Your Favorite Brand Strategist’s Favorite “Meme Lord”
How Edmond Lau built a cult following from diagnosing vibe shifts
Text
Eugene Kan
Photos
Eugene Kan
Your Favorite Brand Strategist’s Favorite “Meme Lord”
How Edmond Lau built a cult following from diagnosing vibe shifts
Text
Eugene Kan
Photos
Eugene Kan
He made a name online for capturing cultural trends through starter packs and 4x4 quadrants. Now, as the defining meme artist in the world of brand and cultural strategy, Eugene Kan asks Edmond Lau how he made that happen.
What’s the anatomy of a vibe shift, and how do you know when a trend begins? Does it start with what clothes we wear, what politics we subscribe to, what technologies we adopt, or what movies that we watch? Answering these questions is its own kind of art form. There’s a certain eye required in distilling cultural shifts, even when they naturally evade nameability and quantification, into digestible, easy-to-understand forms. Hence why we spoke with Edmond Lau, known online as @nostalgiaexpressway (on Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn), a “meme-ologist” (a semi-ironic description, he says) with a penchant for capturing the zeitgeist through tongue‑in‑cheek, meme-driven commentary. Early in 2025, he coined the term the “dark mode shift,” a new framework to understand the new decadent opulence of the mid 2020s.
Edmond’s content across platforms ranges from snappy 4x4 quadrants on Gossip Girl and AI, distilling personas like “mysterious source of income people” and “the chubai cosmopolitan” into bite-sized mood boards, and material culture approaches to analyzing the “politics of taste.” Online, this easy-to-grasp commentary reaches a wider audience, but speaking to MAEKAN in person, the “meme-ologist” speaks with prescience, with a voice that can detect a change in the air far sooner than others would notice.
He made a name online for capturing cultural trends through starter packs and 4x4 quadrants. Now, as the defining meme artist in the world of brand and cultural strategy, Eugene Kan asks Edmond Lau how he made that happen.
What’s the anatomy of a vibe shift, and how do you know when a trend begins? Does it start with what clothes we wear, what politics we subscribe to, what technologies we adopt, or what movies that we watch? Answering these questions is its own kind of art form. There’s a certain eye required in distilling cultural shifts, even when they naturally evade nameability and quantification, into digestible, easy-to-understand forms. Hence why we spoke with Edmond Lau, known online as @nostalgiaexpressway (on Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn), a “meme-ologist” (a semi-ironic description, he says) with a penchant for capturing the zeitgeist through tongue‑in‑cheek, meme-driven commentary. Early in 2025, he coined the term the “dark mode shift,” a new framework to understand the new decadent opulence of the mid 2020s.
Edmond’s content across platforms ranges from snappy 4x4 quadrants on Gossip Girl and AI, distilling personas like “mysterious source of income people” and “the chubai cosmopolitan” into bite-sized mood boards, and material culture approaches to analyzing the “politics of taste.” Online, this easy-to-grasp commentary reaches a wider audience, but speaking to MAEKAN in person, the “meme-ologist” speaks with prescience, with a voice that can detect a change in the air far sooner than others would notice.
EUGENE KAN: What I’m really interested in is the space where you operate, the intersection of fashion and something more conceptual, this mimetic form of communication. You’ve identified how to galvanize people around memes. In today’s world, it’s such an important force digitally. How would you describe yourself?
EDMOND LAU: Putting a label on myself is something I’ve been struggling with. I can name the things I do. I write, offer cultural criticism, make memes, and produce content. If someone had to put a label on it, I’ve been referred to as a cultural strategist, a meme lord, even a “meme-ologist.”
But there’s this cultural war brewing between established people in that space and people like myself who make memes on Twitter or Instagram or reels on TikTok. There’s this question of legitimacy. Can I call myself a cultural strategist if I haven’t spent ten years at R/GA or Wieden+Kennedy?
To circle back, how would I describe myself? I keep it low key. I just say I produce content around culture. I use “cultural strategist” because it’s the easy catchall, or “meme lord” if I’m being cheeky.
Who calls you a meme lord, and who calls you a cultural strategist?
People who like my memes because they’re funny call me a meme lord. People who are cultural strategists themselves, if they like what I’m doing, they’ll call me a cultural strategist.
When you were growing up, was there anything in your circle of interest that suggested you’d venture down this path?
