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Motion@Liverpool Street Technical Specification | JCDecaux

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Opinions on corporate and brand identity work

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There are two histories of modern Britain, running concurrently and only occasionally touching. The first is the one of parliaments, politicians, royal babies, military interventions, prosperity, austerity and all the rest of it. The other is surely the history of the streets, sounds and styles that inform not only our culture, but how we are seen across the world.

Most of our great cultural exports stem from one place: our youth tribes, the young style cults that reject the culture that is given to them, start something of their own and sometimes find their looks and sounds taking over the world.

Something about this country - the divisions, the class system, the general sense of distrust and dissatisfaction - seems to breed youth subcultures like no other place on Earth. The strange, stylish clans that this island incubates have been exported across the world, influencing everything from high street fashion to high art. From teddy boys to 2 Tone rudeboys, soulboys to Slipknot fans, grunge bands to grime crews, mods to mod revivalists, the history of these groups shows us a version of modern Britain that goes way beyond Diana and Blair.

For the Channel 4 series Street, Style and Sound (in conjunction with i-D magazine), which I've been co-writing with acclaimed photographer and film-maker Ewen Spencer, who has written, directed and narrated it, we're trying to tell the story of how these ordinary kids from Berkshire, Brixton and Birmingham created their own worlds and how these worlds reacted against each other.

The series is essentially a journey, one that most of us don't fully understand, of how kids who were wearing jelly shoes and listening to jazz funk found themselves wearing Vicks-soaked gas masks and listening to acid house within a few years; of why teenagers now grow out their fringes, wear their trousers around their thighs and steal their parents' old clothes.

Our story starts in 1980, the year that i-D magazine was launched, initially as a reaction against the refusal by Vogue to cover punk. It was a divided time for youth culture, with numerous sartorial factions forming all over the country, but perhaps the most prominent look on the streets was that of the mod revivalists: young working-class kids who found a kind of solace and acceptance not in the looks of their own time, but in those of the late 60s, a more aspirational era in thrall to Italian suits and foppish hairdos.

Splintering off from that scene came the 2 Tone rudeboys, who fused the mod look with the harder-edged aesthetic of the skinheads into a new, multiracial, politicised, but playful hybrid of 60s subcultures. With their tonic suits and tight haircuts, looking sharp was the order of the day. There were no beards or beads here. This ideal of "clean living under difficult circumstances" (as rock publicist Peter Meaden once called the mod aesthetic) was anathema in the grim days of the Callaghan/Thatcher crossover period and a spit in the eye of this increasingly suburbanised Britain.

Eventually the 2 Tone kids and the nu-mods fell under the same umbrella as the scooter boys, who revelled in mob-handedly gathering in coastal towns for almighty pissups (one newspaper accused them of "turning the Isle of Wight into the Isle of Fright"), but eventually that scene became predictable and middle-aged, and the cool kids, searching for something more considered, a bit more louche than flight jackets and Doc Martens, fell under the spell of the soulboy lifestyle, with its wedge haircuts, Hawaiian shirts and notorious jelly shoe obsession.

Youth culture had become aspirational once more, and the influence of the continent started to be felt on the streets of Britain. The soulboys, many of whom were regular football-goers, began to take notice of the luxury sportswear being worn by the teenagers of Milan and Marseille on their away days.

Soon the terraces of Villa Park, Stamford Bridge and Anfield were awash with Lacoste jumpers, Fila tracksuits, Sergio Tacchini polo shirts and Nike tennis shoes. Boutiques selling this kind of gear popped up all round the country, and a universal, materialistic style scene was born, in which you can see the seeds of today's label culture.

At the same time, and in quite similar clothing, the early British breakdance crews were covering small patches of their cities in linoleum and elbow-spinning into a brand-new youth cult. They soon ditched the tracksuits, found Goose jackets and customised belt-buckles, ushering in the streetwear scene that survives to this day.

But not everybody can do a handstand, and for some the growing house music scene, imported from the rusting cities of the US midwest, seemed the way forward. House was hard but soulful, rigid but expressive. Much like the B-Boy scene it spawned its own dance crews, including Manchester's Foot Patrol who could be seen shuffling and sliding across early raves in Moss Side.

But when Danny Rampling and Paul Oakenfold took a fateful trip to Ibiza and imported the eclectic, euphoric scenes they saw at DJ Alfredo's Amnesia residency back to Bermondsey, south London, rave culture as we know it was born.

