). https://gapki.id/en/news/19858/eu-needs-nickel-but-discriminates-palm-oil European Steel in Figures 2022. (n.d.). In EUROFER. EUROFER. Retrieved January 10, 2023, from https://www.eurofer.eu/assets/publications/brochures-booklets-and-factsheets/european steel-in-figures-2022/European-Steel-in-Figures-2022-v2.pdf Fahalmesta, F. (2022). Indonesia Nickel Crucial metal for low-carbon future (pp. 1–5). Korea Investment & Sekuritas Indonesia. https://kisi.co.id/storage/researchanalysis/August2022/ZuWoIYdDKyucPZU6Zurg.pdf Halm, I. van. (2023, January 10). The nickel price rollercoaster of 2022. Mining Technology. https://www.mining-technology.com/features/nickel-price-surge-2022-markets/ Home, A. (2022, September 30). Column: Indonesia’s nickel surge bad news for price and pricing. Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/markets/commodities/indonesias-nickel-surge-bad news-price-pricing-2022-09-29/ Huber, I. (2021, December 8). Indonesia’s Nickel Industrial Strategy. Www.csis.org. https://www.csis.org/analysis/indonesias-nickel-industrial-strategy Idris, M. (2021, January 15). Uni Eropa, Gigih Tolak Sawit Indonesia, Tapi Butuh Nikelnya Halaman all. KOMPAS. https://money.kompas.com/read/2021/01/15/203805526/uni-eropa-gigih-tolak-sawit indonesia-tapi-butuh-nikelnya?page=all Kelapa sawit, ancaman perang dagang RI-Uni Eropa dan enam hal lainnya. (2019, March 23). BBC News Indonesia. https://www.bbc.com/indonesia/indonesia-47663602 Lim, B., Kim, H. S., & Park, J. (2021). Implicit Interpretation of Indonesian Export Bans on LME Nickel Prices: Evidence from the Announcement Effect. Risks, 9(5), 93. https://doi.org/10.3390/risks9050093 Nainggolan, B., Wijayati, A., Panjaitan, H., Saputra, D. F., & Rahim, R. (2021). ICLHR 2021: Proceedings from the 1st International Conference on Law and Human Rights, ICLHR 2021, 14- 15 April 2021, Jakarta, Indonesia. In Google Books. European Alliance for Innovation. https://books.google.co.id/books?hl=en&lr=&id=5a1jEAAAQBAJ&oi=fnd&pg=PA226&dq=indonesia+nickel+ban+policy+european+union&ots=qdPe9VZPqw&sig=InXkmX Hqfja4EHtRaVncINgkc&redir_esc=y#v=onepage&q=indonesia%20nickel%20ban%20policy%20european%20union&f =false Nickel for Life. (2019). BKPM. https://www.bkpm.go.id/en/publication/detail/news/nickelforlife#:~:text=Nickel%20potential%20in%20Indonesia Nickel monthly price worldwide 2023. (n.d.). Statista. Retrieved May 25, 2023, fromhttps://www.statista.com/statistics/260799/monthly-price-of-nickel-at-lme Organization, W. T. (n.d.-a). WTO Analytical Index GATT 1994 - Article X (Jurisprudence). Retrieved January 10, 2023, from https://www.wto.org/english/res_e/publications_e/ai17_e/gatt1994_art10_jur.pdf Organization, W. T. (n.d.-b). WTO Analytical Index GATT 1994 - Article XI (Practice). Retrieved January 9, 2023, from https://www.wto.org/english/res_e/publications_e/ai17_e/gatt1994_art11_oth.pdf Pickrell, E. (2022, March 31). Russia-Ukraine War Helps Drive Nickel Prices, EV Headaches. Forbes. https://www.forbes.com/sites/uhenergy/2022/03/31/russia-ukraine-war-helps-drive-nickel-prices ev-headaches/?sh=59f5c7eb57cd Post, T. J. (2022, December 13). Indonesia appeals WTO ruling in nickel dispute against EU. The Jakarta Post. https://www.thejakartapost.com/business/2022/12/13/indonesia-appeals-wto-ruling-in nickel-dispute-against-eu.html Prasetyo, E. (n.d.). Questioning Indonesia’s Ban on Export of Ore Policy Under International Investment and Trade Law. PUSHEP. (2021, February 3). Why does Indonesia’s nickel export ban upset the EU? Pusat Studi Hukum Energi Dan Pertambangan. https://pushep.or.id/why-does-indonesias-nickel-export-ban-upset-the eu/ Staff, R. (2022, December 12). Indonesia appeals WTO ruling in nickel dispute against EU.Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/article/indonedia-eu-nickel-idUSKBN2SW1PR Taufan Adharsyah. (2019, March 20). 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ABSTRACT This study aimed to analyze the influence of variable factors in the UTAUT2 (Unified Theory of Acceptance and Use of Technology) model on behavioral intention to use CWM (Crowdfunding-Waqf Model) in the Kitabisa.com application. The population used in this study were active users of the Kitabisa.com application, which are spread throughout Indonesia. Data collection techniques in this study used survey techniques by distributing questionnaires online to 174 respondents. The sampling technique used in this study was purposive sampling, which is a sampling technique with certain criteria. This study used the SEM-PLS analysis technique. The results of this study indicate that the Effort Expectancy (EE) and Habit (HB) variables have a significant positive effect on behavioral intention to use CWM (Crowdfunding-Waqf Model) in the Kitabisa.com application, thus wakif really considers the ease of use of technology and habits as a determining factor in the adoption of a technology, while 5 other variables, namely Performance Expectancy (PE), Price Value (PV), Social Influence (SI), Hedonic Motivation (HM), and Facilitating Condition (FC) variables have no significant positive effect on behavioral intention to use CWM (Crowdfunding-Waqf Model). The reason of these 5 variables are not significant is because the test results from the Hypothesis Test showed a number that was greater than the significance level of 5% or 0.05. Thus, the dependent variable in the form of Behavioral Intention to Use is only influenced by the Effort Expectancy (EE) and Habit (HB) variables. The contribution of this research is to encourage the policy makers to make policies or laws and regulations that can optimize the benefits of developing the waqf crowdfunding model (CWM) and protect all processes related to the use of productive waqf assets whose funds are collected from the Kitabisa.com application. Keywords: Crowdfunding Waqf Model, Kitabisa.com Application, Unified Theory of Acceptance and Use of Technology, Productive Waqf ABSTRAK Peneltian ini bertujuan untuk menganalisis pengaruh faktor variabel di dalam model UTAUT2 (Unified Theory of Acceptance and Use of Technology) terhadap behvioral intention to use CWM (Crowdfunding-Waqf Model) pada aplikasi Kitabisa.com. Populasi yang digunakan dalam penelitian ini adalah pengguna aktif aplikasi KitaBisa.com yang tersebar di seluruh Indonesia. Teknik pengumpulan data pada penelitian ini menggunakan Teknik survey dengan membagikan kuesioner secara online kepada 174 responden. Jenis pengambilan sampel yang digunakan Purposive sampling yaitu teknik penentuan sampel dengan kriteria tertentu. Penelitian ini menggunakan Teknik analisis SEM-PLS. Hasil penelitian ini menunjukkan bahwa variabel Effort Expectancy (EE) dan variabel Habit (HB) berpengaruh positif signifikan terhadap behvioral intention to use CWM (Crowdfunding-Waqf Model) dalam aplikasi Kitabisa.com, dengan demikian wakif sangat mempertimbangkan kemudahan dalam penggunaan suatu teknologi dan kebiasaan merupakan faktor penentu dalam adopsi suatu teknologi, sementara 5 variabel lainnya yaitu variabel Performace Expectancy (PE), Price Value (PV), Social Influence (SI), Hedonic Motivation (HM), dan variabel Facilitating Condition (FC) tidak berpengaruh positif signifikan terhadap behvioral intention to use CWM (Crowdfunding-Waqf Model). Adapun alasan 5 variabel tersebut tidak signifikan adalah karena hasil pengujian dari Uji Hipotesis menunjukkan angka yang lebih besardari tingkat signifikansi 5% atau 0.05. Dengan demikian, variabel dependen berupa Behavioral Intention to Use hanya dipengaruhi oleh variabel Effort Expectancy (EE) dan variabel Habit (HB) di dalam penelitian ini. Kontribusi dari adanya penelitian ini bagi para policy maker adalah dapat membuat kebijakan atau peraturan perundang-undangan yang dapat mengoptimalkan manfaat dari pengembangan Crowdfunding wakaf model (CWM) dan melindungi segala proses terkait pemanfaatan asset-aset wakaf produktif dan dana yang dikumpulkan dari aplikasi Kitabisa.com. Kata Kunci: Crowdfunding Wakaf Model, Aplikasi Kitabisa.com, Unified Theory of Acceptance and Use of Technology, Wakaf Produktif REFERENCES Alalwan, A. A. (2020). Mobile food ordering apps: An empirical study of the factors affecting customer e-satisfaction and continued intention to reuse. 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Introduction This article explores the phenomenon of the Creative City in the context of Aberdeen, Scotland’s third-largest city. The common perception of Aberdeen is likely to revolve around its status, for the last 50 years, as Europe’s Oil & Gas Capital. However, for more than a decade Aberdeen’s city planners have sought to incorporate creativity and culture in their placemaking. The most visible expression of this was the unsuccessful 2013 bid to become the UK City of Culture 2017 (CoC), which was referred to as a “reality check” by Marie Boulton (BBC), the councillor charged with the culture portfolio. This article reviews and appraises subsequent policies and actions. It looks at Aberdeen’s history and its current Cultural Strategy and how events have supported or inhibited the reimagining of Aberdeen as a Creative and Cultural City. Landry’s “Lineages of the Creative City” tracks the rise in interest around culture and creative sectors and highlights that there is more to the creative city than economic growth, positing that a creative city is a holistic environment in which “ordinary people can make the extra-ordinary happen” (2). Comunian develops Landry’s concept of hard (infrastructural) assets and soft (people and activity) assets by introducing Complexity Theory to examine the interactions between the two. Comunian argues that a city should be understood as a complex adaptive system (CAS) and that the interconnectivity of consumption and production, micro and macro, and networks of actors must be incorporated into policy thinking. Creating physical assets without regard to what happens in and around them does not build a creative city. Aberdeen: Context and History Important when considering Aberdeen is its remoteness: 66 miles north of its closest city neighbour Dundee, 90 miles north of Edinburgh and 125 miles north-east of Glasgow. For Aberdonians travel is a necessity to connect with other cultural centres whether in Scotland, the UK, Europe, or further afield, making Aberdeen’s nearly 900-year-old port a key asset. Sitting at the mouth of the River Dee, which marks Aberdeen’s southern boundary, this key transport hub has long been central to Aberdeen’s culture giving rise to two of the oldest established businesses in the UK: the Port of Aberdeen (1136) and the Shore Porter’s Society (1498). Fishing and trade with Europe thrived and connections with the continent led to the establishment of Aberdeen’s first university: King’s College (Scotland’s third and the UK’s fifth) in 1495. A second, Marischal College, was established in 1593, joining forces with King’s in 1860 to become the University of Aberdeen. The building created in 1837 to house Marischal College is the second-largest granite building in the world (VisitAberdeenshire, Marischal) and now home to Aberdeen City Council (ACC). Robert Gordon University (RGU), awarded university status in 1992, grew out of an institution established in 1729 (RGU, Our History); this period marked the dawning of the Scottish Enlightenment when Aberdeen’s Wise Club were key to an intellectual discourse that changed western thinking (RSA). Gray’s School of Art, now part of RGU, was established in 1885, at the same time as Aberdeen Art Gallery which holds a collection of national significance (ACC, Art Gallery). Aberdeen’s northern boundary is marked by its second river, the River Don, which has also contributed to the city’s history, economics, and culture. For centuries, paper and woollen mills, including the world-famous Crombie, thrived on its banks and textile production was the city’s largest employer, with one mill employing 3,000 staff (P&J, Broadford). While the city and surrounds have been home to notable creatives, including writers Lewis Grassic Gibbon and Lord Byron; musicians Annie Lennox, Dame Evelyn Glennie, and Emeli Sandé; fashion designer Bill Gibb and dancer Michael Clark, it has struggled to attract and retain creative talent, and there is a familiar exodus of art school graduates to the larger and more accepted creative cities of Glasgow, Edinburgh, and London. In 2013, at the time of the CoC bid, ACC recognised that creative industries graduates leaving the city was “a serious issue” (ACC, Cultural Mapping 1). The City of Culture Bid This recognition came at a time when ACC acknowledged that Aberdeen, with already low unemployment, required an influx of workforce. An ACC document (Cultural Mapping) cites Richard Florida’s proposal that a strong cultural offer attracts skilled workers to a city, adding that they “look for a lively cultural life in their choice of location” (7) and quoting an oil executive: “our poor city centre is often cited as a major obstacle in attracting people” (7). Changing the image of the city to attract new residents appears to have been a key motivation for the CoC bid. The CoC assessor noted this in their review of the bid, citing a report that 120,000 recruits were required in the city and agreeing that Aberdeen needed to “change perceptions of the city to retain and attract talent” (Regeneris 1). Aberdeen’s CoC bid was rejected at the first shortlisting stage, with feedback that the artistic vision “lacked depth” and “that cultural activity in the city was weaker than in several other bidding areas” (Regeneris 3). In an exploration of the bidding process, McGillivray and Turner highlight two factors which link to other concerns and feedback about the bid. Firstly, they compare Aberdeen’s choice of a Bid Manager from the business community with Paisley’s choice of one from their local arts sector in their bid for CoC 2021, which was successful in being shortlisted, highlighting different motivators behind the bids. Secondly, Aberdeen secured a bid team member from “Pafos’s bid to be 2017 European Capital of Culture (ECC), who subsequently played an important role” for Kalamata’s 2021 ECC bid (41), showing Aberdeen’s reluctance to develop local talent. A Decade of Investment ACC responded to the “reality check” with a series of investments in the hard assets of the city. Major refurbishment of two key buildings, the Music Hall and the Art Gallery, caused them both to be closed for several years, significantly diminishing the cultural offer in the city. The Music Hall re-opened in 2018 (Creative Scotland) and the Art Gallery in 2019 (McLean). In 2021, the extended and updated Art Gallery was named “Scotland’s building of the year” by the Royal Incorporation of Architects in Scotland (RIAS) (Museums Association). Concurrent with this was the development of “Europe’s largest new events complex, TECA [now P&J live] part financed through a £370 million stock market bond issue” (InvestAberdeen). Another cultural asset of the city which has been undergoing a facelift since 2019 is Union Terrace Gardens (UTG), the green heart of the city centre, gifted to the public in 1877. The development of this asset has had a chequered history. In 2008 it had been awarded “funding from Aberdeen Council (£3 million), the Scottish Arts Council (£4.3M) and Scottish Enterprise (£2 million)” (Aberdeenvoice) to realise a new multi-disciplinary contemporary art centre to be called ‘Northern Light’ and housed in a purpose-designed building (Brizac Gonzalez). The project, led by Peacock Visual arts, a printmaking centre of excellence and gallery founded in 1974, had secured planning permission. It would host Peacock Visual Arts, City Moves dance company, and the ACC arts development team. It echoed similar cultural partnership approaches, such as Dundee Contemporary Arts, although notably without involvement from the universities. Three months later, a counterbid to radically re-think UTG as a vast new city square was proposed by oil tycoon Sir Ian Wood, who backed the proposal with £50 million of his own funds, requiring matching finance by the city and ownership of the Gardens passing to private hands. Resistance to these plans came from ‘Friends of UTG’, and a public consultation was held. ACC voted to adopt Wood’s plans and drop those of Peacock, but a change of administration in the local authority overturned Wood’s plans in August 2012. A significant portion of the funding granted to the Northern Lights project was consumed in the heated public debate and the remainder was lost to the city, as was the Wood money, providing a highly charged backdrop to the CoC bid and an unfortunate divide created between the business and culture sectors that is arguably still discernible in the city today. According to the Aberdeen & Grampian Chamber of Commerce (AGCC) 2022 Investment Tracker, the nearly complete UTG transformation has cost £28.3m. The AGCC trackers since 2016 provide a useful reference for a wider view of investment in the region over this period. During this period, ACC commissioned two festivals: Spectra (ACC, Culture Programme 5), a festival of light curated by a Manchester-based organisation, and NuArt (VisitAberdeenshire, Nuart), a street-art festival curated by a Stavanger-based team. Both festivals deliver large-scale public spectacles but have little impact on the development of the cultural sector in the city. The drivers of footfall, income generation, and tourism are key motivators for these festivals, supporting a prevailing narrative of cultural consumption over cultural production in the city, despite Regeneris’s concerns about “importing of cultural activity, which might not leave behind a cultural sector” (1) and ACC’s own published concerns (ACC, Cultural Mapping). It is important to note that in 2014 the oil and gas industry that brought prosperity to Aberdeen was severely impacted upon by a drop in price and revenue. Many jobs were lost, people left the city, and housing prices, previously inflated, fell dramatically. The attention of the authorities turned to economic regeneration of the city and in 2015, the Aberdeen City Region Deal (UK Gov), bringing £250m to the region, (REF) was signed between the UK Government, Scottish Government, ACC, Aberdeenshire Council, and Opportunity North East (ONE). ONE “is the private sector leader and catalyst for economic diversification in northeast Scotland” with board members from industry, enterprise, AGCC, the councils, the universities, the harbour, and NHS. ONE focuses on five ‘pillars’: Digital Technology, Energy, Life Sciences, Tourism and Food, and Drink & Agriculture. A Decade of Creativity and Cultural Development Aberdeen’s ambitious cultural capital infrastructure spending of the last decade has seen the creation or refurbishment of significant hard assets in the city. The development of people (Cohendet et al.), the soft assets that Landry and Comunian agree are essential to the complex system that is a Creative City, has also seen development over this time. In 2014, RGU commissioned a review of Creative Industries in the North East of Scotland. The report notes that: the cultural sector in the region is strong at the grass roots end, but less so the higher up the scale it goes. There is no producing theatre, and no signature events or assets, although the revitalised art gallery might provide an opportunity to address this. (Ekos 2) This was followed by an international conference at which other energy cities (Calgary, Houston, Perth, and Oslo) presented their culture strategies, providing useful comparators for Aberdeen and a second RGU report (RGU, Regenerating). A third report, (RGU, New North), set out a vision for the region’s cultural future. The reports recommend strategy, leadership, and vision in the development of the cultural and creative soft assets of the region and the need to create conditions for graduate and practitioner retention. Also in 2014, RGU initiated the Look Again Festival of Art and Design, an annual festival to address a gap in the city festival roster and meet a need arising from the closure of both Art Gallery and Music Hall for refurbishment. The first festival took place in 2015 with a weekend-long public event showcasing a series of thought-provoking installations and events which demonstrated a clear appetite amongst the public and partner organisations for more activity of this type. Between 2015 and 2019, the festivals grew from strength to strength and increased in size and ambition, “carving out a new creative community in Aberdeen” (Williams). The 2019 festival involved 119 creatives, the majority from the region, and created 62 paid opportunities. Look Again expanded and became a constant presence and vehicle for sectoral and skills development, supporting students, graduates, volunteers, and new collectives, focussing on social capital and the intangible creative community assets in the city. Creative practitioners were supported with a series of programmes such as ‘Cultivate’ (2018), funded by Creative Scotland, that provided mentoring to strengthen business sustainability and networking events to improve connectivity in the sector. Cultivate also provided an opportunity to undertake further research, and a survey of over 100 small and micro creative businesses presented a view of a tenacious sector, committed to staying in the region but lacking structured and tailored support. The project report noted consistent messages about the need for “a louder voice for the sector” and concluded that further work was needed to better profile, support, and connect the sector (Cultivate 15). Comunian’s work supports this call to give greater consideration to the interplay of the agents in the creation of a strong creative city. In 2019, Look Again’s evolving role in creative sector skills development was recognised when they became part of Gray’s School of Art. A partnership quickly formed with the newly created Entrepreneurship & Innovation Group (EIG), a team formed within RGU to drive entrepreneurial thinking across all schools of the university. Together, Look Again and EIG ran a Creative Accelerator which became a prototype for a validated Creative Entrepreneurship post-graduate short-course that has supported around 120 creative graduates and practitioners with tailored business skills, contextual thinking, and extended peer networks. Meanwhile, another Look Again collaboration with the newly re-opened Art Gallery provided pop-up design events that many of these small businesses took part in, connecting them with public-facing retail opportunities and, for some, acquisitions for the Gallery’s collection. Culture Aberdeen During this time and after a period of public consultation, a new collaborative group, ‘Culture Aberdeen’, emerged. Membership of the group includes many regional cultural and arts organisations including ACC, both universities, and Aberdeen Civic Forum, which seeks “to bring the voice and views of all communities to every possible level of decision making”. The group subsequently published Culture Aberdeen: A Culture Strategy for the City of Aberdeen 2018-2028, which was endorsed by ACC in their first Cultural Investment Impact Report. The strategy sets out a series of cultural ambitions including a bid to become a UNESCO Creative City, establishing an Aberdeen Biennale, and becoming a national centre of excellence for an (unspecified) artform. This collaboration brings a uniting vision to Aberdeen’s creative activity and places of culture and presents a more compelling identity as a creative city. It also begins to map to Comunian’s concept of CAS and establish a framework for realising the potential of hard assets by strategically envisioning and leading the agents, activities, and development of the city’s creative sector. Challenges for Delivery of the Strategy In delivering a strategy based on collaborative efforts, it is essential to have shared goals and strong governance “based on characteristics such as trust, shared values, implicit standards, collaboration, and consultation” (Butcher et al. 77). Situations like Aberdeen’s tentative bid for UNESO Creative City status, which began in late 2018 but was halted in early 2019, suggest that shared goals and clear governance may not be in place. Wishing to join other UNESCO cities across Scotland – Edinburgh (Literature), Glasgow (Music), and Dundee (Design) –, Aberdeen had set its sights on ‘City of Craft and Folk Art’; that title subsequently went to the city of Perth in 2022, limiting Aberdeen’s future hopes of securing UNESCO Creative City status. In 2022, Aberdeen is nearly halfway through its strategy timeline; to achieve its vision by 2028, the leadership recommended in 2014 needs to be established and given proper authority and backing. Covid-19 has been particularly disruptive for the strategy, arriving early in its implementation and lasting for two years during which collaborators have, understandably, had to attend to core business and crisis management. Picking up the threads of collaborative activity at the same time as ‘returning to normal’ will be challenging. The financial impacts of Covid-19 have also hit arts organisations and local councils particularly hard, creating survival challenges that displace future investment plans. The devastation caused to city centres across the UK as shops close and retail moves online is keenly felt in Aberdeen. Yet the pandemic has also seen the growth of pockets of new activity. With falling demand for business space resulting in more ‘meanwhile spaces’ and lower rents, practitioners have been able to access or secure spaces that were previously prohibitive. Deemouth Artists’ Studios, an artist-run initiative, has provided a vital locus of support and connectivity for creatives in the city, doubling in size over the past two years. ‘We Are Here Scotland’ arrived in response to the resurgent Black Lives Matter movement in 2020, as a Community Interest Company initiated in Aberdeen to support black creatives and creatives of colour across Scotland. Initiatives such as EP Spaces that re-purpose empty offices as studios have created a resource, albeit precarious, for scores of recent creative graduates, supporting an emerging creative community. The consequences of the pandemic for the decade of cultural investment and creative development are yet to be understood, but disrupted strategies are hard to rekindle. Culture Aberdeen’s ability to resolve or influence these factors is unclear. As a voluntary network without a cohesive role or formal status in the provision of culture in the city, and little funding and few staff to advocate on its behalf, it probably lacks the strength of leadership required. Nevertheless, work is underway to refresh the strategy in response to the post-pandemic needs of the city and culture, and the Creative Industries more broadly, are, once again, beginning to be seen as part of the solution to recovery as new narratives emerge. There is a strong desire in the city’s and region’s creative communities to nurture, realise, and retain emerging talent to authentically enrich the city’s culture. Since the 2013 failed CoC bid, much has been done to rekindle confidence and shine a light on the rich creative culture that exists in Aberdeen, and creative communities are gaining a new voice for their work. Considerable investment has been made in hard cultural assets; however, continued investment in and commitment to the region’s soft assets is needed. This is the only way to ensure the sustainable local network of activity and practice that can provide the vibrant creative city atmosphere for which Aberdeen has the potential. References Aberdeen Civic Forum. 4 June 2022 <https://civicforumaberdeen.com/about/>. Aberdeen City Region Deal. 5 June 2022 <https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/city-deal-aberdeen-city-region>. Aberdeen Timelines. 24 Feb. 2022 <https://localhistories.org/a-timeline-of-aberdeen/> and <http://www.visitoruk.com/Aberdeen/13th-century-T339.html>. ACC. "Aberdeen Art Gallery." 19 Mar. 2022 <https://www.aberdeencity.gov.uk/AAGM/plan-your-visit/aberdeen-art-gallery>. ———. “Aberdeen City Council Investment in Culture; 2018/19 Impacts.” 19 Mar. 2022 <https://www.aberdeencity.gov.uk/sites/default/files/2019-12/Aberdeen%20City%20Culture%20Report%202019%20.pdf>. ———. “Aberdeen City Council Cultural Mapping of Aberdeen; Final Report, July 2013.” 3 June 2022 <https://www.aberdeencity.gov.uk/sites/default/files/2020-10/FOI-19-1479%20-%20Cultural%20Strategy.pdf>. ———. “Culture Programme 2014 – 2019.” 2014. 6 June 2022 <ABERDEEN CITY COUNCIL>. AGCC. 2022 Tracker. 3 Jun. 2022 <https://www.agcc.co.uk/images/Investment-Tracker-2022-Online-final.pdf>. ———. 2019 Tracker. 3 Jun. 2022 <https://www.agcc.co.uk/files/investment-tracker-2019.pdf>. ———. 2018 Tracker. 3 Jun. 2022 <https://www.agcc.co.uk/files/Investment-Tracker-Sep-2018.pdf>. ———. 2017 Tracker. 3 Jun. 2022 <https://www.agcc.co.uk/files/Investment-Tracker-Sep-2017.pdf>. ———. 2016 Tracker. 3 Jun. 2022 <https://www.agcc.co.uk/files/Investment-Tracker-Nov-2016.pdf>. BBC. “Aberdeen City of Culture Bid ‘Lacked Vision’.” 2013. 10 May 2022 <https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-north-east-orkney-shetland-23371660>. Brisac Gonzalez. 6 June 2022 <http://www.brisacgonzalez.com/aberdeen1>. Butcher, John R., David J. Gilchrist, John Phillimore, and John Wanna. “Attributes of Effective Collaboration: Insights from Five Case Studies in Australia and New Zealand.” Policy Design and Practice 2.1 (2019). 19 Mar. 2022 <https://doi.org/10.1080/25741292.2018.1561815>. Cohendet, Patrick, David Grandadam, and Laurent Simon. “The Anatomy of the Creative City.” Industry and Innovation 17.1 (2010). 19 Mar. 2022 <https://doi.org/10.1080/13662710903573869>. Comunian, Roberta. “Rethinking the Creative City: The Role of Complexity, Networks and Interactions in the Urban Creative Economy.” Urban Studies 48.6 (2011) 1157-1179. Creative Scotland. “Cultivate: Look Again’s Creative Industries Development Programme in North East Scotland.” 24 Feb. 2022 <https://www.creativescotland.com/explore/read/stories/features/2019/cultivate-look-agains-creative-industries-development-programme-in-north-east-scotland>. ———. “Restored and Re-Imagined Aberdeen Music Hall to Open to the Public in December.” 2018. 19 Mar. 2022 <https://www.creativescotland.com/what-we-do/latest-news/archive/2018/10/restored-and-re-imagined-aberdeen-music-hall-to-open-to-the-public-in-december>. Cultivate. “Cultivate: Creative Industries in the North East.” 10 May 2022 <https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5bd1cecc8155121e0614281b/t/5ef49de0036c70345dabc378/1593089519746/ CULTIVATE_project+report+2018.pdf>. Culture Aberdeen. “A Cultural Strategy for the City of Aberdeen 2018-2028.” 24 Feb. 2022 <https://www.cultureaberdeen.org/>. Deemouth Artist Studios. 5 June 2022 <https://www.deemouthartiststudios.co.uk/>. Ekos. “Creative Industries in North East Scotland.”. 2014. 10 May 2022 <https://www3.rgu.ac.uk/download.cfm?downloadfile=6117EE60-FB84-11E3-80660050568D00BF&typename=dmFile&fieldname=filename>. EP Spaces. 5 June 2022 <https://www.craftscotland.org/community/opportunity/low-cost-studio-spaces-ep-spaces--978>. First Group. The First Group Timeline. 24 Feb. 2022 <https://www.firstgroupplc.com/about-firstgroup/our-history.aspx>. Florida, Richard. The Rise of the Creative Class: And How It’s Transforming Work, Leisure, Community and Everyday Life. New York: Basic Books 2002. Investaberdeen. “The UK’s Most Sustainable Venue.” 24 Feb. 2022 <https://investaberdeen.co.uk/flagship-projects/the-event-complex-aberdeen-(teca)>. Landry, Charles. “Lineages of the Creative City.” 24 Feb. 2022 <http://charleslandry.com/panel/wp-content/uploads/downloads/2013/03/Lineages-of-the-Creative-City.pdf>. McGillivray, David, and Turner, Daniel. Event Bidding: Politics, Persuasion and Resistance. Abingdon: Routledge 2018. McLean, Pauline. “Aberdeen Art Gallery Reopens after £34.6m Revamp.” BBC News, 2019. 24 Feb. 2022 <https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-north-east-orkney-shetland-50263849>. Museums Association. “Aberdeen Art Gallery Wins Architecture Award.” 24 Feb. 2022 <https://www.museumsassociation.org/museums-journal/news/2021/11/aberdeen-art-gallery-wins-architecture-award/#>. Opportunity North East (ONE). 5 June 2022 <Who We Are | ONE (opportunitynortheast.com)>. P&J. “12 Pictures Show the ‘Golden Age’ of Broadford Works.” 2015. 24 Feb. 2022 <https://www.pressandjournal.co.uk/fp/news/591034/12-memorable-pictures-rolling-back-through-the-years-of-the-broadford-works/>. ———. History. 10 May 2022 <https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/titles/aberdeen-press-and-journal>. Peacock Visual Arts. 6 June 2022 <https://peacock.studio/>. Port of Aberdeen. 24 Feb. 2022 <http://aberdeen-harbour.co.uk/about-us/history/#:~:text=Aberdeen%20Harbour%20was%20established%20in,has%20spanned%20almost%20900%20years>. Regeneris Consulting. “Aberdeen: Initial Bid for UK City of Culture – Feedback Points: UK City of Culture 2017.” 3 June 2022 <https://www.whatdotheyknow.com/request/297184/response/736087/attach/3/2017%20pt%201.pdf>. RGU. “Creative Accelerator Programme.” 2019. 10 May 2022 <https://www.rgu.ac.uk/news/news-2019/1902-rgu-launches-accelerator-to-support-next-generation-of-creatives>. ———. "Our History." 24 Feb. 2022 <https://www.rgu.ac.uk/about/our-history>. ———. “Creating a New North.” 2014. 10 May 2022 <https://www3.rgu.ac.uk/file/creating-a-new-north-pdf-1-7-mb>. ———. “Regenerating Aberdeen: A Vision for a Thriving and Vibrant City Centre.” 2014. 10 May 2022 <https://rgu-repository.worktribe.com/output/248420/regenerating-aberdeen-a-vision-for-a-thriving-and-vibrant-city-centre>. RSA. “The Scottish Enlightenment and the Aberdeen Wise Club.” 2020. 24 Feb. 2022 <The Scottish Enlightenment and the Aberdeen Wise Club - RSA (thersa.org)>. Scottish Government. Creative Industries Policy Statement. 2019. 10 May 2022 <https://www.gov.scot/publications/policy-statement-creative-industries/>. Shore Porters Society. 24 Feb. 2022 <https://www.scotland.org/about-scotland/facts/worlds-oldest-transport-business>. 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Williams, Eliza. “How the Look Again Festival Is Carving Out a New Creative Community in Aberdeen.” Creative Review (2019). 3 June 2022 <https://www.creativereview.co.uk/how-the-look-again-festival-is-carving-out-a-new-creative-community-in-aberdeen/>.