I saw it in the back of my mind. I’ve always had a knack for making things. Even back in high school, I would make fake ads. I’d see something funny about a particular picture. A friend took a photo that looked like a Zara ad, so I’d put a logo over it because it was funny.
Do you remember the Mean Girls map of the cafeteria? I made one just for my school, supposed to be just for me, and it blew up. It was not a good time. But if I draw the through line between then and now, it kind of makes sense that I would have done this.
I think growing up across two cultures, Asian in Australia, the experience reminds me of Simmel’s The Stranger. You’re in a place but at the same time, not completely a part of it. It gives you the ability to be more objective and observant. I think this is useful for the work that I do now.
Do you recall when you first started putting out these memes? What was the catalyst?
I can remember the exact one. It was: “I’m not like all these other crypto people, I have taste.” Then it showed the “taste” and it was a Startup Bodega bag or the Remember One. That one blew up because it put a spotlight on a subsection of people who hadn’t seen themselves represented that way, or skewed like that.
It was partially made out of frustration. I was doing marketing at the time and it wasn’t really working. People were throwing around “taste” as this buzzword, and I felt frustrated with it. I noticed commonalities amongst the people saying these things, so I compiled them into a pack. It was catharsis as much as pattern recognition.
EUGENE KAN: What I’m really interested in is the space where you operate, the intersection of fashion and something more conceptual, this mimetic form of communication. You’ve identified how to galvanize people around memes. In today’s world, it’s such an important force digitally. How would you describe yourself?
EDMOND LAU: Putting a label on myself is something I’ve been struggling with. I can name the things I do. I write, offer cultural criticism, make memes, and produce content. If someone had to put a label on it, I’ve been referred to as a cultural strategist, a meme lord, even a “meme-ologist.”
But there’s this cultural war brewing between established people in that space and people like myself who make memes on Twitter or Instagram or reels on TikTok. There’s this question of legitimacy. Can I call myself a cultural strategist if I haven’t spent ten years at R/GA or Wieden+Kennedy?
To circle back, how would I describe myself? I keep it low key. I just say I produce content around culture. I use “cultural strategist” because it’s the easy catchall, or “meme lord” if I’m being cheeky.
Who calls you a meme lord, and who calls you a cultural strategist?
People who like my memes because they’re funny call me a meme lord. People who are cultural strategists themselves, if they like what I’m doing, they’ll call me a cultural strategist.
When you were growing up, was there anything in your circle of interest that suggested you’d venture down this path?
I saw it in the back of my mind. I’ve always had a knack for making things. Even back in high school, I would make fake ads. I’d see something funny about a particular picture. A friend took a photo that looked like a Zara ad, so I’d put a logo over it because it was funny.
Do you remember the Mean Girls map of the cafeteria? I made one just for my school, supposed to be just for me, and it blew up. It was not a good time. But if I draw the through line between then and now, it kind of makes sense that I would have done this.
I think growing up across two cultures, Asian in Australia, the experience reminds me of Simmel’s The Stranger. You’re in a place but at the same time, not completely a part of it. It gives you the ability to be more objective and observant. I think this is useful for the work that I do now.
Do you recall when you first started putting out these memes? What was the catalyst?
I can remember the exact one. It was: “I’m not like all these other crypto people, I have taste.” Then it showed the “taste” and it was a Startup Bodega bag or the Remember One. That one blew up because it put a spotlight on a subsection of people who hadn’t seen themselves represented that way, or skewed like that.
It was partially made out of frustration. I was doing marketing at the time and it wasn’t really working. People were throwing around “taste” as this buzzword, and I felt frustrated with it. I noticed commonalities amongst the people saying these things, so I compiled them into a pack. It was catharsis as much as pattern recognition.
“Do you remember the Mean Girls map of the cafeteria? I made one just for my school, supposed to be just for me, and it blew up. It was not a good time.”
“Do you remember the Mean Girls map of the cafeteria? I made one just for my school, supposed to be just for me, and it blew up. It was not a good time.”
Speaking of patterns, have you identified core ingredients that go into what you create? Your style organizes the content really well. You’re bringing together things that immediately conjure a vivid imagination of a persona, then inserting snark against it.
It’s based on feeling, whether you can imagine someone like this in the real world. Some of it comes from algorithm observation, but to be honest, there’s never really a set process. It’s constant observation, collecting things in the back of my mind.