It has become a cliche but it was ecstasy that got the Millwall and West Ham fans at the other ends of the dancefloor to join together in this strange new acid house future. Men began to grow their hair out, girls started wearing dungarees, and simple baggy T-shirts became the look of the day, way before the smiley faces and whistles that became the sartorial stereotype for the rave generation.

Not that guitars were finished for everyone: when the droning, uncompromising sounds later known as grunge started to come over from Seattle and Washington State, the style obsessives also soon appropriated the plaid and denim of the cold American north-west and the style magazines took notice. Soon, Corinne Day's shots of Kate Moss captured a new kind of freedom in British youth, Sleazenation and Dazed & Confused started, while i-D began commissioning the likes of photographers Jürgen Teller and Wolfgang Tillmans. The fashion world had finally caught up with the street-style world.

But grunge was an overwhelmingly white, middle-class scene, very much influenced by America; it was never going to be uniquely British. It took jungle - a bastard, urbanised child of the rave scene, taking elements from hip-hop and reggae - to enter the arena before things toughened up once more. Iceberg jeans, Slammin' Vinyl bomber jackets and beanie hats were the essentials.

Jungle led into UK garage, for which the pendulum of influence once again swung to a more luxurious style: Moschino trousers, Gucci loafers and belly tops. Garage led into grime, which took a looser silhouette: Air Force One sneakers, powder-blue tracksuits and fitted caps.

The cycle seems to go on like this: there seems to be an opposite and equal reaction to every youth movement, shown once more in the mid-00s when the Ray Davies-meets-Johnny-Thunders aesthetic of the London indie scene, led by Pete Doherty, Johnny Borrell et al, was countered by the hyper-American emo aesthetic.

As we move towards the current day, there is a temptation to say that youth cults don't exist, that we've all fallen into high street, Hollister homogeneity, the kids included.

But you've only got to see the teenage streetwear obsessives, led by the Wavey Garms secondhand designer marketplace and Swedish rapper Yung Lean and his Sad Boys crew, to see that the tradition of clean living is still there, even if their circumstances might not be as difficult as their stylistic forefathers. And more than that, many of the cultures we have seen still have their followers, young people who choose to be skinheads, or mod stylists, clothing themselves in the looks of old in the face of all that's offered by the style-industrial complex.

The beauty of youth cults is that nobody knows where they'll go next, that they're always one step ahead of trend forecasters and brand ambassadors. We could make this series again in 10 years' time and have a wealth of new material. Those of us who are fascinated by this kind of thing live in hope that somewhere in this country a look, a sound, a way of being is quietly brewing, and that it might take over the world. Why? Because it's different.
Catch up with Street, Style and Sound episode 1 on channel4.com. The series continues on Thursday 21 May at 12am

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From 2 Tone to grime, our youth cults showcase a vibrant history of Britain

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There are two histories of modern Britain, running concurrently and only occasionally touching. The first is the one of parliaments, politicians, royal babies, military interventions, prosperity, austerity and all the rest of it. The other is surely the history of the streets, sounds and styles that inform not only our culture, but how we are seen across the world.

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Ultimately, you would want a carefree mobile life. Vodafone picked up on the reasoning behind this view and in collaboration with creative agency Achtung, we created four online videos. The main purpose for Vodafone is expressing how carefree a mobile life can be by having the fastest internet, a helpdesk service which is available 24/7 a day and giving customers financial opportunities.

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Client: Movistar, Production Company: Believe, Design & Animation: Believe

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Pay As You Go From EE: Switching From Orange or T-Mobile

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If you're on T-Mobile or Orange pay as you go, you could be getting more from your top-up. The secret is EE pay as you go packs. To order your EE SIM now go to http://ee.co.uk/movetoEE We're EE and we're bringing you the UK's first superfast 4G mobile network, together with Fibre Broadband.

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Out Of My Comfort Zone - Rodrigo Cordeiro

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Project made for "Motion Media Techniques II" class. I'm from Brazil and I came to the US seven months ago to study at SCAD - Savannah College of Art and Design. This animation I made to represent a summary of my experiences and feelings here :D Enjoy!

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Baianat happily announce its campaign about searching for special people to help win its creative combat, Do you think you are ready to join Baianat and become one of our players, Apply now.

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Each year we learn something new about design and 2016 was no different. After the last year article was a real success we decided to make some predictions for 2017, enjoy & share with the world.

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The Red or Dead co-founder picks his top music-led fashion fads

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Archive photos from the film courtesy of Margaret PR

Seventy years ago, teenagers didn't exist. I mean, they did, but nobody called them that - they called them "our future workforce" and made them wear suits and smoke pipes and take elocution lessons when they were 13. You went to bed one day a child and woke the next morning an adult. But, by the end of WWII, the idea of adolescence had evolved from a few years spent getting ready for a life of coal or legal counsel into the Best Years of Your Life. Then, in 1945, the New York Times published an article defining this bizarre new word - "teenage" - and the concept became a part of the public consciousness.