The following press sections are a collection that emerged from an inductive-deductive analysis of 26 periodicals from Germany, South Africa and the US. Overlaps on big topics were found and sub-topics assigned accordingly (Pentzold & Knorr, 2024). Field of Application/Theoretical Foundation Journalists usually publish their articles in topic-specific sections. The decision on the section, i.e., the journalistic placement within a thematic context, can already be seen as part of framing (preframing) on the part of the publishers, journalists and the recipients (Scheufele, 2004). Example studies: Pentzold & Knorr (2024) & Wessler et al. (2016) Information on Wesser et al., 2016 Authors: Hartmut Wessler, Antal Wozniak, Lutz Hofer, and Julia Lück Research questions: Which topics and frames as well as which visual elements such as photos, diagrams and graphics are present in the press reporting on climate change in the context of four UN climate conferences (2010-2013), in different countries and coming from different journalists? Object of analysis: A comparative issue-specific multimodal news frame analysis of climate change coverage around the UN Climate Change Conferences in Cancún, Mexico (COP 16, 2010), Durban, South Africa (COP 17, 2011), Doha, Qatar (COP 18, 2012), and Warsaw, Poland (COP 19, 2013). Both textual and visual content elements were analyzed and then incorporated into a joint cluster analysis. Time frame of analysis: Event-based sampling around the UN Climate Change Conferences in Cancún, Mexico (COP 16, 2010); Durban, South Africa (COP 17, 2011); Doha, Qatar (COP 18, 2012); and Warsaw, Poland (COP 19, 2013). Analyzed media type: Newspapers from five countries: Brazil (Folha de Sao Paolo, O Globo), Germany (Süddeutsche Zeitung, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung), India (Times of India, The Hindu), South Africa (Daily Sun, The Star), the United States (New York Times, Washington Post) Information about variable: Variable/name definition: Section of newspaper / magazine / news website [Section] Scale: Nominal Level of analysis: News article Sample operationalization: The position of the press article was coded, referring to its placement in the overall press outlet (front page, inside the newspaper, commentaries etc. distinguishable by distinct layout features such as a different font for headlines and the naming of authors). Values: 1 Politics; 2 Economy / Business; 3 Opinion / Letters to the editor; 4 Culture & Arts / Feuilleton / Media; 5 Local news; 6 Science/Technology; 7 Environment; 8 Miscellaneous /Human interest; 9 Supplement with editorial responsibility of media outlet; 997 Other; 998 Unclear; 999 Not applicable Reliability: In sum, intercoder reliability achieved at least a .70 level (six coders). Codebook: Wessler et al. (2016) Information on Pentzold & Knorr, 2024 Authors: Christian Pentzold and Charlotte Knorr Research questions: With which imaginaries do journalistic reports make sense of Big Data? (RQ1) How do these imaginaries evolve over time? (RQ2) To what extent are the imaginaries similar or different across countries? (RQ3) Object of analysis [and analyzed media type]: The project Framing Big Data (DFG 2021-2024) analyzed the media-communicatively articulated frames on “Big Data” in online press aggregates of newspapers and magazines in three countries: South Africa, Germany and the United States. No visual material was collected or examined. In total, the coded press aggregates of 26 newspapers and magazines were analyzed. The period of collected press articles was from 2011 to 2020 (N=1,456 press articles). Hereby, the online press articles had to contain the keywords “big data” or “dataf*” (e.g., datafication, datafied) in the headline, sub-headline and/or first paragraph (inclusion criteria). Time frame of analysis: 2011, Jan 1 – 2020, Dec 31 Analyzed media type: Online press aggregates from newspapers and magazines in three countries: South Africa, Germany, and the United States. In sum, the coded press aggregates were sampled from 26 periodicals. Codebook: Public_Codebook_FBD_fin.pdf Information about the variable Variable name/definition: Press sections in online newspapers. This variable was created from a compilation of sections found in most newspapers, supplemented by newspaper-specific subsections. It is a comprehensive collection of all sections present in newspapers from three countries (Germany: Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, Süddeutsche Zeitung, ZEIT online, WirtschaftsWoche, Handelsblatt, taz, Welt online, Spiegel online, wired, c’t; South Africa: NAG, The Star, Financial Mail, Business Day, Sunday Times, Brainstorm Magazine, Tech Central, Mail & Guardian, Stuff Magazine; USA: New York Times, Washington Post, Financial Times, Wall Street Journal, Forbes, Newsweek, Brainstorm). Since some newspapers – such as Süddeutsche Zeitung or The Star – have detailed sections for specific regions and others like Forbes, Stuff Magazine and Handelsblatt feature sections on specific technical/economic topics, all editorial sections were recorded by hand and manually bundled according to superordinate categories (e.g., Economics, Science, Success, Society) and subcategories to be able to map the characteristic sections across newspapers. The aim was to be able to also code sections that are specific to one magazine while assuring combability with the structure of other outlets. Scale: Nominal Level of analysis: Formal level (press article), coded as press product and as part of the discourse (formal variables, content variables; article unit) Sample operationalization: Code the press section that is depicted on the top of the article. Not every journal clearly depicts the section their articles are published in (especially online). Do not confuse key words with sections. Values: 1. Politics (domestic and foreign affairs, network policies, courts and law, fact checks); 2. Economics (Banks, Energy, Industry, Stocks, Taxes, Real Estate, Cars); 3. Technology/Science (Knowledge, Research, IT, Digital, Traffic and Mobility, Work, Ecology); 4. Business (Finances, Companies, Investments); 5. Culture (Media, Books, Movies, Art, Travel, Fashion, Food, Regional); 6. Society (Style, Discover, Research, Reports, Ideas, ZEITmagazin, ze.tt, Z2X, Podcasts, Feuilleton); 7. Opinion (Columns, Comments, Guest Articles, Debate) ; 8. Global Crisis (Ukraine, Covid-19, Climate change); 9. Success (Management, Coaching, Trends, Career, Job, Universities); 10. Health/Medicine; 11. Regional; 12. Headlines; 13. Sports; -97 not visible; -98 unclear; -99 not applicable (one code per news article) Reliability: α = 1.00 [Krippendorff’s alpha, intercoder reliability. A total of seven reliability tests were conducted, five of them during the coding phase and two as part of two pretests. Five coders were involved in four tests, four coders were involved in three tests. All tests were conducted in the period July 2022 to December 2022]. References Jasanoff, S. (2015). Future Imperfect. In S. Jasanoff & S. Kim (Eds.), Dreamscapes of Modernity (pp. 1–33). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Pentzold, C. & Knorr, C. (2024). Making Sense of “Big Data”: Ten Years of Discourse Around Datafication (ICA 2024, 74th Conference, Gold Coast, Australia). Pentzold, C., & Knorr, C. (2021-2024). Framing Big Data (DFG). Leipzig University. Scheufele, B. (2004). Framing-effects approach: A theoretical and methodological critique. Communications, 29(4), 401–428. Wessler, H., Wozniak, A., Hofer, L., & Lück, J. (2016). Global Multimodal News Frames on Climate Change: A Comparison of Five Democracies around the World. The International Journal of Press/Politics, 21(4), 423–445. doi: 10.1177/1940161216661848

Introduction Where children’s television once ruled supreme as a vehicle for sales of kids’ brands, the marketing of children’s toys now often hinges on having the right social media influencer, many of them children themselves (Verdon). As Forbes reported in 2021, the pandemic saw an increase in children spending more time online, many following their favourite influencers on YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram. The importance of tapping into partnering with the right influencer grew, as did sales in toys for children isolated at home. We detail, through a case study approach and visual narrative analysis of two Australian influencer siblings’ Instagram accounts, the nature of toy marketing to children in 2023. Findings point to the continued gendered nature of toys and the concurrent promotion of aspirational adult ‘toys’ (for example, cars, high-end cosmetics) and leisure pursuits that blur the line between what we considered to be children’s playthings and adult objects of desire. To Market, to Market Toys are a huge business worldwide. In 2021, the global toys market was projected to grow from $141.08 billion to $230.64 billion by 2028. During COVID-19, toy sales increased (Fortune Business Insights). The rise of the Internet alongside media and digital technologies has given toy marketers new opportunities to reach children directly, as well as producing new forms of digitally enabled play, with marketers potentially having access to children 24/7, way beyond the previous limits of children’s programming on television (Hains and Jennings). Children’s digital content has also extended to digital games alongside digital devices and Internet-connected toys. Children’s personal tablet ownership rose from less than 1 per cent in 2011 to 42 per cent in 2017 (Rideout), and continues to grow. Children’s value for brands and marketers has increased over time (Cunningham). The nexus between physical toys and the entertainment industry has grown stronger, first with the Disney company and then with the stand-out success of the Star Wars franchise (now owned by Disney) from the late 1970s (Hains and Jennings). The concept of transmedia storytelling and selling, with toys as the vehicle for children to play out the stories they saw on television, in comics, books, movies, and online, proved to be a lucrative one for the entertainment company franchises and the toy manufacturers (Bainbridge). All major toy brands now recognise the power of linking toy brands and entertaining transmedia children’s texts, including online content, with Disney, LEGO and Barbie being obvious examples. Gender and Toys: Boys and Girls Come Out to Play Alongside the growth of the children’s market, the gendering of children’s toys has also continued and increased, with concerns that traditional gender roles are still strongly promoted via children’s toys (Fine and Rush). Research shows that girls’ toys are socialising them for caring roles, shopping, and concern with beauty, while toys aimed at boys (including transportation and construction toys, action figures, and weapons) may promote physicality, aggression, construction, and action (Fine and Rush). As Blakemore and Center (632) suggested, then, if children learn from toy-play “by playing with strongly stereotyped toys, girls can be expected to learn that appearance and attractiveness are central to their worth, and that nurturance and domestic skills are important to be developed. Boys can be expected to learn that aggression, violence, and competition are fun, and that their toys are exciting and risky”. Recently there has been some pushback by consumers, and some toy brands have responded, with LEGO committing to less gendered toy marketing (Russell). YouTube: The World’s Most Popular Babysitter? One business executive has described YouTube as the most popular babysitter in the world (Capitalism.com). The use of children as influencers on YouTube to market toys through toy review videos is now a common practice (Feller and Burroughs; De Veirman et al.). These ‘reviews’ are not critical in the traditional sense of reviews in an institutional or legacy media context. Instead, the genre is a mash-up, which blurs the lines between three major genres: review, branded content, and entertainment (Jaakkola). Concerns have been raised about advertising disguised as entertainment for children, and calls have been made for nuanced regulatory approaches (Craig and Cunningham). The most popular toy review channels have millions of subscribers, and their hosts constitute some of YouTube’s top earners (Hunting). Toy review videos have become an important force in children’s media – in terms of economics, culture, and for brands (Hunting). Concurrently, surprise toys have risen as a popular type of toy, thanks in part to the popularity of the unboxing toy review genre (Nicoll and Nansen). Ryan’s World is probably the best-known in this genre, with conservative estimates putting 10-year-old Ryan Kanji’s family earnings at $25 million annually (Kang). Ryan’s World, formerly Ryan’s Toy Review, now has 10 YouTube channels and the star has his own show on Nic Junior as well as across other media, including books and video games (Capitalism.com). Marsh, through her case study of one child, showed the way children interact with online content, including unboxing videos, as ‘cyberflaneurs’. YouTube is the medium of choice for most children (now more so than television; Auxier et al.). However, Instagram is also a site where a significant number of children and teens spend time. Australian data from the e-Safety Commission in 2018 showed that while YouTube was the most popular platform, with 80 per cent of children 8-12 and 86 per cent of teens using the site, 24 per cent of children used Instagram, and 70 per cent of teens 13-17 (e-Safety Commissioner). Given the rise in social media, phone, and tablet use in the last five years, including among younger children, these statistics are now likely to be higher. A report from US-based Business Insider in 2021 stated that 40 per cent of children under 13 already use Instagram (Canales). This is despite the platform ostensibly only being for people aged 13 and over. Ofcom (the UK’s regulator for communications services) has discussed the rise of ‘Tik-Tots’ – young children defying age restrictions to be on social media – and the increase of young people consuming rather than sharing on social media (Ofcom). Insta-Kidfluencers on the Rise Marketers are now tapping into the selling power of children as social media influencers (or kidfluencers) to promote children’s toys, and in some cases, parents are happy to act as their children’s agents and managers for these pint-size prosumers. Abidin ("Micromicrocelebrity") was the first to discuss what she termed ‘micro-microcelebrities’, children of social media influencers (usually mothers) who have become, through their parents’ mediation, paid social media influencers themselves, often through Instagram. As Abidin noted: “their digital presence is deliberately commercial, framed and staged by Influencer mothers in order to maximize their advertorial potential, and are often postured to market even non-baby/parenting products such as fast food and vehicles”. Since that time, and with children now a growing audience on Instagram, some micro-microcelebrities have begun to promote toys alongside other brands which appeal to both children and adults. While initially these human ‘brand extensions’ of their mothers (Archer) appealed to adults, their sponsored content has evolved as they have aged, and their audience has grown and broadened to include children. Given the rise of Instagram as a site for the marketing of toys to children, through children themselves as social media influencers, and the lack of academic research on this phenomenon, our research looks at a case study of prominent child social media influencers on Instagram in Australia, who are managed by their mother, and who regularly promote toys. Within the case study, visual narrative analysis is used, to analyse the Instagram accounts of two high-profile child social media influencers, eleven-year-old Australian Pixie Curtis and her eight-year-old brother, Hunter Curtis, both of whom are managed by their entrepreneur and ‘PR queen’ mother, Roxy Jacenko. We analysed the posts from each child from March to July 2022 inclusive. Posts were recorded in a spreadsheet, with the content described, hashtags or handles recorded, and any brand or toy mentions noted. We used related media reports to supplement the analysis. We have considered ethical implications of our research and have made the decision to identify both children, as their accounts are public, with large follower numbers, promote commercial interests, and have the blue Instagram ‘tick’ that identifies their accounts as verified and ‘celebrity’ or brand accounts, and the children are regularly featured in mainstream media. The children’s mother, Jacenko, often discusses the children on television and has discussed using Pixie’s parties as events to gain publicity for the toy business. We have followed the lead of Abidin and Leaver, considered experts in the field, who have identified children and families in ethnographic research when the children or families have large numbers of followers (see Abidin, "#Familygoals"; Leaver and Abidin). We do acknowledge that other researchers have chosen not to identify influencer children (e.g., Ågren) with smaller numbers of followers. The research questions are as follows: RQ1: What are the toys featured on the two social media influencer children’s sites? RQ2: Are the toys traditionally gendered and if so, what are the main gender-based toys? RQ3: Do the children promote products that are traditionally aimed at adults? If so, how are these ‘toys’ presented, and what are they? Analysis The two child influencers and toy promoters, sister and brother Pixie (11) and Hunter (8) Curtis, are the children of celebrity, entrepreneur and public relations ‘maven’, Roxy Jacenko. Jacenko’s first business was a public relations firm, Sweaty Betty, one she ran successfully but has recently closed to focus on her influencer talent agency business, the Ministry of Talent, and the two businesses related to her children, Pixie’s Pix (an online toy store named after her daughter) and Pixie’s Bows, a line of fashion bows aimed at girls (Madigan). Pixie Curtis grew up with her own Instagram account, with her first Instagram post on 18 June 2013, before turning two, and featuring a promotion of an online subscription service for toys, with the hashtag #babblebox. At time of writing, Pixie has 120,000 Instagram followers; her ‘bio’ describes her account as ‘shopping and retail’ and as managed by Jacenko. Pixie is also described as the ‘founder of Pixie’s Pix Toy Store’. Her brother Hunter’s account began on 6 May 2015, with the first post to celebrate his first birthday. Hunter’s page has 20,000 followers with his profile stating that it is managed by his mother and her talent and influencer agency. RQ1: What are the toys featured on the two children’s Instagram sites? The two children feature toy promotions regularly, mostly from Pixie’s online toy shop, with the site tagged @pixiespixonline. These toys are often demonstrated by Pixie and Hunter in short video format, following the now-established genre of the toy unboxing or toy review. Toys that are shown on Pixie’s site (tagged to her toy store) include air-clay (clay designed to be used to create clay sculptures); a Scruff-a-Luv soft toy that mimics a rescue pet that needs to be bathed in water, dried, and groomed to become a ‘lovable’ soft toy pet; toy slime; kinetic sand; Hatchimals (flying fairy/pixie dolls that come out of plastic eggs); LOL OMG dolls and Mermaze (both with accentuated female/made up features). LOL OMG (short for Outrageous Millennial Girls) are described as “fierce, fashionable, fabulous” and their name taps into common language used to communicate while texting. Mermaze are also fashion and hair styling dolls, with a mermaid’s tail that changes colour in water. While predominantly promoting toys on Pixie’s Pix, Pixie posts promotions of other items on her Website aimed at children. This includes practical items such as lunch boxes, but also beauty products including a skin care headband and scented body scrubs. Toys shown on Hunter’s Instagram site are often promotions of his sister’s toy store offerings, but generally fall into the traditional ‘boys’ toys’ categories. The posts that tag the Pixie’s Pix store feature photos or video demonstrations by Hunter of toys, including trucks, slime, ‘Splat balls’ (squish balls), Pokémon cards, Zuru toys’ ‘Smashers’ (dinosaur eggs that are smashed to reveal a dinosaur toy), a Bubblegum simulator for Roblox (a social media platform and game), Needoh Stickums, water bombs, and Hot Wheels. RQ2: Are the toys traditionally gendered and if so, what are the main gender-based toys? Although both children promote gender-neutral sensory toys such as slime and splat balls, they do promote strongly gendered toys from Pixie’s Pix. Hunter also promotes gendered toys that are not tagged to Pixie’s Pix, including Jurassic World dinosaur toys (tying into the film release). One post by Hunter features a (paid) cross-promotion of PlayStation 5 themed Donut King donuts (with a competition to win a PlayStation 5 by buying the donuts). In contrast, Pixie posts a paid promotion of a high-tea event to promote My Little Ponies. Hunter’s posts of toys and leisure items that do not tag Pixie’s toyshop include him on a go-kart, buying rugby gear, and with an ‘airtasker’ (paid assistant) helping him sort his Nerf gun collection. There are posts of both children playing and doing ‘regular’ children’s activities, including sport (Pixie plays netball, Hunter rugby), with their dog, ice-skating, and swimming (albeit often at expensive resorts), while Hunter and Pixie both wear, unbox, and tag some high-end children’s clothes brands such as Balmain and promote department store Myer. RQ3: Do the children promote products that are traditionally aimed at adults? If so, how are these ‘toys’ presented, and what are they? The Cambridge dictionary provides the following two definitions of toys, with one showing that ‘toys’ may also be considered as objects of pleasure for adults. A toy is “an object for children to play with” while it can also be “an object that is used by an adult for pleasure rather than for serious use”. The very meaning of the word toys shows the crossover between the adult and children’s world. The more ‘adult’ products promoted by Pixie are highly gendered, with expensive bags, clothes, make-up, and skin care regularly featured on her account. These are arguably toys but also teen or adult objects of aspiration, with Pixie’s collection of handbags featured and the brand tagged. The bag collection includes brightly coloured bags by Australian designer Poppy Lissiman. Other female-focussed brands include a hairdryer brand, with photos and videos posted of Pixie ‘playing’ at dressing up and ‘getting ready’, using skincare, make-up, and hair products. These toys cater to age demographics older than Pixie. Hunter is pictured in posts on a jet-ski, and in others with a mobile and tablet, or washing a Tesla car and with a helicopter. The gendered tropes of girls being concerned with their appearance, and boys interested in vehicles, action, and competitive (video) games appear to be borne out in the posts from the two children. Discussion and Conclusion As an entrepreneur, Jacenko has capitalised on her daughter’s and son’s personal brands that she has co-created by launching and promoting a toyshop named after her daughter, following the success of her children’s promotion of toys for other companies and Pixie’s successful hairbow line. The toy shop arose out of Pixie promoting sales of fidget spinners during the pandemic lockdowns where toy sales rose sharply across the world. The children are also now on TikTok, and while they have a toy review channel on YouTube it has not been posted on for three years. Therefore, it is safe to assume that Instagram is one of the main channels for the children to promote the toyshop. In an online newspaper article describing the success of Pixie’s toyshop and the purchase of an expensive Mercedes car, Jacenko said that the children work hard, and the car was their “reward” (Scanlan). “The help both her brother and her [Pixie] give me on the buying (every night we work on new style selections and argue over it), the packing, the restocking, goes well beyond their years”, Jacenko is quoted as saying. “We’ve made a pact, we must keep going, work harder. Next, it’s a Rolls Royce.” Analysis of the children’s Instagram pages shows highly gendered promotion of toys. The children also promote a variety of high-end, aspirational tween, teen, and adult ‘toys’, including clothes, make-up, and skincare (Pixie) and expensive cars (Hunter and Pixie). Gender stereotyping has been found in adult influencer content (see, for example, Jorge et al.) and researchers have also pointed to sexualisation of young girl influencers on Instagram (Llovet et al.). Our research potentially echoes these findings. Posts from the children regularly include aspirational commodities that blur the lines between adult and child items of desire. Concerns have been raised in other academic articles (and in government reports) regarding the possible exploitation of children’s labour by parents and marketers to promote brands, including toys, on social media (see, for example, Ågren; De Veirman et al.; House of Commons; Masterson). The French government is believed to be the only government to have moved to regulate regarding the labour of children as social media influencers, and the same government at time of writing was debating laws to enshrine children’s right to privacy on social media, to stop the practice of ‘sharenting’ or parents sharing their children’s images and other content on social media without their children’s consent (Rieffel). Mainstream media including Teen Vogue (Fortesa), and some influencers themselves, have also started to raise issues relevant to ‘kidfluencers’. In the state of Utah, USA, the government has introduced laws to stop children under 18 having access to social media without parents’ consent, although some view this as potentially having some negative impacts (Singer). The ethics and impact of toy advertorials on children by social media influencers, with little or no disclosure of the posts being advertisements, have also been discussed elsewhere (see, for example, House of Commons; Jaakkola), with Rahali and Livingstone offering suggestions aimed key stakeholders. It has been found that beyond the marketing of toys and adult ‘luxuries’ to kids, other products that potentially harm children (for example, junk food and e-cigarettes) are also commonly seen in sponsored content on Instagram and YouTube aimed at children (Fleming‐Milici, Phaneuf, and Harris; Smith et al.). Indeed, it could be argued that e-cigarettes have been positioned as playthings and are appealing to children. While we may bemoan the loss of innocence of children, with the children in this analysis posed by their entrepreneurial mother as purveyors of material goods including toys, it is useful to remember that perhaps it has always been a conundrum, given the purpose of toy marketing is to make commercial sales. Children’s toys have always reflected and shaped society’s culture, often with surprisingly sinister and adult overtones, including the origins of Barbie as a male ‘sex’ toy (Bainbridge) and the blatant promotion of guns and other weapons to boys (for example the famous Mattel ‘burp’ gun of the 50s and 60s), through advertising and sponsorship of television (Hains and Jennings). Recently, fashion house Balenciaga promoted its range of adult bags using children as models via Instagram – the bags are teddy bears dressed in bondage outfits and the marketing stunt caused considerable backlash, with the sexually dressed bears and use of children raising outrage (Deguara). Were these teddy bags framed as children’s toys for adults or adult toys for children? The line was blurred. This research has limitations as it is focussed on a case study in one country (but with global reach through Instagram). However, the current analysis is believed to be one of the first to focus on children’s promotion of toys through Instagram, by two children’s influencers, a relatively new marketing approach aimed at children. As the article was being finalised, the children’s mother announced that as Pixie was transitioning into high school and wanted to focus on her studies rather than running a business, the toy business would conclude but Pixie’s Bows would continue (Madigan). In the UK, recent research by Livingstone et al. for the Digital Futures Commission potentially offers a way forward related to this phenomenon, when viewed alongside the analysis of our case study. Their final report (following research with children) suggests a Playful by Design Tool that would be useful for designers and brands, but also children, parents, regulators, and other stakeholders. Principles such as adopting ethical commercial models, being age-appropriate and ensuring safety, make sense when applied to kidfluencers and those that stand to benefit from their playbour. It appears that governments, society, some academics, and the media are starting to question the current generally unrestricted frameworks related to social media in general (see, for example, the ACCC’s ongoing enquiry) and toy and other marketing by kids to kids on social media specifically (House of Commons). We argue that more frameworks, and potentially laws, are required in this mostly unregulated space. Through our case study we have highlighted key areas of concern on one of the world’s most popular platforms for children and teens, including privacy issues, commodification, and gendered and ‘stealth’ marketing of toys through ‘advertorials’. We also acknowledge that children do gain playful and social benefits and entertainment from seeing influencers online. Given that it has been shown that gendered marketing of toys (and increased focus on appearance for girls through Instagram) could be potentially harmful to children’s self-esteem, and with related concerns on the continued commodification of childhood, further research is also needed to discover the responses and views of children to these advertorials masquerading as cute content. References Abidin, Crystal. "Micromicrocelebrity: Branding Babies on the Internet." M/C Journal 18.5 (2015). <https://doi.org/10.5204/mcj.1022>. ———. "#Familygoals: Family Influencers, Calibrated Amateurism, and Justifying Young Digital Labor." 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Madigan, Mary. “B&T Exclusive: Roxy Jacenko to Close Sweaty Betty by Month's End.” B&T 4 Nov. 2022. <https://www.bandt.com.au/bt-exclusive-roxy-jacenko-to-close-sweaty-betty-at-months-end/>. ———. "Roxy Jacenko’s Daughter Pixie Curtis Has Announced a Huge Life Change before Her 12th Birthday." News.com.au 21 Feb. 2023. <https://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/parenting/kids/roxy-jacenkos-daughter-pixie-curtis-has-announced-a-huge-life-change-before-her-12th-birthday/news-story/ff6fda8895d4a682eb0f1b9fd6c3311c>. Marsh, Jackie. "‘Unboxing’ Videos: Co-Construction of the Child as Cyberflâneur." Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education 37.3 (2016): 369-80. Masterson, Marina A. "When Play Becomes Work: Child Labor Laws in the Era of ‘Kidfluencers’." University of Pa. Law Review 169 (2020): 577. Nicoll, Benjamin, and Bjorn Nansen. "Mimetic Production in Youtube Toy Unboxing Videos." Social Media + Society 4.3 (2018). Ofcom. "Living Our Lives Online – Top Trends from Ofcom’s Latest Research." 2022. <https://www.ofcom.org.uk/news-centre/2022/living-our-lives-online>. Rahali, Miriam, and Sonia Livingstone. "#SponsoredAds: Monitoring Influencer Marketing to Young Audiences." Media Policy Brief 23. London: Department of Media and Communications, London School of Economics and Political Sciences, 2022. <https://eprints.lse.ac.uk/113644/7/Sponsoredads_policy_brief.pdf>. Rieffel, Ysé. "French MPs Examine Bill on Children's Right to Privacy on Social Media." Le Monde 5 Mar. 2023. <https://www.lemonde.fr/en/france/article/2023/03/05/french-mp-proposes-bill-to-protect-children-s-privacy-on-social-media_6018268_7.html> Rideout, Victoria. "The Commonsense Census: Media Use by Kids Zero to Eight." 2017. <https://www.commonsensemedia.org/sites/default/files/research/report/csm_zerotoeight_fullreport_release_2.pdf>. Russell, Helen. "Lego to Remove Gender Bias from Its Toys after Findings of Child Survey." The Guardian 11 Oct. 2021. <https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2021/oct/11/lego-to-remove-gender-bias-after-survey-shows-impact-on-children-stereotypes>. Scanlan, Rebekah. "Roxy Jacenko Buys Daughter, 9, $270,000 Car as Toy Business Booms." News.com.au 3 Aug. 2021. <https://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/real-life/news-life/roxy-jacenko-buys-daughter-9-270000-car-as-toy-business-booms/news-story/14bd181e6a24235f85276f16596d359a>. Singer, Natasha. "A Sweeping Plan to Protect Kids from Social Media." New York Times The Daily Podcast. Ed. Michael Barbaro. 2023. <https://www.nytimes.com/2023/03/27/podcasts/the-daily/social-media-instagram-tiktok-utah-ban.html>. Smith, Marissa J., et al. "User-Generated Content and Influencer Marketing Involving E-Cigarettes on Social Media: A Scoping Review and Content Analysis of YouTube and Instagram." BMC Public Health 23.1 (2023): 530. Verdon, Joan. "Santa’s Top Toy Sellers This Year Are Influencers." 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Photo by Naveed Ahmed on Unsplash ABSTRACT India has had a solid standard for medical ethics since the birth of Ayurvedic holistic science over 5000 years ago. The country’s views on healthcare policy, counsel on how to deal with patients, and what constitutes good behavior within the profession stem from ancient outlines for medical practice. These “codes of conduct” were heavily influenced by religious and spiritual practices, emphasizing the sanctity of life and transcending the needs of the body. With time, however, medical care evolved through shifting priorities in education and governmental pressures. These once-cherished “codes of conduct” were referred to less often, while malpractice issues have steadily increased. There is a need for an open discussion of why this spike in medical malpractice is happening in a country that used to condemn it and how improving ethics, limiting the role of profits, and returning traditional philosophies to the medical ethics curricula could help. INTRODUCTION Currently, India has the largest number of bioethics units of any country, reflecting the importance of ethical behavior in Indian society. These centers do not affiliate with schools, yet they serve as spaces for bioethical discourse. The Indian Psychiatric Society (IPS) was the first to address escalating malpractice cases. Other major medical organizations (e.g., the Indian Medical Association and the Medical Council of India) followed, stressing the importance of standardized ethics. Some have formed symposiums and organized conferences to address these concerns.[1] There have been several calls to revisit the classic “codes of conduct” and their focus on the spiritual concept of life-death-rebirth. Toward this end, modern Indian doctors were reminded that physicians existed not for fortune or status but for the welfare of their patients. These altruistic teachings came from the seminal Ayurvedic texts, the cornerstone of India’s modern medicine. Happiness for the “healer” was to come out of showing compassion for all living beings and prolonging the precious gift of life.[2] In contrast, Indian novelist, Shashi Tharoor, speaking on the current state of medical practice, recently remarked: “India is not an underdeveloped country, but a highly developed one in an advanced state of decay.”[3] Taking a closer look at what caused the core values of an ancient healthcare system to change so drastically involves evaluating how the Indian medical education system evolved. This paper examines the development of medical principles, their influence across the subcontinent, commercialization, and the government’s role in India’s healthcare instability. This paper then lists some of the measures taken by bioethical units to counteract some of the issues brought on by corruption. l. Western Influence Western influence on medical practices came when the French, Portuguese, and British arrived in India. They almost completely reinvented India’s healthcare system. Medical ethics based on the values of spirituality were almost completely stripped away and replaced by Western concepts.[4] Established traditional ethical standards were no longer taught, resulting in less deference to traditional moral beliefs. Coupled with an increase in medical misconduct, the general population lost trust in their healthcare leaders.[5] Before the influence of Western medicine, the Carakha Sumhita, a millennia-old Sanskrit text detailing Ayurveda, helped establish healthcare guidelines. A passage from the text sums up the ethics of that time: “He who practices medicine out of compassion for all creatures, rather than for gain or for gratification of the senses, surpasses all.”[6] The Carakha Sumhita’s focus on medical ethics was ahead of its time, centuries before bioethics became a subject in its own right. Healthcare was predicated on aphorisms that all medical students internalized rather than on business models, as in many developed nations. India’s caste system, established generations ago, permeated every aspect of South Asian society except for when it came to medicine. Healers tended to ignore the conventions of adhering to an individual’s caste. Instead, they treated patients as if they were family and incorporated elements of spirituality when dealing with patients, making ethical misconduct a rare phenomenon. This was the case for almost two centuries.[7] To become practicing physicians, doctors committed to a consecration ceremony to prove their good moral standing to the people they were to serve.[8] Their schooling prepared them for a profession designed to “give back,” not for monetary gain. The core values taught in medical school affect the mentality doctors carry with them. The lack of ethics training may have been at fault for the underlying corruption levels that now plague the healthcare space in India. There is a 110 percent increase in the rise of medical negligence cases in India every year.[9] To pinpoint why this occurred, we must look at current medical training practices and how they influence doctors of our time period. After colonization, many established core values were stripped from the medical curriculum.[10] In fact, by 1998, only one medical college in India, St. John’s in Bangalore, even addressed medical ethics in its curriculum.[11] Graduates across the country were left ill-equipped to deal with the ethical issues that cropped up once they made it into the field. As a result, they were not prepared to think through consequences pertaining to patients and their families. Some suggest that the curriculum changes were linked to rising malpractice cases. “When society at large is corrupt and unethical, how can you expect doctors to be honest?”[12] This topic arises regularly in bioethics discussions and the answer lies in education. Reverting to a system of medicine that encourages students to recognize ethical consequences can solve many of the ethical problems in contemporary society. ll. Privatization and Tuition Some argue that the global increase in capitalism caused the subcontinent’s ethical problems, that the Indian medical education system began its descent into corruption and nepotism, and its loss in prestige, with the privatization of their colleges.[13] In India, just over 50 percent of medical schools are public, and just under 50 percent are private.[14] Through changing policies, private medical schools became increasingly for-profit like other businesses.[15] Despite having more medical schools than any other country, India has a shortage of doctors, primarily due to low enrollment rates and high university fees. While there are 202 medical schools in India, its large population means there are 5 million people per medical school.[16] Christian Medical College, a top-ranked university in Vellore, once had an acceptance rate of 0.25 percent, with only 100 seats for medical students.[17] Now its acceptance rate hovers around 5 percent. There has been minimal progress in making it easier to get a medical school acceptance; there is still a long way to go in equalizing access to education. India’s system for training doctors is now rife with corruption, with bribes accepted under the guise of “donations” and new curricula completely devoid of traditional Indian training methods.[18] Nepotism in the industry has made qualifications even less significant. In 2010, 69 hospitals and medical colleges were reported for selling exam papers to students, and most employed staff lied about their clinical experience.[19] In a cheating scandal in 2013 involving several Indian universities, students purchased falsified entrance exam results. Not only are these students unqualified for the placements they secured, but legal action by the government did not materialize.[20] Dr. Anand Rai, a physician who had to go into protective hiding following death threats for being a whistleblower in the 2013 scandal subsequently remarked: “...the next generation of doctors is being taught to cheat and deceive before they even enter the classroom.”[21] The effects of this scandal can be felt far beyond its borders - India also happens to be the world’s largest exporter of doctors, with about 47,000 currently practicing in the United States.[22] lll. Hospital Privatization With the privatization of major hospitals and the shift to a “United States” business focus, another serious problem emerged. In the recent past, patients hailing from rural villages and often living in poverty could access quality health care from public hospitals. They had access to highly trained doctors, and all costs were usually fully subsidized.[23] This was in keeping with the old tradition that believed in aid no matter the circumstance. As the focus shifted towards maximizing profitability, these opportunities for poor patients vanished. Chains of private hospitals are rapidly replacing public ones. Their purchasing model is to consolidate through a centralized subsidiary.[24] This usually results in significant savings. Instead of passing on some savings to patients through reduced pricing, any savings are used to fulfill a key objective of privatized businesses: maximize profitability. The poor now contend with inflated prices and are being turned away from facilities that once treated them at no cost, all while levels of trust in the healthcare system have plummeted. This distrust can discourage people who cannot afford care from seeking medical aid when they need it. The healthcare system has devolved to the point whereby remaining public hospitals are overrun by huge numbers of patients unable to afford the hugely inflated prices at private institutions. This, coupled with healthcare workers that often have substandard training, has created deplorable public health conditions. lV. Corruption This deplorable public health condition reflects a failing healthcare system. To make matters worse, hospitals hire unqualified graduates untrained in medical ethics to meet India's urgent need for large numbers of qualified doctors. Many hospitals have even resorted to employing corrupt doctors to counteract the physician shortage. According to the Indian Medical Association (IMA), about 45 percent of those who practice medicine in India have no formal training.[25] IMA also reported that close to 700,000 doctors employed at some of the biggest hospitals, who are currently diagnosing, treating, and operating, have neither the training nor experience to do so. A large-scale forgery ring, broken up in 2011, revealed that buyers could pay as little as 100 US dollars for a medical degree from a non-existent college. This “cleared” them for practice.[26] It has been estimated that over 50,000 fraudulent medical degrees have been purchased in the past decade. Government level corruption is widespread, as one can gain placement into medical school, “graduate” with fake degrees, and sell fake practicing licenses. V. Solutions These topics, raised by bioethics centers, are now being taken more seriously by healthcare professionals taking steps to address medical misconduct. As many as five million people in India die each year due to medical negligence.[27] By requiring each physician to complete a new comprehensive Acute Critical Care Course (ACCC), specialists estimate that physicians can reduce the rate of malpractice deaths by as much as 50 percent in rural areas.[28] This intensive two-year course contains detailed training methods built off of current knowledge and walks healthcare professionals through crucial steps designed to reduce errors. Even small errors, such as a poorly inserted IV for fluid or a minor surgery mishap, can be life threatening. The course thoroughly covers these as mandated.[29] The ACCC is unfortunately not a widely spread concept in a lot of rural areas. For now, while many major hospitals continue to ignore the high rates of avoidable deaths, implementation of the ACCC program seems slow. The current Medical Council of India needs to be more effective at addressing malpractice cases, as there are so many of them.[30] One possible solution to the growth of unethical business practices in medicine is to offer physicians incentives to make ethically sound decisions. This can start by increasing the number of slots available for medical students at government-run medical schools. Less student debt would lead more doctors away from overbilling their patients. This is a strategy currently being employed in the state of Tamil Nadu, where a centrally sponsored scheme has approved the induction of an additional 3,496 MBBS seats in government colleges.[31] More students studying at subsidized costs with less competition lowers the inclination toward deceit and profiteering. Another incentive for ethical practice can come from accountability and transparency. The background of every doctor operating should be public information, including the rate of successful surgeries versus unsuccessful ones resulting from personal negligence. This would encourage doctors to keep a clean record and, in turn, encourage hospitals to hire and train those who will preserve or improve their reputation. This information is kept in a medical record monitored in most parts of India through a traditional paper method.[32] While eliminating paper in medical recording and reverting to digital use is the ultimate aim, it will take time to implement a system that takes into account e-signatures and verifiable witnesses. CONCLUSION India’s history of leadership in medical ethics has undergone some major changes. A relatively recent privatization of the education system has caused a shift in values and decimated the medical industry on many levels. The moral principles of doctors have come into question. While industry and government leaders are trying to solve the multi-faceted issues facing the medical industry, it is obvious that this is an undertaking requiring inventive solutions. Prioritizing ethics in medical education, de-privatizing medical schools and hospitals, offering affordable options, and limiting corruption would improve India’s ability to offer high-quality medical care. Adding traditional Indian medical ethics back into the curricula would foster a workforce dedicated to serving patients over profiteering. - [1] Deshpande, SmitaN. 2016. “The UNESCO Movement for Bioethics in Medical Education and the Indian Scenario.” Indian Journal of Psychiatry 58 (4): 359. https://doi.org/10.4103/0019-5545.196722. [2] Mukherjee, Ambarish, Mousumi Banerjee, Vivekananda Mandal, Amritesh C. Shukla, and Subhash C. Mandal. 2014. “Modernization of Ayurveda: A Brief Overview of Indian Initiatives.” Natural Product Communications 9 (2): 1934578X1400900. https://doi.org/10.1177/1934578x1400900239. [3] 2020. Eubios.info. 2020. https://www.eubios.info/EJ102/EJ102E.htm. [4] Arnold, David, ed. 2000. “Western Medicine in an Indian Environment.” Cambridge University Press. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 2000. https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/abs/science-technology-and-medicine-in-colonial-india/western-medicine-in-an-indian-environment/28BAB761BE205B06D32BC3DC972E9384. [5] Kulkarni, Vani, Veena Kulkarni, and Raghav Gaiha. 2019. “Trust in Hospitals-Evidence from India.” https://repository.upenn.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1026&context=psc_publications. [6] Bhasin, Dr Sanjay K. 2005 “What Ails Medical Profession.” Www.academia.edu. Accessed September 17, 2022. https://www.academia.edu/7631547/What_Ails_Medical_Profession. [7] Shapiro, Natasha, and Urmila Patel. (2006) “Asian Indian Culture: Influences and Implications for Health Care.” https://www.molinahealthcare.com/~/media/Molina/PublicWebsite/PDF/providers/fl/medicaid/resource_fl_asianindianculture_influencesandimplicationsforhealthcare.pdf. [8] Swihart, Diana L, and Romaine L Martin. 2021. “Cultural Religious Competence in Clinical Practice.” Nih.gov. StatPearls Publishing. 2021. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK493216/. [9] “India’s Mighty Medical Education Mess.” 2022. Education World. July 11, 2022. https://www.educationworld.in/indias-mighty-medical-education-mess/. [10] Pandya, Sunil. 2020. “Medical Education in India: Past, Present, and Future Perspectives. in Sun Kim, ed. Medical Schools Nova Science Publishers, Inc. (= [11] Ravindran, G. D., T. Kalam, S. Lewin, and P. Pais. 1997. “Teaching Medical Ethics in a Medical College in India.” The National Medical Journal of India 10 (6): 288–89. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/9481103/. [12] “Chapter 9: Opinions on Professional Self-Regulation”(2016) https://www.ama-assn.org/sites/ama-assn.org/files/corp/media-browser/code-of-medical-ethics-chapter-9.pdf. [13]Sanjiv Das. 2020. “The Pill for India’s Ailing Medical Education System.” Express Healthcare. February 3, 2020. https://www.expresshealthcare.in/education/the-pill-for-indias-ailing-medical-education-system/416711/. [14] https://www.marketresearch.com/Netscribes-India-Pvt-Ltd-v3676/Private-Medical-Colleges-India-30399614/."There are ~50.89% government medical colleges and ~49.11% private medical colleges in the country.”; NPR.org. (2021) “When Students in India Can’t Earn College Admission on Merit, They Buy Their Way In.” Accessed September 19, 2022. https://www.npr.org/2019/08/04/745182272/when-students-in-india-cant-earn-college-admission-on-merit-they-buy-their-way-i. [15] https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/how-medical-colleges-in-india-became-a-business-one-policy-change-at-a-time/articleshow/69707594.cms [16] Muula A. S. (2006). Every country or state needs two medical schools. Croatian medical journal, 47(4), 669–672. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2080437/ [17] Miglani, Andrew MacAskill, Steve Stecklow, Sanjeev. 2015. “Why India’s Medical Schools Are Plagued with Fraud.” Mint. June 17, 2015. https://www.livemint.com/Politics/BDGOx3SApU3QbsRMjZUK9M/Why-Indias-medical-schools-are-plagued-with-fraud.html. [18] Clark, J. 2015. “Indian Medical Education System Is Broken, Reuters Investigation Finds.” BMJ 350 (jun18 3): h3324–24. https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj.h3324. [19] Reuters. 2015. “Special Report - Why India’s Medical Schools Are Plagued with Fraud,” June 16, 2015, sec. Special Reports. https://www.reuters.com/article/uk-india-medicine-education-specialrepor/special-report-why-indias-medical-schools-are-plagued-with-fraud-idINKBN0OW1N520150616. [20] Andrew Emett. (2015) “Over Two Dozen Witnesses and Suspects Mysteriously Die in Indian Cheating Scandal | NationofChange.” Accessed September 19, 2022. https://www.nationofchange.org/2015/07/08/over-two-dozen-witnesses-and-suspects-mysteriously-die-in-indian-cheating-scandal/. [21] (Reuters 2015) [22] Clark, J. 2015. “Indian Medical Education System Is Broken, Reuters Investigation Finds.” BMJ 350 (jun18 3): h3324–24. https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj.h3324. [23] Barik, Debasis, and Amit Thorat. 2015. “Issues of Unequal Access to Public Health in India.” Frontiers in Public Health 3 (October). https://doi.org/10.3389/fpubh.2015.00245. [24] “Investment Opportunities in India’s Healthcare Sector.” (2021) https://www.niti.gov.in/sites/default/files/2021-03/InvestmentOpportunities_HealthcareSector_0.pdf. [25] Clark, J. 2015. “Indian Medical Education System Is Broken, Reuters Investigation Finds.” BMJ 350 (jun18 3): h3324–24. https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj.h3324. [26] “Are We Importing Fake Doctors?” (2015) Www.workerscompensation.com. Accessed September 19, 2022. https://www.workerscompensation.com/news_read.php?id=21672&forgot=yes. [27] Boston, 677 Huntington Avenue, and Ma 02115 +1495‑1000. 2013. “Millions Harmed Each Year from Unsafe Medical Care.” News. September 19, 2013. https://www.hsph.harvard.edu/news/press-releases/millions-harmed-each-year-from-unsafe-medical-care/. [28] “Specialised Course for Doctors Can Help Cut the Deaths due to Medical Errors; Experts.” 2018. DailyRounds. October 29, 2018. https://www.dailyrounds.org/blog/specialised-course-for-doctors-can-help-cut-the-deaths-due-to-medical-errors-experts/. [29] Sokhal, Navdeep, Akshay Kumar, Richa Aggarwal, Keshav Goyal, Kapil Dev Soni, Rakesh Garg, Ashok Deorari, and Ajay Sharma. 2021. “Acute Critical Care Course for Interns to Develop Competence.” The National Medical Journal of India 34 (3): 167–70. https://doi.org/10.25259/NMJI_103_19. [30] Singhania, Meghna A. 2020. “How Much Punishment?- MCI Formulates Sentencing Guidelines for Cases of Medical Negligence.” Medicaldialogues.in. February 13, 2020. https://medicaldialogues.in/news/health/mci/how-much-punishment-mci-formulates-sentencing-guidelines-for-cases-of-medical-negligence-62645. [31] “Health Ministry Reports 30% Increase in Number of Functional Medical Colleges in Five Years.” (2022) Www.pharmabiz.com. Accessed September 19, 2022. http://www.pharmabiz.com/NewsDetails.aspx?aid=152299&sid=1. [32] Honavar, Santosh G. 2020. “Electronic Medical Records – the Good, the Bad and the Ugly.” Indian Journal of Ophthalmology 68 (3): 417. https://doi.org/10.4103/ijo.ijo_278_20.