In Australia, for example, corporate people wear these particular R.M. Williams boots. It’s quite comical to riff on that type of person. It’s also drawing things to light from personal experience, little hidden details that someone might not immediately think are crucial to the archetype, but act as hidden inside jokes that make it come alive.
I often wondered if those who are interested and observant of cultural change have some deeper reasoning. Perhaps it’s a desire to come across as “smart” or “well-read,” do you feel any deep emotional attachment to the process of change?
I think I’m driven by my own desire to make sense of what is happening around me. Knowledge is power.
And I think I’m extremely nostalgia prone, so yeah I do feel a deep emotional attachment to change, although not the process of change itself. Perhaps it’s the propensity towards nostalgia that makes someone more interrogative about change?
At this point, do you have a general inclination as to what will perform? Or is it still dependent on the algorithm? There’s a degree of virality that seems better on X because of the reshare function.
I sometimes do, but I’ve also been wrong. The ones that perform best are the most universal. The crypto one, where you don’t need to be super niche to understand it. The super niche ones get better engagement but lower impressions. It’s the flip for mass content.
It also depends on whether it grabs the particular audience of that platform. That Dark Mode article captured the attention of cultural strategy people because I posted it on LinkedIn, and that’s where they congregate. It just happened to fit their interests.
I’d rather put out content that I want to put out rather than playing to what I think will perform best.
As we look at the power of memes, what do you think is the inherent cultural or societal value? Is it purely entertainment?
I don’t think it’s purely entertainment. My friend Nick Susi was talking about this at FWB Fest last year, the origin of memes.
Memes have always been around as a form of cultural information sharing. It’s a single unit of cultural transmission. Richard Dawkins likened these “units” to religious practices or cultural stories, condensed cultural information that travel around. Internet memes, image macros, starter packs… they’re just the latest iteration.
In terms of cultural relevance, it’s the ability to communicate a feeling, aesthetic, or moment of culture in a way that’s visceral and immediately legible, without needing a five-minute video or a thousand-word article.
What role does ephemeral content have in the creation of culture? Is it just throwaway, or is there something we gain from these seemingly disposable moments?
These fleeting moments add up to build a patina of things. It’s important for things to be accessible. These make complex ideas accessible, add to cultural conversation, make things easier to understand, and feed toward broader discourse.
Is there a degree of exhaustion in needing to be perpetually online to participate? There’s a fine line between interest and exhaustion. At some point you realize you can’t know every single thing, yet your value is knowing as much as you can and consolidating that into content.
I don’t have a specific process other than spending a lot of time on the internet, and trying to observe my environment when I’m in a new location. It’s a battle every day. Being chronically online is a double-edged sword. The more time you spend online, you get caught in a circuitous loop. You don’t actually make sense of the information. You feel the need to be in the loop, but because you’re in the cycle, you don’t have the outside perspective to digest it. The drive to “keep tabs” is also a drive for novelty.
You need to step away and be in the real world to notice stuff you can reproduce back into the internet. I think it’s a lot like being a comedian or a writer. You have to live an interesting life in order to create. I think when you fall into a routine and lack exposure to the outside world, life begins to feel very mundane. Like when I was in New York, I was basically speaking with people I would have been speaking to on the internet, but in real life. I was barely online that week. I was just running around. It was crazy feeling like you’re at the epicenter of everything, yet there’s this whole other world of things happening online that you missed because you were talking to people in real life, even though they’re the same people you’d talk to on the internet.
In our modern landscape, what role does sharing content back and forth play in enforcing or strengthening a relationship?
It reinforces commonality. Because it’s a powerful summary or snapshot, it’s an easy way to get your interests across or share a similar sense of humor or aesthetic sensibility. It’s a shortcut toward building rapport. It’s like glimpsing into someone’s brain.
If someone shares the same meme language as you, it’s like a sign you have some mutual understanding or view on a particular topic. It equalizes so you can have a conversation about something else and share more deeply.
I have a selfish reason for asking. I came up with this reference: it feels like being at a party and giving someone a bump, sharing a dopamine hit. By virtue of that, you’re connected. There’s a consideration where you’ve gone through the process of thinking about that person. There’s an interesting social consideration that comes from sharing something you think the other person will like.
I like that. It’s like, “Hey, I was thinking of you,” weirdly enough. It’s kind of what Apple was trying to do with sending the heart, but really the more powerful thing is sending memes.
I always view shared consumption of content as the greatest way to arrive at alignment. There’s interpretation, but when we both look at something and share it, we can agree that what we’re seeing represents this, and that becomes an equalizer for further conversation.
