'Who is Madonna?': Why Gen Z should know the pop culture of the past
Every week, PhilSTAR L!fe explores issues and topics from the perspectives of different age groups, encouraging healthy but meaningful conversations on why they matter. This is Generations by our Gen Z columnist Angel Martinez.
Sorry to disappoint our fellow Beliebers, but while we enjoyed the trips down memory lane, some of us who tuned in to this year’s Coachella festival are aware that Sabrina Carpenter carried both weekends on her back. Her themed, theatrical set transformed the barren desert into her own version of Hollywood, with its complex costume changes and impressive set design. And as if she hadn’t pulled out all the stops already, this generation’s pop princess invited the Queen of Pop herself for a special performance.
Madonna is the woman—the icon—who paved the way for younger female singers to break convention, embrace their sexuality, and elevate the element of performance. But several members of Gen Z on TikTok and X were both unaware of her existence and too uninterested to pull up a quick Google search. A string of words that should never be used in a sentence slowly made its way up the list of trending topics: “Who is Madonna?”
Is this mere intellectual laziness? Or perhaps, blatant disrespect for those who came before us? For Dr. Julius Cesar Pascual, this is a symptom: a “structural consequence of [...] today’s decentralized, algorithm-driven ecosystem.” “Older cohorts such as Boomers and Gen Xers tended to engage with culture in a centralized media environment, with seemingly limited channels, which meant certain figures, texts, and events achieved a kind of shared cultural literacy,” the communication professor at University of the East and pop culture researcher shares with PhilSTAR L!fe.
During these times, gatekeepers largely controlled what was canon. Tastemakers—record labels, film studios, and TV networks—decided what took up prime real estate in their audiences’ brains. “But now, Gen Z has collapsed the distinction between consumer, critic, and creator. While it’s exciting, that means there are fewer shared references—fewer things you know that someone else has consumed, critiqued, and created around,” Skilty Labastilla, associate professor at Ateneo de Manila University’s department of anthropology and sociology, tells L!fe.
Our digital experience is so individually curated and processed that it’s possible to get into anything from video game streamers to fashion houses; from Korean virtual boy groups to Ethiopian jazz artists. (The latter is great, by the way.) Unfortunately, with the variety and disposability of today’s trends, it appears we don’t involve ourselves with culture in the same way as those who came before us. The algorithm serves as a confirmation engine that learns what we enjoy and shoves it down our throats in excessive quantities. Gone is the possibility of serendipity, of friction—nothing seems to last long enough to leave an indelible mark on us.
There’s also something to be said about how cultural consumption seems to have shifted to a highly personal activity. With most of us literally left to our own devices, there are fewer opportunities for communal, intergenerational exchange.
For instance, my taste in music was molded by early morning car rides to school with my dad, or weekend YouTube sound trips with my mom. They introduced me to Michael Jackson, Spandau Ballet, and Tears for Fears so early on in my life, it’s as if I was just born knowing who they were. But for many of us these days, road trips turn eerily silent as soon as we put our headphones on. Sunday mornings once spent cleaning the house to old tunes are now spent in our own rooms.
At this point, it’s worth mentioning that ignorance is not the issue. It may be unusual, but there’s nothing inherently flawed about the gaps in Gen Z’s knowledge. What rubs me the wrong way is that we’re so insulated within our For You pages that we only believe something is culturally relevant if we find out about it first. No wonder we’re often referred to as the Christopher Columbus generation.
So, how do we bring back intellectual curiosity in a digital environment that no longer incentivizes it? Pascual suggests making a “deliberate effort anyway.” This can take the form of critical media habits, which can be formed through the help of key institutions: “The academe and media can encourage contemporary audiences to seek out unfamiliar content, question algorithmic recommendations that are seemingly capitalistic in nature, and absorb diverse cultural narratives for a meaningful and sensible communicative experience.”
On a personal level, Labastilla encourages reframing curiosity as an act of resistance. “Choosing to engage with something that doesn’t immediately resonate or isn’t relevant to your life at the moment is a genuine countercultural act,” he shares. This could also mean “tracing the lineages of what you already love. You don’t need to like the older work. But it gives you a sense of where you are in a story, rather than floating in the eternal present of content.”
And honestly, there’s nothing wrong with asking who Madonna is, or Prince or David Bowie; even the most accomplished directors and authors. Sure, being on the receiving end of these questions might be an unwelcome reminder of the passage of time. But as long as these are asked with genuine curiosity and with a willingness to pay homage to the greats, that’s already a promising place to start.
Generations by Angel Martinez appears weekly at PhilSTAR L!fe.