Photo by 187929822 © Victor Moussa | Dreamstime.com INTRODUCTION The nonconsensual taking of a human organ to use in transplantation medicine violates ethical principles, including autonomy, informed consent, and human rights, as well as criminal laws. When such an organ harvesting is not just nonconsensual, but performed in a way that causes a death or uses the pretense of brain death without meeting the criteria, it also violates the dead donor[1] rule.[2] The dead donor rule is both ethical and legal. It prevents organ retrieval that would predictably cause the death of the organ donor.[3] Retrieval of a vital organ is permissible only after a declaration of death.[4] Forced organ harvesting may breach the dead donor rule as it stands. A reimagined, broader dead donor rule could consider a larger timeframe in the forced organ harvesting context. In doing so, the broad dead donor rule could cover intent, premeditation, aiding and abetting, and due diligence failures. A broad definition of forced organ harvesting is ‘‘the removal of one or more organs from a person by means of coercion, abduction, deception, fraud, or abuse of power. . .’’[5] A more targeted definition is “[t]he killing of a person so that their organs may be removed without their free, voluntary and informed consent and transplanted into another person.”[6] In the global organ harvesting context, forced organ harvesting violates the World Health Organization (WHO) Guiding Principle 3, which says “live organ donors should be acting willingly, free of any undue influence or coercion.”[7] Furthermore, WHO states live donors should be “genetically, legally, or emotionally” attached to the recipient. Guiding Principle 1 applies to deceased donors, covers consent, and permits donation absent any known objections by the deceased.[8] Principle 7 says, “Physicians and other health professionals should not engage in transplantation procedures, and health insurers and other payers should not cover such procedures if the cells, tissues or organs concerned have been obtained through exploitation or coercion of, or payment to, the donor or the next of kin of a deceased donor.”[9] There are underground markets in which organ hunters prey on the local poor in countries with low wages and widespread poverty[10] and human trafficking that targets migrants for the purpose of organ harvesting.[11] This paper explores forced harvesting under the backdrop of the dead donor rule, arguing that a human rights violation so egregious requires holding even distant participants in the chain of events accountable. By interfering with resources necessary to carry out bad acts, legislation and corporate and institutional policies can act as powerful deterrents. A broader dead donor rule would highlight the premeditation and intent evidenced well before the act of organ retrieval. I. Background and Evidence In China, there is evidence that people incarcerated for religious beliefs and practices (Falun Gong) and ethnic minorities (Uyghurs) have been subjects of forced organ harvesting. A tribunal (the China Tribunal) found beyond a reasonable doubt that China engaged in forced organ harvesting.[12] Additionally, eight UN Special Rapporteurs found a system of subjecting political prisoners and prisoners of conscience to blood tests and radiological examinations to determine the fitness of their organs.[13] As early as 2006, investigators found evidence of forced organ harvesting from Falun Gong practitioners. [14] Over a million Uyghurs are in custody there, and there is ample evidence of biometric data collection.[15] An Uyghur tribunal found evidence of genocide.[16] “China is the only country in the world to have an industrial-scale organ trafficking practice that harvests organs from executed prisoners of conscience.”[17] Witnesses testified to the removal of organs from live people without ample anesthesia,[18] summonses to the execution grounds for organ removal,[19] methods of causing death for the purpose of organ procurement,[20] removing eyes from prisoners who were alive,[21] and forcing live prisoners into operating rooms.[22] The current extent of executions to harvest organs from prisoners of conscience in China is unknown. The Chinese press has suggested surgeons in China will perform 50,000 organ transplants this year.[23] Doctors Against Forced Organ Harvesting (DAFOR) concluded, “[f]orced organ harvesting from living people has occurred and continues to occur unabated in China.”[24] China continues to advertise in multiple languages to attract transplant tourists.[25] Wait times for organs seem to remain in the weeks.[26] In the United States, it is common to wait three to five years.[27] II. The Nascent System of Voluntary Organ Donation in China In China, throughout the 1990s and early 2000s, the supply of organs for transplant was low, and there was not a national system to register as a donor. A 1984 act permitted death row prisoners to donate organs.[28] In 2005, a Vice Minister acknowledged that 95 percent of all organ transplants used organs from death row prisoners.[29] In 2007 the planning of a voluntary system to harvest organs after cardiac death emerged. According to a Chinese publication, China adopted brain death criteria in 2013.[30] There had been public opposition due partly to cultural unfamiliarity with it.[31] Cultural values about death made it more difficult to adopt a universal brain death definition. Both Buddhist and Confucian beliefs contradicted brain death.[32] Circulatory death was traditionally culturally accepted.[33] The Ministry of Health announced that by 2015 organ harvesting would be purely voluntary and that prisoners would not be the source of organs.[34] There are cultural barriers to voluntary donation partly due to a Confucian belief that bodies return to ancestors intact and other cultural and religious beliefs about respect for the dead.[35] An emphasis on family and community over the individual posed another barrier to the Western approach to organ donation. Public awareness and insufficient healthcare professional knowledge about the process of organ donation are also barriers to voluntary donation.[36] Although the Chinese government claims its current system is voluntary and no longer exploits prisoners,[37] vast evidence contradicts the credibility of the voluntary transplant program in China.[38] III. Dead Donor Rule: A Source of Bioethical Debate It seems tedious to apply this ethical foundation to something as glaring as forced organ harvesting. But the dead donor rule is a widely held recognition that it is not right to kill one person to save another.[39] It acts as a prohibition on killing for the sake of organ retrieval and imposes a technical requirement which influences laws on how death is declared. The dead donor rule prevents organ harvesting that causes death by prohibiting harvesting any organ which the donor agreed to donate only after death prior to an official declaration of death. There is an ongoing ethical debate about the dead donor rule. Many in bioethics and transplant medicine would justify removing organs in specific situations prior to a declaration of death, abandoning the rule.[40] Some use utilitarian arguments to justify causing the death of someone who is unconscious and on life support irreversibly. Journal articles suggest that the discussion has moved to one of timing and organ retrieval.[41] Robert Truog and Franklin Miller are critics of the dead donor rule, arguing that, in practice, it is not strictly obeyed: removing organs while a brain-dead donor is still on mechanical ventilation and has a beating heart and removing organs right after life support is removed and cardio-pulmonary death is declared both might not truly meet the requirement of the dead donor rule, making following the rule “a dubious norm.”[42] Miller and Truog question the concept of brain death, citing evidence of whole body integrated functions that continue indefinitely. They challenge cardio-pulmonary death, asserting that the definition includes as dead, those who could be resuscitated. Their hearts could resume beating with medical intervention. Stopping life support causes death only in those whose lives are sustained by it. Some stipulate that the organ retrieval must not itself cause the death. Some would rejigger the cause of death: Daniel Callahan suggests that the underlying condition causes the death despite removal of life support.[43] But logically, a person could continue life support and be alive, so clearly, removing life support does cause death. Something else would have caused brain death or the circumstance that landed the person on mechanical ventilation. To be more accurate, one could say X caused the irreversible coma and removing life support caused the death itself. Miller and Truog take the position that because withdrawal of life support does cause death, the dead donor rule should be defunct as insincere. To them, retrieving vital organs from a technically alive donor should be permissible under limited conditions. They look to the autonomous choices of the donor or the surrogate (an autonomy-based argument). They appreciate the demand for organs and the ability to save lives, drawing attention to those in need of organs. Live donor organ retrieval arguably presents a slippery slope, especially if a potential donor is close to death, but not so close to label it imminent. They say physicians would not be obligated to follow the orders of a healthy person wishing to have vital organs removed, perhaps to save a close friend or relative. Similarly, Radcliffe-Richards, et al. argue that there is no reason to worry about the slippery slope of people choosing death so they can sell their vital organs, whether for money for their decedents or their creditors.[44] The movement toward permissibility and increased acceptance of medical aid in dying also influence the organ donation arena. The slippery slope toward the end of life has potential to become a realistic concern. Older adults or other people close to death may want to donate a vital organ, like their heart, to a young relative in need. That could greatly influence the timing of a decision to end one’s life. IV. Relating the Dead Donor Rule to Forced Organ Harvesting There is well documented evidence that in China organs have been removed before a declaration of death.[45] But one thing the dead donor rule does not explicitly cover is intent and the period prior to the events leading to death. It tends to apply to a near-death situation and is primarily studied in its relationship to organ donation. It is about death more than it is about life. Robertson and Lavee investigated data on transplantation of vital organs in China and they document cases where the declaration of death was a pretense, insincere, and incorrect. Their aim was to investigate whether the prisoners were in fact dead prior to organ harvesting.[46] (The China Tribunal found that organs have been removed from live prisoners and that organ harvesting has been the cause of death.) They are further concerned with the possible role of doctors as executioners, or at least as complicit in the execution as the organ harvesting so closely follows it. V. A Broader Dead Donor Rule A presumed ethical precursor to the dead donor rule may also be an important ethical extension of the rule: the dead donor rule must also prohibit killing a person who is not otherwise near death for the purpose of post-death organ harvesting. In China, extra-judicial killings of prisoners of conscience are premeditated ― there is ample evidence of blood tests and radiology to ensure organ compatibility and health.[47] To have effective ethical force, the dead donor rule should have an obvious application in preventing intentional killing for an organ retrieval, not just killing by way of organ retrieval. When we picture the dead donor rule, bioethicists tend to envision a person on life support who will either be taken off it and stop breathing or who will be declared brain dead. But the dead donor rule should apply to healthy people subject to persecution at the point when the perpetrator lays the ground for the later killing. At that point, many organizations and people may be complicit or unknowingly contributing to forced organ harvesting. In this iteration of the dead donor rule, complicity in its violations would be widespread. The dead donor rule could address the initial action of ordering a blood or radiology test or collecting any biometric data. Trained physicians and healthcare technicians perform such tests. Under my proposed stretch of the dead donor rule, they too would be complicit in the very early steps that eventually lead to killing a person for their organs. I argue these steps are part of forced organ harvesting and violate the dead donor rule. The donor is very much alive in the months and years preceding the killing. A conspiracy of indifference toward life, religious persecution, ethnic discrimination, a desire to expand organ transplant tourism, and intent to kill can violate this broader dead donor rule. The dead donor rule does not usually apply to the timing of the thought of organ removal, nor the beginning of the chain of events that leads to it. It is usually saved for the very detailed determination of what may count as death so that physicians may remove vital and other organs, with the consent of the donor.[48] But I argue that declaring death at the time of retrieval may not be enough. Contributing to the death, even by actions months or years in advance, matter too. Perhaps being on the deathbed awaiting a certain death must be distinguished from going about one’s business only to wind up a victim of forced organ harvesting. Both may well be declared dead before organ retrieval, but the likeness stops there. The person targeted for future organ retrieval to satisfy a growing transplant tourism business or local demand is unlike the altruistic person on his deathbed. While it may seem like the dead donor rule is merely a bioethics rule, it does inform the law. And it has ethical heft. It may be worth expanding it to the arena of human trafficking for the sake of organ removal and forced organ harvesting.[49] The dead donor rule is really meant to ensure that death was properly declared to protect life, something that must be protected from an earlier point. VI. Complicity: Meaning and Application Human rights due diligence refers to actions that people or institutions must take to ensure they are not contributing to a human rights violation. To advise on how to mitigate risk of involvement or contribution to human rights violations, Global Rights Compliance published an advisory that describes human rights due diligence as “[t]he proactive conduct of a medical institution and transplant-associated entity to identify and manage human rights risks and adverse human rights impacts along their entire value and supply chain.”[50] Many people and organizations enable forced organ harvesting. They may be unwittingly complicit or knowingly aiding and abetting criminal activity. For example, some suppliers of medical equipment and immunosuppressants may inadvertently contribute to human rights abuses in transplantation in China, or in other countries where organs were harvested without consent, under duress, or during human trafficking. According to Global Rights Compliance, “China in the first half of 2021 alone imported ‘a total value of about 24 billion U.S. dollars’ worth of medical technology equipment’, with the United States and Germany among the top import sources.”[51] The companies supplying the equipment may be able to slow or stop the harm by failing to supply necessary equipment and drugs. Internal due diligence policies would help companies analyze their suppliers and purchasers. Corporations, educational institutions, and other entities in the transplantation supply chain, medical education, insurance, or publishing must engage in human rights due diligence. The Global Rights Compliance advisory suggests that journals should not include any ill-gotten research. Laws should regulate corporations and target the supply chain also. All actors in the chain of supply, etc. are leading to the death of the nonconsenting victim. They are doing so while the victim is alive. The Stop Forced Organ Harvesting Act of 2023, pending in the United States, would hold any person or entity that “funds, sponsors, or otherwise facilitates forced organ harvesting or trafficking in persons for purposes of the removal of organs” responsible. The pending legislation states that: It shall be the policy of the United States—(1) to combat international trafficking in persons for purposes of the removal of organs;(2) to promote the establishment of voluntary organ donation systems with effective enforcement mechanisms in bilateral diplomatic meetings and in international health forums;(3) to promote the dignity and security of human life in accordance with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted on December 10, 1948; and(4) to hold accountable persons implicated, including members of the Chinese Communist Party, in forced organ harvesting and trafficking in persons for purposes of the removal of organs.[52] The Act calls on the President to provide Congress a list of such people or entities and to sanction them by property blocking, and, in the case of non-US citizens, passport and visa denial or revocation. The Act includes a reporting requirement under the Foreign Assistance Act of 1961 that includes an assessment of entities engaged in or supporting forced organ harvesting.[53] The law may have a meaningful impact on forced organ harvesting. Other countries have taken or are in the process of legal approaches as well.[54] Countries should consider legislation to prevent transplant tourism, criminalize complicity, and require human rights due diligence. An expanded dead donor rule supports legal and policy remedies to prevent enabling people to carry out forced organ harvesting. VII. Do Bioethicists Mention Human Rights Abuses and Forced Organ Harvesting Enough? As a field, bioethics literature often focuses on the need for more organs, the pain and suffering of those on organ transplant waitlists, and fairness in allocating organs or deciding who belongs on which waitlist and why. However, some bioethicists have drawn attention to forced organ harvesting in China. Notably, several articles noted the ethical breaches and called on academic journals to turn away articles on transplantation from China as they are based on the unethical practice of executing prisoners of conscience for their organs.[55] The call for such a boycott was originally published in a Lancet article in 2011.[56] There is some acknowledgement that China cares about how other countries perceive it,[57] which could lead to either improvements in human rights or cover-ups of violations. Ill-gotten research has long been in the bioethics purview with significant commentary on abuses in Tuskegee and the Holocaust.[58] Human research subjects are protected by the Declaration of Helsinki, which requires acting in the best interests of research subjects and informed consent among other protections.[59] The Declaration of Helsinki is directed at physicians and requires subjects enroll in medical research voluntarily. The Declaration does not explicitly cover other healthcare professionals, but its requirements are well accepted broadly in health care. CONCLUSION The dead donor rule in its current form really does not cover the life of a non-injured healthy person at an earlier point. If it could be reimagined, we could highlight the link between persecution for being a member of a group like Falun Gong practitioners or Uyghurs as the start of the process that leads to a nonconsensual organ retrieval whether after a proper declaration of death or not. It is obviously not ethically enough to ensure an execution is complete before the organs are harvested. It is abuse of the dead donor rule to have such a circumstance meet its ethical requirement. And obviously killing people for their beliefs or ethnicity (and extra-judicial killings generally) is not an ethically acceptable action for many reasons. The deaths are intentionally orchestrated, but people and companies who may have no knowledge of their role or the role of physicians they train or equipment they sell are enablers. An expanded dead donor rule helps highlight a longer timeframe and expanded scope of complicity. The organ perfusion equipment or pharmaceuticals manufactured in the United States today must not end up enabling forced organ harvesting. With an expanded ethical rule, the “donor is not dead” may become “the donor would not be dead if not for. . .” the host of illegal acts, arrests without cause, forced detention in labor camps, extra-judicial killings, lacking human rights due diligence, and inattention to this important topic. The expanded dead donor rule may also appeal to the bioethics community and justify more attention to laws and policies like the Stop Forced Organ Harvesting Act of 2023. - [1] The word “donor” in this paper describes any person from whom organs are retrieved regardless of compensation, force, or exploitation in keeping with the bioethics literature and the phrase “dead donor rule.” [2] Robertson, M.P., Lavee J. (2022). Execution by organ procurement: Breaching the dead donor rule in China. Am J Transplant, Vol.22,1804– 1812. doi:10.1111/ajt.16969. [3] Robertson, J. A. (1999). Delimiting the donor: the dead donor rule. Hastings Center Report, 29(6), 6-14. [4] Retrieval of non-vital organs which the donor consents to donate post-death (whether opt-in, opt-out, presumed, or explicit according to local law) also trigger the dead donor rule. [5] The Stop Forced Organ Harvesting Act of 2023, H.R. 1154, 118th Congress (2023), https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/house-bill/1154. [6] Do No Harm: Mitigating Human Rights Risks when Interacting with International Medical Institutions & Professionals in Transplantation Medicine, Global Rights Compliance, Legal Advisory Report, April 2022, https://globalrightscompliance.com/project/do-no-harm-policy-guidance-and-legal-advisory-report/. [7] WHO Guiding Principles on Human Cell, Tissue and Organ Transplantation, as endorsed by the sixty-third World Health Assembly in May 2010, in Resolution WHA63.22 https://apps.who.int/iris/bitstream/handle/10665/341814/WHO-HTP-EHT-CPR-2010.01-eng.pdf?sequence=1. [8] WHO Guiding Principles on Human Cell, Tissue and Organ Transplantation (2010). [9] WHO Guiding Principles on Human Cell, Tissue and Organ Transplantation (2010). [10] Promchertchoo, Pichayada (Oct. 19, 2019). Kidney for sale: Inside Philippines’ illegal organ trade. https://www.channelnewsasia.com/asia/kidney-for-sale-philippines-illegal-organ-trade-857551; Widodo, W. and Wiwik Utami (2021), The Causes of Indonesian People Selling Covered Kidneys from a Criminology and Economic Perspective: Analysis Based on Rational Choice Theory. European Journal of Political Science Studies, Vol 5, Issue 1. [11] Van Reisen, M., & Mawere, M. (Eds.). (2017). Human trafficking and trauma in the digital era: The ongoing tragedy of the trade in refugees from Eritrea. African Books Collective. [12] The Independent Tribunal into Forced Organ Harvesting from Prisoners of Conscience in China (China Tribunal) (2020). https://chinatribunal.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/ChinaTribunal_JUDGMENT_1stMarch_2020.pdf [13] UN Office of the High Commissioner, Press Release, China: UN human Rights experts alarmed by ‘organ harvesting’ allegations (UN OTHCHR, 14 June 2021), https://www.ohchr.org/en/press-releases/2021/06/china-un-human-rights-experts-alarmed-organ-harvesting-allegations. [14] David Matas and David Kilgour, Bloody Harvest. The killing of Falun Gong for their organs (Seraphim Editions 2009). [15] How China is crushing the Uyghurs, The Economist, video documentary, July 9, 2019, https://youtu.be/GRBcP5BrffI. [16] Uyghur Tribunal, Judgment (9 December 2021) (Uyghur Tribunal Judgment) para 1, https://uyghurtribunal.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/Uyghur-Tribunal-Judgment-9th-Dec-21.pdf. [17] Ali Iqbal and Aliya Khan, Killing prisoners for transplants: Forced organ harvesting in China, The Conversation Published: July 28, 2022. https://theconversation.com/killing-prisoners-for-transplants-forced-organ-harvesting-in-china-161999 [18] Testimony demonstrated surgeries to remove vital organs from live people, killing them, sometimes without ample anesthesia to prevent wakefulness and pain. China Tribunal (2020), p. 416-417. https://chinatribunal.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/ChinaTribunal_JUDGMENT_1stMarch_2020.pdf; Robertson MP, Lavee J. (2022), Execution by organ procurement: Breaching the dead donor rule in China. Am J Transplant, Vol.22,1804– 1812. doi:10.1111/ajt.16969. [19] Doctors reported being summoned to execution grounds and told to harvest organs amid uncertainty that the prisoner was in fact dead. China Tribunal (2020), p. 52-53. [20]In testimony to the China Tribunal, Dr. Huige Li noted four methods of organ harvesting from live prisoners: incomplete execution by shooting, after lethal injection prior to death, execution by removal of the heart, and after a determination of brain death prior to an intubation (pretense of brain death). China Tribunal (2020), pp. 54-55. https://chinatribunal.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/ChinaTribunal_JUDGMENT_1stMarch_2020.pdf [21] A former military medical student described removing organs from a live prisoner in the late 1990s. He further described his inability to remove the eyes of a live man and his witnessing another doctor forcefully remove the man’s eyes. China Tribunal (2020), p. 330. [22] In 2006, a nurse testified that her ex-husband, a surgeon, removed the eyes of 2,000 Falun Gong practitioners in one hospital between 2001 and 2003. She described the Falun Gong labor-camp prisoners as being forced into operating rooms where they were given a shot to stop their hearts. Other doctors removed other organs. DAFOH Special Report, 2022. https://epochpage.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2022/12/DAFOH-Special-Report-2022.pdf [23] Robertson MP, Lavee J. (2022), Execution by organ procurement: Breaching the dead donor rule in China. Am J Transplant, Vol.22,1804– 1812. doi:10.1111/ajt.16969. [24] DAFOH Special Report, 2022. https://epochpage.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2022/12/DAFOH-Special-Report-2022.pdf; DAFOH’s physicians were nominated for a Nobel Prize for their work to stop forced organ harvesting. Šućur, A., & Gajović, S. (2016). Nobel Peace Prize nomination for Doctors Against Forced Organ Harvesting (DAFOH) - a recognition of upholding ethical practices in medicine. Croatian medical journal, 57(3), 219–222. https://doi.org/10.3325/cmj.2016.57.219 [25] Robertson and Lavee (2022). [26] Stop Organ Harvesting in China, website (organization of the Falun Dafa). https://www.stoporganharvesting.org/short-waiting-times/ [27] National Kidney Foundation, The Kidney Transplant Waitlist – What You Need to Know, https://www.kidney.org/atoz/content/transplant-waitlist [28] Wu, Y., Elliott, R., Li, L., Yang, T., Bai, Y., & Ma, W. (2018). Cadaveric organ donation in China: a crossroads for ethics and sociocultural factors. Medicine, 97(10). [29] Wu, Elliott, et al., (2018). [30] Su, Y. Y., Chen, W. B., Liu, G., Fan, L. L., Zhang, Y., Ye, H., ... & Jiang, M. D. (2018). An investigation and suggestions for the improvement of brain death determination in China. Chinese Medical Journal, 131(24), 2910-2914. [31] Huang, J., Millis, J. M., Mao, Y., Millis, M. A., Sang, X., & Zhong, S. (2012). A pilot programme of organ donation after cardiac death in China. The Lancet, 379(9818), 862-865. [32] Yang, Q., & Miller, G. (2015). East–west differences in perception of brain death: Review of history, current understandings, and directions for future research. Journal of bioethical inquiry, 12, 211-225. [33] Huang, J., Millis, J. M., Mao, Y., Millis, M. A., Sang, X., & Zhong, S. (2015). Voluntary organ donation system adapted to Chinese cultural values and social reality. Liver Transplantation, 21(4), 419-422. [34] Huang, Millis, et al. (2015). [35] Wu, X., & Fang, Q. (2013). Financial compensation for deceased organ donation in China. Journal of Medical Ethics, 39(6), 378-379. [36] An, N., Shi, Y., Jiang, Y., & Zhao, L. (2016). Organ donation in China: the major progress and the continuing problem. Journal of biomedical research, 30(2), 81. [37] Shi, B. Y., Liu, Z. J., & Yu, T. (2020). Development of the organ donation and transplantation system in China. Chinese medical journal, 133(07), 760-765. [38] Robertson, M. P., Hinde, R. L., & Lavee, J. (2019). Analysis of official deceased organ donation data casts doubt on the credibility of China’s organ transplant reform. BMC Medical Ethics, 20(1), 1-20. [39] Miller, F.G. and Sade, R. M. (2014). Consequences of the Dead Donor Rule. The Annals of thoracic surgery, 97(4), 1131–1132. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.athoracsur.2014.01.003 [40] For example, Miller and Sade (2014) and Miller and Truog (2008). [41] Omelianchuk, A. How (not) to think of the ‘dead-donor’ rule. Theor Med Bioeth 39, 1–25 (2018). https://doi-org.ezproxy.cul.columbia.edu/10.1007/s11017-018-9432-5 [42] Miller, F.G. and Truog, R.D. (2008), Rethinking the Ethics of Vital Organ Donations. Hastings Center Report. 38: 38-46. [43] Miller and Truog, (2008), p. 40, citing Callahan, D., The Troubled Dream of Life, p. 77. [44] Radcliffe-Richards, J., Daar, A.S., Guttman, R.D., Hoffenberg, R., Kennedy, I., Lock, M., Sells, R.A., Tilney, N. (1998), The Case for Allowing Kidney Sales, The Lancet, Vol 351, p. 279. (Authored by members of the International Forum for Transplant Ethics.) [45] Robertson and Lavee, (2022). [46] Robertson and Lavee, (2022). [47] China Tribunal (2020). [48] Consent varies by local law and may be explicit or presumed and use an opt-in or opt-out system and may or may not require the signoff by a close family member. [49] Bain, Christina, Mari, Joseph. June 26, 2018, Organ Trafficking: The Unseen Form of Human Trafficking, ACAMS Today, https://www.acamstoday.org/organ-trafficking-the-unseen-form-of-human-trafficking/; Stammers, T. (2022), "2: Organ trafficking: a neglected aspect of modern slavery", Modern Slavery and Human Trafficking, Bristol, UK: Policy Press. https://bristoluniversitypressdigital.com/view/book/978144736. [50] Do No Harm: Mitigating Human Rights Risks when Interacting with International Medical Institutions & Professionals in Transplantation Medicine, Global Rights Compliance, Legal Advisory Report, April 2022, https://globalrightscompliance.com/project/do-no-harm-policy-guidance-and-legal-advisory-report/. [51] Global Rights Compliance, p. 22. [52] The Stop Forced Organ Harvesting Act of 2023, H.R. 1154, 118th Congress (2023). https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/house-bill/1154. [53] The Stop Forced Organ Harvesting Act of 2023, H.R. 1154, 118th Congress (2023), https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/house-bill/1154. [54] Global Rights Compliance notes that Belgium, France (passed law on human rights due diligence in the value supply chain), United Kingdom, United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand have legal approaches, resolutions, and pending laws. p. 45. [55] For example, Caplan, A.L. (2020), The ethics of the unmentionable Journal of Medical Ethics 2020;46:687-688. [56] Caplan, A.L. , Danovitch, G., Shapiro M., et al. (2011) Time for a boycott of Chinese science and medicine pertaining to organ transplantation. Lancet, 378(9798):1218. doi:10.1016/S0140-6736(11)61536-5 [57] Robertson and Lavee. [58] Smolin, D. M. (2011). The Tuskegee syphilis experiment, social change, and the future of bioethics. Faulkner L. Rev., 3, 229; Gallin, S., & Bedzow, I. (2020). Holocaust as an inflection point in the development of bioethics and research ethics. Handbook of research ethics and scientific integrity, 1071-1090. [59] World Medical Association Declaration of Helsinki: Ethical Principles for Medical Research Involving Human Subjects, adopted by the 18th WMA General Assembly, Helsinki, Finland, June 1964, and amended multiple times, most recently by the 64th WMA General Assembly, Fortaleza, Brazil, October 2013. https://www.wma.net/policies-post/wma-declaration-of-helsinki-ethical-principles-for-medical-research-involving-human-subjects/

In 2019, Mattel introduced a series of Barbie dolls in connection with National Geographic which included a Polar Marine Biologist, an Entomologist, a Wildlife Photojournalist, and a mostly "made from recycled ocean-bound plastic" Barbie ("Mattel Launches Barbie Loves the Ocean") followed in 2021. One year later, the company issued an "Eco-Leadership Team" composed of a Conservation Scientist, a Renewable Energy Engineer, Chief Sustainability Officer, and Environmental Advocate. This can be understood as an attempt to introduce children to the urgency of ecological issues and communicating to them the importance of research into climate change in an age-appropriate manner. Yet, despite the pedagogical opportunities the dolls might offer, I argue that their introduction and presentation primarily represents an instance of greenwashing, "the act or practice of making a product, policy, activity, etc. appear to be more environmentally friendly or less environmentally damaging than it really is" (Merriam-Webster). In order to support my thesis, I will analyse four issues: first, I will have a closer look at the way in which the four "Eco-Leadership" dolls express ecological concerns. I will then turn to the material Barbie is made of, plastic, and examine its environmental impact together with Mattel's "The Future of Pink Is Green" campaign. Next, I will discuss the conspicuous consumption Barbie models, focussing on the Malibu Dream House. I will address how this is entangled with settler colonialism in the fourth and final part. Eco-Leadership Barbie? The "Eco-Leadership" set, billed as "2022 Career of the Year" collection, consists of four dolls. They come in a cardboard box so that the toys are not immediately visible, and their accessories are stored in a paper bag inside. On the one hand, this makes the dolls less appealing, depriving the potential consumers of visual pleasure. On the other hand, this generates an element of suspense, much like a wrapped present. In keeping with Mattel's slogan "The Future of Pink Is Green", the colour pink is toned down, even though each doll sports at least one accessory in this colour. The toys are sold as a team, thus perhaps suggesting that "eco-leadership" is a collaborative project, which departs from the emphasis on individualism otherwise suggested by Barbie packaging. In their promotional material, Mattel mentions that all of the professional fields the dolls represent are male-dominated ("Barbie Eco-Leadership Team"). The combination of the careers featured makes a telling statement about Mattel's framing of ecological issues. First, there is a Conservation Scientist with binoculars and a notebook, implying that she is undertaking research on larger animals, presumably endangered species. Such a focus on mammals tends to downplay structural issues and the "slow violence" that affects ecological systems, as Arno Hölzer has argued (65). She is joined by a Renewable Energy Engineer with a solar panel, referencing the least controversial form of "green energy". Significantly, this is the classic blond Barbie. Together, these two dolls suggest that science and technology will find solutions to current ecological crises, global warming, et cetera (not that such issues are explicitly mentioned). The third doll is advertised as Chief Sustainability Officer. "She works with a company or organization to make sure their actions and products are economically, environmentally and socially sustainable", as Mattel puts it ("Barbie Eco-Leadership Team"). Here, businesses are portrayed not as the source of environmental pollution, but as part of the solution to the problem. While this is not entirely false, this particular approach to environmental issues is severely limited, firmly remaining within a neoliberal, capitalist ideology. It reflects what Dan Brockington and Rosaleen Duffy, following Sklair, term "mainstream conservation", which "proposes resolutions to environmental problems that hinge on heightened commodity production and consumption" (4). In this context, a company's promotion of "ethical consumption" "achieves its ethically positive results by not counting various aspects of the production and consumption of its commodities" (9). Finally, there's the Environmental Advocate – not activist (the term was probably too controversial). She is always mentioned last. Her poster reads: "Barbie loves the earth", possibly the most inane ecological slogan ever devised. It is made of plastic. Acquainting children with ecological issues in an age-appropriate manner is an important task. Playing environmental advocate, or scientist, might certainly be more educational in terms of ecological issues than many of the other career options the "I can be anything" series features. But the absence of a politician in the set, for instance, speaks volumes. The "recipe" for sustainability the dolls embody only requires a heavy dose of science and technology, whipped up by well-meaning entrepreneurship, with a little love for the planet sprinkled on top. One gets a prettier picture if one looks at the toys from different perspectives. The group is rather diverse, with a Black Conservation Scientist, an Environmental Advocate of Asian descent, and a Chief Sustainability Officer that might be Latinx, and "curvy". Again, though, there is a glaring omission. Indigenous people are not included, despite the fact that, due to environmental racism, they are among the communities most dramatically affected by environmental pollution. Benjamin F. Chavis Jr., who coined the term "environmental racism," defined it as racial discrimination in environmental policy-making, enforcement of regulations and laws, the deliberate targeting of communities of color for toxic waste disposal and the siting of polluting industries … , [and] the history of excluding people of color from the mainstream environmental groups, decision-making boards, commissions, and regulatory bodies. (Chavis 3) The consequences for Native Americans were and are severe. By 1999, Winona LaDuke notes, 317 reservations … [were] threatened by environmental hazards … . Reservations have been targeted as sites for 16 proposed nuclear waste dumps [and] [o]ver 100 … toxic waste [sites] … . There have been 1,000 atomic explosions on Western Shoshone land in Nevada, making the Western Shoshone the most bombed nation on earth. (LaDuke 2-3) The absence of an Indigenous doll in the Barbie "Eco-Leadership Team" is also noteworthy considering the long history of Native American and First Nations resistance to habitat destruction and environmental degradation, from nineteenth-century Lakota Little Thunder and Anishnaabe leader Wabunoquod (LaDuke 3, 5) to the #NoDAPL movement (Gilio-Whitaker 1-13). Following Robin Wall Kimmerer, one could even argue that sustainability, or "beneficial relations between people and the environment", are integral to Native (here: Potawatomi) culture (Kimmerer 6). On a very different note, any ecological consideration of Barbie dolls must also address their material properties. According to Mattel, the four dolls "are made from recycled plastic … , wear clothing made from recycled fabric and are certified CarbonNeutral® products" ("Barbie Eco-Leadership Team"). This does not apply to the heads and the hair, however – arguably the most distinctive parts of the toys. This had already been the case with the "Barbie Loves the Ocean" series ("Mattel Launches Barbie Loves the Ocean") – apparently, this is not an issue that can easily be fixed. In other words, only some components of the dolls are manufactured from recycled plastic. Further, in 2022, over 175 different Barbie dolls circulated, of which at least 166 were not made from recycled plastic (Google). To speak of "eco-leadership" is thus rather misleading. To further examine this, I want to have a closer look at the materials the dolls consist of. Life in Plastic… For a while now, it has become common knowledge that "life in plastic" might not be so "fantastic" after all, Aqua's song notwithstanding. Plastic pollution of the oceans is a huge problem, killing birds, whales, and other seaborne animals; so are non-biodegradable plastic landfill, neo-colonial waste export, the detrimental health effects of phthalates in plastic, and so on (Moore, Freinkel). But what James Marriott and Mika Minio-Paluello call the uneven "distribution of violence" during the transformation of fossil fuel into plastic is less well known. Oil production and transport are frequently militarised, they show, with company interests taking precedence over human rights (173-74, 176). Heavily guarded pipelines cut through traditional grazing and farming areas, endangering people's livelihoods as well as local ecosystems (Marriott and Minio-Paluello 176, 178-79). To the consumers who buy the plastic produced from this oil, such violence is invisible, not least because production processes and their environmental consequences are actively screened from view by fossil fuel companies and local governments (173-74). "Although these social and environmental impacts are inherent within its constitution, the plastic product in its uniformity is seemingly wiped clean of all that violence and disruption", the authors conclude (181). Where these matters have rarely been discussed in academic research on Barbie, they garnered significant public interest around the time the movie was released in 2023. That the film itself received the Environmental Media Association (EMA) gold seal (Plastic Pollution Coalition) did not lay such concerns to rest. "After the movie frenzy fades, how do we avoid tonnes of Barbie dolls going to landfill?", Alan Pears asked in The Conversation. Waste Online highlighted the "Not-So-Pretty Side of Plastic Toys", Tatler headlined "How Barbie is making climate change worse", and in Medium, Eric Young even aimed to show "How To Save The World from the Toxicity of Barbie!" (with an exclamation rather than a question mark). Based on a 2022 study by Sarah Levesque, Madeline Robertson, and Christie Klimas, Pears noted that "every 182 gram doll caused about 660 grams of carbon emissions, including plastic production, manufacture and transport" (Pears 2). According to Duke Ines, CEO of Lonely Whale, a campaign devoted to protecting the oceans, "80% of all toys end up in a landfill, incinerators, or the ocean" (Mendez 3). Discarded toys make up around 6% of all plastic in landfills (Levesque et al. 777). There are estimates that, by 2030, in the US emissions from plastic production will supersede those from coal (Pears 2). Mattel seems to have recognised the problem. In 2021, the company announced its "The Future of Pink Is Green" campaign as part of its "goal to use 100% recycled, recyclable or bio-based plastic materials and packaging by 2030" ("Mattel Launches" 2). The efforts include educational vlogger episodes and Mattel PlayBack, a toy return program aimed at recycling materials in toy production. With Barbie, this is difficult, though. As Dorothea Ruffin and others have noted, the dolls are composed of different kinds of plastics. The heads consist of hard vinyl, with water-based spray paint used for the eyes; the torso is manufactured from ABS (acrylonitrile butadiene-styrene), the arms of EVA (ethylene-vinyl acetate), and the legs of polypropylene and PVC (polyvinyl chloride) (Ruffin 2). This makes recycling difficult, perhaps even unfeasible. So in effect, I agree with environmental educator Kristy Drutman that Mattel's eco-friendly self-presentation currently qualifies as greenwashing (Mendez 2). With Lyon's and Maxwell's description of the practice as "selective disclosure of positive information about a company's environmental or social performance, without full disclosure of negative information on these dimensions, so as to create an overly positive corporate image" (9) as reference point, it becomes clear that Mattel's strategy perfectly fits this pattern. Their recycling efforts concern only a small number of the Barbie dolls they produce, and even those are only partly fashioned from salvaged material. Both the release of the "Eco-Leadership" set and the "The Future of Pink Is Green" campaign seem designed primarily to bolster the company's reputation. Conspicuous Consumption and the Malibu Dream House A central component of the problem is the scale of plastic toy consumption, as Levesque et al. observe. Mattel sells around 60 million Barbies annually (Ruffin 2). This amounts to over one billion dolls since 1959 (ETX Daily UP 2). What the scientists call "the overproduction and purchase of toys" (Levesque et al. 791) testifies to the continued centrality of "conspicuous consumption", the demonstrative, wasteful squandering of resources which, as Thorstein Veblen already noted in 1899, signifies and produces social distinction (Veblen 53; cf. 43-72). As he argued, "an unremitting demonstration of ability to pay" (Veblen 54) was and is central for upholding not only one's social standing, but also one's self-esteem. This is at the core of Mattel's business model: stimulating repeated purchases by issuing and marketing ever-new, "must-have" dolls, clothing, and other accessories. These tend to normalise an upper-class lifestyle, as Barbie's sports car, horse, and dream house attest. The Malibu Dream House, part of the Barbie universe since 1962, plays a specific role in this context. It symbolises fun, conspicuous leisure, and glamour. With its spectacular beaches, its exclusiveness, and its proximity to Hollywood celebrity culture, Malibu represents the apex of social aspiration for many people. Houses are also sexy, as Marjorie Garber observes in Sex and Real Estate. "Real estate today has become a form of yuppie pornography. … Buyers are entering the housing market with more celerity (and more salaciousness?) than they once entered the marriage market" (Garber 3, 4). The prominence of the house in the Barbie movie is thus not incidental. Malibu is among the most expensive locations in the US. The median property value is US$4.25m. Due to its beachfront location, its "iconic design" and "cultural value", local brokerage Ruby Home estimated that "the price of the doll's DreamHouse [could be] an eye-watering $10 million" (McPherson). With the understatement typical of the profession, the author of the article writes: "unsurprisingly, Barbie’s home would only be available to high-net-worth buyers". This does more than reinforce classism. The richest segment of the global population also has an inordinately large carbon footprint and overall negative impact on climate change. According to Oxfam, the richest 1% produced 16% of global consumption emissions in 2019. The propagation of Malibu Dream House living thus does not exactly rhyme with "eco- leadership". Barbie and Settler Colonialism The wasteful, environmentally detrimental lifestyle of the very wealthy is part and parcel of US settler colonialism. Unlike other forms of colonialism, settler colonialism attempts to replace the Indigenous population. The term does not only signify a devastating past but names an ongoing process, since Native people have not in fact "disappeared". Lorenzo Veracini puts it succinctly: "settler colonialism is not finished" (Veracini 68-94). As Patrick Wolfe famously wrote, "'settler-colonial state' is Australian [and US] society's primary structural characteristic rather than merely a statement about its origins… . Invasion is a structure not an event" (163). Malibu is traditional Chumash territory. The name derives from the Ventureño Chumash word Humaliwo, meaning "where the surf sounds loudly" (Sampson). The Chumash were forcibly deprived of their land by the Spanish Mission system in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Deborah A. Miranda has movingly detailed the traumatic effects of this violence in her memoir Bad Indians. But the Chumash are not gone. In fact, the Wishtoyo Chumach Foundation, whose mission it is to "protect and preserve the culture, history, and lifeways of Chumash and Indigenous peoples, and the environment everyone depends on", runs Chumash Village, "with a goal of raising awareness of Chumash people's historical relationship and dependence upon the natural environment as a maritime people", right in Malibu (Wishtoyo Chumach Foundation). None of this is mentioned by Mattel or the Greta Gerwig movie, which does not only signal a missed opportunity to demonstrate "eco-leadership". Rather, such an omission is typical for settler colonial culture. In order to buttress their claim to the land, settlers try to write Indigenous people out of North American history through a strategy White Earth Ojibwe scholar Jean O'Brien has called "firsting", that is, claiming the European settlers were there first, they "discovered" something, etc. The opening of the movie is a classic example. To the voiceover of "since the beginning of time – since the first little girl ever existed", it shows not Native inhabitants, but European American children in vaguely historical, possibly nineteenth century settler clothing. At other points, Barbie's and Ken's cowboy outfits, their glaring whiteness, references to Davy Crockett and, as Stentor Danielson mentioned in their presentation on "Barbieland's Fantasy Ecology: Terra Nullius on the Pink Beach" at the conference "'You Can Be Anything': Imagining and Interrogating Barbie in Popular Culture", to the Black Hills aka Mount Rushmore, clearly mark them as settlers. J.M. Bacon has coined the term "colonial ecological violence" to reference the ways in which environmental degradation and settler colonialism are inextricably intertwined (59). Effectively combatting environmental pollution thus also requires addressing settler colonial economic, social, and cultural structures. As Dina Gilio-Whitaker has forcefully argued, the success of environmental justice movements in the US, especially vis-à-vis the fossil fuel industry, may depend on building coalitions with Indigenous activists. Some of the most promising examples actually come from California, where beaches have been protected from corporate development because sacred Native sites would have been negatively affected (148). "It may well be that organizing around Native land rights holds the key to successfully transitioning from a fossil-fuel energy infrastructure to one based on sustainable energy", Gilio-Whitaker concludes (149). "Effective partnerships with allies in the environmental movement will provide the best defence for the collective well-being of the environment and future generations of all Americans, Native and non-Native alike" (162). This is a far cry from any policy Mattel has so far advertised, not to mention implemented. Conclusion In different respects, the promise of "Eco-Leadership" Barbies rings hollow. Not only do they suggest an extremely limited understanding of environmental concerns and challenges, Mattel's breezy pronouncements are clearly at odds with its simultaneous boosting of conspicuous consumption, let alone the focus on financial profit generally characteristic for its managerial decisions. In light of the enormous environmental problems generated by the manufacturing and disposal of the dolls, the waste-intensive upper-class lifestyle Barbie outfits and accessories promote, and finally the de-thematising of capitalism and settler colonialism both in Mattel's Barbie discourses and the 2023 Barbie movie, the company's attempts to project an ecologically conscious image seem primarily designed to capitalise on an increasing awareness of ecological problems in Mattel's target audience, rather than constituting a serious reconsideration of its unsustainable corporate strategies. References Bacon, J.M. "Settler Colonialism as an Eco-Social Structure and the Production of Colonial Ecological Violence." Environmental Sociology 5.1 (2019): 59-69. Brockington, Dan, and Rosaleen Duffy. "Introduction: Capitalism and Conservation: The Production and Reproduction of Biodiversity Conservation." In Capitalism and Conservation, eds. Dan Brockington and Rosaleen Duffy. 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As Long as Grass Grows: The Indigenous Fight for Environmental Justice, from Colonization to Standing Rock. Boston: Beacon P, 2019. Google. "How Many Different Barbies Are There 2022?" 