Very much agree. It brings you onto the same level, a sign you have some mutual understanding that equalizes so you can share more deeply.
Speaking of patterns, have you identified core ingredients that go into what you create? Your style organizes the content really well. You’re bringing together things that immediately conjure a vivid imagination of a persona, then inserting snark against it.
It’s based on feeling, whether you can imagine someone like this in the real world. Some of it comes from algorithm observation, but to be honest, there’s never really a set process. It’s constant observation, collecting things in the back of my mind.
In Australia, for example, corporate people wear these particular R.M. Williams boots. It’s quite comical to riff on that type of person. It’s also drawing things to light from personal experience, little hidden details that someone might not immediately think are crucial to the archetype, but act as hidden inside jokes that make it come alive.
I often wondered if those who are interested and observant of cultural change have some deeper reasoning. Perhaps it’s a desire to come across as “smart” or “well-read,” do you feel any deep emotional attachment to the process of change?
I think I’m driven by my own desire to make sense of what is happening around me. Knowledge is power.
And I think I’m extremely nostalgia prone, so yeah I do feel a deep emotional attachment to change, although not the process of change itself. Perhaps it’s the propensity towards nostalgia that makes someone more interrogative about change?
At this point, do you have a general inclination as to what will perform? Or is it still dependent on the algorithm? There’s a degree of virality that seems better on X because of the reshare function.
I sometimes do, but I’ve also been wrong. The ones that perform best are the most universal. The crypto one, where you don’t need to be super niche to understand it. The super niche ones get better engagement but lower impressions. It’s the flip for mass content.
It also depends on whether it grabs the particular audience of that platform. That Dark Mode article captured the attention of cultural strategy people because I posted it on LinkedIn, and that’s where they congregate. It just happened to fit their interests.
I’d rather put out content that I want to put out rather than playing to what I think will perform best.
As we look at the power of memes, what do you think is the inherent cultural or societal value? Is it purely entertainment?
I don’t think it’s purely entertainment. My friend Nick Susi was talking about this at FWB Fest last year, the origin of memes.
Memes have always been around as a form of cultural information sharing. It’s a single unit of cultural transmission. Richard Dawkins likened these “units” to religious practices or cultural stories, condensed cultural information that travel around. Internet memes, image macros, starter packs… they’re just the latest iteration.
In terms of cultural relevance, it’s the ability to communicate a feeling, aesthetic, or moment of culture in a way that’s visceral and immediately legible, without needing a five-minute video or a thousand-word article.
What role does ephemeral content have in the creation of culture? Is it just throwaway, or is there something we gain from these seemingly disposable moments?
These fleeting moments add up to build a patina of things. It’s important for things to be accessible. These make complex ideas accessible, add to cultural conversation, make things easier to understand, and feed toward broader discourse.
Is there a degree of exhaustion in needing to be perpetually online to participate? There’s a fine line between interest and exhaustion. At some point you realize you can’t know every single thing, yet your value is knowing as much as you can and consolidating that into content.
I don’t have a specific process other than spending a lot of time on the internet, and trying to observe my environment when I’m in a new location. It’s a battle every day. Being chronically online is a double-edged sword. The more time you spend online, you get caught in a circuitous loop. You don’t actually make sense of the information. You feel the need to be in the loop, but because you’re in the cycle, you don’t have the outside perspective to digest it. The drive to “keep tabs” is also a drive for novelty.
You need to step away and be in the real world to notice stuff you can reproduce back into the internet. I think it’s a lot like being a comedian or a writer. You have to live an interesting life in order to create. I think when you fall into a routine and lack exposure to the outside world, life begins to feel very mundane. Like when I was in New York, I was basically speaking with people I would have been speaking to on the internet, but in real life. I was barely online that week. I was just running around. It was crazy feeling like you’re at the epicenter of everything, yet there’s this whole other world of things happening online that you missed because you were talking to people in real life, even though they’re the same people you’d talk to on the internet.
In our modern landscape, what role does sharing content back and forth play in enforcing or strengthening a relationship?
It reinforces commonality. Because it’s a powerful summary or snapshot, it’s an easy way to get your interests across or share a similar sense of humor or aesthetic sensibility. It’s a shortcut toward building rapport. It’s like glimpsing into someone’s brain.
If someone shares the same meme language as you, it’s like a sign you have some mutual understanding or view on a particular topic. It equalizes so you can have a conversation about something else and share more deeply.
I have a selfish reason for asking. I came up with this reference: it feels like being at a party and giving someone a bump, sharing a dopamine hit. By virtue of that, you’re connected. There’s a consideration where you’ve gone through the process of thinking about that person. There’s an interesting social consideration that comes from sharing something you think the other person will like.
I like that. It’s like, “Hey, I was thinking of you,” weirdly enough. It’s kind of what Apple was trying to do with sending the heart, but really the more powerful thing is sending memes.
I always view shared consumption of content as the greatest way to arrive at alignment. There’s interpretation, but when we both look at something and share it, we can agree that what we’re seeing represents this, and that becomes an equalizer for further conversation.
Very much agree. It brings you onto the same level, a sign you have some mutual understanding that equalizes so you can share more deeply.
"When I see something really polished, it takes away from the humanity intrinsic to a meme. It’s like having something typed up and printed out versus someone handwriting you a note in their shitty handwriting.
[If] it feels a little shitty and cobbled together, it feels like someone’s putting their thoughts down without overthinking it. There’s an element of earnestness that makes you trust what they’re saying."
"When I see something really polished, it takes away from the humanity intrinsic to a meme. It’s like having something typed up and printed out versus someone handwriting you a note in their shitty handwriting.
[If] it feels a little shitty and cobbled together, it feels like someone’s putting their thoughts down without overthinking it. There’s an element of earnestness that makes you trust what they’re saying."
The suite of creator tools has gotten more advanced. If you want to create a 3D photorealistic action hero package of a meme, you could do that. But on the flip side, a lot of memes are very lo-fi. Is there a relationship between the delivery mechanism, something brutally done versus something nicely prompted? Is it all noise in terms of making something look nicer?
When I see something really polished, it takes away from the humanity intrinsic to a meme. It’s like having something typed up and printed out versus someone handwriting you a note in their shitty handwriting. When it feels a little shitty and cobbled together, it feels like someone’s putting their thoughts down without overthinking it. There’s an element of earnestness that makes you trust what they’re saying.
If you spent ages prompting something on Midjourney and it looks perfect, you question: Who is this? What is this for? Why is this human thought so polished? Are you trying to sell me something? There’s humanity missing from it.
Through media fragmentation and algorithms, it’s hard for people to find shared alignment. We’re beyond the point where there are only six channels on TV and looking at virtually limitless mediums. How does communication become easier or harder for you as someone who creates content?
It makes it more difficult. It makes it easier to find an audience, harder to maintain and grow one. You have to think about so many different platforms, or if you’re on a singular platform, you risk being de-platformed if it goes down.
There’s pressure to try different platforms, but it’s counterintuitive because dividing your attention too much prevents growth. Creators tend to focus on a particular platform at a time. There’s so much fragmentation that makes growing an audience hard. Hard to become more than a platform, to extend your reach so you’re known for what you do rather than being “the trend guy on TikTok.”
It’s hard to find loyalty. Despite massive visibility, it doesn’t always translate into followers. You have massive viral moments, but it hasn’t translated into 150,000 followers. Is that specific to meme creators?
That’s just the state of the algorithm, especially on X and TikTok. It drives content to the top, but people don’t necessarily follow because the content you see is less dependent on specifically following someone. Everyone’s just on the For You Page. You don’t need to follow somebody to get content that hooks you. Followers become less valuable than views.
As someone who wants to inject perspective into culture, what do you want people to get out of your insights?
Honestly, it’s selfish. I put a perspective out to see if people are thinking the same things. For me, I’m putting something out and seeing if other people are feeling the same thing. A sense of relatability with the idea, like “Oh wow, this is something I’m seeing as well.” That’s powerful.
Ultimately, how the audience responds is out of your control. I might see my value as offering an “aesthetic perspective” on where things are going, or reflecting a feeling back that gets people to think about something they had in the back of their minds. But I can’t pinpoint how people respond.
Some criticisms say my work isn’t particularly well-researched, or I don’t have the experience to put this type of work out. But I wonder: does the fact that people are responding legitimize it after the fact? Is the reaction what legitimizes the content, or does the content have to stand on its own at inception?
Engagement can mean multiple things: validation, agreement. In terms of research, really niche, difficult things have no documentation. The only form of research is interviewing people, which isn’t perfect. There’s bias, not always real objectivity.