11 May 2022. 17 May 2024 <https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-d&q=Barbie+how+many+2022+releases%3F>. Gordon, Noah. “Barbie and the Problem with Plastic.” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 20 July 2023. 16 Feb. 2024 <https://carnegieendowment.org/2023/07/20/barbie-and-problem-with-plastic-pub-90241>. Merriam-Webster. “Greenwashing.” N.d. 5 May. 2024 <https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/greenwashing>. Hölzer, Arno. "Aesthetic Strategies of the WWF – Reinforcing the Culture-Nature Dichotomy." MA thesis. Berlin: Humboldt University, 2018. Kimmerer, Robin Wall. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teaching of Plants. Milkweed Editions, 2013. LaDuke, Winona. All Our Relations: Native Struggles for Land and Life. Chicago: Haymarket Books, 1999. 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Introduction This study examines the ways in which students and staff in higher education use and engage in audio, both in everyday life and within the university setting. Specifically, we explore if the increasingly diverse student population utilise audio as part of a personalised approach to learning. Increasing student engagement in online delivery through a personalised approach to learning is a vital area of focus in contemporary pedagogy internationally. The rapid move to online delivery during the COVID-19 pandemic revealed both opportunities and challenges for learners with diverse digital access requirements (Ellis et al. 17). Along with captions – which have been embraced as an accessibility feature by the entire student population (Ellis et al.) – the use of audio has increased (Peaty et al. 7). Digital accessibility has typically focussed on the availability of captions, yet the experience of many students during COVID-19 pandemic-imposed remote learning activities shows that audio also offers great potential for personalisation, accessibility, and engagement. With audio options following the trajectory of captions in both education and entertainment contexts to become recognised as a personal preference (Ellis 167), this article examines whether higher education has responded to the ‘audio turn’. Moreover, it seeks to answer how students, as a diverse population, utilise audio as part of their learning experience. The ‘audio turn’ refers to the recent period marked by the COVID-19 pandemic, alongside the increase in (and use of) audio platforms and features. However, it should also be acknowledged that this audio turn is also part of a longer history of technology-enabled audio pedagogy, encompassing transitions from vinyl to cassette tape, and analogue to digital. These specific changes over approximately the last five years have been captured in the literature on the rise of audio description (see for example Peaty et al.; Piñeiro-Otero and Pedrero-Esteban), audiobooks and “listening culture” (Snelling 648), studies on the uptake of podcasts and digital radio (St. Aubin), and popular articles (Forbes). In a relatively short period of time, audio book sales, podcasting, digital music consumption, and audio accessibility (including audio description) have increased significantly. The culmination of new business models (e.g., Spotify’s audio-first strategy; Kilberg and Spilker 156) and the specific remote learning/working, lockdown environments generated by COVID-19 mitigation policies further facilitated this audio turn. The rise of the value and use of audio also extended into the university context, which prompted new literature on audio learning strategies (Wake et al. 30; Jensen and Veprinska). However, the question arises: despite the increased interest in audio, has higher education pedagogy adapted to reflect learning options and preferences? Audio in Higher Education Over the past decade, a body of research has emerged that highlights opportunities for audio in the higher education context; however, there remains a lack of research on the potential of audio more broadly for learning personalisation and accessibility. Most of the existing research on audio supported pedagogy has centred around the value of audio feedback on assessments (Knauf 442; Sarcona et al. 47; Heimbürger 106). With over a decade of publications on this type of audio-supported learning, researchers have found audio feedback to be divisive, in part due to the varied nature in which it is applied and received (Hennesy and Forrester 778), but Sacona et al. (58) emphasise students’ desire for the availability of both modalities of feedback (audio and written). Other audio learning alternatives discussed in the literature on audio-supported pedagogy include podcasts (McGarr; Gunderson and Cumming 591; Gachago et al. 859) and, to a lesser degree, the role of audio description (Pintado et al.), which may in part be the result of the recency of use of audio description in the media more broadly. One of the key features of more recent (post-2020) research into various audio alternatives or audio-supported learning options was the consistent observation that audio is an important part of universal design for learning (UDL) and its value and appeal for an increasingly diverse student population. UDL is an important concept in understanding the role of audio in higher education, as it is not simply focussed on ‘access to the classroom’, but the ways in which access to educational content, texts, and teaching is considered. It is centred on three principles: multiple means of representation, multiple means of engagement, and multiple means of expression (Cumming and Rose 1026). Pertinent to our research, UDL emphasises multiple formats for learning materials, including audio. Moreover, developed in the early 2000s, UDL recognises the role of digital technology in addressing the needs of an increasingly diverse student population (Edyburn 16). It is adapted from Universal Design (UD), which is based on a set of principles: equitable use, flexibility in use, simple and intuitive use, perceptible information, tolerance for error, low physical effort, and size and space for approach and use (Centre for Universal Design). While acknowledging the broader research literature and debates around cognitive styles, learning strategies, learning styles, and their efficacy in instruction (Cassidy 420), this project uses the term ‘learning preferences’ to capture the preferred, individual approaches to a task or learning situation. Auditory preferences are common amongst most models of learning styles; however, the scope of this study did not extend to other learning preferences or alternatives. Instead, this pilot research project, informed by the ‘audio turn’ and increased interest in UDL, sought to better understand how students and staff in the university context perceive, utilise, and engage with audio, both in everyday life and in higher education. Methodology The rationale for this project is based on UDL theories of flipped learning (Wolf et al.) and the use of captions in teaching and learning (Ellis et al.). UDL seeks to remove barriers and emphasises the importance of creating learning environments that offer multiple ways of engaging with content, and of accessing and representing information (Behling and Tobin 2). Wolf et al.’s research on flipped learning (replacing traditional lectures with online recordings) discovered that students who self-diagnosed attention deficit issues preferred the online option as it allowed them to break learning into small chunks. The opportunity to personalise study experiences to meet individual learning preferences was valued by the entire cohort, including students who preferred on-campus and face-to-face learning. These findings informed the development of a multimodal methodology in which participant responses are gathered from both researchers’ questions and from interaction and engagement with alternative learning formats. Firstly, a survey on the use of audio in everyday life and learning environments was created via Qualtrics and disseminated to students and staff. This was achieved in conjunction with the Digital Student Engagement Team, who promoted the survey via internal channels, Digital Screens, and Instagram stories. Several of the Faculties and Schools taking part in the research also distributed links to the survey via internal emails and the university’s learning platform. The survey was open for a ten-week period in the second half of 2023. Secondly, this project trialled embedding audio in teaching resources within four different units across two Faculties (Humanities and Business and Law), and then obtained feedback from students on their interactions with these new learning formats. Specifically, we added audio description to key resources in each unit, provided the option for audio feedback on at least one assignment per unit, and offered an audio version of the assessment guide. Students in the participating units were then invited to partake in an end-of-study-period focus group that discussed their uptake of and experience with the additional audio resources. The semi-structured discussions were facilitated in-person for on-campus units, and online via WebEx for offshore and online cohorts. The qualitative results from the focus groups and survey underwent thematic analysis. Research Findings Across both the survey findings and focus group discussions it emerged that audio played a pivotal role in students’ everyday life, and that this role had both increased in the past four years and manifested into a desire to utilise more audio alternatives in their learning experiences. There was a clear awareness of individuals’ personal learning preferences and what format they best responded to, as well as recognition that peers may have other preferences. These different types of learning preferences were reflected in the varied responses to extra audio-based learning material; while some students appreciated audio feedback on assessments, others preferred written feedback, in particular for ease of referencing and in order to refer back to it at a later point in time. Through the learner lens, audio does not appear to have replaced written learning material; instead, it is seen as complementary – and vice versa. Demographics Of the 268 survey participants (supplemented by an additional 31 focus group participants), 16.5% were staff. The responses primarily came from first-year students (26%), with relatively similar percentages of second-, third-year, and postgraduate students. In keeping with these enrolment demographics, most respondents were between the ages of 18 and 24 (43%). Students and staff in the Faculty of Humanities were significantly represented (57%), and most participants studied or taught online for some or all of the time (33% stated that they studied or taught both in person and online). Fig. 1: Age of participants Fig. 2: Faculty participation Fig. 3: Type of study Research on UDL (Bracken and Novak 8) identifies that specific groups of students may benefit more from accessible learning options, thus we explored respondents' background further: 73% of our survey respondents spoke English as their first language, 21% were mature-age students (commencing university after 20 years of age), 16% were international students, and 2% were of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent. Universal design is particularly pertinent for students with disabilities, due to the provision of “multiple ways of engaging with content” (Behling and Tobin 2), including audio learning alternatives. While we acknowledge that students do not always identify as having a disability, for a variety of reasons (Roberts et al. 249), 16% stated that they had a disability, with the most commonly cited disability being Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). Almost half of respondents with a disability cited multiple disabilities. Use of Audio in Everyday Life Participants were asked a series of questions about their use of audio in everyday life. Students acknowledged audio as an important and consistent part of everyday life, with music playing a significant role. It was clarified that audio is perceived as important for many reasons; used to multitask, for information and entertainment, for mental stimulation and in order to ‘get into the zone’ (e.g., for exams), for relaxation, and as a way of ‘filling space’ and avoiding silence. Though the most popular audio platforms were streamed music (71% of respondents stating they used apps like Spotify or Apple Music daily), podcasts were also consumed daily or a few times a week by 43% of respondents. The age of respondents did impact on the type of audio formats used – respondents under the age of 24 were less likely to listen to audio books (81% stated they rarely or never did), but 93% listened to streamed music. Importantly, the suggested rise of the importance of audio during the ‘pandemic years’ (Peaty et al. 7; St. Aubin) aligned with our research findings: 64% of respondents stated that their use of audio content had increased over the last four years. Expectations and Uptake of Audio in Higher Education Across both the focus groups and the survey, learners expressed a clear interest in using more audio learning options. 53% of all respondents stated that they would use more audio content in their higher education experience if it was offered. Only 5% said they would not. The most popular audio option was audio recordings of lectures and/or tutorials, with 46% stating they would use this option, while audio books or text-to-speech conversions for readings and academic articles were also desired. Fig. 4: Audio learning preferences For audio assessments and audio feedback on assessments, the results were more divisive, which is in line with extant research (Knauf 442; Sarcona et al. 47). From the comments provided, it was evident that personal learning and assessment preferences impacted on whether these options would suit individuals. Being able to quickly refer back to key points was also highlighted as an advantage of written feedback, or at least access to a transcript of the audio feedback. However, audio feedback was also perceived as providing advantages: “tonality really helps when communicating feedback, more easily emotionally received. Potential to be conversational – in my experience of getting feedback in person conversation has always been more beneficial.” International students, in particular, emphasised that written feedback can come across as harsh and impersonal. Being able to hear the educator’s voice was perceived as making feedback more personal and digestible. However, whilst written feedback enables leaners to skim over comments and in particular challenging points, audio feedback requires deeper engagement, which was not always considered as welcome. Staff were more reluctant to use audio learning alternatives (only 32% said they would use more audio content, a further 57% said they might, and 11% said they would not), citing concerns around workload and applicability to subject/unit. Improving Accessibility and the Role of Audio There was an array of alternative suggestions for improving the accessibility of higher education, either through increased audio options or other approaches. The use of captions (or descriptions) for lectures, podcasts for tutorials, and more interaction options for online tutorials emerged as a key theme. As one student explained, audio formats can allow for increased accessibility: “I like the idea of podcasts and audio books – this would help people like me who struggle with sitting down and fully focussing on reading material, people who experience neurodiversity”. Students again showed a clear understanding of how different learning formats could align with personal learning preferences. Moreover, they demonstrated critical awareness of the capabilities (and deficits) of existing university platforms and formats: the user experience for [the online learning platform] is poorly designed and not interactive enough… . I think online learning should incorporate visual image and video, live interactive quizzes, drop out rooms with students and interactive participation. Participants expressed a clear interest in accessible audio materials – audiobooks, audio recordings, convertible formats – and often this was aligned with the reasons for why students used accessibility features: more accessible content allows them to absorb information more easily, multitask, and to be efficient and effective in study. Noticeable was their awareness that accessible learning options were more inclusive and were aligned with a diverse student population. Participants reported that learning strategies, such as using text-to-audio conversion to check the syntax and flow of written assignment, or audio-to-text conversion for early assessment drafts, were largely self-discovered solutions to meet personal needs and preferences. Comments indicate a lack of formally taught strategies and audio-linked toolkits, further suggesting skills gaps – and possibly a preference for more traditional learning approaches – among teaching staff. Discussion While this pilot project provided limited reflections on the value of audio in higher education due to being limited to a single higher education institution, there are several clear themes that have emerged from our research that require further investigation and replication across multiple institutions, disciplines, and cohorts. Importantly, our findings highlight students’ desire for more audio, and accessible audio, in their learning experience; an awareness of individual learning preferences; and a gap between students’ expectations of multiple learning formats and the ability of the university to provide audio-supported pedagogy. Accessible, personalised and audio formats have become an expectation both within and outside of higher education (driven in part by increasing options in the broader media landscape). While the most common accessibility feature used by students (within and outside of higher education) is captions, students showed a clear interest in, and use of, audio formats (books, lectures, academic articles) and audio-described lectures. However, it should be noted that audio description is currently underutilised in higher education, and, while increasingly available (Peaty et al. 4), also not a standard inclusion in the broader media context. Therefore, we anticipate that audio description will begin to play a more significant role, particularly with the increase in AI. There was a clear awareness amongst students of their own learning preferences, and how audio alternatives and accessibility features might facilitate their personal education experience. Moreover, there was an understanding of the diversity of learning preferences amongst other students: “I am a visual learner, but I know for other students, audio might be more useful”. In the learning environment, students reflected not only on their use of audio materials, but of a range of formats. Several students noted that their preference was to engage with a combination of audio-visual materials, or to use audio as a “back-up” if information was missed or misunderstood. One student noted that they would record themselves reading their own essay once they had written it as a way of picking up mistakes. Students demonstrated a range of innovative strategies or tools to aid in learning or assessments, but these were largely personalised approaches outside of the tools or affordances the university offered. The different types of learning preferences identified in the focus groups were reflected in the varied responses to the extra audio-based learning material that had been provided to them during the semester. While some students appreciated audio feedback on assessments, others preferred written feedback. This confirmed responses from the earlier survey. The results of our pilot study reveal several key ‘disconnects’ between the perceptions, desires, and practices of students and staff, and the practical, effective implementation of audio learning strategies in the university context. As previously noted in relation to the use of captions in universities (Ellis et al.), higher education fails to be both at the forefront of and responsive to audio accessibility and audio format opportunities. The results allude to several reasons for this deficit: insufficient communication of what is available and how to access it, outdated or insufficient platforms that support audio learning options, lack of investment in new tools and technologies, limited professional opportunities to upskill staff, workload implications, and a lack of essential infrastructure (e.g. recording studios). For example, despite the provision of extra audio formats in the units involved in this research project, there were many students who were not aware of them, and during the focus groups students had to be prompted several times and provided with cues in order for them to remember these options. Moreover, students had also not been aware of audio options that currently exist as built-in features – such as voice notes to record audio feedback on assessments – and very few had ever experienced these audio learning options in the university setting, in part due to the lack of uptake of this feature by staff. Indeed, there are fundamental deficits in the utilisation of audio alternatives and accessibility features by staff. As one staff member explained, “audio can be far more personal and engaging. However, a big caveat here … . Audio production of content for teaching requires professional audio editing support. It is not something that can easily be added to academic workload”. Here, staff identify the extra ‘work’ and professional skills involved in the utilisation and production of accessible audio formats. For example, including audio description for a lecture involves media production skills, the navigation (and employment of) specific audio description software, as well as fundamental accessibility knowledge – all of which is rarely taught or provided for in higher education. We found gaps in the awareness of and the ability (both in terms of time and professional skills) of university staff to employ the ‘access work’ and ‘media work’ (Ellcessor 325; Hickman 6), and a lack of understanding of the opportunities for and benefits of audio-supported pedagogy. In our survey, while staff similarly engaged with audio regularly in their everyday lives, they were more reluctant to use audio learning alternatives in a higher education setting, citing concerns around workload and applicability to subject or unit. I teach units that deal primarily with writing, so I'm more interested in speech-to-text rather than the other way round. I feel that audio submissions of assessments widen the digital and linguistic divide, particularly for mature-age students and international students, who form a major cohort of many online units that I teach. Furthermore, the casualisation of teaching in higher education often places (typically unpaid) responsibility on tutors to upskill and self-navigate options for accessible teaching. Conclusion This study indicates that learners are frequently much more aware of their own needs, preferences, and potential tools to address these, than the facilitators of higher education learning experiences. Findings call for a rethink of higher education learning experiences, away from a standard delivery model – as often preferred by learning institutions – to mixed-mode experiences that both keep learners engaged and respond to the ‘audio turn’. One such example is the traditional lecture, which over the past years has increasingly moved online. However, delivery approaches have hardly changed. The assumption remains of the lecturer as expert, who talks to an audience that very much engages with a commentary to lecture slide content in real time. What these recordings – either of in-class deliveries or pre-recorded content – fail to acknowledge is shortened attention spans, as well as the fact that an increasing number of learners exclusively engage with learning content ‘on the go’ or whilst multi-tasking. Rather than putting text – or lecture slides and other visual materials – first, a rethink of the traditional lecture as ‘podcast’, with an increased focus on verbal cues, descriptions, and storytelling techniques could enable facilitators to meet students ‘where they are’: on the go, multitasking, and wanting to listen. Rather than interpreting changing consumption patterns of learning content as a sign of disengagement, mixing up learning content and delivery modes, and especially a shift to an ‘audio-first’ model of delivery could result in deeper, more meaningful, and impactful learning experiences. References Behling, Kirsten, and Thomas Tobin. Reach Everyone, Teach Everyone: Universal Design for Learning in Higher Education. Morgantown: West Virginia UP, 2018. <https://muse.jhu.edu/book/62887>. Bracken, Sean, and Katie Novak, eds. Transforming Higher Education Through Universal Design for Learning: An International Perspective. London: Routledge, 2019. <https://doi.org/10.4324/9781351132077>. Cassidy, Simon. “Learning Styles: An Overview of Theories, Models, and Measures.” Educational Psychology 24.4 (2004): 419-444. <https://doi.org/10.1080/0144341042000228834>. 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Photo by Adhy Savala on Unsplash ABSTRACT During a crisis, when healthcare capacity becomes overwhelmed and cannot meet regular standards of patient care, crisis standards of care are invoked to distribute scarce hospital space, staff, and supplies. When transitioning between conventional standards of care and crisis standards, hospitals may have to manage resources under scarcity constraints in an intermediate phase defined as the contingency phase. While much attention has been paid to the ethics of crisis standard of care protocols, contingency measures were more widely implemented, though little exists within the literature on the ethics of contingency measures or a clearly explicated contingency standard of care. This paper addresses three ethical issues with the current contingency response to COVID-19: the lack of formalization, the risks of using short-term solutions for prolonged contingency shortages, and the danger of exacerbating health disparities through hospital-level resource allocation. To mitigate these ethical issues, I offer recommendations for reimagining resource allocation during contingency standards of care. INTRODUCTION When transitioning between conventional standards of care and crisis standards, or in situations where shortages do not immediately threaten care delivery, hospitals may have to manage scarce resources in an intermediate phase, known as the “contingency” phase.[1] While much attention has been paid to the ethics of crisis standards, less literature covers the ethics of contingency measures or a clearly explicated contingency standard of care. Many states and hospital systems do not have contingency standards of care to dictate allocation absent an event triggering crisis standards. Crisis standards of care, used when healthcare capacity becomes overwhelmed and cannot meet regular standards of patient care, reflect ethical priorities relevant in times of shortage or other emergencies. These priorities include saving the most lives, the stewardship of scarce resources, and justice relating to equitable resource distribution.[2] Crisis standards of care delineate specialized allocation protocols and triage decision-making bodies at the institutional or state levels. Crisis standards of care require formal activation at the state level, and in the absence of clear triggers or governmental willingness to use them, hospitals may adopt informal strategies to manage allocation in the form of contingency measures. The contingency phase is defined by two simultaneous goals: prevent or stall crisis-level scarcity by managing limited resources and providing patient care that is functionally equivalent to usual care.[3] In other words, allocate scarce resources with no significant health consequences to patients. However, this is an unrealistic expectation: meeting a patient’s medical needs and allocating resources on the basis of scarcity instead of medical indications can be at odds, creating ethical tension. This paper addresses three ethical issues with the current contingency response stemming from this tension: the lack of formalization, the risk of using short-term solutions for prolonged contingency shortages, and the danger of exacerbating health disparities through hospital-level resource allocation. To mitigate these ethical issues, I offer recommendations for reimagining resource allocation during contingency standards of care. l. Lack of Formalization One shortcoming of current contingency measures is that they fail to meet the same level of procedural detail and clarity as crisis standards. The early COVID-19 surges in Italy and France demonstrated the pitfalls of bedside allocation in the absence of procedural guidance. The acute scarcity of critical care resources forced doctors in these countries to make allocation decisions at the bedside, which often resulted in de facto age-based allocation as well as experiences of moral distress and shame among providers.[4] In France, medical allocation guidelines and statistics were never released to the public, raising concerns over the role of transparency in implementing crisis standards and triage guidelines and causing the public to question the trustworthiness of provider triage.[5] Though many states in the US have crisis standards of care that can be implemented in the case of a large-scale triage event, these measures vary widely. A 2020 review of 31 crisis standards of care in the US found that only 18 contained strong “ethical grounding,” 28 used “evidence-based clinical processes and operations,” 21 included “ongoing community and provider engagement, education, and communication,” and 16 had “clear indicators, triggers, and lines of responsibility.”[6] The need for standardization, public transparency, and guidelines for crisis standards of care to prevent bedside allocation has been widely recognized. However, these issues remain unresolved by public policy or legislative efforts during the contingency period before (or after) crisis standards apply. A recent public health study that observed triage team members in a high-fidelity triage simulation highlighted the challenges of making equitable frontline allocation decisions.[7] In the simulation, participants nudged patient priority status up or down depending on what they subjectively identified as morally relevant factors. Through the simulation, participants reported difficulty separating implicit biases about patient characteristics from their clinical judgment. In the absence of formal institutional or regional guidelines for allocation during contingency-level shortages, there are few to no procedural safeguards against biased, ad hoc, and non-transparent rationing. Without formalized or standardized contingency allocation guidance, providers are left to make bedside allocation decisions that are susceptible to individual biases and patterns of unintended discrimination. An example of this susceptibility is seen when hospitals allow patients who no longer benefit from ICU resources to continue occupying ICU beds. This is based on a first-come-first-served (FCFS) approach to bed allocation. FCFS is often a default for patient intake, which led to disparities in care access during the early COVID-19 pandemic. Media reports of hospitals with “plenty of space” being unwilling to accept patients from overwhelmed, lower-income hospitals illustrate that the FCFS default advantages those who could show up first to a particular hospital: often privileged, well-funded healthcare systems that were inaccessible to low-income communities.[8] FCFS is blind to several morally relevant factors, including the likelihood of survival to discharge, reciprocity (i.e. prioritizing healthcare workers), and varying degrees of access to healthcare. Therefore, it inappropriately privileges those in proximity to healthcare systems or with social connections enabling greater initial access to care.[9] During crisis standards of care, excessive mortality that would result from FCFS is mitigated through formalized system-wide triage protocols based on current patient health status and potential benefit from resources. Crisis and contingency standards may provide liability coverage for providers who reallocate critical care beds away from those who no longer benefit during periods of scarcity. This liability coverage shifts bed allocation away from an FCFS model, but only if the policy is well-defined, clearly established, and known to providers. Without a formal system to guide the process or transition from the usual method of allocation to the contingency period, contingency decisions about who gets a scarce resource may continue to operate on an implicit FCFS basis, even when approaching crisis levels of scarcity. Additionally, these decisions will fall unsustainably on individual providers or transfer center workers, leading to moral distress on the frontlines when hospitals are already strained. Lessons from the crisis and contingency responses during COVID-19 can improve future contingency responses. There are multiple ways of achieving equity during contingency allocation, ranging from hospital-level to state-level policy changes. State-wide policies and interventions to facilitate resource-sharing can relieve some of the scarcity burdens that hospitals may face during the contingency period. For example, moving ICU patients to lower levels of care once they have sufficiently recovered is a challenge for doctors, who often call other hospitals to find open beds. In these situations, providers who do not move patients who no longer benefit from ICU beds unknowingly reinforce the FCFS system in which those who arrive first keep the scarce beds, while those who arrive later or wait for one are disadvantaged by having limited access to them. State-wide patient transfer centers, often facilitated by state public health departments, present an alternative by balancing patient needs and bed distribution more equitably and efficiently than individual physicians do, as demonstrated following COVID-19 surges in hospitalization.[10] These centers aid not only in allocating open tertiary care beds, but also in identifying open beds at lower levels of care and assisting physicians with transferring out patients who can be safely downgraded and no longer benefit from tertiary care resources. However, the simplest solution is to encourage the creation of ethics guidance or protocols for contingency allocation at the hospital level. In hospitals, institutional ethics guidance can help providers navigate difficult decisions and conversations with patients. When providers face time-sensitive allocation decisions, like the allocation of open ICU beds, the guidance would be a useful tool for making transparent, principled, and ethically justified allocation decisions in real-time to mitigate the risk of ad hoc or implicit rationing. ll. Unsuited for Prolonged Resource Shortages Secondly, neither contingency nor crisis standards are currently designed to respond to prolonged strains on the healthcare system. Since the start of the pandemic, a prolonged period of staffing shortages began and is projected to persist.[11] However, both crisis and contingency standards assume that the system will eventually return to conventional standards of care. For example, as a contingency or crisis standard, many hospitals deferred elective surgeries to preserve limited resources for emergency and life-saving procedures. Massachusetts, for instance, issued a public health emergency order that required hospitals to defer 50 percent of all non-essential and non-urgent (elective) surgeries. This order demonstrates the use of this contingency measure in response to prolonged staffing and bed shortages.[12] However, the deferral of elective procedures can result in adverse long-term community health consequences. Medical conditions typically addressed through elective surgery, such as joint replacement surgeries for osteoarthritis patients, may worsen if delayed. This can result in greater numbers of acute emergencies, the need for more complex surgical procedures later, increased reliance on pain medications, and longer recovery times.[13] Without a greater understanding of long-term complications in community health, existing contingency strategies, such as the deferral of elective surgeries, may be unsuitable for prolonged shortages. This becomes a greater threat to patient safety when contingency measures inappropriately take the place of crisis standards, risking the long-term implementation of emergency measures designed for temporary use. Although some state emergency planning documents identify indicators and triggers for activating contingency and crisis operations,[14] this transition is not always clear in action. For example, New York did not implement crisis standards of care during the early COVID-19 pandemic despite being one of the hardest-hit cities in the US.[15] Other states, including California, Texas, and Florida, did not activate crisis standards of care, leaving hospitals to implement informal contingency measures that ultimately required allocation strategies very similar or identical to many crisis standards of care protocols.[16] Due to the hesitance to activate crisis standards, ad hoc contingency measures and bedside decision-making prevailed over formal triage protocols. If contingency measures are not set forth in objective documents and are inappropriately used in the place of crisis standards, these short-term measures may result in an unfair or non-transparent distribution of scarce resources. When shortages in space, staff, or supplies jeopardize the ability to provide necessary care for critically ill patients under a conventional standard of care, failures to activate crisis standards risk the inappropriate use of ad hoc contingency measures in their place. With clear contingency standards of care, the duration of an ad hoc approach could be limited. Crisis standards are defined and activated at the regional or state-wide level, but outside of hospital-specific resource limitations, there are generally no standardized indications or triggers for transitioning into and out of contingency measures. Leaving contingency needs to individual hospitals may seem beneficial but defining the contingency period at the hospital level and the crisis period at the state or regional level blurs the line about when it is appropriate for decision makers to activate crisis standards, risking delayed activation or failure to activate them at all. Therefore, it is important that state policies implement automatic triggers for activation that clearly delineate between contingency and crisis responses.[17] Automatic triggers based on validated metrics like remaining available resources can inform the appropriate decision makers about when they must activate crisis standards. These triggers should be transparent to the public, validated, and updated over time with evolving data. These automatic triggers would prevent confusion, inconsistent guidelines, and inequitable contingency allocation at the hands of distressed providers when crisis standards are needed. Defining when to begin crisis standards could help limit the length of the contingency period. This would protect against the inappropriate application of contingency measures to crisis-level scarcity and prolonged shortages that they could not sustainably ameliorate. lll. Potential to Exacerbate Health Disparities Inconsistencies in contingency allocation open the door to disparities in care and unequal distribution of scarcity burdens among different communities based on their location or health needs. This is a concern because it is unclear whether contingency measures can meet their goal of achieving functionally equivalent patient outcomes when resource allocation must be balanced with patient-centered care.[18] The care under contingency standards is meant to be functionally equivalent to regular care. The definition assumes (or may wrongly suggest) that any contingency strategy in place to avoid critical scarcity has no significant impact on patient outcomes. While functional equivalence is attainable, there is currently little research into which contingency measures achieve functionally equivalent outcomes and which patient groups may be disproportionately affected by harmful resource allocation strategies. Although the transition from contingency standards to crisis standards is defined by the inability to provide functionally equivalent care, the difference in practice may merely be a distinction between visible, immediate sacrifices to patient well-being during crises and less-obvious, long-term decrements in community health due to protracted contingency care alterations. Two common contingency measures are cause for concern over disparate patient outcomes and the attainability of functional equivalence. First, restricting emergency room visits by the patient’s degree of need has worrying consequences. In late 2021 and early 2022, hospitals in Massachusetts faced widespread staffing shortages, leading to an emergency order that restricted emergency visits to emergency needs.[19] While this order is a reasonable method of allocating limited staff in the emergency department during severe shortages, it is doubtful that the outcomes of this restriction were equivalent to usual care. Health issues that are soon-to-be emergencies are filtered out until they worsen, resulting in patients overflowing to urgent care clinics or presenting to ERs with more severe forms of sicknesses later on. Given the empirical evidence demonstrating ER treatment and admission disparities that disadvantage Black and Hispanic patients, such a measure would only exacerbate these disparities by further limiting access to needed care.[20] Second, altered staffing ratios, which stretch a limited number of providers to meet patient needs during a staffing shortage, are another concerning yet common contingency measure. Staffing allocation is often viewed similarly to the allocation of space and medical equipment, such that contingency alterations to staffing operations may not seem like they significantly jeopardize patient care quality and outwardly appear functionally equivalent.[21] However, lower ratios of qualified nurses are associated with poor outcomes such as higher inpatient mortality[22] and lower survival rates of in-hospital cardiac arrest for Black patients.[23] These examples highlight the strong potential for contingency measures to amplify social health disparities, particularly when adopted over a prolonged time frame. Lowered standards of care in crisis allocation disproportionately impact racial and ethnic minorities.[24] For example, crisis standards of care used clinical scoring systems that were not developed or validated for crisis triage to prioritize access to life-saving treatments during the COVID-19 pandemic. This practice actively gives rise to racial health disparities and discrimination against disabled patients.[25] Not only were the standards inequitable in practice, but they varied widely from state to state and sometimes even from hospital to hospital, creating disparities across and within geographic regions.[26] If contingency measures are similarly implemented across hospitals or hospital departments without standardization or advance planning to ensure equitable outcomes, it is likely that the burden of a lower standard of care will fall primarily on disadvantaged patient groups and racial minorities. However, standardization alone may be insufficient. Other factors like varying levels of details on patients’ charts between hospitals could produce unfair outcomes if used to determine patient admission or transfer priority, even if the criteria for admissions and transfers are consistent. Thus, ongoing monitoring for unintended patterns of disparity must accompany standardization to ensure that blind spots in the allocation process are identified and corrected. Bioethics has long been preoccupied with the micro-allocation of limited resources within hospitals instead of confronting the structural inequities that underlie broader scarcity and patient needs. The traditional dilemma of allocating limited hospital resources among a certain number of patients overlooks questions about how other resources have already been allocated, which patients were present at the hospital in the first place, where hospitals have (and have not) been built, and whether previous allocation strategies created bias in the broader distribution of resources. Therefore, to achieve fairness, bioethicists must pay attention to aspects of the broader distribution of resources, such as social determinants of health and the allocation of preventative resources at the public health level. One strategy for measuring and addressing these disparities is the Area Deprivation Index (ADI). The ADI quantifies the effects of race, class, and socioeconomic background by geographic region for use in public health research and the prioritization of resources.[27] It has shown promise in identifying geographic regions in need of targeted community health efforts for diabetes management based on electronic patient health records.[28] The ADI and similar tools would be useful in proactively deciding how to allocate public health resources when hospitals are strained. Moreover, through using population health and resource data, public health organizations may forecast contingency shortages allowing for the adoption of early measures to mitigate health disparities that might otherwise be amplified from hospital-level contingency allocation decisions. CONCLUSION Meeting community health needs during periods of contingency scarcity, both before and after crisis standards of care apply, will require contingency standards of care rather than a bedside ad hoc distribution of scarce resources. While it is not inherently ethically unjustifiable for hospitals to adopt measures that may lower the standard of care during contingency standards, the necessity of these measures requires that bioethicists consider how equity, transparency, and the overall aim of functional equivalence can best be achieved under conditions of scarcity. The long-term health consequences of existing contingency measures, the potential for ad hoc and inconsistent allocation of scarce resources, and the need for consensus about when it becomes appropriate to make the formal transition to crisis standards of care demand further consideration. Because contingency measures will likely amplify existing disparities as crisis standards have, hospital-level management of scarcity is inadequate. Public health measures should be adopted in parallel to anticipate and manage health needs at the community or state level when resources are strained. - [1] Altevogt, B. M., Stroud, C., Hanson, S. L., Hanfling, D., & Gostin, L. O. (2009). Guidance for Establishing Crisis Standards of Care for Use in Disaster Situations: A Letter Report. The National Academies Press. https://doi.org/10.17226/12749 [2] Emanuel, E. J., Persad, G., Upshur, R., Thome, B., Parker, M., Glickman, A., Zhang, C., Boyle, C., Smith, M., & Phillips, J. P. (2020). Fair Allocation of Scarce Medical Resources in the Time of Covid-19. New England Journal of Medicine, 382(21), 2049–2055. https://doi.org/10.1056/NEJMsb2005114 [3] Alfandre, D., Sharpe, V. A., Geppert, C., Foglia, M. B., Berkowitz, K., Chanko, B., & Schonfeld, T. (2021). Between Usual and Crisis Phases of a Public Health Emergency: The Mediating Role of Contingency Measures. The American Journal of Bioethics, 21(8), 4–16. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2021.1925778 [4] Rosenbaum, L. (2020). Facing Covid-19 in Italy—Ethics, Logistics, and Therapeutics on the Epidemic’s Front Line. New England Journal of Medicine, 382(20), 1873–1875. https://doi.org/10.1056/NEJMp2005492 [5] Orfali, K. (2020). What Triage Issues Reveal: Ethics in the COVID-19 Pandemic in Italy and France. Journal of Bioethical Inquiry, 17(4), 675–679. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11673-020-10059-y [6] Romney, D., Fox, H., Carlson, S., Bachmann, D., O’Mathuna, D., & Kman, N. (2020). Allocation of Scarce Resources in a Pandemic: A Systematic Review of US State Crisis Standards of Care Documents. Disaster Medicine and Public Health Preparedness, 14(5), 677–683. https://doi.org/10.1017/dmp.2020.101 [7] Butler, C. R., Webster, L. B., Diekema, D. S., Gray, M. M., Sakata, V. L., Tonelli, M. R., & Vranas, K. C. (2022). Perspectives of Triage Team Members Participating in Statewide Triage Simulations for Scarce Resource Allocation During the COVID-19 Pandemic in Washington State. JAMA Network Open, 5(4), e227639. https://doi.org/10.1001/jamanetworkopen.2022.7639 [8] Dwyer, J. (2020, May 14). One Hospital Was Besieged by the Virus. Nearby Was ‘Plenty of Space.’—The New York Times. The New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/14/nyregion/coronavirus-ny-hospitals.html [9] Persad, G., Wertheimer, A., & Emanuel, E. J. (2009). Principles for allocation of scarce medical interventions. Lancet (London, England), 373(9661), 423–431. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0140-6736(09)60137-9 [10] Mitchell, S. H., Rigler, J., & Baum, K. (2022). Regional Transfer Coordination and Hospital Load Balancing During COVID-19 Surges. JAMA Health Forum, 3(2), e215048. https://doi.org/10.1001/jamahealthforum.2021.5048 [11] ASPE. (2022, May 3). Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic on the Hospital and Outpatient Clinician Workforce: Challenges and Policy Responses. ASPE. https://aspe.hhs.gov/reports/covid-19-health-care-workforce [12] Executive Office of Health and Human Services. (2021). Baker-Polito Administration Provides COVID-19 Update on Mask Advisory, Hospital Support | Mass.gov. https://www.mass.gov/news/baker-polito-administration-provides-covid-19-update-on-mask-advisory-hospital-support [13] The Lancet Rheumatology. (2021). Too long to wait: The impact of COVID-19 on elective surgery. The Lancet Rheumatology, 3(2), e83. https://doi.org/10.1016/S2665-9913(21)00001-1 [14] For an example of transition planning between crisis and contingency standards, see Minnesota Department of Health. (2021). Ethical Framework for Transitions Between Conventional, Contingency, and Crisis Conditions in Pervasive or Catastrophic Public Health Events with Medical Surge Implications (Minnesota Crisis Standards of Care). https://www.health.state.mn.us/communities/ep/surge/crisis/framework_transitions.pdf [15] Powell, T., & Chuang, E. (2020). COVID in NYC: What We Could Do Better. The American Journal of Bioethics, 20(7), 62–66. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2020.1764146 [16] Persoff, J., & Wynia, M. K. (2021). Ethically Navigating the Murky Waters of “Contingency Standards of Care.” The American Journal of Bioethics, 21(8), 20–21. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2021.1939810 [17] Board on Health Sciences Policy & Institute of Medicine. (2013). Indicators and Triggers. In Crisis Standards of Care: A Toolkit for Indicators and Triggers. National Academies Press (US). http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK202381/ [18] Frith, L., Draper, H., Fovargue, S., Baines, P., Redhead, C., & Chiumento, A. (2021). Neither ‘Crisis Light’ nor ‘Business as Usual’: Considering the Distinctive Ethical Issues Raised by the Contingency and Reset Phases of a Pandemic. The American Journal of Bioethics, 21(8), 34–37. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2021.1940363 [19] Rosseau, M. (2022, January 14). New emergency orders issued to help understaffed Mass. Hospitals. Boston.Com. https://www.boston.com/news/coronavirus/2022/01/14/new-emergency-orders-issued-to-help-understaffed-mass-hospitals/ [20] Zhang, X., Carabello, M., Hill, T., Bell, S. A., Stephenson, R., & Mahajan, P. (2020). Trends of Racial/Ethnic Differences in Emergency Department Care Outcomes Among Adults in the United States From 2005 to 2016. Frontiers in Medicine, 7. https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fmed.2020.00300 [21] Hick, J. L., Hanfling, D., & Wynia, M. (2022). Hospital Planning for Contingency and Crisis Conditions: Crisis Standards of Care Lessons from COVID-19. The Joint Commission Journal on Quality and Patient Safety. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jcjq.2022.02.003 [22] Musy, S. N., Endrich, O., Leichtle, A. B., Griffiths, P., Nakas, C. T., & Simon, M. (2021). The association between nurse staffing and inpatient mortality: A shift-level retrospective longitudinal study. International Journal of Nursing Studies, 120, 103950. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ijnurstu.2021.103950 [23] Brooks Carthon, M., Brom, H., McHugh, M., Sloane, D. M., Berg, R., Merchant, R., Girotra, S., & Aiken, L. H. (2021). Better Nurse Staffing Is Associated With Survival for Black Patients and Diminishes Racial Disparities in Survival After In-Hospital Cardiac Arrests. Medical Care, 59(2), 169–176. https://doi.org/10.1097/MLR.0000000000001464 [24] Annas, G. J., & Crosby, S. S. (2021). Standard Racism: Trying to Use “Crisis Standards of Care” in the COVID-19 Pandemic. The American Journal of Bioethics, 21(8), 1–3. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2021.1941424 [25] Wynia, M. K., & Sottile, P. D. (2020). Ethical Triage Demands a Better Triage Survivability Score. The American Journal of Bioethics, 20(7), 75–77. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2020.1779412 [26] Fink, S. (2020). Ethical Dilemmas in Covid-19 Medical Care: Is a Problematic Triage Protocol Better or Worse than No Protocol at All? The American Journal of Bioethics, 20(7), 1–5. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2020.1788663 [27] Knighton, A. J., Savitz, L., Belnap, T., Stephenson, B., & VanDerslice, J. (2016). Introduction of an Area Deprivation Index Measuring Patient Socioeconomic Status in an Integrated Health System: Implications for Population Health. EGEMS (Washington, DC), 4(3), 1238. https://doi.org/10.13063/2327-9214.1238 [28] Kurani, S. S., Lampman, M. A., Funni, S. A., Giblon, R. E., Inselman, J. W., Shah, N. D., Allen, S., Rushlow, D., & McCoy, R. G. (2021). Association Between Area-Level Socioeconomic Deprivation and Diabetes Care Quality in US Primary Care Practices. 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Why do politicians wear what they wear? Social conventions and parliamentary rules largely shape how politicians dress. Clothing is about power, especially if we think about clothing as uniforms. Uniforms of judges and police are easily recognised as symbols of power. Similarly, the business suit of a politician is recognised as a form of authority. But what if you are a female politician: what do you wear to work or in public? Why do we expect politicians to wear suits and ties? While we do expect a certain level of behaviour of our political leaders, why does the professionalised suit and tie signal this? And what happens if a politician challenges this convention? Female politicians, and largely any women in a position of power in the public sphere, are judged when they don’t conform to the social conventions of appropriate dress. Arguably, male politicians are largely not examined for their suit preferences (unless you are Paul Keating wearing Zenga suits or Anthony Albanese during an election make-over), so why are female politicians’ clothes so scrutinised and framed as reflective of their abilities or character? This article interrogates the political uniform and its gendered contestations. It does so via the ways female politicians are challenging gender norms and power relations in how they dress in public, political, and parliamentary contexts. It considers how rules and conventions around political clothing are political in themselves, through a discussion on how female politicians and political figures choose to adhere to or break these rules. Rules about what dress is worn by parliamentarians are often archaic, often drawn from rules set by parliaments largely made up of men. But even with more women sitting in parliaments, dress rules still reflect a very masculine idea of what is appropriate. Dress standards in the Australian federal parliament are described as a “matter for individual judgement”, however the Speaker of the House of Representatives can make rulings on members’ attire. In 1983, the Speaker ruled dress was to be neat, clean, and decent. In 1999, the Speaker considered dress to be “formal” and “similar to that generally accepted in business and professional circles”. This was articulated by the Speaker to be “good trousers, a jacket, collar and tie for men and a similar standard of formality for women”. In 2005, the Speaker reinforced this ruling that dress should be “formal” in keeping with business and professional standards, adding there was no “dignity of the House for Members to arrive in casual or sportswear” (“Dress”). Clothes with “printed slogans” are not considered acceptable and result in a warning from the Speaker for Australian MPs to “dress more appropriately”. Previous dress rulings also include that members should not remove their jackets in parliament, “tailored safari suits without a tie were acceptable, members could wear hats in parliament but had to remove them while entering or leaving the chamber and while speaking”. The safari suit rule likely refers to the former Foreign Affairs Minister Gareth Evans’s wearing of the garment during the 1980s and 1990s. The Speaker can also rule on what a member of the federal parliament can’t do. While in parliament, members can’t smoke, can’t read a newspaper, can’t distribute apples, may not climb over seats, and can’t hit or kick their desks. Members of parliament can however use their mobile phones for text messaging, and laptops can be used for emails (“Dress”). These examples suggest an almost old-fashioned type of school rules juxtaposed with modern sensibilities, positing the ad-hoc nature of parliamentary rules, with dress rules further evidence of this. While a business suit is considered the orthodoxy of the political uniform for male politicians, this largely governs rules about what female politicians wear. The business suit, the quasi-political uniform for male MPs, is implicit and has social consensus. The suit, which covers the body, is comprised of trousers to the ankle, well cut in muted colours of blue, grey, brown, and black, with contrasting shirts, often white or light colours, ties that may have a splash of colour, often demonstrating allegiances or political persuasions, mostly red or blue, as in the case of Labor and Liberal or Republicans and Democrats. The conventions of the suit are largely proscribed onto women, who wear a female version of the male suit, with some leeway in colour and pattern. Dress for female MPs should be modest, as with the suit, covering much of the body, and especially have a modest neckline and be at least knee length. In the American Congress, the dress code requires “men to wear suit jackets and ties ... and women are not supposed to wear sleeveless tops or dresses without a sweater or jacket” (Zengerle). In 2017, this prompted US Congresswomen to wear sleeveless dresses as a “right to bare arms” (Deutch and Karl). In these two Australian and American examples of a masculine parliamentary wear it is reasonable to suppose a seeming universality about politicians’ dress codes. But who decides what is the correct mode of political uniform? Sartorial rules about what are acceptable clothing choices are usually made by the dominant group, and this is the case when it comes to what politicians wear. Some rules about what is worn in parliament are archaic to our minds today, such as the British parliament law from 1313 which outlaws the wearing of armour and weaponry inside the chamber. More modern rulings from the UK include the banning of hats in the House of Commons (although not the Lords), and women being permitted handbags, but not men (Simm). This last rule reveals how clothing and its performance is gendered, as does the Australian parliament rule that a “Member may keep his hands in his pockets while speaking” (“Dress”), which assumes the speaker is likely a man wearing trousers. Political Dress as Uniform While political dress may be considered as a dress ‘code’ it can also be understood as a uniform because the dress reflects their job as public, political representatives. When dress code is considered as a uniform, homogenisation of dress occurs. Uniformity, somewhat ironically, can emphasise transgressions, as Jennifer Craik explains: “cultural transgression is a means of simultaneously undermining and reinforcing rules of uniforms since an effective transgressive performance relies on shared understandings of normative meanings, designated codes of conduct and connotations” (Craik 210). Codified work wear usually comes under the umbrella of uniforms. Official uniforms are the most obvious type of uniforms, clearly denoting the organisation of the wearer. Military, police, nurses, firefighters, and post-office workers often have recognisable uniforms. These uniforms are often accompanied by a set of rules that govern the “proper” wearing of these items. Uniforms rules do not just govern how the clothing is worn, they also govern the conduct of the person wearing the uniform. For example, a police officer in uniform, whether or not on duty, is expected to maintain certain codes of behaviour as well as dress standards. Yet dress, as Craik notes, can also be transgressive, allowing the wearer to challenge the underpinning conventions of the dress codes. Both Australian Senator Sarah Hanson-Young and US Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, to name just two, leveraged social understandings of uniforms when they used their clothing to communicate political messages. Fashion as political communication or as ‘fashion politics’ is not a new phenomenon (Oh 374). Jennifer Craik argues that there are two other types of uniform; the unofficial and the quasi-uniform (17). Unofficial uniforms are generally adopted in lieu of official uniforms. They generally arise organically from group members and function in similar ways to official uniforms, and they tend to be identical in appearance, even if hierarchical. Examples of these include the yellow hi-vis jackets worn by the French Gilets Jaunes during the 2018 protests against rising costs of living and economic injustice (Coghlan). Quasi-uniforms work slightly differently. They exist where official and unofficial rules govern the wearing of clothes that are beyond the normal social rules of clothing. For example, the business suit is generally considered appropriate attire for those working in a conservative corporate environment: some workplaces restrict skirt, trouser, and jacket colours to navy, grey, or black, accompanied by a white shirt or blouse. In this way we can consider parliamentary dress to be a form of “quasi-uniform”, governed by both official and unofficial workplaces rules, but discretionary as to what the person chooses to wear in order to abide by these rules, which as described above are policed by the parliamentary Speaker. In the Australian House of Representatives, official rules are laid down in the policy “Dress and Conduct in the Chamber” which allows that “the standard of dress in the Chamber is a matter for the individual judgement of each Member, [but] the ultimate discretion rests with the Speaker” (“Dress”). Clothing rules within parliamentary chambers may establish order but also may seem counter-intuitive to the notions of democracy and free speech. However, when they are subverted, these rules can make clothing statements seem even more stark. Jennifer Craik argues that “wearing a uniform properly ... is more important that the items of clothing and decoration themselves” (4) and it is this very notion that makes transgressive use of the uniform so powerful. As noted by Coghlan, what we wear is a powerful tool of political struggle. French revolutionaries rejected the quasi-uniforms of the French nobility and their “gold-braided coat, white silk stockings, lace stock, plumed hat and sword” (Fairchilds 423), and replaced it with the wearing of the tricolour cockade, a badge of red, blue, and white ribbons which signalled wearers as revolutionaries. Uniforms in this sense can be understood to reinforce social hierarchies and demonstrate forms of power and control. Coghlan also reminds us that the quasi-uniform of women’s bloomers in the 1850s, often referred to as “reform dress”, challenged gender norms and demonstrated women’s agency. The wearing of pants by women came to “symbolize the movement for women’s rights” (Ladd Nelson 24). The wearing of quasi-political uniforms by those seeking social change has a long history, from the historical examples already noted to the Khadi Movement led by Gandhi’s “own sartorial choices of transformation from that of an Englishman to that of one representing India” (Jain), to the wearing of sharecropper overalls by African American civil rights activists to Washington to hear Martin Luther King in 1963, to the Aboriginal Long March to Freedom in 1988, the Tibetan Freedom Movement in 2008, and the 2017 Washington Pink Pussy Hat March, just to name a few (Coghlan). Here shared dress uniforms signal political allegiance, operating not that differently from the shared meanings of the old-school tie or tie in the colour of political membership. Political Fashion Clothing has been used by queens, female diplomats, and first ladies as signs of power. For members of early royal households, “rank, wealth, magnificence, and personal virtue was embodied in dress, and, as such, dress was inherently political, richly materialising the qualities associated with the wearer” (Griffey 15). Queen Elizabeth I (1558-1603), in order to subvert views that she was unfit to rule because of her sex, presented herself as a virgin to prove she was “morally worthy of holding the traditionally masculine office of monarch” (Howey 2009). To do this she dressed in ways projecting her virtue, meaning her thousands of gowns not only asserted her wealth, they asserted her power as each gown featured images and symbols visually reinforcing her standing as the Virgin Queen (Otnes and Maclaren 40). Not just images and symbols, but colour is an important part of political uniforms. Just as Queen Elizabeth I’s choice of white was an important communication tool to claim her right to rule, Queen Victoria used colour to indicate status and emotion, exclusively wearing black mourning clothes for the 41 years of her widowhood and thus “creating a solemn and pious image of the Queen” (Agnew). Dress as a sign of wealth is one aspect of these sartorial choices, the other is dress as a sign of power. Today, argues Mansel, royal dress is as much political as it is performative, embedded with a “transforming power” (Mansel xiiv). With the “right dress”, be it court dress, national dress, military or civil uniform, royals can encourage loyalty, satisfy vanity, impress the outside world, and help local industries (Mansel xiv). For Queen Elizabeth II, her uniform rendered her visible as The Queen; a brand rather than the person. Her clothes were not just “style choices”; they were “steeped with meaning and influence” that denoted her role as ambassador and figurehead (Atkinson). Her wardrobe of public uniforms was her “communication”, saying she was “prepared, reliable and traditional” (Atkinson). Queen Elizabeth’s other public uniform was that of the “tweed-skirted persona whose image served as cultural shorthand for conservative and correct manner and mode” (Otnes and Maclaren 19). For her royal tours, the foreign dress of Queen Elizabeth was carefully planned with a key “understanding of the political semantics of fashion … with garments and accessories … pay[ing] homage to the key symbols of the host countries” (Otnes and Maclaren 49). Madeline Albright, former US Secretary of State, engaged in sartorial diplomacy not with fashion but with jewellery, specifically pins (Albright). She is quoted as saying on good days, when I wanted to project prosperity and happiness, I'd put on suns, ladybugs, flowers, and hot-air balloons that signified high hopes. On bad days, I'd reach for spiders and carnivorous animals. If the progress was slower than I liked during a meeting in the Middle East, I'd wear a snail pin. And when I was dealing with crabby people, I put on a crab. Other ambassadors started to notice, and whenever they asked me what I was up to on any given day, I would tell them, “Read my pins”. (Burack) Two American first ladies, Hillary Rodham Clinton and Michelle Obama, demonstrate how their fashion acted as a political uniform to challenge the ideal notions of American womanhood that for generations were embedded in the first lady (Rall et al.). While modern first ladies are now more political in their championing of causes and play an important role in presidential election, there are lingering expectations that the first lady be the mother of the nation (Caroli). First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton’s eclectic style challenged the more conservative tone set by prior Republican first ladies, notably Barbara Bush. Rodham Clinton is a feminist and lawyer more interested in policy that the domesticity of White House functions and décor. Her fashion reflects her “independence, individuality and agency”, providing a powerful message to American women (Rall et al. 274). This was not that much of a shift from her appearance as the wife of a Southern Governor who wouldn’t wear makeup and kept her maiden name (Anderson and Sheeler 26). More recently, as Democratic Presidential nominee, Rodham Clinton again used fashion to tell voters that a woman could wear a suit and become president. Rodham Clinton’s political fashion acted to contest the gender stereotypes about who could sit in the White House (Oh 374). Again, the pantsuit was not new for Rodham Clinton; “when I ran for Senate in 2000 and President in 2008, I basically had a uniform: a simple pantsuit, often black” (Mejia). Rodham Clinton says the “benefit to having a uniform is finding an easy way to fit in … to do what male politicians do and wear more or less the same thing every day”. As a woman running for president in 2016, the pantsuit acted as a “visual cue” that she was “different from the men but also familiar” (Mejia). Similarly, First Lady Michelle Obama adopted a political uniform to situate her role in American society. Gender but also race and class played a role in shaping her performance (Guerrero). As the first black First Lady, in the context of post-9/11 America which pushed a “Buy American” retail campaign, and perhaps in response to the novelty of a black First Lady, Obama expressed her political fashion by returning the First Lady narrative back to the confines of family and domesticity (Dillaway and Paré). To do this, she “presented a middle-class casualness by wearing mass retail items from popular chain stores and the use of emerging American designers for her formal political appearances” (Rall et al. 274). Although the number of women elected into politics has been increasing, gender stereotypes remain, and female representation in politics still remains low in most countries (Oh 376). Hyland argues that female politicians are subject to more intense scrutiny over their appearance … they are held to higher standards for their professional dress and expected to embody a number of paradoxes — powerful yet demure, covered-up but not too prim. They’re also expected to keep up with trends in a way that their male counterparts are not. Sexism can too easily encroach upon critiques of what they wear. How female politicians dress is often more reported than their political or parliamentary contributions. This was the case for Australia’s first female Prime Minister Julia Gillard. Jansens’s 2019 research well demonstrates the media preoccupation with political women’s fashion in a number of ways, be it the colours they choose to wear, how their clothing reveals their bodies, and judgements about the professionalism of their sartorial choices and the number of times certain items of clothing are worn. Jansens provides a number of informative examples noting the media’s obsession with Gillard’s choices of jackets that were re-worn and tops that showed her cleavage. One Australian Financial Review columnist reported, I don’t think it’s appropriate for a Prime Minister to be showing her cleavage in Parliament. It’s not something I want to see. It is inappropriate to be in Parliament, it is disrespectful to yourself and to the Australian community and to the parliament to present yourself in a manner that is unprofessional. (Jansens) The media preoccupation with female politicians’ clothing is noted elsewhere. In the 2012 Korean presidential election, Geun-hye Park became the first female president of Korea, yet media reports focussed largely on Park’s fashion: a 2013 newspaper published a four-page analysis titled “Park Geun-hye Fashion Project”. Another media outlet published a review of the 409 formal function outfits worn by Park (Oh 378). The larger focus, however, remains on Park’s choice to wear a suit, referred to as her “combat uniform” (Cho), for her daily parliamentary and political duties. This led Oh to argue that Korean female politicians, including Park, wear a “male suit as a means for benefit and survival”; however, with such media scrutiny “female politicians are left under constant surveillance” (382). As Jansens argues, clothing can act as a “communicative barrier between the body and society”, and a narrative that focusses on how clothes fit and look “illustrates women’s bodies as exceptional to the uniform of the political sphere, which is a masculine aesthetic” (212). Drawing on Entwistle, Jansens maintains that the the uniform “serves the purpose in policing the boundaries of sexual difference”, with “uniforms of gender, such as the suit, enabl[ing] the repetitious production of gender”. In this context, female politicians are in a double bind. Gillard, for example, in changing her aesthetic illustrates the “false dichotomy, or the ‘double bind’ of women’s competency and femininity that women can be presented with regarding their agency to conform, or their agency to deviate from the masculine aesthetic norm” (Jansens 212). This was likely also the experience of Jeannette Rankin, with media reports focusing on Rankin’s “looks and “personal habits,” and headlines such “Congresswoman Rankin Real Girl; Likes Nice Gowns and Tidy Hair” (“Masquerading”). In this article, however, the focus is not on the media preoccupation with female politicians’ political fashion; rather, it is on how female politicians, rather than conforming to masculine aesthetic norms of wearing suit-like attire, are increasingly contesting the political uniform and in doing so are challenging social and political boundaries As Yangzom puts it, how the “embodiment of dress itself alters political space and civic discourse is imperative to understanding how resistance is performed in creating social change” (623). This is a necessary socio-political activity because the “way the media talks about women affects the way women are perceived in society. If women’s appearances are consistently highlighted in the media, inequality of opportunity will follow from this inequality of treatment” (Jansens 215). Contesting the Political Uniform Breaking fashion norms, or as Entwistle argues, “bodies which flout the conventions of their culture and go without the appropriate clothes are subversive of the most basic social codes and risk exclusion, scorn and ridicule” (7), hence the price may be high to pay for a public figure. American Vice-President Kamala Harris’s penchant for comfy sneakers earned her the nickname “the Converse candidate”. Her choice to wear sneakers rather than a more conventional low-heel shoe didn’t necessarily bring about a backlash; rather, it framed her youthful image (possibly to contrast against Trump and Biden) and posited a “hit the ground running” approach (Hyland). Or, as Devaney puts it, “laced up and ready to win … [Harris] knew her classic American trainers signalled a can-do attitude and a sense of purpose”. Increasingly, political women, rather than being the subject of social judgments about their clothing, are actively using their dressed bodies to challenge and contest a range of political discourses. What a woman wears is a “language through which she can send any number of pointed messages” (Weiss). In 2021, US Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez wore a ‘Tax the rich’ dress to the Met Gala. The dress was designed by social activist designers Brother Vellies and loaned to Ocasio-Cortez to attend the $30,000 ticket event. For Ocasio-Cortez, who has an Instagram following of more than eight million people, the dress is “about having a real conversation about fairness and equity in our system, and I think this conversation is particularly relevant as we debate the budget” (“Alexandria”). For Badham, “in the blood-spattered garments of fighting class war” the “backlash to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s … dress was instant and glorious”. At the same event, Congresswomen Carolyn Maloney wore an ‘Equal Rights for Women’ suffragette-themed floor length dress in the suffragette colours of purple, white, and gold. Maloney posted that she has “long used fashion as a force 4 change” (Chamlee). US Senator Kyrsten Sinema is known for her “eccentric hipster” look when sitting in the chamber, complete with “colourful wigs, funky glasses, gold knee-high boots, and a ring that reads ‘Fuck off”’ (Hyland). Simena has been called a “Prada Socialist” and a “fashion revolutionary” (Cauterucci). Similarly, UK politician Harriet Harmen received backlash for wearing a t-shirt which read “This is what a feminist looks like” when meeting PM David Cameron (Pilote and Montreuil). While these may be exceptions rather than the rule, the agency demonstrated by these politicians speaks to the patriarchal nature of masculine political environments and the conventions and rules that maintain gendered institutions, such as parliaments. When US Vice-President Kamala Harris was sworn in, she was “not only … the first woman, Black woman, and South Asian-American woman elected to the position, but also … the first to take the oath of office wearing something other than a suit and tie”, instead wearing a feminised suit consisting of a purple dress and coat designed by African-American designer Christopher John Rogers (Naer). Harris is often photographed wearing Converse sneakers, as already noted, and Timberland work boots, which for Naer is “quietly rebellious” because with them “Harris subverts expectations that women in politics should appear in certain clothing (sleek heels, for instance) in order to compete with men — who are, most often, in flats”. For Elan, the Vice-President’s sneakers may be a “small sartorial detail, but it is linked to the larger cultural moment in which we live. Sneakers are a form of footwear finding their way into many women’s closets as part of a larger challenge to outmoded concepts of femininity” as well as a nod to her multiracial heritage where the “progenitors of sneaker culture were predominantly kids of colour”. Her dress style can act to disrupt more than just gender meanings; it can be extended to examine class and race. In 2022, referencing the Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez 2021 Met dress, Claudia Perkins, the wife of Australian Greens leader Adam Bandt, wore a “white, full-length dress covered in red and black text” that read “coal kills” and “gas kills”, with slick, long black gloves. Bandt wore a “simple tux with a matching pocket square of the same statement fabric” to the federal parliament Midwinter Ball. Joining Perkins was Greens Senator Sarah Hanson-Young, wearing an “hourglass white dress with a statement on the back in black letters” that read: “end gas and coal”. The trim on the bottom was also covered in the same text. Hanson-Young posted on social media that the “dress is made from a 50-year-old damask table cloth, and the lettering is made from a fast fashion handbag that had fallen apart” (Bliszczyk). Federal MP Nicolle Flint posted a video on Twitter asking a political commentator what a woman in politics should wear. One commentator had taken aim at Flint’s sartorial choices which he described “pearl earrings and a pearly smile” and a “vast wardrobe of blazers, coats and tight, black, ankle-freezing trousers and stiletto heels”. Ending the video, Flint removes her black coat to reveal a “grey bin bag cinched with a black belt” (Norman). In 2018, Québec politician Catherine Dorian was criticised for wearing casual clothes, including Dr Marten boots, in parliament, and again in 2019 when Dorian wore an orange hoodie in the parliamentary chamber. The claim was that Dorian “did not respect decorum” (Pilote and Montreuil). Dorian’s response was “it’s supposed to be the people’s house, so why can’t we look like normal people” (Parrillo). Yet the Québec parliament only has dress rules for men — jacket, shirt and ties — and has no specifics for female attire, meaning a female politician can wear Dr Martens or a hoodie, or meaning that the orthodoxy is that only men will sit in the chamber. The issue of the hoodie, somewhat like Kamala Harris’s wearing of sneakers, is also a class and age issue. For Jo Turney, the hoodie is a “symbol of social disobedience” (23). The garment is mass-produced, ordinary, and democratic, as it can be worn by anyone. It is also a sign of “criminality, anti-social behaviour and out of control youth”. If the media are going to focus on what female politicians are wearing rather than their political actions, it is unsurprising some will use that platform to make social and political comments on issues relating to gender, but also to age, class, and policies. While this may maintain a focus on their sartorial choices, it does remind us of the double bind female politicians are in. With parliamentary rules and social conventions enamoured with the idea of a ‘suit and tie’ being the appropriate uniform for political figures, instances when this ‘rule’ is transgressed will risk public ridicule and social backlash. However, in instances were political women have chosen to wear garments that are not the conventional political uniform of the suit and tie, i.e. a dress or t-shirt with a political slogan, or a hoodie or sneakers reflecting youth, class, or race, they are challenging the customs of what a politician should look like. Politicians today are both men and women, different ages, abilities, sexualities, ethnicities, religions, and demographics. To narrowly suppose what a politician is by what they wear narrows public thinking about a person’s contribution or potential contribution to public life. While patriarchal social conventions and parliamentary rules stay in place, the political sphere is weaker for it. References Agnew, Molly. “Victorian Mourning Dress.” Eternal Goddess 27 Nov. 2020. 12 Dec. 2022 <https://www.eternalgoddess.co.uk/posts/esbvxua79pcgcwyjp6iczrdfgw4vm5>. Albright, Madeleine. Read My Pins: Stories from a Diplomat’s Jewel Box. Sydney: Harper Collins, 2010. “Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez Wears Dress with ‘Tax the Rich' Written on It to Met Gala.” NBC 13 Sep. 2021. <https://www.nbcnewyork.com/entertainment/the-scene/met-gala/alexandria-ocasio-cortez-wears-dress-with-tax-the-rich-written-on-it-to-met-gala/3270019/>. Anderson, Karrin, and Kristine Sheeler. Governing Codes: Gender, Metaphor and Political Identity. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2005. Atkinson, Emma. “Power Dressing: The Queen’s Unique Style.” BBC News 1 Jun. 2022. <https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-61593081>. 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Introduction Since the early 2000s, and especially since the onset of COVID-19 and long periods of lockdown, board games have seen a revival in popularity. The increasing popularity of board games are part of what Julie Lennett, a toy industry analyst at NPD Group, describes as the “nesting trend”: families have more access to entertainment at home and are eschewing expensive nights out (cited in Birkner 7). While on-demand television is a significant factor in this trend, for Moriaty and Kay (6), who wouldn’t “welcome [the] chance to turn away from their screens” to seek the “warmth and connection you get from playing games with live human family and friends?” For others, playing board games can simply be about nostalgia. Board games have a long history not specific to one period, geography, or culture. Likely board games were developed to do two things – teach and entertain. This remains the case today. Historically, miniature versions of battles or hunts were played out in what we might recognise today as a board game. Trade, war, and science impacted on their development, as did the printing press, which allowed for the standardisation of rules. Chess had many variations prior to the fifteenth century. Similarly, the Industrial Revolution allowed for the mass production of board games, boosting their popularity across nations, class, and age (Walker 13). Today, regardless of or because of our digital lives, we are in a “board game renaissance” (Booth 1). Still played on rainy days, weekends, and holidays, we now also play board games in dedicated game board cafés like the Haunted Game Café in America, the Snakes and Lattes in Canada, or the Mind Café in Singapore. In the board game café Draughts in the UK, customers pay £5 to select and play one of 800 board games, including classics like Monopoly and Cluedo. These cafes are important as they are “helping manufacturers to understand the kind of games that appeal to the larger section of players” (Atrizton). COVID-19 caused board game sales to increase. The global market was predicted to increase by US$1 billion in 2021, compared to 2020 (Jarvis). Total sales of board games in Australia are expected to reach AU$86 million in 2023, an almost 10 per cent increase from the preceding year (Statista "Board Games – Australia"). The emergence of Kickstarter, a global crowdfunding platform which funds new board games, is filling the gap in the contemporary board game market, with board games generating 20 per cent of the total funding raised (Carter). Board games are predicted to continue to grow, with the global market revenue record at US$19 billion dollars in 2022, a figure that is expected to rise to US$40 billion within 6 years (Atrizton). If the current turn towards board games represents a desire to escape from the digital world, the Internet is also contributing to the renaissance. Ex-Star Trek actor Wil Wheaton hosts the popular Web series TableTop, in which each episode explains a board game that is then played, usually with celebrities. The Internet also provides “communities” in which fans can share their enthusiasm, be it as geek culture or cult fandom (Booth 2). Booth provides an eloquent explanation, however, for the allure of face-to-face board games: “they remind us of our face-to-face past, and recall a type of pre-digital luddism where we can circle around the ‘campfire’ of the game board” (Booth 1-2). What makes a board game successful is harder to define. Phillip Orbanes, an American game designer and former vice-president of research and development at Parker Brothers, has attempted to elucidate the factors that make a good board game: “make the rules simple and unambiguous … don’t frustrate the casual player … establish a rhythm … focus on what’s happening off the board … give ‘em chances to come from behind … [and] provide outlets for latent talents” (Orbanes 52-55). Orbanes also says it is important to understand that what “happens off the board is just as important to the experience as the physical game itself” (Orbanes 51). Tristan Donovan contends that there are four broad stages of modern board games, beginning with the folk era when games had no fixed author, their rules were mutable, and local communities adapted the game to suit their sensibilities. Chess is an example of this, with the game only receiving the fixed rules we know today when tournaments and organisations saw the need for a singular set of rules. Mass production of games was the second stage, marking “the single biggest shift in board game history – a total flip in how people understood, experienced and played board games. Games were no long[er] malleable objects owned by the commons, but products created usually in the pursuit of profit” (Donovan 267). An even more recent development in game boards was the introduction of mass produced plastics, which reduced the cost of board game construction and allowed for a wider range of games to be produced. This was particularly evident in the post-war period. Games today are often thought of as global, which allows gamers to discover games from other regions and cultures, such as Catan (Klaus Teuber, 1995), a German game that may not have enjoyed its immense success if it were not for the Internet. Board game players are broadly categorised into two classes: the casual gamer and the hobby or serious gamer (Rogerson and Gibbs). The most popular game from the mass production era is Monopoly, the focus of this article. The History of Monopoly Monopoly was designed and patented by American Elizabeth Magie (1866-1948) in 1902, and was originally called The Landlord’s Game. The game was based on the anti-monopoly taxation principles of Henry George (1839-1897), who argued that people should own 100 per cent of what they make and the land should belong to everyone. Land ownership, considered George, only benefitted land owners, and forces working people to pay exorbitant rent. Magie’s original version of the game was designed to demonstrate how rents enrich property owners and impoverish tenants. Renters in Australia’s property market today may recognise this side of ruthless capitalism. In 1959 Fidel Castro thought Monopoly “sufficiently redolent of capitalism” that he “ordered the ­destruction of every Monopoly set in Cuba” (McManus). Magie, however, was not credited with being the original inventor of Monopoly: rather, this credit was given to Charles Darrow. In 2014, the book The Monopolist: Obsession, Fury, and the Scandal behind the World's Favorite Board Game by Mary Pilon re-established Magie as the inventor of Monopoly, with her role and identity unearthed by American Ralph Anspach (1926-2022), an Adam Smith economist, Polish-German refugee, and anti-Vietnam protestor. According to Pilon, Magie, a suffragette and progressive economic and political thinker, was a Georgist advocate, particularly of his anti-monopolist policies, and it was this that informed her game’s narrative. An unmarried daughter of Scottish immigrants, she was a Washington homeowner, familiar with the grid-like street structure of the national capital. Magie left school at 13 to help support her family who were adversely impacted upon by the Panic of 1873, which saw economic collapse because of falling silver prices, railroad speculation, and property losses. She worked as a stenographer and teacher of Georgist single tax theory. Seeking a broader platform for her economic ideas, and with the growing popularity of board games in middle class homes, in 1904 Magie secured a patent for The Landlord’s Game, at a time when women only held 1 per cent of US patents (Pilon). The original game included deeds and play money and required players to earn wages via labour and pay taxes. The board provided a circular path (as opposed to the common linear path) in which players circled through rental properties and railroads, and could acquire food, with natural reserves (oil, coal, farms, and forests) unable to be monopolised. However, she created two sets of rules – the monopoly rules familiar to today’s players, and anti-monopoly rules in which tensions over human greed and altruism could be played out by participants. Magie started her own New York firm to manufacture and distribute the game, continued the struggle for women’s equality, and raged against wealthy monopolists of the day such as Andrew Carnegie (Pilon). By the late 1920, the game, mostly referred to as the ‘monopoly’ game, was popular, but many who played the game were playing handmade versions, likely unaware of the original Landlord’s Game. In 1931, mass-produced versions of the game, now titled Finance, began to appear, with some changes, including the ability to purchase properties, along with rule books. Occurring at the same time as the emergence of fixed-price goods in large department stores, the game, which now included chance cards, continued to be popular. It was Charles Darrow who sold Monopoly to Parker Brothers, even if he did not invent it. Darrow was introduced to one of the variants of the game and became obsessed with the game, which now featured the Community Chest and Free Parking, but his version did not have a set of rules. An unemployed ex-serviceman with no college education, Darrow struggled to provide for his family. By 1932, America was in the grip of the Great Depression, with housing prices collapsing and squatting common in large American cities. Befriending an artist, Darrow sought to provide a more dynamic and professional version of the game and complete it with a set of rules. In 1933, Darrow marketed his version of the game, titled Mr Monopoly, and it was purchased by Parker Brothers for US$7,000 in 1935. Magie received just US $500 (Farzan). Monopoly, as it was rebranded, was initial sold for $2 a game, and Parker Brothers sold 278,000 games in the first year. In 1936, consumers purchased 1.7 million editions of the game, generating millions of dollars in profits for Parker Brothers, who prior to Monopoly were on the brink of collapse (Pilon). Mary Pilon’s The Monopolists also reveals the struggle of Ralph Anspach in the 1970s to sell his Anti-Monopoly board games, which Parker Brothers fought in the courts. Anspach’s game sought to undermine the power of capitalist monopolies, which he had witnessed directly and negatively impact on fuel prices in America in the early 1970s. Hence the aim was to produce a game with an anti-monopolist narrative grounded in the free-market thinking of Adam Smith. Players were rewarded by breaking monopoly ownerships of utilities such as railroads and energy and metal reserves. In preparing his case against Parker Brothers, Anspach “accidentally discovered the true history of the game”, which began with Magie’s Landlord’s Game. Magie herself had battled with Parker Brothers in order to be “credited as the real originator of the game” and, like Anspach, reveal how Parker Brothers had changed the anti-capitalist narrative of the game, making it the “exact opposite” of its original aims (Landlordsgame). Anspach’s court room version of his battle with Parker Brothers was published in 2000, titled Monopolygate: During a David and Goliath Battle, the Inventor of the Anti-Monopoly® Game Uncovers the Secret History of Monopoly®. Monopoly Today Monopoly is now produced by Hasbro. It is the highest selling board game of all time, with an estimated 275 million units of Monopoly sold (Lee). Fan bases are clearly large too: the official Monopoly Facebook accounts report 9.9m likes (Facebook), and 68% of American households report owning a version of Monopoly (Statista "Which"). At the end of the twentieth century it was estimated that 550 million, or one in 12 people worldwide, had played the game (Guinness World Records "Most Popular"). Today it is estimated that Monopoly has been played by more than one billion people, and the digital Monopoly version has had over 100 million downloads (Johnson). The ability to play beloved board games with a computer opponent or with other players via the Internet arguably adds to the longevity of classic board games such as Monopoly. Yet research shows that despite Monopoly being widely owned, it is often not played as much as other games in people’s homes (d'Astous and Gagnon 84). D’Astous and Gagnon found that players in their study chose Monopoly to play on average six times a year, less than half the times they played Cluedo (13 times a year) or Scrabble (15 times). As Michael Whelan points out, Magie’s original goal was to make a statement about capitalism and landlords: a single player would progress round the board building an empire, whilst the others were doomed to slowly descend into bankruptcy. It was “never meant to be fun for anyone but the winner” (Whelan). Despite Monopoly’s longevity and impressive sales record, it is perhaps paradoxical to find that it is not a particularly popular or enjoyed game. Board Game Geek, the popular board game Website, reports in 2023 that the average rating for Monopoly by over 33,000 members is just 4.4 out of 10, and is ranked the 23,834th most popular game on the site (Board Game Geek). This is mirrored in academic studies: for example, when examining Orbane’s tenets for a good board game, d’Astous and Gagnon (84) found that players' appreciation of Monopoly was generally low. Not only is appreciation low for the game itself, it is also low for player antics during the game. A 2021 survey found that Monopoly causes the most fights, with 20% of households reporting “their game nights with friends or family members are often or always disrupted by competitive or unfriendly behaviour”, leading to players or even the game itself being banned (Lemore). Clearly Orbane’s tenet that the game “generates fun” is missing here (Orbanes 52). Commentators ask why Monopoly remains the best-selling board game of all time when the game has the “astonishing ability to sow seeds of discord” (Berical). Despite the claims that playing Monopoly causes disharmony, the game does allow for player agency. Perhaps more than any other board game, Monopoly is subjected to ‘house rules’. Buzzfeed reported 15 common house rules that many people think are official rules. In 2014 the official Monopoly Facebook page posted a video claiming that “68% of Americans have never read the official game rules” and that “49% of Americans had admitted to playing with their own ‘house rules’”. A look through these rules reveals that players are often trying to restore the balance of power in the game, or in other words increase the chance that a player can win. Hasbro has embraced these rules by incorporating some of them into the official rules. By incorporating players' amendments to the game, Hasbro can keep the Monopoly relevant. In another instance, Hasbro asked fans to vote on new tokens, which led to the thimble token being replaced with a Tyrannosaurus Rex. This was reversed in 2022 when nostalgic fans lobbied for the thimble’s return. Hasbro has also been an innovator by creating special rules for individual editions: for example, the Longest Game Ever edition (2019) slows players down by using only a single dice and has an extended game board. This demonstrates that Hasbro is keen to innovate and evolve the game to meet player expectations. Innovation and responsiveness to fans is one way that Hasbro has maintained Monopoly’s position as highest-selling board game. The only place the original Monopoly rules seem to be played intact are at the official competitions. Collecting and Nostalgia The characteristics of Monopoly allow for a seemingly infinite number of permutations. The places on the board can be real or fictional, making it easily adaptable to accommodate different environments. This is a factor in Monopoly’s longevity. The number of Monopoly editions are endless, with BoardGameGeek listing over 1,300 versions of the game on its site. Monopoly editions range from collector and commemorative editions to music, television, and film versions, actor-based editions, sports club editions, editions tied to toy franchises, animal lover editions, country editions, city editions, holiday editions, car brand editions, motor bike editions, as well as editions such as Monopoly Space, editions branded to popular confectionary, Ms Monopoly, and Go Green Monopoly. Each of these contain their own unique modifications. The Go Green version includes greenhouses, dice are made from FSC-certified wood from well-managed forests, tokens are made with plant-based plastic derived from sugarcane, a renewable raw material, and players can vie to have monopolistic control over renewable energy firms, solar farms, and bike paths. Licencing agreements allows Hasbro to leverage two sets of popular culture fans and collectors simultaneously: fans of Monopoly and its different versions, and fans of the Monopoly branded collectable, such as the Elvis Collector’s edition and Breaking Bad Monopoly. Apart from licencing, what else explains the longevity of Monopoly? Fred Davis demonstrates that nostalgia is an important sociological phenomenon, allowing consumers to re-imagine the past via iconic items including toys. Generation Y, also known as Millennials or digital natives, a cohort born between 1982 and 1994 who have grown up with technology as part of their everyday lives, are particularly interested in ‘heritage-inspired’ goods (Marchegiani and Phau). These consumers enjoy the past with a critical eye, drawn by the aesthetic properties of nostalgic goods rather than a direct personal connection (Goulding 575). Popular culture items are a site of widespread collecting behaviour (Geraghty 2). Belk argues that our possessions are used to construct our social selves. Collectors are a special kind of consumer: where consumers use and discard goods as needed, collectors engage with goods as special objects to be maintained and preserved (Belk 254), which is often achieved through ritualistic behaviour (McCracken 49). This is not to say that items in a collection are removed from use entirely: often being used in the normal manner, for example, clothing collectors will wear their items, yet take care of them in the a way they see akin to conservatorship (Hackett). Collections are often on display, often using the flexibility of the Internet as showground, as is the case with Neil Scallon’s world record collection of Monopoly’s 3,554 different versions of the game (World of Monopoly). Monopoly has low barriers to entry for a collector, as many sets retail at a low price-point, yet there are a few sets which are very expensive. The most expensive Monopoly set of all time retailed for US$2 million, and the cost was mainly borne out of the luxurious materials used: “the board is made from 23 carat gold, rubies and sapphires top the chimneys of the solid gold houses and hotels and the dice have 42 full cut diamonds for spots” (Guinness World Records "Most Expensive"). Conclusion The recent resurgence in board game popularity has only served to highlight Monopoly’s longevity. Through clever marketing and leveraging of nostalgia and popular culture fandoms, Hasbro has managed to retain Monopoly’s position as the number one board game, in sales figures at least. Despite its popularity, Monopoly suffers from a reputation as a conduit for poor player behaviour, as one person triumphs at the downfall of the other players. The game dynamics punish those whom fortune did not reward. In this regard, Elizabeth Magie’s initial aim of teaching about the unfairness of capitalism can be considered a resounding success. In re-establishing her role as a feminist and inventor at the turn of the century, embraced by progressive left-wingers of the 1930s, her story as much as that of Monopoly is a valuable contribution to modern popular culture. References Atrizton. Board Games Market – Global Outlook & Forecast 2023-2028. 2023. Belk, Russell W. "Collectors and Collecting." Handbook of Material Culture. Eds. Christopher Tilley et al. London: Sage, 2006. 534-45. Berical, Matt. "Monopoly Is a Terrible Game. Quit Playing It." Fatherly 4 Mar. 2020. Birkner, Christine. "Get on Board." Adweek 3-10 Apr. 2017: 7. Board Game Geek. "Monopoly." 2023. Booth, Paul. Game Play: Paratextuality in Contemporary Board Games. Bloomsbury, 2015. Buzzfeed. "15 Monopoly Rules That Aren't Actually Rules: Settled That 'Free Parking' Debate." Buzzfeed 27 Mar. 2014. Carter, Chase. "Tabletop Games Have Made over $1.5 Billion on Kickstarter." Dicebreaker 13 Dec. 2022. D'Astous, Alain, and Karine Gagnon. 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Harvard Business Review 80.3 (2002): 51-131. Pilon, Mary. The Monopolists: Obsession, Fury, and the Scandal Behind the World's Favorite Board Game. Bloomsbury, 2015. Rogerson, Melissa J., and Martin Gibbs. "Finding Time for Tabletop: Board Game Play and Parenting." Games and Culture 13.3 (2018): 280-300. Statista. "Board Games – Australia." 25 Mar. 2023. ———. "Which of These Classic Board Games Do You Have at Home?" Statista-Survey Toys and Games 2018 (2018). Walker, Damian Gareth. A Book of Historic Board Games. Lulu.com, 2014. Whelan, Michael. "Why Does Everyone Hate Monopoly? The Secret History behind the World's Biggest Board Game." Dicebreaker 26 Aug. 2021. World of Monopoly. "Neil Scallan's World Record List of Official Monopolu Items." 2016.