I agree, but also, does it need to be correct? Why can’t it be an expression of a view, or a question I’m posing? “This is what I’m feeling. Do you feel it too?” versus proclaiming this is fact. I don’t know everything. Putting something out is more an invitation to talk about it rather than a statement of fact.
How often do you find your personal philosophies or beliefs change amidst an ever-changing world? Do you need to always have shifting perspectives to participate in culture the way you do?
Your opinions may change based on new information, but your value set and the principles you hold should remain the same. I think you do need to have the ability to keep an open mind.
What are you most proud of in recent times?
The Dark Mode shift article, and I’m quite proud of that. I’m working on a project called Body Shop, a spin on nineties racing games, trying to use universe-building to build a fictional world. I’m excited about it, though I’m not proud of it yet because it’s not realized.
Mostly, I’m proud of the people I’ve gotten to meet through doing what I’ve been doing.
We’ve often spoken about how a general interest in commentary can sometimes be hard to translate into a personal business or value (that you can be compensated for). Has anything changed for you on that front?
I think in the last couple of years, it’s been getting easier — knock on wood — to make money on this school [of thought]. With the information landscape being as hyperspeed as it is, understanding and insight is becoming increasingly valuable. Businesses crave meaning, and the ability to parse and make sense of the world.
Do you think you’ve found your niche? How would you describe that network of people?
People who think interesting thoughts. People who do a lot of different things, like you. How would you describe yourself? I have a hard time describing you too.
I would say “executive producer” day-to-day, but that’s narrow. There’s this weird conversation around the expert generalist, having an above-average perspective on many things. The challenge is finding interconnectivity between things you’re passionate about.
I’ve struggled with finding role models for what I’ve been doing: making memes, content, doing this and that. I’ve found people in a similar space of not wanting to be defined by a single thing, but being good at being a brain across different topics, finding commonalities that loop them together.
People curious about technology, culture, new media, finding ways to express their perspective on all those things. There’s no term for it yet. “Creative technologist,” but that’s vague. I like being around people like yourself who are indefinable.
Depending on where you meet someone in their life, that’s how they perceive you. If you met me during my HYPEBEAST era, I’m the sneaker guy. If you met me during the MAEKAN era, I’m the MAEKAN guy. Now it’s undefinable.
Undefinable is difficult because people don’t know how to work with you if you don’t have a clear position. I struggle with that right now. When we were getting coffee, you said something that stuck in my head. People keep asking, “So what is it that you actually do?” I’m trying to figure that out myself. A lot of people in our space are trying to figure out how to define themselves.
There’s a degree of removing the narcissism of needing multiple identities. Default to something cliché because it’s a door opener. Just call yourself a strategist.
Exactly. I struggle with calling myself a strategist, not because it’s lame, but because I wonder whether I’m qualified enough.
The suite of creator tools has gotten more advanced. If you want to create a 3D photorealistic action hero package of a meme, you could do that. But on the flip side, a lot of memes are very lo-fi. Is there a relationship between the delivery mechanism, something brutally done versus something nicely prompted? Is it all noise in terms of making something look nicer?
When I see something really polished, it takes away from the humanity intrinsic to a meme. It’s like having something typed up and printed out versus someone handwriting you a note in their shitty handwriting. When it feels a little shitty and cobbled together, it feels like someone’s putting their thoughts down without overthinking it. There’s an element of earnestness that makes you trust what they’re saying.
If you spent ages prompting something on Midjourney and it looks perfect, you question: Who is this? What is this for? Why is this human thought so polished? Are you trying to sell me something? There’s humanity missing from it.
Through media fragmentation and algorithms, it’s hard for people to find shared alignment. We’re beyond the point where there are only six channels on TV and looking at virtually limitless mediums. How does communication become easier or harder for you as someone who creates content?
It makes it more difficult. It makes it easier to find an audience, harder to maintain and grow one. You have to think about so many different platforms, or if you’re on a singular platform, you risk being de-platformed if it goes down.
There’s pressure to try different platforms, but it’s counterintuitive because dividing your attention too much prevents growth. Creators tend to focus on a particular platform at a time. There’s so much fragmentation that makes growing an audience hard. Hard to become more than a platform, to extend your reach so you’re known for what you do rather than being “the trend guy on TikTok.”
It’s hard to find loyalty. Despite massive visibility, it doesn’t always translate into followers. You have massive viral moments, but it hasn’t translated into 150,000 followers. Is that specific to meme creators?
That’s just the state of the algorithm, especially on X and TikTok. It drives content to the top, but people don’t necessarily follow because the content you see is less dependent on specifically following someone. Everyone’s just on the For You Page. You don’t need to follow somebody to get content that hooks you. Followers become less valuable than views.
As someone who wants to inject perspective into culture, what do you want people to get out of your insights?
Honestly, it’s selfish. I put a perspective out to see if people are thinking the same things. For me, I’m putting something out and seeing if other people are feeling the same thing. A sense of relatability with the idea, like “Oh wow, this is something I’m seeing as well.” That’s powerful.
Ultimately, how the audience responds is out of your control. I might see my value as offering an “aesthetic perspective” on where things are going, or reflecting a feeling back that gets people to think about something they had in the back of their minds. But I can’t pinpoint how people respond.
Some criticisms say my work isn’t particularly well-researched, or I don’t have the experience to put this type of work out. But I wonder: does the fact that people are responding legitimize it after the fact? Is the reaction what legitimizes the content, or does the content have to stand on its own at inception?
Engagement can mean multiple things: validation, agreement. In terms of research, really niche, difficult things have no documentation. The only form of research is interviewing people, which isn’t perfect. There’s bias, not always real objectivity.
I agree, but also, does it need to be correct? Why can’t it be an expression of a view, or a question I’m posing? “This is what I’m feeling. Do you feel it too?” versus proclaiming this is fact. I don’t know everything. Putting something out is more an invitation to talk about it rather than a statement of fact.
How often do you find your personal philosophies or beliefs change amidst an ever-changing world? Do you need to always have shifting perspectives to participate in culture the way you do?
Your opinions may change based on new information, but your value set and the principles you hold should remain the same. I think you do need to have the ability to keep an open mind.
What are you most proud of in recent times?
The Dark Mode shift article, and I’m quite proud of that. I’m working on a project called Body Shop, a spin on nineties racing games, trying to use universe-building to build a fictional world. I’m excited about it, though I’m not proud of it yet because it’s not realized.
Mostly, I’m proud of the people I’ve gotten to meet through doing what I’ve been doing.
We’ve often spoken about how a general interest in commentary can sometimes be hard to translate into a personal business or value (that you can be compensated for). Has anything changed for you on that front?
I think in the last couple of years, it’s been getting easier — knock on wood — to make money on this school [of thought]. With the information landscape being as hyperspeed as it is, understanding and insight is becoming increasingly valuable. Businesses crave meaning, and the ability to parse and make sense of the world.
Do you think you’ve found your niche? How would you describe that network of people?
People who think interesting thoughts. People who do a lot of different things, like you. How would you describe yourself? I have a hard time describing you too.
I would say “executive producer” day-to-day, but that’s narrow. There’s this weird conversation around the expert generalist, having an above-average perspective on many things. The challenge is finding interconnectivity between things you’re passionate about.
I’ve struggled with finding role models for what I’ve been doing: making memes, content, doing this and that. I’ve found people in a similar space of not wanting to be defined by a single thing, but being good at being a brain across different topics, finding commonalities that loop them together.
People curious about technology, culture, new media, finding ways to express their perspective on all those things. There’s no term for it yet. “Creative technologist,” but that’s vague. I like being around people like yourself who are indefinable.
Depending on where you meet someone in their life, that’s how they perceive you. If you met me during my HYPEBEAST era, I’m the sneaker guy. If you met me during the MAEKAN era, I’m the MAEKAN guy. Now it’s undefinable.
Undefinable is difficult because people don’t know how to work with you if you don’t have a clear position. I struggle with that right now. When we were getting coffee, you said something that stuck in my head. People keep asking, “So what is it that you actually do?” I’m trying to figure that out myself. A lot of people in our space are trying to figure out how to define themselves.
There’s a degree of removing the narcissism of needing multiple identities. Default to something cliché because it’s a door opener. Just call yourself a strategist.
Exactly. I struggle with calling myself a strategist, not because it’s lame, but because I wonder whether I’m qualified enough.
"I don’t know everything. Putting something out is more an invitation to talk about it rather than a statement of fact."
"I don’t know everything. Putting something out is more an invitation to talk about it rather than a statement of fact."
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Eugene Kan
Eugene Kan
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Eugene Kan
Eugene Kan
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