The story of Barbie is a tapestry woven with threads of cultural significance, societal shifts, and corporate narratives. It’s a tale that encapsulates the evolution of American post-war capitalism, mirroring the changing tides of social norms, aspirations, and identities. Barbie’s journey from Germany to Los Angeles, along the way becoming a global icon, is a testament to the power of Ruth Handler’s vision and Barbie’s marketing. Barbie embodies and reflects the rise of mass consumption and the early days of television advertising, where one doll could become a household name and shape the dreams of children worldwide. The controversies and criticisms surrounding Barbie – from promoting a ‘thin ideal’ to perpetuating gender and racial stereotypes – highlight the complexities of representation in popular culture. Yet, Barbie’s enduring message, “You can be anything”, continues to inspire and empower, even as it evolves to embrace a more inclusive and diverse portrayals of power, beauty, and potential. Barbie’s story is not just about a doll; it’s about the aspirations she represents, the societal changes she’s witnessed, and the ongoing conversation about her impact on gender roles, body image, and consumer culture. It’s a narrative that continues to unfold, as Barbie adapts to the times and remains a symbol of possibility. Barbie: A Popular Culture Icon “It is impossible to conceive of the toy industry as being anything other than dependent on a popular culture which shapes and structures the meanings carried by toys” (Fleming 40). The relationship between toys and popular culture is symbiotic. While popular culture influences the creation of toys, toys also contribute to the spread and longevity of cultural icons and narratives. Today, one of the most influential, popular, and contested toys of the twentieth century is Mattel’s Barbie doll. Her launch at the New York Toy Fair on 9 March 1959 by Mattel co-founder Ruth Handler was a game-changer in the toy industry. Her adult appearance, symbolised by her fashionable swimsuit and ponytail, was a bold move by Mattel. Despite the doubts from the toy industry which thought nobody would want to play with a doll that had breasts (Tamkin) and Mattel’s skepticism of its commercial success (Westenhouser 14), Barbie was a success, selling over 350,000 units in her first year, and she quickly became an iconic figure, paving the way for other male and female adult dolls. For the first time in mid-century America, Barbie meant children could play with a doll that looked like a woman, not a little girl or a baby. In a 1965 interview, Ruth Handler argued that American girls needed a doll with a “teen-age figure and a lot of glorious, imaginative, high-fashion clothes” (cited in Giacomin and Lubinski 3). In a 1993 interview, Handler said it was “important that Barbie allowed play situations that little girls could project themselves into … to imagine, pretend and to fantasize”. Hence Ruth Handler’s Barbie could be an “avatar for girls to project their dreams onto” (Southwell). Barbie hit the market with a “sassy ponytail, heavy eyeliner, a healthy dose of side-eye and a distinctly adult body” (Blackmore). Her arched eyebrows were matched with a coy sideways glance reflecting her sexual origins (Thong). Mattel did not reveal that Ruth Handler’s Barbie was inspired by a German novelty men’s toy, Bild Lilli, which Handler had purchased on a European holiday in 1955. Mattel fought several lawsuits and eventually secured the rights to Bild Lilli in 1964, which required the German maker of the Bild Lilli doll to not make her again. Barbie dolls, both blonde and brunette, changed little until 1967, when Mattel launch the ‘new’ Barbie doll which is the foundation for today’s Stereotypical Barbie. The same size as the original, thanks to Mattel engineer Jack Ryan she could twist and turn at the waist. Her facial features were softened, she had ‘real’ eyelashes’ and took on an ‘outdoor look’. The new 1967 version of Barbie originally retailed for US$3.00. Mattel, assuming consumers may not want to buy a new Barbie when they already had one, offered buyers the new Barbie at US$1.50 if they traded in their old 1950s Barbie. The television advertising campaign for the new Barbie featured Maureen McMormick (who would go on to play Marcia Brady in the TV series The Brady Bunch from 1969 to 1974). The original #1 Barbie today sells for over US$25,000 (Reinhard). The most expensive Barbie sold to date was a Stefano Canturi-designed Barbie that sold in 2010 for US$302,500 at Christies in New York (Clarendon). Barbie has been described as “the most successful doll in history”, “the most popular toy in history”, the “empress of fashion dolls” (Rogers 86), the “most famous doll in the world” (Ferorelli), the biggest-selling fashion doll in history (Green and Gellene), and is one if the world’s “most commercially successful toys” (Fleming 41). Barbie is both “idealistic and materialistic” and characterises an “American fantasy” (Tamkin). More so, she is a popular culture icon and “a unique indicator of women’s history” (Vander Bent). The inclusion of Barbie in America’s twentieth-century Time Capsule “cemented her status as a true American icon” (Ford), as did Andy Warhol when he iconised Barbie in his 1968 painting of her (Moore). During the 1950s and 1960s, Barbie’s name was licenced to over 100 companies; while a strategic move that expanded Barbie’s brand presence, it also provided Mattel with substantial royalty payments for decades. This approach helped solidify Barbie’s status as a cultural icon and enabled her to become a lucrative asset for Mattel (Rogers). Sixty-five years later, Barbie has 99% global brand awareness. In 2021, Mattel shipped more than 86 million Barbies globally, manufacturing 164 Barbies a minute (Tomkins). In 2022, Barbie generated gross sales of US$1.49 billion (Statista 2023). With this fiscal longevity and brand recognition, the success of the Barbie film is not surprising. The 2023 film, directed by Greta Gerwig and starring Australian Margot Robbie as Barbie and Canadian Ryan Gosling as Ken, as of March 2024 has a global box office revenue of US$1.45 billion, making it the 14th most successful movie of all time and the most successful movie directed by a woman (Statista 2024). Contested Barbie Despite her popularity, Barbie has been the subject of controversy. Original Barbie’s proportions have been criticised for promoting an unrealistic body image (Thong). Barbie’s appearance has received numerous critiques for “representing an unrealistic beauty standard through its former limited skin tone and hair combination” (Lopez). The original Barbie’s measurements, if scaled to life-size, would mean Barbie is unusually tall and has a slim figure, with a height of 5 feet 9 inches, a waist of just 18 inches, and hips of approximately 33 inches. Her bust would measure around 32 inches with an under-bust of 22 inches, and her shoulder width would be approximately 28 inches. Original Barbie’s legs, which are proportionally longer than an average human’s, would make up more than half her height (Thong). A 1996 Australian study scaled Barbie and Ken to adult sizes and compared this with the physical proportions of a range of women and men. They found that the likelihood of finding a man of comparable shape to Ken was 1 in 50. Barbie was more problematic. The chance of a woman being the same proportion as Barbie was 1 in 100,000 (Norton et al. 287). In 2011, The Huffington Post’s Galia Slayen built a life-sized Barbie based on Barbie’s body measurements for National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Slayen concluded that “if Barbie was a real woman, she’d have to walk on all fours due to her proportions”. One report found that if Barbie’s measurements were those of a real woman her “bones would be so frail, it would be impossible for her to walk, and she would only have half a liver” (Golgowski). A 2006 study found that Barbie is a “possible cause” for young girls’ “body dissatisfaction”. In this study, 162 girls from age 5 to 8 were exposed to images of a thin doll (Barbie), a plus-size doll (US doll Emme, size 16), or no doll, and then completed assessments of body image. Girls exposed to Barbie reported “lower body esteem and greater desire for a thinner body shape than girls in the other exposure conditions”. The study concluded that “early exposure to dolls epitomizing an unrealistically thin body ideal may damage girls' body image, which would contribute to an increased risk of disordered eating and weight cycling” (Dittman and Halliwell 283). Another study in 2016 found that “exposure to Barbie” led to “higher thin-ideal internalization”, but found that Barbie had no “impact on body esteem or body dissatisfaction” (Rice et al. 142). In response to such criticism, Mattel slowly introduced a variety of Barbie dolls with more diverse body types, including tall, petite, and curvy models (Tamkin). These changes aim to reflect a broader range of beauty standards and promote a more positive body image. Barbie has always had to accommodate social norms. For this reason, Barbie always must have underpants, and has no nipples. One of the reasons why Ruth Handler’s husband Elliott (also a co-founder of Mattel) was initially against producing the Barbie doll was that she had breasts, reportedly saying mothers would not buy their daughters a doll with breasts (Gerber). Margot Robbie, on playing Barbie, told one news outlet that while Barbie is “sexualized”, she “should never be sexy” (Aguirre). Early prototypes of Barbie made in Japan in the 1950s sexualised her body, leaving her to look like a prostitute. In response, Mattel hired film make-up artist Bud Westmore to redo Barbie’s face and hair with a softer look. Mattel also removed the nipples from the prototypes (Gerber). Barbie’s body and fashion have always seemed to “replicate history and show what was what was happening at the time” (Mowbray), and they also reflect how the female body is continually surveilled. Feminists have had a long history of criticism of Barbie, particularly her projection of the thin ideal. At the 1970 New York Women’s Strike for Equality, feminists shouted “I am not a Barbie doll!” Such debates exemplify the role and impact of toys in shaping and reforming societal norms and expectations. Even the more recent debates regarding the 2023 Barbie film show that Barbie is still a “lightning rod for the messy, knotty contradictions of feminism, sexism, misogyny and body image” (Chappet). Decades of criticism about Barbie, her meaning and influence, have left some to ask “Is Barbie a feminist icon, or a doll which props up the patriarchy?” Of course, she’s both, because “like all real women, Barbie has always been expected to conform to impossible standards” (Chappet). Diversifying Barbie Over the decades Mattel has slowly changed Barbie’s body, including early versions of a black Barbie-like dolls in the 1960s and 1970s such as Francie, Christie, Julia, and Cara. However, it was not until 1980 that Mattel introduced the first black Barbie. African American fashion designer Kitty Black-Perkins, who worked for Mattel from 1971, was the principal designer for black Barbie, saying that “there was a need for the little Black girl to really have something she could play with that looked like her” (cited in Lafond). Black Barbie was marketed as She’s black! She’s beautiful! She’s dynamite! The following year, Asian Barbie was introduced. She was criticised for her nondescript country of origin and dressed in an “outfit that was a mishmash of Chinese, Korean and Japanese ethnic costumes” (Wong). More recently, the Asian Barbies were again criticised for portraying stereotypes, with a recent Asian Barbie dressed as a veterinarian caring for pandas, and Asian violinist Barbie with accompanying violin props, reflecting typical stereotypes of Asians in the US (Wong). In 2016, Mattel introduced a range of Barbie and Ken dolls with seven body types, including more curvy body shapes, 11 skin tones and 28 hairstyles (Siazon). In 2019, other Barbie body types appeared, with smaller busts, less defined waist, and more defined arms. The 2019 range also included Barbies with permanent physical disabilities, one using a wheelchair and one with a prosthetic leg (Siazon). Wheelchair Barbie comes with a wheelchair, and her body has 22 joints for body movement while sitting in the wheelchair. The Prosthetic Barbie comes with a prosthetic leg which can be removed, and was made in collaboration with Jordan Reeve, a 13-year-old disability activist born without a left forearm. In 2020, a No Hair Barbie and a Barbie with the skin condition vitiligo were introduced, and in 2022, Hearing Aid Barbie was also launched. In 2022 other changes were made to Barbie’s and Ken’s bodies, with bodies that became fuller figured and Kens with smaller chests and less masculine body shapes (Dolan). Down Syndrome Barbie was released in 2023, designed in collaboration with the US National Down Syndrome Society to ensure accurate representation. By 2024, Barbie dolls come in 35 skin tones, 97 hairstyles, and nine body types (Mattel 2024). Spanning hundreds of iterations, today the Barbie doll is no longer a homogenous, blond-haired, blue-eyed toy, but rather an evolving social phenomenon, adapting with the times and the markets Mattel expands into. With dolls of numerous ethnicities and body types, Barbie has also embraced inclusivity, catering to the plethora of different consumers across the world (Green and Gellene 1989). Career Barbie While not dismissing Barbie’s problematic place in feminist, gender and racial critiques, Barbie has always been a social influencer. Her early years were marked by a variety of makeovers and modernisations, as have recent changes to Barbie’s body, reflecting the changing social norms of the times. Stereotypical Barbie had her first major makeover in 1961, with her ponytail swapped for a short ‘Bubble Bob’ hairstyle inspired by Jackie Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe, reflecting women’s emerging social independence (Foreman). In the early 1970s, Barbie’s original demure face with averted eyes was replaced by a new one that “depicted confidence and a forward-facing gaze” (Vander Bent). Her “soft look” was a departure from the mature image of the original 1959 Barbie (Lafond). The ‘soft look’ on Malibu Barbie with her newly sculpted face featured an open smile for the first time, as well as sun-tanned, make-up free skin and sun-kissed blonde hair. The disappearance of Barbie’s coy, sideways glance and the introduction of forward-looking eyes was a development “welcomed by feminists” (Ford). Barbie’s early makeovers, along with her fashion and accessories, including her homes, cars, and pets, contributed to shaping her image as a fashionable and independent woman. Barbie’s various careers and roles have been used to promote ideas of female empowerment. From astronaut to presidential candidate, Barbie has broken barriers in traditionally male-dominated fields. However, the effectiveness of these efforts in promoting female empowerment is a topic of debate. The post-war period in America saw a significant shift in the pattern of living, with a move from urban areas to the suburbs. This was facilitated by a robust post-war economy, favourable government policies like the GI Bill, and increasing urbanisation. The GI Bill played a crucial role by providing low-interest home loans to veterans, making home ownership accessible to a large segment of the population. It was a significant transformation of the American lifestyle and shaped the country’s socio-economic landscape. It is in this context that Barbie’s first Dreamhouse was introduced in the early 1960s, with its mid-century modern décor, hi-fi stereo, and slim-line furniture. This was at a time when most American women could not get a mortgage. Barbie got her first car in 1962, a peach-colored Austin-Healey 3000 MKII convertible, followed short afterwards by a Porsche 911. She has also owned a pink Jaguar XJS, a pink Mustang, a red Ferrari, and a Corvette. Barbie’s car choices of luxurious convertibles spoke to Barbie’s social and economic success. In 1998, Barbie became a NASCAR driver and also signed up to race in a Ferrari in the Formula 1. Barbie’s ‘I Can Be Anything’ range from 2008 was designed to draw kids playing with the dolls toward ambitious careers; one of those careers was as a race car driver (Southwell). While Barbie’s first job as a baby-sitter was not as glamourous or well-paying as her most of her other over 250 careers, it does reflect the cultural landscape Barbie was living in in the 1960s. Babysitter Barbie (1963) featured Barbie wearing a long, pink-striped skirt with ‘babysitter’ emblasoned along the hem and thick-framed glasses. She came with a baby in a crib, a telephone, bottles of soda, and a book. The book was called How to Lose Weight and had only two words of advice, ‘Don’t Eat’. Even though there was a backlash to the extreme dieting advice, Mattel included the book in the 1965 Slumber Party Barbie. Barbie wore pink silk pajamas with a matching robe and came prepared for her sleepover with toiletries, a mirror, the controversial diet book, and a set of scales permanently set at 110 pounds (approx. 50kg), which caused further backlash (Ford). Barbie’s early careers were those either acceptable or accessible to women of the era, such as the Fashion Designer Barbie (1960), Flight Attendant Barbie (1961), and Nurse Barbie (1962). However, in 1965 Barbie went into space, two years after cosmonaut Valentina Tereshkova became the first woman in space, and four years before the American moon landing. Barbie’s career stagnated in the 1970s, and she spends the decade being sports Barbie, perhaps as a response to her unpopularity among vocal second wave feminists and reflecting the economic downturn of the era. America’s shift to the right in the 1980s saw in the introduction of the Yuppie, the young urban professional who lived in the city, had a high-powered career, and was consumption-driven. More women were entering the workforce than ever before. Barbie also entered the workforce, spending less time doing the passive leisure of her earlier self (Ford). It also signals the beginning of neoliberalism in America, and a shift to individualism and the rise of the free market ethos. In 1985, Day-to-Night Barbie was sold as the first CEO Barbie who “could go from running the boardroom in her pink power suit to a fun night out on the town”. For Mattel she “celebrated the workplace evolution of the era and showed girls they could have it all”. But despite Barbie’s early careers, the focus was on her "emphasized femininity”, meaning that while she was now a career woman, her appearance and demeanor did not reflect her job. Astronaut Barbie (1985) is a good example of Barbie’s ‘emphasised femininity’ in how career Barbies were designed and dressed. Astronaut Barbie is clearly reflecting the fashion and culture trends of the 1980s by going into space in a “shiny, hot pink spacesuit”, comes with a second space outfit, a shiny “peplum miniskirt worn over silver leggings and knee-high pink boots” (Bertschi), and her hair is too big to fit into the helmet. A dark-skinned US Astronaut Barbie was released in 1994, which coincided with the start of the Shuttle-Mir Program, a collaboration between the US and Russia which between 1994 and 1998 would see seven American astronauts spend almost 1,000 days living in orbit with Russian cosmonauts on the Mir space station. Throughout the 1990s, Barbie increasingly takes on careers more typically considered to be male careers. But again, her femininity in design, dressing and packaging takes precedence over her career. Police Officer Barbie (1993), for example, has no gun or handcuffs. Instead, she comes with a "glittery evening dress" to wear to the awards dance where she will get the "Best Police Officer Award for her courageous acts in the community”. Police Office Barbie is pictured on the box "lov[ing] to teach safety tips to children". Barbie thus “feminizes, even maternalises, law enforcement” (Rogers 14). In 1992, Teen Talk Barbie was released. She had a voice box programmed to speak four distinct phrases out of a possible 270. She sold for US$25, and Mattel produced 350,000, expecting its popularity. The phrases included ‘I Love Shopping’ and ‘Math class is tough’. The phrase ‘Math class is tough’ was seen by many as reinforcing harmful stereotypes about girls and math. The National Council of American Teachers of Maths objected, as did the American Association of University Women (NYT 1992). In response to criticisms of the gendered representations of Barbie’s careers, Mattel have more recently featured Barbie in science and technology fields including Paleontologist Barbie (1996 and 2012), Computer Engineer Barbie (2010), Robotics Engineer Barbie (2018), Astrophysicist Barbie (2019), Wildlife Conservationist Barbie, Entomologist Barbie (2019), and Polar Marine Biologist Barbie (all in collaboration with National Geographic), Robotics Engineer Barbie (2018), Zoologist Barbie (2021), and Renewable Energy Barbie (2022), which go some way to providing representations that at least encompass the ideal that ‘Girls Can Do Anything’. Barbie over her lifetime has also taken on swimming, track and field, and has been a gymnast. Barbie was an Olympic gold medallist in the 1970s, with Mattel releasing four Barbie Olympians between 1975 and 1976, arguably cashing in on the 1976 Montreal Olympics. Gold Medal Barbie Doll Skier was dressed in a red, white, and blue ski suit completed with her gold medal. Gold Medal Barbie Doll is an Olympic swimmer wearing a red, white, and blue tricot swimsuit, and again wears an Olympic gold medal around her neck. The doll was also produced as a Canadian Olympian wearing a red and white swimsuit. Gold Medal Barbie Skater looks like Barbie Malibu and is dressed in a long-sleeved, pleated dress in red, white, and blue. The outfit included white ice skates and her gold medal. Mattel also made a Gold Medal P.J. Gymnast Doll who vaulted and somersaulted in a leotard of red, white, and blue tricot. She had a warm-up jacket with white sleeves, red cuffs, white slippers, and a gold medal. Mattel, as part of a licencing agreement with the International Olympic Committee, produced a range of toys for the 2020 Tokyo Olympics. The collection of five Barbies represented the new sports added to the 2020 Olympics: baseball and softball, sport climbing, karate, skateboarding, and surfing. Each Barbie was dressed in a sport-specific uniform and had a gold medal. Barbie Olympic Games Tokyo 2020 Surfer, for example, was dressed in a pink wetsuit top, with an orange surfboard and a Tokyo 2020 jacket. For the 2022 Winter Olympics and Paralympics, Mattel released a new collection of Barbie dolls featuring among others a para-skiing Barbie who sits on adaptive skis and comes with a championship medal (Douglas). As part of Mattel’s 2023 Barbie Career of the Year doll, the Women in Sports Barbie range shows Barbie in leadership roles in the sports industry, as manager, coach, referee, and sport reporter. General Manager Barbie wears a blue-and-white pinstripe suit accessorised with her staff pass and a smartphone. Coach Barbie has a pink megaphone, playbook, and wears a two-piece pink jacket and athletic shorts. Referee Barbie wears a headset and has a whistle. Sports Reporter Barbie wears a purple, geometric-patterned dress and carries a pink tablet and microphone (Jones). Political Barbie Barbie has run for president in every election year since 1992. The first President Barbie came with an American-themed dress for an inaugural ball and a red suit for her duties in the Oval Office. In 2016, Barbie released an all-female presidential ticket campaign set with a president and vice-president doll. The 2000 President Barbie doll wore a blue pantsuit and featured a short bob cut, red lipstick pearl necklace, and a red gown to change into, “presumably for President Barbie’s inaugural ball” (Lafond). This followed the introduction of UNICEF Ambassador Barbie in 1989. She is packaged as a member of the United States Committee for UNICEF (United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund), which is mandated to provide humanitarian and development aid to children worldwide. Rather problematically, and again with a focus on her femininity rather than the importance of the organisation she represents, she wears a glittery white and blue full length ball gown with star patterning and a red sash. While some proceeds did go to the US Committee for UNICEF, the dressing and packaging featuring an American flag overshadows the career and its philanthropic message. The period signalled the end of the Cold War and was also the year the United States invaded Panama, resulting in a humanitarian disaster when US military forces attacked urban areas in order to overthrow the Noriega administration. Military Barbie Barbie has served in every US military branch (Sicard). Barbie joined the US army in 1989, wearing a female officer’s evening uniform, though with no sense of what she did. While it may be thought Barbie would increase female in interest in a military career, at the time more women were already enlisting that in any other period from the early 1970s to 2012 (Stillwell). Barbie rejoined the army for the 1990-1991 Gulf War, wearing a Desert Combat Uniform and the 101st Airborne "Screaming Eagle" patch, and serving as a medic. Barbie also joined the Air Force in 1990, three years before Jeannie Leavitt became the first female Air Force fighter pilot. Barbie wore a green flight suit and leather jacket, and gold-trimmed flight cap. She was a fighter pilot and in 1994, she joined the USAF aerial demonstration team, The Thunderbirds. Busy in the 1990s, she also enlisted in the US Navy wearing women's Navy whites. Marine Corps Barbie appeared in 1992, wearing service and conduct medals (Stillwell). All of Barbie’s uniforms were approved by the Pentagon (Military Women’s Memorial). The 2000 Paratrooper Barbie Special Edition was released with the packaging declaring “let’s make a support drop with first aid and food boxes”. She was dressed in undefined military attire which includes a helmet, dog tags, parachute, boots, and hairbrush. Barbie’s Influence In 2014, Barbie became a social media influencer with the launch of the @barbiestyle Instagram account, and in 2015, Barbie launched a vlog on YouTube to talk directly to girls about issues they face. The animated series features Barbie discussing a range of topics including depression, bullying, the health benefits of meditation, and how girls have a habit of apologising when they don’t have anything to be sorry about. The Official @Barbie YouTube channel has over eleven million global subscribers and 23 billion minutes of content watched, making Barbie the #1 girls’ brand on YouTube. Barbie apps average more than 7 million monthly active users and the Instagram count boasts over 2 million followers. The 2023 Barbie film really does attest to Barbie’s influence 70 years after her debut. Barbie, as this article has shown, is more than an influencer and more than a doll, if she ever really was only a doll. She is a popular culture icon, regardless of whether we love her or not. Barbie has sometimes been ahead of the game, and sometimes has been problematically represented, but she has always been influential. Her body, race, ability, careers, independence, and political aspirations have spoken different things to those who play with her. She is fiercely defended, strongly criticised, and shirks from neither. She is also liberating, empowering, straight, and queer. As the articles in this issue reflect, Barbie, it seems, really can be anything. Imagining and Interrogating Barbie in Popular Culture The feature article in this issue outlines how Australian Barbie fans in the 1960s expressed their creativity through the designing and making of their own wardrobes for the doll. Through examining articles from the Australian Women’s Weekly, Donna Lee Brien reveals this rich cultural engagement that was partly driven by thrift, and mostly by enjoyment. Eva Boesenberg examines the social and environmental effects of a plastic doll that is positioned as an ecological ambassador. While there is no doubt that climate change is one of our most pressing social issues, Boesenberg questions the motivations behind Barbie’s eco-crusade: is she an apt role-model to teach children the importance of environmental issues, or is this just a case of corporate greenwashing? Emma Caroll Hudson shifts the focus to entertainment, with an exploration of the marketing of the 2023 blockbuster film Barbie. Here she argues that the marketing campaign was highly successful, utilising a multi-faceted approach centred on fan participation. She highlights key components of the campaign to reveal valuable insights into how marketing can foster a cultural phenomenon. Revna Altiok’s article zooms in on the depiction of Ken in the 2023 film, revealing his characterisation to be that of a ‘manic pixie dream boy’ whose lack of identity propels him on a journey to self-discovery. This positioning, argues Altiok, pulls into focus social questions around gender dynamics and how progress can be truly achieved. Rachel Wang turns the spotlight to Asian identity within the Barbie world, revealing how from early iterations a vague ‘Oriental’ Barbie was accompanied by cultural stereotyping. Despite later, more nuanced interpretations of country-specific Asian dolls, problematic features remained embedded. This, Wang argues, positions Asian Barbies as the racial ‘other’. Kaela Joseph, Tanya Cook, and Alena Karkanias’s article examines how the 2023 Barbie film reflects different forms of fandom. Firstly, Joseph interrogates how the Kens’ patriarchal identity is expressed through acts of collective affirmational fandom. Here, individual fans legitimise their positions within the group by mastering and demonstrating their knowledge of popular culture phenomena. Joseph contrasts this with transformational fandom, which is based upon reimagining the source material to create new forms. The transformation of the titular character of the Barbie movie forms the basis of Eli S’s analysis. S examines how the metaphor of ‘unboxing’ the doll provides an avenue through which to understand Barbie’s metamorphosis from constrained doll to aware human as she journeys from the pink plastic Barbie Land to the Real World. Anna Temel turns her critical gaze to how the 2023 film attempts to reposition Barbie’s image away from gender stereotypes to a symbol of feminist empowerment. Director Greta Gerwig, Temel argues, critiques the ‘ideal woman’ and positions Barbie as a vehicle through which contemporary feminism and womanhood can be interrogated. Temel finds that this is not always successfully articulated in the depiction of Barbie in the film. The reading of the Barbie movie’s Barbie Land as an Asexual Utopia is the focus of Anna Maria Broussard’s article. Here Broussard draws the focus to the harmonious community of dolls who live without social expectations of sexuality. Barbie provides a popular culture reflection of the Asexual experience, expressed through Barbie’s rejection of a heteronormative relationship both in Barbie Land and the Real World. Completing this collection is Daisy McManaman’s article interrogating the multiple iterations of the doll’s embodied femininity. Incorporating an ethnographic study of the author’s relationship with the doll, McManaman uncovers that Barbie serves as a site of queer joy and a role model through which to enjoy and explore femininity and gender. These articles have been both intellectually stimulating to edit, and a joy. We hope you enjoy this collection that brings a new academic lens to the popular cultural phenomenon that is Barbie. References Aguirre, Abby. “Barbiemania! Margot Robbie Opens Up about the Movie Everyone’s Waiting For.” Vogue, 24 May 2023. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.vogue.com/article/margot-robbie-barbie-summer-cover-2023-interview>. Bertschi, Jenna. “Barbie: An Astronaut for the Ages.” Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, 18 Jul. 2023. 11 Mar. 2024 <https://airandspace.si.edu/stories/editorial/barbie-astronaut-ages>. Blackmore, Erin. “Barbie’s Secret Sister Was a German Novelty Doll.” History.com, 14 Jul. 2023. 11 mar. 2024 <https://www.history.com/news/barbie-inspiration-bild-lilli>. Chappet, Marie-Claire. “Why Is Barbie So Controversial? How Ever-Changing Standards for Women Have Affected the Famous Doll.” Harpers Bazaar, 18 Jul. 2023. 11 Mar. 2024 <https://www.harpersbazaar.com/uk/culture/culture-news/a44516323/barbie-controversial-figure/>. Clarendon, Dan. “The Most Valuable Barbie Doll Auctioned for $302,500 — Which Others Carry Value?” Market Realist, 14 Apr. 2023. 15 Mar. 2o24 <https://marketrealist.com/fast-money/most-valuable-barbies/>. Dittman, Helga, and Emma Halliwell. “Does Barbie Make Girls Want to Be Thin? The Effect of Experimental Exposure to Images of Dolls on the Body Image of 5- to 8-Year Old Girls.” Developmental Psychology 42.2 (2006): 283-292. DOI: 10.1037/0012-1649.42.2.283. Dolan, Leah. “Barbie Unveils Its First-Ever Doll with Hearing Aids.” CNN, 11 May 2022. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://edition.cnn.com/style/article/barbie-hearing-aid-ken-vitiligo/index.html>. Douglas, Kelly. “Why the New Para Skiing Barbie Is Groundbreaking for Disability Representation.” The Mighty, 21 Oct. 2023. 25 Mar. 2024 <https://themighty.com/topic/disability/para-skiing-barbie-disability-representation/>. Ferorelli, Enrico. “Barbie Turns 21.” Life, Nov. 1979. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://chnm.gmu.edu/cyh/primary-sources/310.html>. Fleming, Dan. Powerplay: Toys as Popular Culture. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1996. Ford, Toni Marie. “The History of the Barbie Doll.” Culture Trip, 6 Oct. 2016. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://theculturetrip.com/north-america/usa/articles/the-history-of-the-barbie-doll>. Foreman, Katya. “The Changing Faces of Barbie.” BBC, 11 May 2016. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20160511-the-changing-faces-of-barbie>. Gerber, Ruth. Barbie and Ruth: The Story of the World's Most Famous Doll and the Woman Who Created Her. HarperCollins, 2009. Giacomin, Valeria, and Christina Lubinski. 2023. “Entrepreneurship as Emancipation: Ruth Handler and the Entrepreneurial Process ‘in Time’ and ‘over Time’, 1930s–1980s.” Business History Online. 20 Mar. 2024 <https://doi.org/10.1080/00076791.2023.2215193>. Golgowski, Nina. “Bones So Frail It Would Be Impossible to Walk and Room for Only Half a Liver: Shocking Research Reveals What Life Would Be Like If a REAL Woman Had Barbie's body.” Daily Mirror, 14 Apr. 2013. 19 Mar. 2024 <https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2308658/How-Barbies-body-size-look-real-life-Walking-fours-missing-half-liver-inches-intestine.html>. Green, Michelle, and Denise Gellene. “As a Tiny Plastic Star Turns 30, the Real Barbie and Ken Reflect on Life in the Shadow of the Dolls.” People, 6 Mar. 1989. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://people.com/archive/as-a-tiny-plastic-star-turns-30-the-real-barbie-and-ken-reflect-on-life-in-the-shadow-of-the-dolls-vol-31-no-9/>. Jones, Alexis. “Barbie's New 'Women in Sports' Dolls Are a Major Win For Athletes and Fans.” Popsugar, 9 Aug. 2023. 17 Mar. 2024 <https://www.popsugar.com/family/mattel-women-in-sports-barbie-49268194>. Lafond, Hannah. “How Barbies Have Changed over the Years.” The List, 7 Jul. 2023. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.thelist.com/1333916/barbies-changed-over-the-years/>. Lopez, Sandra. “10 Barbie Dolls Inspired by Real-Life Iconic Latinas.” Remezcla, 19 Jul. 2023. 20 Mar. 2024 <https://remezcla.com/lists/culture/barbie-dolls-inspired-by-real-life-iconic-latinas/>. Military Women’s Memorial. “Barbie Enlists.” 15 Mar. 2024 <https://womensmemorial.org/curators-corner/barbie-enlists/>. Moore, Hannah. “Why Warhol Painted Barbie.” BBC, 1 Oct. 2015. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-34407991>. Mowbray, Nicole. “Dressing Barbie: Meet the Designer Who Created a Miniature Fashion Icon.” CNN, 14 Jul. 2023. 17 Mar. 2024 <https://edition.cnn.com/style/dressing-barbie-iconic-fashion-looks>. New York Times. “Mattel Says It Erred; Teen Talk Barbie Turns Silent on Math." 21 Oct. 1992. 20 Mar. 2024 <https://www.nytimes.com/1992/10/21/business/company-news-mattel-says-it-erred-teen-talk-barbie-turns-silent-on-math.html>. Norton, Kevin, et al. “Ken and Barbie at Life Size.” Sex Roles 34 (1996): 287-294. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF01544300. Reinhard, Abby. “Here's How Much Your Childhood Barbies Are Really Worth Now, New Data Shows.” Best Life, 14 Jul. 2023. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://bestlifeonline.com/how-much-are-barbies-worth-now-news/>. Rice, Karlie, et al. “Exposure to Barbie: Effects on Thin-Ideal Internalisation, Body Esteem, and Body Dissatisfaction among Young Girls.” Body Image 19 (2016): 142-149. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.bodyim.2016.09.005. Rogers, Mary, F. Barbie Culture. Sage, 1999. Siazon, Kevin John. “The New 2019 Barbie Fashionistas Are More Diverse than Ever.” Today’s Parents, 12 Feb. 2019. 19 Mar. 2024 <https://www.todaysparent.com/blogs/trending/the-new-2019-barbie-fashionistas-are-more-diverse-than-ever/>. Sicard. Sarah. “A Few Good Dolls: Barbie Has Served in Every Military Branch.” Military Times, 28 Jul. 2023. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://www.militarytimes.com/off-duty/military-culture/2023/07/27/a-few-good-dolls-barbie-has-served-in-every-military-branch/>. Slayen, Galia. “The Scary Reality of a Real-Life Barbie Doll.” Huffington Post, 8 Apr. 2011. 19 Mar. 2024 <https://www.huffpost.com/entry/the-scary-reality-of-a-re_b_845239>. Southwell, Haxel. “Plastic on Track: Barbie's History in Motorsport”. Road and Track, 21 Jul. 2023. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://www.roadandtrack.com/car-culture/a44588941/plastic-on-track-barbie-history-in-motorsport/>. Statista. “Gross Sales of Mattel's Barbie Brand Worldwide from 2012 to 2022.” 2023. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.statista.com/statistics/370361/gross-sales-of-mattel-s-barbie-brand/>. ———. “Highest-Grossing Movies of All Time as of 2024.” 2024. 31 May 2024 <https://www.statista.com/statistics/262926/box-office-revenue-of-the-most-successful-movies-of-all-time/>. Stillwell, Blake. “Barbie and Ken Went to War Long before the 'Barbie' Movie.” Military.com, 26 Jul. 2023. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://www.military.com/off-duty/movies/2023/07/26/barbie-and-ken-went-war-long-barbie-movie.html>. Tamkin, Emily. Cultural History of Barbie.” Smithsonian, 23 Jun. 2023. 17 Mar. 2024 <https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/cultural-history-barbie-180982115/>. Thong, Hang. “Barbie’s Doll Dimensions.” OmniSize, 29 Nov. 2023. 19 Mar. 2024 <https://omnisizes.com/hobbies/barbie-doll/>. Vander Bent, Emily. “The Evolution of Barbie: A Marker for Women’s History.” Girl Museum, 12 Apr. 2021. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.girlmuseum.org/the-evolution-of-barbie-a-marker-for-womens-history/>. Westenhouser, Kitturah B. The Story of Barbie. Collector Books, 1994. Wong, Bryan. “Daniel Wu Slams Barbie Maker Mattel for Stereotyping Asians as ‘Panda Doctors’ and ‘Violinists.’” Today Online, 24 Jan. 2024. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.todayonline.com/8days/daniel-wu-slams-barbie-maker-mattel-stereotyping-asians-panda-doctors-and-violinists-2347786>.

We are living in uncertain times. Recent and ongoing crises, such as the COVID-19 pandemic, climate change and natural disasters, and increasing geopolitical and economic instability, have arguably led to a growing awareness of our existential precarity. Recent studies suggest that mental health is poor: among the general population, 24.4% experience anxiety and 22.9% suffer from symptoms of depression. These figures rise to an alarming 41.1% and 32.5% respectively in vulnerable populations (Bower et al.). As Maree Teesson, Director of the University of Sydney’s Matilda Centre for Research in Mental Health and Substance Use, points out, “what worries me is that rather than having an intense recovery phase [after the pandemic] in Australia we’ve had further crises, including marked increases in costs of living and natural disasters, all of which we know exacerbate mental health problems” (anon.). How do we not only survive but flourish in such times? As we are coming up against the financial as well as conceptual limitations of biomedically informed approaches to mental health (McDonald and Hollenbach 5), the therapeutic potential of the arts is receiving renewed attention. While art, music, and writing therapy are widely recognised, bibliotherapy, although practiced in clinical as well as many informal settings, is less prominent in our cultural imagination – perhaps because the creativity in the act of reading is less obvious, perhaps because our reading practices tend to bleed into each other: we read for pleasure, distraction, information, guidance, etc., often all at the same time. And yet, research shows that bibliotherapy can make significant contributions to mental health (Monroy-Fraustro et al.). In our article, we explore how the practice of Shared Reading, a form of creative bibliotherapy, can nurture the wellbeing of individuals and communities in our uncertain times. Neither a book club nor a self-help group, Shared Reading brings a small group of people together to listen to a story and a poem, which are read out by a trained facilitator, who gently guides the conversation to tease out the emotional undercurrents of the text, to reflect on literary characters and their predicaments, and generally use literature as a springboard for broader reflections on life and personal experience. The format combines the benefits of reading with those of being part of a community. The positive effects have been documented in a range of studies: Shared Reading has the capacity to reduce anxiety, alleviate symptoms of depression, increase confidence, and, importantly, create a sense of connectedness and social inclusion in a non-medicalised setting (see Billington Reading; Davis Literature; Dowrick et al.; Pettersson). While Shared Reading has been extensively researched from the perspective of specific mental health issues, less attention has been paid to how it contributes to an overall sense of flourishing in which a person feels good about their life (emotional wellbeing) and functions well within it (psychological and social wellbeing) – as opposed to subsisting in a state of languishing characterised by feelings of “emptiness”, “stagnation”, and “quiet despair” (Keyes 210), without amounting to actual mental illness (Keyes et al. 2367). The distinction between languishing and mental illness is crucial to avoid conflation of “normal human sadness” (Haslam and DeDeyne n.p.) and “common human sorrows – normality under severe strain” (Billington, Literature 2) – with the pathological psychological states of mental illness. Understanding what makes us flourish is important, not least because Keyes’s findings suggest that flourishing in life may foster resilience and provide a “stress buffer” against challenging life events and transitions (218), while languishing individuals may be more susceptible to mental illness (213). The flourishing individual, it seems, is better placed to make the best of ‘the mingled yarn’ of their life (All’s Well That Ends Well, Act 4, Scene 3). The workings and effects of Shared Reading can best be captured with current concepts of eudaimonic wellbeing, which expand Aristotle’s notion of human flourishing by integrating the fulfilment of psychological needs (see Huta; Besser-Jones). Aristotle’s idea of eudaimonia is characterised by reason and moderation in aiming for an embodiment of particular virtues or excellences. Ryan, Huta, and Deci update Aristotle’s normative concept of the good life into the mindful, freely chosen pursuit of intrinsic goals, such as personal growth, relationships, and community. A eudaimonic life, they argue, will satisfy basic psychological needs for autonomy, relatedness, and competence. Like Aristotle, they consider pleasure and positive affect as welcome by-products rather than goals in themselves. Besser-Jones concurs: we have needs to experience competency over our environments and as such to engage in experiences that allow us to exercise our skills; to experience belongingness with others, to both care for others and be cared for by others; to experience autonomy through selecting and pursuing goals with which we identify. When we engage in these activities in an ongoing fashion, we experience eudaimonic well-being. (Besser-Jones 190) Significantly, the eudaimonic life is one of active reflection and conscious volition (Besser-Jones 187), rather than passive acquiescence to either outside forces or inner drives. Mindfulness is a crucial ingredient, enabling a person to see “what is true” in their inner and outer experience (Ryan, Huta, & Deci 158). Research suggests that the fruits of such a life may include a sense of meaning, enhanced vitality, inner peace, and even physical health (Ryan, Huta, & Deci 161–2). Shared Reading contributes to eudaimonic wellbeing in several ways. Rather than fostering wellbeing through a cumulation of moments of hedonic pleasure (see Diener), Shared Reading does not provide exclusively pleasurable experiences; instead it creates “a little community ... whose first concern is the serious business of living” (Billington, Literature 132). While this undoubtedly affords moments of heightened positive affect, participants may also experience heightened negative affect. However, engagement with the negative through literature can, in fact, positively contribute to a deepened sense of purpose, meaning, and connection with others (Ryff & Singer 10), and thereby contribute to an improved sense of psychological wellbeing (Billington et al. 267-8; see also Davis et al., Literature 19) as tensions, uncertainties, and memories can be articulated, contextualised and, ultimately, integrated (McNicol 23–40). In that respect Shared Reading resonates with Vittersø’s reflection that “eudaimonic well-being is strange. It contains a kind of complex goodness that is not necessarily associated with pleasure – and it may be valued only after a bit of reflection” (Vittersø 254). As a practice, Shared Reading unfolds its full potential over time in accordance with eudaimonism, which defines wellbeing as “an active state ... that, while experiential, requires agency and ongoing activity” (Besser-Jones 187). Given the limited scope of this article, we want to focus on just some of the ways in which Shared Reading contributes to eudaimonic wellbeing by offering opportunities for self-growth and greater autonomy through a sense of connectedness, which may lead to a greater sense of overall liveness and a fuller experience of the amplitude of human life. Corcoran and Oatley note that “the interpersonal context in which to think about human challenges and complex, day-to-day human situations” in reading groups is “a luxury that is not typically afforded by pressured, busy and demanding lives, but which is invaluable as an underpinning life resource to enhance sustainable psychological wellbeing” (338). Throughout our exploration, we will draw on surveys and interviews with Shared Reading participants from a pilot study at La Trobe University, in which, together with Senior Lecturer Sara James, we ran five groups for eight weeks in a range of community settings in greater Melbourne. Three of these groups, at Yarra Libraries and the La Trobe University Library as well as the Warrandyte Neighbourhood House, were conducted face-to-face. Two more groups, one with outpatient cancer survivors at Ringwood Hospital and one with La Trobe University alumni, were held on Zoom. The study consisted of 27 participants – 20 female, 6 male, and one non-binary – ranging from young adulthood to elderly. All participants self-selected to join after advertising campaigns in conjunction with our partner institutions; participation in the research component of the project was entirely voluntary. All participants, whose statements we quote, have been de-identified. The positive effects on both a sense of personal autonomy and social connection are reflected in our research findings: 92.5% of the participants found they had grown more confident since joining the group. 92.6% of the participants reported that the groups helped them understand themselves better, while 77.7% found the sessions helped them relate to others in a deeper way. In Shared Reading the connection between reader and text expands into connections formed within the group. Recognising aspects of one’s own life in a story is powerful in “confirming that I am not entirely alone, that there are others who think or feel like me. Through this experience of affiliation, I feel myself acknowledged; I am rescued from the fear of invisibility, from the terror of not being seen” (Felski 54). In this way, even solitary reading has the capacity to normalise a broad range of individual experiences and to stave off loneliness. We find friends in books. In Shared Reading this moment of connection is intensified and multiplied by also offering recognition from others – groups bond quickly. Beth, a shy participant who struggles with anxiety, found “it was really, really special to find a way to really honestly understand someone else without judgement, which is hard to do”. She reported that the sessions had increased her confidence because she “felt seen” within the group. A number of participants commented on the depth and quality of the conversations and found the groups “nourishing” or “nurturing”. By focussing on the text, meaningful and even personal conversations spring up that are not easily had in other contexts. Such rich and intimate encounters with the text and others are predicated on the practice of joint “close” or “deep” reading. By immersing oneself in the text, the borders between self and text become porous. In “bringing the work into existence as an imaginary space within oneself” (Miller 38), we allow the text to “get under our skin” in an act of “compenetration” (Rosenblatt 12). This process holds significant transformative potential, as Radway notes: when reading, “‘I’ become something other than what I have been and inhabit thoughts other than those I have been able to conceive before” (13). Billington credits reading as a unique form of thinking in its own right (Literature 115–37). Thinking with the text collaboratively can deepen into self-reflection through our internal and external conversations with the voices of others (Archer 458–472). Self-reflexivity becomes a relational process in which individuals experiment with new modes of selfhood and ways of relating to others (Holmes 139–41). This resonates with research into Shared Reading, which suggests an “impact upon psychological wellbeing by improving a sense of personal growth through increased self-development” (Davis et al., Values 7). In fact, one of the strongest themes to emerge from the post-program interviews was how strongly participants appreciated the broadening of inner horizons through the group conversations. Reading itself offers “a literary rendering of how worlds create selves, but also of how selves perceive and react to worlds made up of other selves” (Felski 132). It involves exercising the imagination; it is the practice of “going out from one’s self toward other lives” and stimulates “sympathy, fellowship, spirituality and [the] morality of being human” (Donoghue 73; see also Charon). Shared Reading fosters self-growth as a relational activity, as group participant Ian describes: [Shared Reading] will open up a world to your own feelings and views ... and expand that beyond your expectations ... . As a group you have that cross-fertilisation of emotions, feelings, experiences. ... It is amazing what it will do for your own mental wellbeing, your own intellectual stimulation, and your sense of engagement with your fellow human being. Ian’s statement captures something integral to Shared Reading and to eudaimonic flourishing: a sense of “liveness” and vibrancy. Participants experience the literature freshly during the session, without preparation – indeed without warning – as to what will be encountered (Davis, Reading 4). Participant Anna notes: “you really have to be in the moment, present to the text”. Nina likens this quality of attention to that of “meditating and connecting at the same time”, which resonates with the mindfulness of a eudaimonic life (Ryan, Huta, & Deci 158). Literature can enliven us by disrupting habitual patterns of response, defences, pat attitudes and opinions; it nudges us, so to speak, out of the “insidiously lazy default language” (Davis, Reader 3) of familiar, well-worn conceptual and linguistic paths into unexplored territory. The reader may be caught off guard when a story abruptly triggers an emotion, a memory, or some other element of inner experience (Billington, Literature 91–93), which then emerges, often haltingly, into the light of conscious thought. Such ambushing is recognised by both facilitators and researchers when a participant’s normal fluency falters or breaks down into a “creative inarticulacy” (Davis et al. 11–14) as they actively, arduously attempt to express what the literature has summoned (Billington, Literature 91–2). Such linguistic groping signals the emergence of fresh insight; it is personal growth in action. Anna relates how Sharma Shields’s story “The Mcgugle Account” exhumed a long-buried memory: “it really disturbed me a lot. And it was not until a week or so later that I recognised what it was … that it summoned up in me, a memory of something that had happened … [that] I’d always felt a lot of shame about. And I’ve never, I’ve never really shared it with anybody”. She continues, “and it was so good to talk about it and process something I’ve not been able to [indistinct] for 30 years”. Anna experiences a moment of “recovery” or “awakening” (Billington, Literature 88) as a “second chance” (Davis, Reading 14) to return to an experience and reframe, maybe even redeem it. Davis notes that literature widens and enriches the human norm [by] accepting and allowing for trauma, troubles, inadequacies, and other experiences usually classed as negative or even pathological. It is a process of recovery – in the deeper sense of spontaneously retrieving for use experiences and qualities that were lost, regretted or made redundant. (Davis et al. Values, 33) Similarly, Beth describes what happened when another participant recalled an argument with his ex-wife: we all laughed, really, which is quite a tender moment and it’s really a vulnerable expression of something that was potentially really painful in someone’s past. But for some reason we all laughed, and it was fine. He was happy with us laughing too …. . I can’t remember many, many moments like that where we just – yeah , collectively kind of laughed about this. This life. Yeah. The laughter shared during such moments expresses relief, reassurance that we are not alone in the painful experiences of “this life”. These are moments of connection and of re-storying or recuperating a painful past. The sense of vitality is often palpable, manifesting sometimes as an alert stillness – a taut “leaning in” (Davis et al., Value 9) to what’s being read –, at others as an eruption into laughter as we have seen. In its embrace of the full spectrum of human experience it is “as though literature itself said implicitly ‘Nothing human is alien to me’” (Billington, Literature 3). Within this capacious, generous space, participants can grow into a more expansive self-awareness. Beth explains: I find it hard to understand what I’m feeling sometimes and articulate that, and through the stories and through the group and through the process, I found that easier. Which was such a surprise to me. Because that wasn’t what I thought would happen. … I can’t quite place what it is about the experience that had that catalyst for me … . And there was something in each of the stories that was really relatable, and I found that it just drew something out of me that I wasn’t expecting then. “Alive”, “enriched”, and “stimulated” are some of the participants’ descriptors for how they feel in Shared Reading sessions. As with any practice, these feelings deepen and spread into other areas of life over time. Tom, who describes “reading as a way of life”, explains its power: “to be an appreciator of the text is a practice in itself without being a writer of text or a critic. … And the more I appreciate, the better my life becomes”. After the program, Beth reported that she started exploring the library in more detail, and one of the groups started meeting at the pub to share reading tips, discuss “ideas”, and catch up. As has perhaps become clear, in Shared Reading the individual aspects of a eudaimonic life work together synergistically to promote a sense of eudaimonic wellbeing. The attentive and sincere engagement with literature and its representations of human complexity facilitates connection and reflection that may inspire self-growth and an overall sense of vitality. In the practice of reading together these aspects remain entangled and interdependent, reinforcing each other over time into a sense of eudaimonic wellbeing that can accommodate pain or negative affect and potentially transform them into something meaningful. The process of restoration, of unfolding, articulating, and reintegrating what was submerged, considered lost, or pushed aside is never linear, often surprising, and never complete, just as expressions of eudaimonic flourishing are unique to each individual and bear all the complexity of human experience. 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Introduction Online influencers play an increasingly important role in political communication – they serve as both intermediaries and producers of political messages. As established opinion leaders in areas such fashion and lifestyle consumption, many influencers recently turned towards more political content (Riedl et al.). For influencers who built their personal brands around aspirational domestic and lifestyle content, the COVID-19 global pandemic created an opportunity (and sometimes even a necessity) to engage in political discourse. The most basic everyday acts and decisions – such as where to shop for food, how to organise playdates for children, if and where to go on holiday – suddenly turned into political discussions and the influencers found themselves either promoting or challenging anti-pandemic restrictions imposed by national governments as they were forced to actively defend their decisions on such matters to their followers. Within this process that I call politicisation of the domestic (Heřmanová), many influencers explored new ways to build authority and leadership within their communities and positioning themselves as experts or “lifestyle gurus” (Baker and Rojek). While the proliferation of political content, including disinformation and conspiracy narratives, on digital communication platforms has been the focus of both public and academic attention in recent years, the focus has mostly been on Facebook, YouTube, and Twitter (Finlayson). Instagram, the traditional “home” of lifestyle influencers, only recently became the focus of political communication research (Larsson). This article builds on recent scholarship that focusses on the intersection of lifestyle, spiritual, and wellness content on Instagram and the proliferation of political conspiracy narratives on the platform (Remski, Argentino). I use the example of a prominent Czech spiritual influencer Helena Houdová to illustrate the blending of spiritual, aspirational and conspiracy content among Instagram influencers and argue that the specific aesthetics of Instagram conspiracies needs to be understood in the context of gendered, predominantly female “third spaces” (Wright) in the male-coded global digital space. Case Study – Helena When you look at Helena’s Instagram profile, all you see at first is the usual aspirational influencer content – pictures of ocean, beaches, sunsets, and Helena herself in white dresses or swimsuits. Sometimes she’s alone in the pictures, sometimes with her children, and sometimes with a group of similarly serene-looking women with sun-kissed skin and flowers in their hair. In the captions under her Instagram posts, Helena often talks about self-acceptance, self-love, and womanhood, and gives her followers advice how they can, in her own words, “create their own reality” (@helenahoudova, 8 Aug. 2021). Her recipe for the creation of one’s own reality sounds very simple – open your heart, accept the love that the Universe is giving you, accept that you are love. Helena is 41 years old, a divorced mother of 3 children, and a former model and philanthropist. Born in the Czech Republic, Helena won the title of Czech Miss in 1999, when she was 20 years old. She competed in the Miss World competition and started a successful modelling career. After a complicated marriage and divorce, she struggled to obtain an Australian visa and finally found a home in Bali. Over the past few years, Helena managed to build a successful business out of her online presence – she markets online courses and Webinars to her 50,000 followers and offers personal coaching. In this regard, she is a representative example of an “spiritual influencer” (Schwartz), an emerging group of (mostly) female influencers who focus their content on New Age type spirituality, personal healing, and teach their followers the practice of “manifesting”, based on the belief that “the world we perceive, either positively or negatively, is a projection of our own consciousness and that we can transform our reality for the better by transforming ourselves internally” (Urban 226). Helena’s Instagram account is bilingual, and she posts both in Czech and English, though her audience seems to be mostly Czech – most comments left under her posts are also in Czech. Within the Czech influencer community, she is one of the most famous spiritual influencers. Influencers, (Con)spirituality and COVID-19 Spiritual influencers like Helena are part of a global phenomenon (Chia et al.) that has generated lot of media attention over the past year (Schwartz). With their focus on wellbeing and health, they overlap with wellness influencers (O’Neill), but the content they produce also explores various types of New Age spirituality and references to different religious traditions as well as neo-pagan spiritual movements. From this perspective, spiritual influencers often position themselves in opposition to a Western lifestyle (interpreted as materialistic and based on consumption). In this aspect they fit into the category of ‘lifestyle gurus’ as defined by Baker and Rojek: “Lifestyle gurus define themselves in opposition to professional cultures. Selectively and instrumentally, they mix elements from positive thinking, esoteric systems of knowledge and mediate them through folk culture” (390). While prominent figures of the wellness spirituality movement such as Gwyneth Paltrow would be more likely defined as celebrities rather than influencers (see Abidin), spiritual influencers are native to the Internet, and the path to spiritual awakening they showcase on their Instagram profiles is also their source of income. It is this commodified aspect of their online personas that generated a significant backlash from the media as well as from the influencer community itself over the past year. What provoked many critical reactions is the way spiritual influencers became involved in the debate around the COVID-19 pandemic and anti-COVID vaccination all around the world. As I argued elsewhere (Heřmanová), the pandemic impacted on the way influencers build boundaries between ‘domestic’ and ‘political’ within their content and inside the communities of their followers. For women who build their brands around aspirational domesticity (Duffy), the pandemic lockdowns presented a significant challenge in terms of the content they could post. Within the spiritual influencer culture, the discussion around vaccines intersected with influencers’ focus on spiritual and physical health, natural remedies, and so-called ‘natural immunity’. The pandemic thus accelerated the above-mentioned process of the “politicization of the domestic” (Heřmanová). The increasing engagement of spiritual influencers in political debates around COVID-19 and vaccines can be interpreted within the broader context of the conspirituality phenomenon. The term, first coined by Charlotte Ward and David Voas in 2011, describes a “web movement expressing an ideology fuelled by political disillusionment and the popularity of alternative worldview“ (103). The conspirituality phenomenon is native to the Internet and appears at the intersection of New Age-inspired spirituality and distrust towards established authorities. The conspirituality approach successfully bridges the gap between the spiritual focus on the self and the conspiratorial focus on broader political processes. For spiritual influencers and other types of lifestyle gurus, conspirituality thus offers a way to accommodate the hyper-individualistic, commodified nature of global influencer culture with their message of collective awakening and responsibility to educate wider audiences, because it enables them to present their personal spiritual path as a political act. For the predominantly female wellness/spirituality influencers of Instagram, the term conspirituality has been widely used in the public and media debate, with reference to the involvement of influencers in the QAnon movement (Tiffany, Petersen, and Wang). Argentino coined the term “pastel QAnon” to refer to the community of female influencers initially found on Instagram, but who are increasingly present on various dark platforms, such as Parler or Gab (Zeng and Schäfer), or, in the Czech context, the messaging platform Telegram (Šlerka). “Pastel” refers “to the unique aesthetic and branding these influencers provided to their pages and in turn QAnon by using social media templates like Canva” (Argentino) that is used to soften and aesthetically adapt QAnon messages to Instagram visuality. Many adherents to the pastel version of QAnon are members of the spiritual, yoga, and wellness community of Instagram and were “recruited” to the movement through concerns about COVID-19 vaccines (Remski). This was also the case for Helena. Before the pandemic, her content mostly focussed on her family life and promoting her Webinars and retreats. She rarely commented on political events beyond general proclamations about the materialistic nature of our culture, in which we are losing connection to our true selves. As the pandemic advanced, Helena started to make more and more explicit references to the current global situation. For a long time, however, she resisted openly political, critical proclamations. Then on 12 July 2021 Helena posted a picture of herself standing at the beach in a flowy dress, holding a big golden cup in her hand and accompanied it with the caption: There are barricades on the streets. There are tanks on the streets. We cannot move freely. We must identify ourselves with designated signs. And we must wear a yellow star to sign we’re not against it. But they say it’s for our own protection. The year 1941. There are barricades on the streets. There are tanks on the streets. (THIS AFTERNOON). We cannot move freely. We must identify ourselves, we have to cover our face as a sign we’re not against it. But they say it’s for our own protection. The year 2021. She continues with a call to action and praises her followers, the people who have “woken up” and realised that the pandemic is a global conspiracy meant to enslave people and the vaccination at attempt at “genocide” (@helenahoudova, translated from Czech by author). Fig. 1: Helena's post about COVID-19. This post can be interpreted as a symbolic transgression from spiritual to conspiritual content on Helena’s profile. In the past year, the narrative explaining COVID-19 as an orchestrated political event organised by the global elites to curb the civic and personal freedoms of all citizens has become central in her communication towards her followers. Interestingly, in some of her videos and Instagram stories, she addresses the Czech audience specifically when she compares the anti-pandemic restrictions implemented by the Czech government as an attempt to return the country to its authoritarian, pre-1989 past. Within post-socialist media spaces, the symbolic references to the former totalitarian regime became an important feature of pandemic conspiracies, creating interesting instances of online context collapse. For example, when influencers (including Helena) post content originating from US-based QAnon-related Websites, they tend to frame it as “the return of communism as it we have experienced it before 1989” (Heřmanová). While Helena dedicates her profile almost exclusively to her own content, other Czech spiritual influencers use also other Instagram features such as sharing posts in Stories or sharing content from various Websites, both Czech- and English-speaking, with links to calls for direct actions and petitions against the anti-COVID restrictions and/or vaccination. A few other well-known Czech influencers interact with Helena’s posts by liking them or leaving comments. In this way, the whole community interlinks via different types of political content that is then on the individual profiles blended with lifestyle, wellness, and other ‘typical’, less overtly political, influencer content. Conclusion: Gendered Third Spaces of Instagram Helena’s Instagram presence, along with that of many other women who post similar content, presents an interesting conundrum when we try to decipher how conspiracy theories proliferate in digital spaces. She has, since her ‘coming-out’ as anti-vax adherent and COVID-denialist, branched out her business activities. She now also offers Webinars to teach women how to operate their business in 5D reality that includes intuition as a tool to establish ‘extrasensory’ perception and enables connection to other dimensions of reality (as opposed to the limited 3D perception we typically apply to the world around us). Her journey is representative of a wider trend of politicisation of formerly non-political online spaces in at least two aspects: her prominent focus on women, womanhood, and “sisterhood” as a unit of political organisation, and her successful blend of Instagram-friendly, aspirational, ‘pastel’ aesthetics with overtly political messaging. Both the aesthetics and content of the conspirituality movement on Instagram are significantly gendered. The gendered character of influencers’ work on social media often leads to the assumption that politics has no place in the feminised space of influencer communities on Instagram because it is seen as a male domain (Duffy; Duffy and Hund). Social media, nonetheless, has offered women a tool of political expression, where dedication to domestic affairs may be seen as a political act in itself (Stern). Conspiritual communities on Instagram, such as the one Helena has managed to build, could also be seen as an example of what Scott Wright calls “third spaces” – neutral, inclusive, and accessible virtual spaces where political talk happens (11). A significant body of research has shown that global digital spaces for political discussion tend to be male-coded and women are actively discouraged from participating in them. If they do participate, they are at much higher risk of being exposed to hate-speech and gender-based online violence (Poletta and Chen). The same trend has been analysed within Czech-speaking online communities as well (Vochocová and Rosenfeldová). The COVID-19 pandemic on the other hand opened the opportunity and sometimes necessity (as mentioned above) to engage in political discussion to many women who previously never expressed an interest in political matters. Profiles of conspiritual influencers are perceived both by supportive influencers and by their followers as safe spaces where political opinions can be explicitly discussed precisely because these spaces are not typically designed as political arenas. Helena herself quite often uses the notion of “sisterhood” as a reference to a safe, strong, female community and praises her followers for being awake, being political, and being open to what she calls ‘inner truths’. In a very recent 16-minute video that was originally livestreamed and then saved on her profile, she reflects on current geopolitical developments and makes a direct connection to “liberating sisterhood” as a tool for solving world problems such as wars. The video was posted on 7 March 2022, a week after Russia invaded Ukraine and thus brought war to the near proximity of Helena’s home country. In the video, Helena addresses her followers in Czech and talks about “dark and fragile times”, praises “the incredible energy of sisterhood” that she wants to bring to her followers, and urges them to sign up for her course, because the world needs this energy more than ever (@helenahoudova). Her followers often reflect these sentiments in the comments. They talk about the experience of being judged for embracing their femininity and speaking up against evil (war, vaccination) and mention that they feel encouraged by the community they found. Helena connects with them via liking their comments or leaving responses such as “I stand with you, my love.” The originally non-political character of the third spaces of conspiritual communities on Instagram also partly explains their success in bringing fringe political narratives towards the aspirational mainstream. Helena’s Instagram profile was not originally created, and neither is it run now by her as an openly political/conspiracy account. She does not use hashtags related to QAnon, anti-vax, or any other openly ‘conspiracy-branded’ content. The overall tone of her account and her communication towards her followers has not changed after her ‘coming-out’: she still focusses on highly feminised spiritual aesthetics. She uses light colours, beach photos, and flowy white dresses as a visual frame to her content, and while the content gets politicised, the form still conforms to the standards of Instagram as a platform with its focus on first-person storytelling via selfies and pictures documenting everyday life (Leaver, Highfield, and Abidin). In this respect, Helena’s content can also be seen as an example of what Crystal Abidin calls “subversive frivolity”. Abidin shows how influencers use highly gendered and often mocked and marginalised tools (such as the selfie) and turn them into a productive and powerful means to achieve both economic and social capital (Abidin). In this aspect, the proliferation of conspiracy narratives on Instagram differs significantly from the mechanisms of Twitter and YouTube (Finlayson). While it would be unwise to underestimate the role of recommendation algorithms and filter bubbles (Pariser) in spreading COVID-19-related conspiracies on Instagram, it is also true that the content often circulates despite these mechanisms, as Forberg demonstrated in the example of QAnon communities in the U.S. He proposes to look closely at the “routines” that individual members of these communities employ to make their content visible in mainstream spaces (Forberg). In the case of Helena and members of her community, these routines of engaging with COVID-related content in a way that becomes more and more overtly political form the process of the politicisation of the domestic. While it could be argued that ‘personal is always political’ especially for women (Hanish), Helena and her peers and followers are actively making personal matters political both by naming them as such and by directly connecting themselves, via the notion of sisterhood, to geopolitical developments. In this way, conspirituality influencers are successfully bridging the gap between the individualist ethos of influencer cultures and the collective identity-building of conspiracy movements. 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Introduction The public sphere includes a range of credible discourses asserting that a proportion of teenagers (“teens”) has an unhealthy dependence upon continuous connection with media devices, and especially smartphones. A review of media discourse (Jaunzems et al.) in Australia, and a critical review of public discourse in Australia and Belgium (Zaman et al.), reveal both positive and negative commentary around screentime. Despite the “emotionally laden, opposing views” expressed in the media, there appears to be a groundswell of concern around young people’s dependence upon digital devices (Zaman et al. 120). Concerns about ‘addiction’ to and dependency on digital media first emerged with the Internet and have been continually represented as technology evolves. One recent example is the 2020 multi-part Massey Lecture series which hooked audiences with the provocative title: “we need to reclaim our lives from our phones” (Deibert). In Sydney, a psychology-based “outpatient addiction treatment centre” offers specialised recovery programs for “Internet addiction”, noting that addicts include school-aged teens, as well as adults (Cabin). Such discourse reflects well-established social anxieties around the disruptive impacts of new technologies upon society (Marvin), while focussing such concern disproportionately upon the lives, priorities, and activities of young people (Tsaliki and Chronaki). While a growing peer-reviewed evidence base suggests some young people have problematic relationships with digital media (e.g. Odgers and Robb; Donald et al.; Gaspard; Tóth-Király et al.; Boer et al.), there are also opposing views (e.g. Vuorre et al.) Ben Light, for instance, highlights the notion of disconnection as a set of practices that include using some platforms and not others, unfriending, and selective anonymity (Light). We argue that this version of disconnection and what we refer to as ‘detox’ are two different practices. Detox, as we use it, is the regular removal of elements of lived experience (such as food consumption) that may be enjoyable but which potentially have negative consequences over time, before (potentially) reintroducing the element or pratice. The aims of a detox include ensuring greater control over the enjoyable experience while, at the same time, reducing exposure to possible harm. There is a lack of specific research that unequivocally asserts young people’s unhealthy dependence upon smartphones. Nonetheless, there appears to be a growing public belief in the efficacy of “the detox” (Beyond Blue) or “unplugging” (Shlain). We argue that a teen’s commitment to regular smartphone abstinence is non-fungible with ‘as and when’ smartphone use. In other words, there is a significant, ineluctable and non-trivial difference between the practice of regularly disconnecting from a smartphone at a certain point of the day, or for a specified period in the week, compared with the same amount of time ‘off’ the device which is a haphazard, as and when, doing something else, type of practice. We posit that recurrent periods of smartphone abstinence, equating to a regular detox, might support more balanced, healthy and empowered smartphone use. Repeated abstinence in this case differs from the notion of the disconnected holiday, where a person might engage in irregular smartphone withdrawal during an annual holiday, for example (Traveltalk; Hoving; Stäheli and Stoltenberg). Such abstinence does have widespread historical and cultural resonance, however, as in the fasting practices of Islam (the month of Ramadan), the Christian season of Lent, and the holy Hindu month of Śravaṇa. Where prolonged periods of fasting are supplemented by weekly or holy-day fasts, they may be reprised with a regularity that brings the practice closer to the scheduled pattern of abstinence that we see as non-fungible with an unstructured as-and-when approach. An extreme example of the long fast and intermittent fast days is offered by the traditional practices of the Greek Orthodox church, whose teachings recommend fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays as well as on religious holy days. With the inclusion of Lent, Greek Orthodox fasting practices can comprise 180 fast days per year: that’s about half of available days. As yet, there is no coherent evidence base supporting the benefits of regular intermittent disconnection. The Australian mental health Website Beyond Blue, which asserts the value of digital detox, cannot find a stronger authority to underpin a practice of withdrawal than “Research from Deloitte’s annual Mobile Consumer Survey report” which indicates that “44 per cent of people in Australia think their phone use is a problem and are trying to reduce how much time they spend on it” (Beyond Blue). Academic literature that addresses these areas by drawing on more than personal experience and anecdote is scarce to non-existent. Insofar as such studies exist over the past decade, from Maushart to Leonowicz-Bukała et al., they are irregular experiments which do not commit to repeated periods of disconnection. This article is a call to investigate the possibly non-fungible benefits of teens’ regularly practicing smartphone disconnection. It argues that there is actual evidence which is yet to be collected. New knowledge in this area may provide a compelling dataset that suggests verifiable benefits for the non-fungible practice of regular smartphone disconnection. We believe that there are teenagers, parents and communities willing to trial appropriate interventions over a significant period of time to establish ‘before’ and ‘after’ case studies. The evidence for these opinions is laid out in the sections that follow. Teens’ Experiences of Media, Smartphone, and Other Cultural Dis/connection In 2018, the Pew Research Center in the US surveyed teens about their experiences of social media, updating elements of an earlier study from 2014-15. They found that almost all (95%) the 743 teens in the study, aged between 13 and 17 when they were surveyed in March-April 2018, had or had access to a smartphone (Anderson and Jiang). A more recent report from 2021 notes that 88% of US teenagers, aged 13-18, have their own smartphone (Common Sense Media 22). What is more, this media use survey indicates that American teens have increased their screen entertainment time from 7 hours, 22 minutes per day in 2019 to 8 hours, 39 minutes per day in 2021 (Common Sense Media 3). Lee argues that, on average, mobile phone users in Australia touch their phones 2,617 times a day. In Sweden, a 2019 study of youth aged 15-24 noted a pervasive concern regarding the logical assumption “that offline time is influenced and adapted when people spend an increasing amount of time online” (Thulin and Vilhelmson 41). These authors critique the overarching theory of young people comprising a homogenous group of ‘digital natives’ by identifying different categories of light, medium, and heavy users of ICT. They say that the “variation in use is large, indicating that responses to ubiquitous ICT access are highly diverse rather than homogenously determined” (Thulin and Vilhelmson 48). The practice or otherwise of regular periods of smartphone disconnection is a further potential differentiator of teens’ digital experiences. Any investigation into these areas of difference should help indicate ways in which teens may or may not achieve comparatively more or less control over their smartphone use. Lee argues that in Australia “teens who spend five or more hours per day on their devices have a 71% higher risk factor for suicide”. Twenge and Campbell (311) used “three large surveys of adolescents in two countries (n = 221,096)” to explore differences between ‘light users’ of digital media (<1 hour per day) and ‘heavy users’ (5+ hours per day). They use their data to argue that “heavy users (vs. light) of digital media were 48% to 171% more likely to be unhappy, to be low in well-being, or to have suicide risk factors such as depression, suicidal ideation, or past suicide attempts” (Twenge and Campbell 311). Notably, Livingstone among others argues that emotive assertions such as these tend to ignore the nuance of significant bodies of research (Livingstone, about Twenge). Even so, it is plausible that teens’ online activities interpolate both positively and negatively upon their offline activities. The capacity to disconnect, however, to disengage from smartphone use at will, potentially allows a teen more opportunity for individual choice impacting both positive and negative experiences. As boyd argued in 2014: “it’s complicated”. The Pew findings from 2018 indicate that teens’ positive comments about social media use include: 81% “feel more connected to their friends”; 69% “think it helps [them] interact with a more diverse group of people”; and 68% “feel as if they have people who will support them through tough times.” (Anderson and Jiang) The most numerous negative comments address how of all teens: 45% “feel overwhelmed by all the drama there”; 43% “feel pressure to only post content that makes them look good to others”; and 37% “feel pressure to post content that will get a lot of likes and comments.” (Anderson and Jiang) It is notable that these three latter points relate to teens’ vulnerabilities around others’ opinions of themselves and the associated rollercoaster of emotions these opinions may cause. They resonate with Ciarrochi et al.’s argument that different kinds of Internet activity impact different issues of control, with more social forms of digital media associated with young females’ higher “compulsive internet use […] and worse mental health than males” (276). What is not known, because it has never been investigated, is whether any benefits flowing from regular smartphone disconnection might have a gendered dimension. If there is specific value in a capacity to disconnect regularly, separating that experience from haphazard episodes of connection and disconnection, regular disconnection may also enhance the quality of smartphone engagement. Potentially, the power to turn off their smartphone when the going got tough might allow young people to feel greater control over their media use while being less susceptible to the drama and compulsion of digital engagement. As one 17-year-old told the Pew researchers, possibly ruefully, “[teens] would rather go scrolling on their phones instead of doing their homework, and it’s so easy to do so. It’s just a huge distraction” (Anderson and Jiang). Few cultural contexts support teens’ regular and repeated disengagement from smartphones, but Icelandic society, Orthodox Judaism and the comparatively common practice of overnight disconnection from smartphone use may offer helpful indications of possible benefits. Cross-Cultural and Religious Interventions in Smartphone Use Concern around teens’ smartphone use, as described above, is typically applied to young people whose smartphone use constitutes an integral part of everyday life. The untangling of such interconnection would benefit from being both comparative and experimental. Our suggestions follow. Iceland has, in the past, adopted what Karlsson and Broddason term “a paternalistic cultural conservatism” (1). Legislators concerned about the social impacts of television deferred the introduction of Icelandic broadcasting for many years, beyond the time that most other European nations offered television services. Program offerings were expanded in a gradual way after the 1966 beginnings of Iceland’s public television broadcasting. As Karlsson and Broddason note, “initially the transmission hours were limited to only a few hours in the evening, three days a week and a television-free month in July. The number of transmission days was increased to six within a few years, still with a television-free month in July until 1983 and television-free Thursdays until 1987” (6). Interestingly, the nation is still open to social experimentation on a grand scale. In the 1990s, for example, in response to significant substance abuse by Icelandic teens, the country implemented an interventionist whole-of-Iceland public health program: the Icelandic Prevention Model (Kristjansson et al.). Social experimentation on a smaller scale remains part of the Icelandic cultural fabric. More recently, between 2015 and 2019, Iceland ran a successful social experiment whereby 1% of the working population worked a shorter work week for full time pay. The test was deemed successful because “workers were able to work less, get paid the same, while maintaining productivity and improving personal well-being” (Lau and Sigurdardottir). A number of self-governing Icelandic villages operate a particularly inclusive form of consultative local democracy enabling widespread buy-in for social experiments. Two or more such communities are likely to be interested in trialling an intervention study if there is a plausible reason to believe that the intervention may make a positive difference to teens’ (and others’) experiences of smartphone use. Those plausible reasons might be indicated by observational data from other people’s everyday practices. One comparatively common everyday practice which has yet to be systematically investigated from the perspective of evaluating the possible impacts of regular disconnection is that practiced by families who leave connected media outside the bedroom at night-time. These families are in the habit of putting their phones on to charge, usually in a shared space such as a kitchen or lounge room, and not referring to them again until a key point in the morning: when they are dressed, for example, or ready to leave the house. It is plausible to believe that such families might feel they have greater control over smartphone use than a family who didn’t adopt a regular practice of smartphone disconnection. According to social researchers in the Nordic nations, including co-authors Kjartan Ólafsson and Elisabeth Staksrud, it is likely that an Icelandic community will be keen to trial this experience of regular smartphone disconnection for a period of six months or more, if that trial went hand in hand with a rigorous evaluation of impact. Some religious communities offer a less common exemplar for teens’ regular disconnection from their smartphone. Young people in these communities may suspend their smartphone (and other media use) for just over a full day per week to focus on deepening their engagement with family and friends, and to support their spiritual development. Notable among such examples are teenagers who identify as members of the Orthodox Jewish faith. Their religious practices include withdrawing from technological engagement as part of the observance of Shabbat (the Sabbath): at least, that’s the theory. For the past ten years or so in Australia there has been a growing concern over some otherwise-Orthodox Jewish teens’ practice of the “half-Shabbat,” in which an estimated 17-50% of this cohort secretly use digital media for some time during their 25 hours of mandated abstinence. As one teacher from an Orthodox high school argues, “to not have access to the phone, it’s like choking off their air” (Telushikin). Interestingly, many Jewish teens who privately admit practicing half-Shabbat envision themselves as moving towards full observance in adulthood: they can see benefits in a wholehearted commitment to disengagement, even if it’s hard to disengage fully at this point in their lives. Hadlington et al.’s article “I Cannot Live without My [Tablet]” similarly evokes a broader community crisis around children’s dependence on digital media, noting that many children aged 8-12 have a tablet of their own before moving onto smartphone ownership in their teens (Common Sense Media 22). We appreciate that not every society has children and young people who are highly networked and integrated within digital dataflows. Nonetheless, while constant smartphone connectivity might appear to be a ‘first world problem’, preparing teens to be adults with optimal choice over their smartphone use includes identifying and promoting support for conscious disengagement from media as and when a young person wishes. Such a perspective aligns with promoting young people’s rights in digital contexts by interrogating the possible benefits of regularly disconnecting from digital media. Those putative benefits may be indicated by investigating perspectives around smartphone use held by Orthodox Jewish teenagers and comparing them with those held by teens who follow a liberal Jewish faith: liberal Jewish teens use smartphones in ways that resonate with broader community teens. A comparison of these two groups, suggests co-author Lynne Cohen, may indicate differences that can (in part) be attributed to Orthodox Jewish practices of digital disconnection, compared with liberal Jewish practices that don’t include disconnection. If smartphone disconnection has the potential to offer non-fungible benefits, it is incumbent upon researchers to investigate the possible advantages and drawbacks of such practices. That can be done through the comparative investigation of current practice as outlined above, and via an experimental intervention for approximately six months with a second Icelandic/Nordic community. The Potential Value of Investigating the (Non-)Fungibility of Digital Engagement and Digital Inactivity The overarching hypothesis addressed in this article is that a lived experience of regular smartphone disconnection may offer teenagers the opportunity to feel more in control of their personal technologies. Such a perspective aligns with many established media theories. These theories include the domestication of technology and its integration into daily life, helping to explain the struggle teens experience in detaching from digital media once they have become a fundamental element of their routine. Domestication theory asserts that technology moves from novelty to an integral aspect of everyday experience (Berker et al.). Displacement theory asserts that young people whose lives are replete with digital media may have substituted that media use for other activities enjoyed by the generations that grew up before them, while boyd offers an alternative suggestion that digital media add to, rather than displace, teens’ activities in daily contexts. Borrowing inputs from other disciplinary traditions, theories around mindfulness are increasingly robust and evidence-based, asserting that “attentiveness to what is present appears to yield corrective and curative benefits in its own right” (Brown et al. 1). Constant attention to digital media may be a distraction from mindful engagement with the lived environment. A detailed study of the non-fungible character of smartphone disconnection practices might offer an evidence base to support suggestions, such as those proffered by Beyond Blue, that a digital detox benefits mental health, resilience, and sociality. Such information might support initiatives by schools and other organisations central to the lives of teenagers to institute regular digital disconnection regimes, akin to Iceland’s experiments with television-free Thursdays. These innovations could build upon aligned social initiatives such as “no email Fridays” (Horng), which have been trialled in business contexts. Further, studies such as those outlined above could add authority to recommendations for parents, educators, and caregivers such as those recommendations contained in papers on the Common Sense Media site, for example, including Tweens, Teens, Tech, and Mental Health (Odgers and Robb) and Device-Free Dinners (Robb). Relevantly, the results from such observational and intervention studies would address the post-COVID era when parents and others will be considering how best to support a generation of children who went online earlier, and more often, than any generation before them. These results might also align with work towards early-stage adoption of the United Nations’ General Comment No. 25 on Children’s Rights in Relation to the Digital Environment (UNCRC). If so, an investigation into the fungibility or otherwise of digital abstention could contribute to the national and international debate about the rights of young people to make informed decisions around when to connect, and when to disconnect, from engagement via a smartphone. References Anderson, Monica, and Jingjing Jiang. "Teens’ Social Media Habits and Experiences." Pew Research Center 28 Nov. 2018. <https://www.pewresearch.org/internet/2018/11/28/teens-social-media-habits-and-experiences/>. Berker, Thomas, Maren Hartmann, and Yves Punie. Domestication of Media and Technology. McGraw-Hill Education, 2005. Beyond Blue. “The Benefits of a Digital Detox: Unplugging from Digital Technology Can Have Tremendous Benefits on Body and Mind.” Beyond Blue, n.d. <https://www.beyondblue.org.au/personal-best/pillar/wellbeing/the-benefits-of-a-digital-detox>. Boer, Maartje, Gonneke W.J.M. Stevens, Catrin Finkenauer, Margaretha E. de Looze, and Regina J.J.M. van den Eijnden. “Social Media Use Intensity, Social Media Use Problems, and Mental Health among Adolescents: Investigating Directionality and Mediating Processes.” Computers in Human Behavior 116 (Mar. 2021): 106645. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chb.2020.106645>. boyd, danah. It’s Complicated : The Social Lives of Networked Teens. Yale University Press, 2014. <http://www.danah.org/books/ItsComplicated.pdf>. Brown, Kirk Warren, J. David Creswell, and Richard M. Ryan. “The Evolution of Mindfulness Science.” Handbook of Mindfulness : Theory, Research, and Practice, eds. Kirk Warren Brown et al. Guilford Press, 2016. Cabin, The. “Internet Addiction Treatment Center.” The Cabin, 2020. <https://www.thecabinsydney.com.au/internet-addiction-treatment/>. Ciarrochi, Joseph, Philip Parker, Baljinder Sahdra, Sarah Marshall, Chris Jackson, Andrew T. Gloster, and Patrick Heaven. “The Development of Compulsive Internet Use and Mental Health: A Four-Year Study of Adolescence.” Developmental Psychology 52.2 (2016): 272. Common Sense Media. "The Common Sense Census: Media Use by Tweens and Teens, 2021". <https://www.commonsensemedia.org/sites/default/files/research/report/8-18-census-integrated-report-final-web_0.pdf>. Deibert, Ron. “Reset: Reclaiming the Internet for Civil Society.” 2020 Massey Lectures. CBC Radio. 7 Feb. 2022 <https://www.cbc.ca/radio/ideas/reset-reclaiming-the-internet-for-civil-society-1.5795345>. Donald, James N., Joseph Ciarrochi, and Baljinder K. Sahdra. "The Consequences of Compulsion: A 4-Year Longitudinal Study of Compulsive Internet Use and Emotion Regulation Difficulties." Emotion (2020). Gaspard, Luke. “Australian High School Students and Their Internet Use: Perceptions of Opportunities versus ‘Problematic Situations.’” Children Australia 45.1 (Mar. 2020): 54–63. <https://doi.org/10.1017/cha.2020.2>. Hadlington, Lee, Hannah White, and Sarah Curtis. "‘I Cannot Live without My [Tablet]’: Children's Experiences of Using Tablet Technology within the Home." Computers in Human Behavior 94 (2019): 19-24. Horng, Eric. “No-E-Mail Fridays Transform Office.” ABC News [US], 4 Aug. 2007. <https://abcnews.go.com/WNT/story?id=2939232&page=1>. Hoving, Kristel. “Digital Detox Tourism: Why Disconnect? : What Are the Motives of Dutch Tourists to Undertake a Digital Detox Holiday?” Undefined, 2017. <https://www.semanticscholar.org/paper/Digital-Detox-Tourism%3A-Why-disconnect-%3A-What-are-of-Hoving/17503393a5f184ae0a5f9a2ed73cd44a624a9de8>. Jaunzems, Kelly, Donell Holloway, Lelia Green, and Kylie Stevenson. “Very Young Children Online: Media Discourse and Parental Practice.” Digitising Early Childhood. Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2019, <https://ro.ecu.edu.au/ecuworkspost2013/7550>. Karlsson, Ragnar, and Thorbjörn Broddason. Between the Market and the Public: Content Provision and Scheduling of Public and Private TV in Iceland. Kristjansson, Alfgeir L., Michael J. Mann, Jon Sigfusson, Ingibjorg E. Thorisdottir, John P. Allegrante, and Inga Dora Sigfusdottir. “Development and Guiding Principles of the Icelandic Model for Preventing Adolescent Substance Use.” Health Promotion Practice 21.1 (Jan. 2020): 62–69. <https://doi.org/10.1177/1524839919849032>. Lau, Virginia, and Ragnhildur Sigurdardottir. “The Shorter Work Week Really Worked in Iceland: Here’s How.” Time, 2021. <https://time.com/6106962/shorter-work-week-iceland/>. Lee, James. “16 Smartphone Statistics Australia Should Take Note Of (2021).” Smartphone Statistics Australia, 2022. <https://whatasleep.com.au/blog/smartphone-statistics-australia/>. Leonowicz-Bukała, Iwona, Anna Martens, and Barbara Przywara. "Digital Natives Disconnected. The Qualitative Research on Mediatized Life of Polish and International Students in Rzeszow and Warsaw, Poland." Przegląd Badań Edukacyjnych (Educational Studies Review) 35.2 (2021): 69-96. Light, Ben. Disconnecting with Social Networking Sites. Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. Livingstone, Sonia. "iGen: Why Today’s Super-Connected Kids Are Growing Up Less Rebellious, More Tolerant, Less Happy–and Completely Unprepared for Adulthood." Journal of Children and Media, 12.1 (2018): 118–123. <https://doi.org/10.1080/17482798.2017.1417091>. Marvin, Carolyn. When Old Technologies Were New : Thinking about Electric Communication in the Late Nineteenth Century. Oxford UP, 1990. Maushart, Susan. The Winter of Our Disconnect: How Three Totally Wired Teenagers (and a Mother Who Slept with Her iPhone) Pulled the Plug on Their Technology and Lived to Tell the Tale. Penguin, 2011. Odgers, Candice L., and Michael Robb. “Tweens, Teens, Tech, and Mental Health: Coming of Age in an Increasingly Digital, Uncertain, and Unequal World.” Common Sense Media, 2020. <https://www.commonsensemedia.org/research/tweens-teens-tech-and-mental-health>. Robb, Michael. “Why Device-Free Dinners Are a Healthy Choice.” Common Sense Media, 4 Aug. 2016. <https://www.commonsensemedia.org/blog/why-device-free-dinners-are-a-healthy-choice>. Shlain, Tiffany. “Tech’s Best Feature: The Off Switch.” Harvard Business Review, 1 Mar. 2013. <https://hbr.org/2013/03/techs-best-feature-the-off-swi>. Stäheli, Urs, and Luise Stoltenberg. “Digital Detox Tourism: Practices of Analogization.” New Media & Society (Jan. 2022). <https://doi.org/10.1177/14614448211072808>. Telushikin, Shira. “Modern Orthodox Teens Can’t Put Down Their Phones on Shabbat.” Tablet Magazine, 12 Sep. 2014. <https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/belief/articles/shabbat-phones>. Thulin, Eva, and Bertil Vilhelmson. “More at Home, More Alone? Youth, Digital Media and the Everyday Use of Time and Space.” Geoforum 100 (Mar. 2019): 41–50. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.geoforum.2019.02.010>. Tóth-Király, István, Alexandre J.S. Morin, Lauri Hietajärvi, and Katariina Salmela‐Aro. “Longitudinal Trajectories, Social and Individual Antecedents, and Outcomes of Problematic Internet Use among Late Adolescents.” Child Development 92.4 (2021): e653–73. <https://doi.org/10.1111/cdev.13525>. Traveltalk. “The Rise of Digital Detox Holidays and Tech-Free Tourism.” Traveltalk, 2018. <https://www.traveltalkmag.com.au/blog/articles/the-rise-of-digital-detox-holidays-and-tech-free-tourism>. Tsaliki, Liza, and Despina Chronaki. Discourses of Anxiety over Childhood and Youth across Cultures. 1st ed. Springer International Publishing, 2020. <https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46436-3>. Twenge, Jean M. iGen: Why Today's Super-Connected Kids Are Growing Up Less Rebellious, More Tolerant, Less Happy – and Completely Unprepared for Adulthood – and What That Means for the Rest of Us. Simon and Schuster, 2017. Twenge, Jean M., and W. Keith Campbell. “Media Use Is Linked to Lower Psychological Well-Being: Evidence from Three Datasets.” The Psychiatric Quarterly 90.2 (2019): 311-331. <https://doi.org/10.1007/s11126-019-09630-7>. UNCRC. "General Comment No. 25 (2021) on Children's Rights in Relation to the Digital Environment." United Nations Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner, Committee on the Rights of the Child, 2 Mar. 2021. <https://www.ohchr.org/en/documents/general-comments-and-recommendations/general-comment-no-25-2021-childrens-rights-relation>. Vuorre, Matti, Amy Orben, and Andrew K. Przybylski. “There Is No Evidence That Associations Between Adolescents’ Digital Technology Engagement and Mental Health Problems Have Increased.” Clinical Psychological Science 9.5 (Sep. 2021): 823–35. <https://doi.org/10.1177/2167702621994549>. Zaman, Bieke, Donell Holloway, Lelia Green, Kelly Jaunzems, and Hadewijch Vanwynsberghe. “Opposing Narratives about Children’s Digital Media Use: A Critical Discourse Analysis of Online Public Advice Given to Parents in Australia and Belgium:” Media International Australia (May 2020). <https://doi.org/10.1177/1329878X20916950>.

Introduction The public sphere includes a range of credible discourses asserting that a proportion of teenagers (“teens”) has an unhealthy dependence upon continuous connection with media devices, and especially smartphones. A review of media discourse (Jaunzems et al.) in Australia, and a critical review of public discourse in Australia and Belgium (Zaman et al.), reveal both positive and negative commentary around screentime. Despite the “emotionally laden, opposing views” expressed in the media, there appears to be a groundswell of concern around young people’s dependence upon digital devices (Zaman et al. 120). Concerns about ‘addiction’ to and dependency on digital media first emerged with the Internet and have been continually represented as technology evolves. One recent example is the 2020 multi-part Massey Lecture series which hooked audiences with the provocative title: “we need to reclaim our lives from our phones” (Deibert). In Sydney, a psychology-based “outpatient addiction treatment centre” offers specialised recovery programs for “Internet addiction”, noting that addicts include school-aged teens, as well as adults (Cabin). Such discourse reflects well-established social anxieties around the disruptive impacts of new technologies upon society (Marvin), while focussing such concern disproportionately upon the lives, priorities, and activities of young people (Tsaliki and Chronaki). While a growing peer-reviewed evidence base suggests some young people have problematic relationships with digital media (e.g. Odgers and Robb; Donald et al.; Gaspard; Tóth-Király et al.; Boer et al.), there are also opposing views (e.g. Vuorre et al.) Ben Light, for instance, highlights the notion of disconnection as a set of practices that include using some platforms and not others, unfriending, and selective anonymity (Light). We argue that this version of disconnection and what we refer to as ‘detox’ are two different practices. Detox, as we use it, is the regular removal of elements of lived experience (such as food consumption) that may be enjoyable but which potentially have negative consequences over time, before (potentially) reintroducing the element or pratice. The aims of a detox include ensuring greater control over the enjoyable experience while, at the same time, reducing exposure to possible harm. There is a lack of specific research that unequivocally asserts young people’s unhealthy dependence upon smartphones. Nonetheless, there appears to be a growing public belief in the efficacy of “the detox” (Beyond Blue) or “unplugging” (Shlain). We argue that a teen’s commitment to regular smartphone abstinence is non-fungible with ‘as and when’ smartphone use. In other words, there is a significant, ineluctable and non-trivial difference between the practice of regularly disconnecting from a smartphone at a certain point of the day, or for a specified period in the week, compared with the same amount of time ‘off’ the device which is a haphazard, as and when, doing something else, type of practice. We posit that recurrent periods of smartphone abstinence, equating to a regular detox, might support more balanced, healthy and empowered smartphone use. Repeated abstinence in this case differs from the notion of the disconnected holiday, where a person might engage in irregular smartphone withdrawal during an annual holiday, for example (Traveltalk; Hoving; Stäheli and Stoltenberg). Such abstinence does have widespread historical and cultural resonance, however, as in the fasting practices of Islam (the month of Ramadan), the Christian season of Lent, and the holy Hindu month of Śravaṇa. Where prolonged periods of fasting are supplemented by weekly or holy-day fasts, they may be reprised with a regularity that brings the practice closer to the scheduled pattern of abstinence that we see as non-fungible with an unstructured as-and-when approach. An extreme example of the long fast and intermittent fast days is offered by the traditional practices of the Greek Orthodox church, whose teachings recommend fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays as well as on religious holy days. With the inclusion of Lent, Greek Orthodox fasting practices can comprise 180 fast days per year: that’s about half of available days. As yet, there is no coherent evidence base supporting the benefits of regular intermittent disconnection. The Australian mental health Website Beyond Blue, which asserts the value of digital detox, cannot find a stronger authority to underpin a practice of withdrawal than “Research from Deloitte’s annual Mobile Consumer Survey report” which indicates that “44 per cent of people in Australia think their phone use is a problem and are trying to reduce how much time they spend on it” (Beyond Blue). Academic literature that addresses these areas by drawing on more than personal experience and anecdote is scarce to non-existent. Insofar as such studies exist over the past decade, from Maushart to Leonowicz-Bukała et al., they are irregular experiments which do not commit to repeated periods of disconnection. This article is a call to investigate the possibly non-fungible benefits of teens’ regularly practicing smartphone disconnection. It argues that there is actual evidence which is yet to be collected. New knowledge in this area may provide a compelling dataset that suggests verifiable benefits for the non-fungible practice of regular smartphone disconnection. We believe that there are teenagers, parents and communities willing to trial appropriate interventions over a significant period of time to establish ‘before’ and ‘after’ case studies. The evidence for these opinions is laid out in the sections that follow. Teens’ Experiences of Media, Smartphone, and Other Cultural Dis/connection In 2018, the Pew Research Center in the US surveyed teens about their experiences of social media, updating elements of an earlier study from 2014-15. They found that almost all (95%) the 743 teens in the study, aged between 13 and 17 when they were surveyed in March-April 2018, had or had access to a smartphone (Anderson and Jiang). A more recent report from 2021 notes that 88% of US teenagers, aged 13-18, have their own smartphone (Common Sense Media 22). What is more, this media use survey indicates that American teens have increased their screen entertainment time from 7 hours, 22 minutes per day in 2019 to 8 hours, 39 minutes per day in 2021 (Common Sense Media 3). Lee argues that, on average, mobile phone users in Australia touch their phones 2,617 times a day. In Sweden, a 2019 study of youth aged 15-24 noted a pervasive concern regarding the logical assumption “that offline time is influenced and adapted when people spend an increasing amount of time online” (Thulin and Vilhelmson 41). These authors critique the overarching theory of young people comprising a homogenous group of ‘digital natives’ by identifying different categories of light, medium, and heavy users of ICT. They say that the “variation in use is large, indicating that responses to ubiquitous ICT access are highly diverse rather than homogenously determined” (Thulin and Vilhelmson 48). The practice or otherwise of regular periods of smartphone disconnection is a further potential differentiator of teens’ digital experiences. Any investigation into these areas of difference should help indicate ways in which teens may or may not achieve comparatively more or less control over their smartphone use. Lee argues that in Australia “teens who spend five or more hours per day on their devices have a 71% higher risk factor for suicide”. Twenge and Campbell (311) used “three large surveys of adolescents in two countries (n = 221,096)” to explore differences between ‘light users’ of digital media (<1 hour per day) and ‘heavy users’ (5+ hours per day). They use their data to argue that “heavy users (vs. light) of digital media were 48% to 171% more likely to be unhappy, to be low in well-being, or to have suicide risk factors such as depression, suicidal ideation, or past suicide attempts” (Twenge and Campbell 311). Notably, Livingstone among others argues that emotive assertions such as these tend to ignore the nuance of significant bodies of research (Livingstone, about Twenge). Even so, it is plausible that teens’ online activities interpolate both positively and negatively upon their offline activities. The capacity to disconnect, however, to disengage from smartphone use at will, potentially allows a teen more opportunity for individual choice impacting both positive and negative experiences. As boyd argued in 2014: “it’s complicated”. The Pew findings from 2018 indicate that teens’ positive comments about social media use include: 81% “feel more connected to their friends”; 69% “think it helps [them] interact with a more diverse group of people”; and 68% “feel as if they have people who will support them through tough times.” (Anderson and Jiang) The most numerous negative comments address how of all teens: 45% “feel overwhelmed by all the drama there”; 43% “feel pressure to only post content that makes them look good to others”; and 37% “feel pressure to post content that will get a lot of likes and comments.” (Anderson and Jiang) It is notable that these three latter points relate to teens’ vulnerabilities around others’ opinions of themselves and the associated rollercoaster of emotions these opinions may cause. They resonate with Ciarrochi et al.’s argument that different kinds of Internet activity impact different issues of control, with more social forms of digital media associated with young females’ higher “compulsive internet use […] and worse mental health than males” (276). What is not known, because it has never been investigated, is whether any benefits flowing from regular smartphone disconnection might have a gendered dimension. If there is specific value in a capacity to disconnect regularly, separating that experience from haphazard episodes of connection and disconnection, regular disconnection may also enhance the quality of smartphone engagement. Potentially, the power to turn off their smartphone when the going got tough might allow young people to feel greater control over their media use while being less susceptible to the drama and compulsion of digital engagement. As one 17-year-old told the Pew researchers, possibly ruefully, “[teens] would rather go scrolling on their phones instead of doing their homework, and it’s so easy to do so. It’s just a huge distraction” (Anderson and Jiang). Few cultural contexts support teens’ regular and repeated disengagement from smartphones, but Icelandic society, Orthodox Judaism and the comparatively common practice of overnight disconnection from smartphone use may offer helpful indications of possible benefits. Cross-Cultural and Religious Interventions in Smartphone Use Concern around teens’ smartphone use, as described above, is typically applied to young people whose smartphone use constitutes an integral part of everyday life. The untangling of such interconnection would benefit from being both comparative and experimental. Our suggestions follow. Iceland has, in the past, adopted what Karlsson and Broddason term “a paternalistic cultural conservatism” (1). Legislators concerned about the social impacts of television deferred the introduction of Icelandic broadcasting for many years, beyond the time that most other European nations offered television services. Program offerings were expanded in a gradual way after the 1966 beginnings of Iceland’s public television broadcasting. As Karlsson and Broddason note, “initially the transmission hours were limited to only a few hours in the evening, three days a week and a television-free month in July. The number of transmission days was increased to six within a few years, still with a television-free month in July until 1983 and television-free Thursdays until 1987” (6). Interestingly, the nation is still open to social experimentation on a grand scale. In the 1990s, for example, in response to significant substance abuse by Icelandic teens, the country implemented an interventionist whole-of-Iceland public health program: the Icelandic Prevention Model (Kristjansson et al.). Social experimentation on a smaller scale remains part of the Icelandic cultural fabric. More recently, between 2015 and 2019, Iceland ran a successful social experiment whereby 1% of the working population worked a shorter work week for full time pay. The test was deemed successful because “workers were able to work less, get paid the same, while maintaining productivity and improving personal well-being” (Lau and Sigurdardottir). A number of self-governing Icelandic villages operate a particularly inclusive form of consultative local democracy enabling widespread buy-in for social experiments. Two or more such communities are likely to be interested in trialling an intervention study if there is a plausible reason to believe that the intervention may make a positive difference to teens’ (and others’) experiences of smartphone use. Those plausible reasons might be indicated by observational data from other people’s everyday practices. One comparatively common everyday practice which has yet to be systematically investigated from the perspective of evaluating the possible impacts of regular disconnection is that practiced by families who leave connected media outside the bedroom at night-time. These families are in the habit of putting their phones on to charge, usually in a shared space such as a kitchen or lounge room, and not referring to them again until a key point in the morning: when they are dressed, for example, or ready to leave the house. It is plausible to believe that such families might feel they have greater control over smartphone use than a family who didn’t adopt a regular practice of smartphone disconnection. According to social researchers in the Nordic nations, including co-authors Kjartan Ólafsson and Elisabeth Staksrud, it is likely that an Icelandic community will be keen to trial this experience of regular smartphone disconnection for a period of six months or more, if that trial went hand in hand with a rigorous evaluation of impact. Some religious communities offer a less common exemplar for teens’ regular disconnection from their smartphone. Young people in these communities may suspend their smartphone (and other media use) for just over a full day per week to focus on deepening their engagement with family and friends, and to support their spiritual development. Notable among such examples are teenagers who identify as members of the Orthodox Jewish faith. Their religious practices include withdrawing from technological engagement as part of the observance of Shabbat (the Sabbath): at least, that’s the theory. For the past ten years or so in Australia there has been a growing concern over some otherwise-Orthodox Jewish teens’ practice of the “half-Shabbat,” in which an estimated 17-50% of this cohort secretly use digital media for some time during their 25 hours of mandated abstinence. As one teacher from an Orthodox high school argues, “to not have access to the phone, it’s like choking off their air” (Telushikin). Interestingly, many Jewish teens who privately admit practicing half-Shabbat envision themselves as moving towards full observance in adulthood: they can see benefits in a wholehearted commitment to disengagement, even if it’s hard to disengage fully at this point in their lives. Hadlington et al.’s article “I Cannot Live without My [Tablet]” similarly evokes a broader community crisis around children’s dependence on digital media, noting that many children aged 8-12 have a tablet of their own before moving onto smartphone ownership in their teens (Common Sense Media 22). We appreciate that not every society has children and young people who are highly networked and integrated within digital dataflows. Nonetheless, while constant smartphone connectivity might appear to be a ‘first world problem’, preparing teens to be adults with optimal choice over their smartphone use includes identifying and promoting support for conscious disengagement from media as and when a young person wishes. Such a perspective aligns with promoting young people’s rights in digital contexts by interrogating the possible benefits of regularly disconnecting from digital media. Those putative benefits may be indicated by investigating perspectives around smartphone use held by Orthodox Jewish teenagers and comparing them with those held by teens who follow a liberal Jewish faith: liberal Jewish teens use smartphones in ways that resonate with broader community teens. A comparison of these two groups, suggests co-author Lynne Cohen, may indicate differences that can (in part) be attributed to Orthodox Jewish practices of digital disconnection, compared with liberal Jewish practices that don’t include disconnection. If smartphone disconnection has the potential to offer non-fungible benefits, it is incumbent upon researchers to investigate the possible advantages and drawbacks of such practices. That can be done through the comparative investigation of current practice as outlined above, and via an experimental intervention for approximately six months with a second Icelandic/Nordic community. The Potential Value of Investigating the (Non-)Fungibility of Digital Engagement and Digital Inactivity The overarching hypothesis addressed in this article is that a lived experience of regular smartphone disconnection may offer teenagers the opportunity to feel more in control of their personal technologies. Such a perspective aligns with many established media theories. These theories include the domestication of technology and its integration into daily life, helping to explain the struggle teens experience in detaching from digital media once they have become a fundamental element of their routine. Domestication theory asserts that technology moves from novelty to an integral aspect of everyday experience (Berker et al.). Displacement theory asserts that young people whose lives are replete with digital media may have substituted that media use for other activities enjoyed by the generations that grew up before them, while boyd offers an alternative suggestion that digital media add to, rather than displace, teens’ activities in daily contexts. Borrowing inputs from other disciplinary traditions, theories around mindfulness are increasingly robust and evidence-based, asserting that “attentiveness to what is present appears to yield corrective and curative benefits in its own right” (Brown et al. 1). Constant attention to digital media may be a distraction from mindful engagement with the lived environment. A detailed study of the non-fungible character of smartphone disconnection practices might offer an evidence base to support suggestions, such as those proffered by Beyond Blue, that a digital detox benefits mental health, resilience, and sociality. Such information might support initiatives by schools and other organisations central to the lives of teenagers to institute regular digital disconnection regimes, akin to Iceland’s experiments with television-free Thursdays. These innovations could build upon aligned social initiatives such as “no email Fridays” (Horng), which have been trialled in business contexts. Further, studies such as those outlined above could add authority to recommendations for parents, educators, and caregivers such as those recommendations contained in papers on the Common Sense Media site, for example, including Tweens, Teens, Tech, and Mental Health (Odgers and Robb) and Device-Free Dinners (Robb). Relevantly, the results from such observational and intervention studies would address the post-COVID era when parents and others will be considering how best to support a generation of children who went online earlier, and more often, than any generation before them. These results might also align with work towards early-stage adoption of the United Nations’ General Comment No. 25 on Children’s Rights in Relation to the Digital Environment (UNCRC). 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In the late 2010s, I owned and operated a bespoke drum-building company, and during that time, I was commissioned to build a frame drum by the partner of a musician who was also a magic practitioner. The commission was fitting despite my business not being related to magic or Paganism directly. I have been working with drum construction in all of my research projects during my academic career, a touring percussionist for decades, and the company focussed on making drums inspired by Lovecraftian narratives and Lovecraftian Futurist music. Due to the nature of Lovecraftian horror and science fiction being potentially supernatural-related, and given my performance experience and ethnomusicological background, I understood the details of the request and planned my construction in accordance with their interests. The decisions made regarding materials, style, and decorations with respect to the expected functionality, performance techniques, and desired aesthetics outlined a distinct relationship between the magical and musical qualities desired in the final product. These decisions were informed by the values upheld by the commissioner of the drum – values that parallel those of the performers, makers, and audience that make up the joint musical and magical community. The ways in which these decisions were informed, then, regulate the interactions not only with the music involved but also with the musical instruments and their construction. Perhaps this is less evident in a situation where an instrument is mass-manufactured, but taking as an example the set of decisions associated with this bespoke commission, informed by values based on a belief system and the practices associated with that belief system, a network of maker, player, and expectations of the instrument’s function can be highlighted. In turn, this raises interesting considerations about the relationship between building instruments and magic-related practices. Fig. 1: Commissioned drum that houses magical associations along with performative expectations. (Photo: Lisa Courtney) Most of the discussion herein pertains to building frame drums and my client’s interest in Wicca and Paganism, but neither magic, nor this discussion in general, need to be restricted to Wiccan, Occult, or Pagan practices exclusively. Magic in the broad context of how it can influence and inspire creative, ritual, or sonically functional practices can fall under the umbrella of Shamanism, Satanism, Spiritualism, Theosophy, Voodoo/Vodun, Taoism, Shintoism, Druidism, or any area of perceived magic (even fictional or self-constructed belief systems). Magic in the context of being a highly valued concept and concern makes magic (using any definition) relevant and a vehicle for better understanding the complex relationships between creative production and cultural, religious, and/or social values and belief systems. Drums and magic (using this broad definition) simply form an excellent, clear example of this dialectic network. Music and magic are inexorably linked together (Godwin; Connor, Sound and Musical). There are numerous accounts, both folkloric and academic, of how sonic qualities such as tempo, timbre, and pitch work in conjunction with hermetic powers, spiritual happenings, and theosophical practices through harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic means (Sharpe). Broad considerations of music and cosmology arise in Blavatsky’s esoteric instructions, functional use of music appears in the heterophonic improvisation supporting shamanic practices of Korean musok (Koudela and Yoo 94), and even the scientific explanations of Kepler link music to astronomy attempting to show the intertwined nature of music, spirituality, and the human soul. Lewis, in Witchcraft Today, cites multiple instances of music in relation to magic practice, from accompanying incantations to ritual dancing, to a long list of contemporary popular and folk music artists performing magic-related and -inspired material. The human body is sometimes used to produce this sonic enhancement or connections (Eason), but musical instruments are also used for a variety of reasons. Drums are often one of those instruments, incorporating the textures, pulses, or simply the sheer volume they can provide. Drumming is an essential part of engaging with Zangbeto, the vodun guardians of Benin (Okunola and Ojo 204); playing damaru (sometimes made from human skulls: Cupchik 34) is a highly valued musical element of Tibetan Chöd magic practices (Cupchik 34); Druidic land healing ceremonies rely on frame drums to open magic channels between the practitioner and the Earth (O’Driscoll); the original function of Czech vozembouchy was to ward off dark energies and provide protection during rituals (Connor, Constructing the Sounds 25); Korean Mudang use drums (and music/noise) to allow deities and spirits to speak through them at Gut ceremonies (Wróblewski); similarly, Tlingit Ixt (shamans) employ frame drums to both represent and conjure the ancestors about whom they are singing (Olsen 212). It probably cannot be said which came first – the intention to use percussion instruments for magical practices, then constructing them accordingly; or making percussion, then deciding these instruments are useful for magical purposes. However, recognising the influence that magic has on drum-making contemporaneously can be informative, unravelling how performance in magic-related contexts and the construction of percussive instruments designed to be used for such purposes, or those selected for their musical or magical properties, highlight a dialectic between drum-making and magic. Musical instruments are made, generally speaking, with a few common intentions in mind (Connor, Constructing Musical), then designed and built with specific performance expectations and functionalities informing the final construction (Connor, Constructing Musical). Frame drums follow this model; therefore, the commissioned drum mentioned above, where the magical element was considered a primary concern for the patron, can assist with outlining the design/maker-player-inspiration/beliefs/practice network that links them together. When starting the dialogue between maker and patron to realise the drum being commissioned, which wood should be used was the initial consideration. They wanted something “powerful” and “meaningful” but did not know what was available or would exactly match their practice interests, so I suggested some wood I had recently been given that thought might suit: a neighbour had a black walnut tree on their property which had been struck by lightning and was no longer considered safe and it was chopped down due to compromised structural integrity. Pieces of it were given to me. After describing this wood, even though all they knew about the properties of the tree was that it had been struck by lightning, the choice to use it was made instantly, citing simply the fact that it was special, had potentially absorbed the element of electricity into the element of wood, and hinting at the notion that “it was meant to be” as the reasons for incorporating the black walnut into the drum. Fig. 2: Black walnut wood from the tree struck by lightning. (Photo: author) Next was the number of sides for the drum. Most frame drums are circles or something similar, so that would count as either one-sided (not a moebius strip, but rather a simple circle) or infinite-sided (if taken as a number of infinitesimally small mini sides). As a maker, I also offered various other ‘barrel-style’ frames including 5-, 7-, 8-, 11-, and 13-sided models, each with their own Lovecraftian or related association (many of these are prime numbers, but in this case, that is irrelevant). The patron chose the 13-sided version of the barrel frame construction. The skin for the drum was not discussed, simply for the reason that options other than goat skin were more difficult to obtain and there was a time frame placed on the order, as the drum was a gift for the patron’s partner. Once the basic elements were set, we chatted about how the drum would be played, given that the performance style and playing technique would heavily inform some of the construction decisions. We also briefly mulled over the desired tone/timbral qualities, and finally the decorative aspects that would wrap up the construction decisions being made, allowing me to move forward and realise the project in accordance with the commission parameters. Each of these aspects held multiple considerations, akin to architectural design (Vitruvius; Pelletier), based on a triad of materials to be used, functionality expected, and aesthetics valued by the maker, player, and (in this case) the commissioner. The decisions made are consequential to the final design holistically and are therefore important, but of greater concern for this discussion is what informed these decisions and why. Effectively, only six decisions were made; each one was or would have been influenced by magic, affecting almost all aspects of the construction in some manner. With regards to the first decision on wood type, the black walnut was chosen, but not for its density which would have slightly increased the drum’s sustain, its availability (abundant), or discouraged for the fact that black walnut is heavy, and therefore, depending on the primary performance technique expected, the wood may have repercussions due to its sheer weight. Instead, the decision was made based on the one fact that it was struck by lightning. This gave the now-owners a sense of magical injection into the wood, and therefore drum itself. The feeling expressed was that there existed a (great) possibility that the wood, being a primary magical element that represents a connection to the Earth, stability, and the specific properties of the black walnut (Teague), was enhanced by the lightning. Various wand makers suggest that a wood type may have powers it possesses or resonates (Maclir) or links to the magical lore associated with the wood (Beggetta, Gross, and Miller; Theodore). Here, the wood was merged with or infused with another magical element, lightning, sometimes considered representative of power, energy, or brightness/purity (Teague). Whether or not these qualities were something that the patron was seeking or simply a bonus is irrelevant; the fact that the tree had been struck with lightning translated to a specific decision based on magic-related traits valued by the commissioner. The number of sides was actually suggested by me; however, to be clear, the final decision was confirmed by the patron. I offered the 13-sided barrel frame construction as a consideration based on the fact that I already offered these as part of my regular frame drum options, inspired by Lovecraftian horror narratives that include references to the number thirteen, the most recurring being “the thirteen gates of the Necronomicon” found in cosmic horror stories (Levenda; Tyson 13-21, 385-402). To be clear, although Lovecraft, Paganism, and magic are more than simply aligned (Price), Lovecraftian horror often implies magical practice diegetically, but the reader typically discovers the perceived magical elements to be something supranatural rather than supernatural, thus magic becomes explainable science, at least exegetically (Littmann). The number 13 still has relevance in the stories, where it shows up, which is why I often used the number 13 in my drum designs. However, it was another association of a 13-sided drum that aligned with the interests of the patron. In Pagan calendars, there are thirteen full moons per year—the final one serving as the mark of harvest and the new year celebrated during Samhain (Wittington). Acoustically speaking, 13 sides change the drum’s timbre (as compared to a circular frame), slightly reducing the midrange, and increasing some higher-end frequencies, but the acoustics of the instrument were of seemingly lower importance than the magical associations the 13 sides provided. For a Wiccan or Pagan, this choice of a number of sides was one of two that probably would not be ignored (the other being a 5-sided option). Playing techniques expected to be used are often a primary consideration for making instruments in my personal experience, both during my time as a frame drum maker and during my internship with a drum builder in Germany as part of my PhD research. The playing techniques expected during creative/expressive performance definitely informed the construction of the drum, but magical expectations, meaning how the drum was expected to be played during magic-related practices, were also a consideration for the expected playing technique. Factors like playing with hands only, using a beater or stick only, a combination of the two, use of finger rolls, beater position (i.e. upright like a bodhran tipper, sideways like a shaman drum, or above like a trap set or pow-wow drum), and position of the drum itself (i.e. upright holding it from underneath, resting it on the player’s knee, held between the player’s legs while seated, or being held by handle) were discussed. How the drum is going to be played for a performance partially depends on the expectation of the drum’s function musically—is the player going to stand on stage, sit in a recording studio, or participate in a ritual, for instance. In this case, there was an expectation of all three, but given the nature of the commission, that being a patron commissioning the drum as a gift for her partner as a romantic and magic-based token of affection with added functionality, the magic-related expectation became the principal influence on her decisions. In the end, the patron opted to incorporate all the possibilities for performance techniques, giving her partner the most flexibility. This decision provided her partner with the capability to participate in ritual activities easily as well as giving him ergonomically sound means to perform (creatively) with the drum in a recording or live setting. The tonal qualities of the drum were already partially decided, but one other important point was also discussed: one influenced by magic considerations. The leading edge of the drum (where the rim of the frame interacts with the skin stretched over the top of it) has several possible ways to be designed. For my drums, I offered two options that can be considered what equates to more or less the two timbral extremes: a flat leading edge similar to a typical shaman drum or bodhran, or a timpani-style leading edge that has a curved, quarter-circular rounded edge with a very small ledge underneath that. The flat edge makes the drum respond with an even set of frequencies when struck in the centre of the skin and often has a shorter sustain to the sound produced in comparison to a drum with a rounded or pointed edge (Crosby). The timpani-style edge gives an emphasis on lower frequencies, often complementing those with a highlight of high frequencies (giving the aural illusion of fewer midrange tones) and adds a fairly long sustain to the sound created (Crosby). For a creative performance-only commission, the decision would be almost entirely timbral, but for this patron, a consideration of ritual practices and magical context came into play: the lower tone expected to be provided by the timpani leading edge, combined with the longer sustain aligned with the patron’s sensibilities of how the human body may respond to those tonal qualities. Furthermore, the sheer volume was taken into account, as the loudness perceived when playing a lower-pitched drum with a greater sustain can assist with awakening spirits or deities as seen by a practitioner of Paganism (Gustafson), thereby making the timpani leading edge the appropriate choice for the commissioned drum. Visual aspects of drum construction are often almost purely aesthetic. This, however, does not exclude them from being an integral part of the drum’s construction, and in fact, they may be the initial factor to which a player or audience member reacts when first interacting with the drum. The commissioned drum already holds some aesthetic distinction, given its shape and the material choices made. Beyond that, some other visual aspects were notably influenced by the drum's expected magical association. The black walnut being used had a greyish tint to it in an unfinished state, but the suggestion I made was to finish the wood, oiling the frame instead of staining it, giving it a more or less natural finish, but much darker in hue. As far as I can tell, that was entirely a personal taste choice and not based on anything magic-related, but the other visual choices, both decorative, were definitively inspired by Pagan or Wiccan beliefs. The outside of the frame was requested to be wood burned with designs that included various sigils and markings meaningful to the patron and her partner. The sigils have a direct relationship to magic, and it was/is expected that when the drum is played, the decorations would “speak to the universe,” emanating their messages through any given ritual or performance (akin to Tibetan lungta or wind horse flags; Adalakanzhu 13). The specific meaning of the sigils is being redacted on purpose due to the private nature of their meaning; let it suffice to say that they are simultaneously magical and romantic in nature, binding the couple in various ways. Parallel to the wood burning on the side and bottom of the drum was a design made from henna on the front of the skin. The design also presented sigil and sigil-like elements alongside magic or fantastical artwork serving as a sort of cultural flag that the instrument was not only an instrument of sound creation but also one of magical practice (see figure 3). Figure 3: Decoration on the front of the commissioned drum's skin Fig. 4: Wood-burning decorations on the bottom edge of the commissioned drum This commissioned drum is not the only example of relationships between an instrument’s construction and the belief system upheld by the maker, player, and/or audience of the music made with it. Another drum I made recently was for a graduate student who obtained his master’s degree from my current university: as a congratulations gift, I built a drum for him. Upon his request, the drum was 11-sided, which aligned with some of the student’s Buddhist beliefs and practices, and also incorporated all expected playing techniques into the construction, with mainly shamanic and meditative performances in mind (see figure 5). Fig. 5: 11-sided drum built for a graduate student who is also a practicing Buddhist Another example is a 5-sided drum I created for a professional musician performing in a Neo-medievalist band with very strong Gothic and Pagan influences and aesthetics. The shape of the drum was selected for both its timbral qualities and the relation to Lovecraft and the occult, specifically a pentagram reference being made indirectly and directly (in the form of a Necronomicon symbol emblazoned on the goat-skin head; see figure 6). Fig. 6: 5-sided drum in progress (finished in 2017) Fig. 7: A commissioned 5-sided, Lovecraft and magic-inspired drum. (Note: this is not the drum mentioned above, but a different commission with similar traits) Another 13-sided drum that was also commissioned to be a prize for a contest that was Pagan and Lovecraft-related, was also decorated with a large Necronomicon symbol and other rune and rune-like sigil images (see figure 8). Fig. 8: Lovecraft-inspired drum for competition prize Even the 7-sided drum I offered had a belief system inspiration: my aunt who wanted to learn to play the bodhran, and wanted a style that showed off her religious faith, commissioned a 7-sided drum as a Christian-based frame that was just as representative of beliefs as the magical or Lovecraftian-inspired frames. In all cases of barrel-style drum frames, especially those with an odd number of sides, the timbre is affected by the overall shape and ways in which the membrane vibrates, creating a series of interference patterns that often highlight some of the upper frequencies and dampen some of the midrange frequencies simultaneously (an enhancement of the bass comes from the leading edge of the drum, as mentioned above). The point to note here is that the number of sides does slightly have acoustic considerations, but more than the sound, the number of sides has strong semiotic and visual aesthetics (plus some ergonomic factors) that inject social and (sub)cultural values into the drums via their design, which is what makes the number of sides important. Fig. 9: 7-sided drum for a Christian patron Something to which I have already alluded is the notion that values upheld by the performers, makers, and audience of a community are entangled with both the music involved and the musical instruments played and their construction. Concepts of circles can represent reincarnation, protection, cycles of celestial bodies, or notions of regeneration, and translate to frame shape or ensemble performance configurations. Drum shapes as well as skin types can influence sonic qualities that in turn evoke magical properties or specific deities/demons. Beliefs can fuel trance-inducing rhythmic patterns played until an ecstatic state is achieved by the practitioner, which practically requires consideration for performance techniques employed, and therefore instrument design. Widening the lens that focusses on the relation between drum-building and magic practices, an undertaking of any creative or design endeavour comes to light in which a level of agency decides expected functionality, materials, and aesthetics. Examining how the makers, operators, and community members involved develop the network between themselves and what they produce can highlight the perception, value, and ways in which they incorporate the world around them physically and philosophically. Acknowledgment Unless otherwise noted, all photographs by the author. References Adalakanzhu, Ella. “The Wind Horse Flag.” Skipping Stones 14.1, (2002): 13. Beggetta, Albert, Barry Gross, and James Miller. Compendium of Wooden Wand Making Techniques. Fox Chapel, 2021. 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