A few years ago, music writer and cultural historian Jon Savage wrote a book about all that called Teenage: The Creation of Youth. The film adaptation of his book, directed by American filmmaker Matt Wolf and with an original score by Bradford Cox, gets its Scandinavian cinematic release on the 24th of this month at the Gothenburg International Film Festival. I gave both of them a call to talk about youth movements new and old, and how great life is when you're a teenager.

The trailer for Teenage

VICE: Hey guys. At the beginning of your film you say that the idea of the teenager is a wartime invention. Were there not any pre-war youth movements that you left out?
Jon Savage: They weren't pre-war, but the ones who didn't make it in are the zazou. They were a French group in occupied Paris in the early 1940s who loved black American swing music - which was forbidden - wore English clothes, threw hidden parties, tried to avoid forced labour and, you know, annoyed the Gestapo. They also did something else fabulous; when the laws came in about wearing the yellow star, they made their own stars that, instead of "Jew", said "Swing". Then there were others that we didn't get into too much detail about - the back-to-nature movements of the 20s, like the "wandervogel".

Oh yeah, the kind of German proto-hippies, all getting naked and hanging out in forests. Did that movement start during the First World War?
No, they actually began in about 1900 in Germany.

So it wasn't a reaction to the war?
Well, it was a reaction to the militarisation and industrialisation of German society. There was also a generation gap between adolescents and their parents, and by the 20s there were lots of different groups. In fact, it's bewildering the amount of groups there were by then, ranging from proto-fascist groups to hippies.

So would you say the wandervogel were the first youth movement, in the modern sense at least?
If you consider a youth movement as something where youth try to find some degree of autonomy and try to define for themselves what being a young person could be, then I'd say yes.

Some "wandervogel" kids

So if that was the first youth movement - and this is before the term "teenager" even existed - what do you think was most instrumental thing in introducing the concept of "teenagehood" as we know it today?
Matt Wolf: I think the "teenager" was really born as a sort of democratic consumer during the war in the 40s. It was when young people were starting to work and earn money. They weren't dependent. And also they had a new power to define themselves by buying music, fashion, cosmetics... They recognised their value as democratic citizens who could be positive contributors to society, but also their influence and power as consumers who could buy things and drive marketplaces.

It's funny how, early on, youth was defined by the establishment and the marketplace. Adolescence is supposedly about freedom and rebellion, but even the word "teenage" didn't become part of the wider lexicon until the New York Times wrote a huge feature codifying it and establishing what it was - as you show in the film.
Jon: Yeah, it was that balance of adults accepting that teenagers are going to have a say while also keeping some sort of control over them.
Matt: Definitely. I think that's a productive and useful compromise, because if young people had no supervision they would probably be out of control. But the film also shows that when young people are regimented in the way that Hitler and the Nazi regime did, it's extremely destructive.

Yeah, hugely. I noticed in the film that both wars spread youth culture - bringing music and ideas from America to Europe - while also crushing it, in that everyone was being sent off to die.
Jon: Absolutely. The swing and black American bands were still quite a minority phenomenon before the war; it didn't immediately take over the UK - it was more avant-garde. Then the Americans came over and British adolescents suddenly got to see this other life.

Swing itself is completely fascinating, because it's the first Western international youth culture and it's just got everything. It's amazing how it was used, as I was saying, by the zazou - and the Hamburg Swing, who were like German zazous - during WWII as a method of resistance. It wasn't political; all they wanted to do was what kids do now: listen to music, hang out with their friends, have sex and be a bit naughty. And for doing that in Nazi-occupied Europe they were sent to forced labour, beaten up, sent to the Eastern Front, sent to concentration camps... it's a very stark divide.

Some swing kids

Yeah. When swing was finally embraced, it looked like everyone wanted to be part of it. But later on - in the 80s and 90s, at least - it seems like people weren't so keen to join the mainstream, that they were more interested in trying to be "individuals".
Jon: That's not my experience of being a young person entering youth culture, but I think what you're describing has accelerated in the past ten years. I think it's to do with the privatisation of the self, caused by social media and electronic devices, the fragmentation of consciousness and the fragmentation of the youth cohort in general. What's fascinating to me is - I'm 60, so when I was a kid it was hippies, then glam rock, then punk rock - and punk rock talked about all this acceleration of information and privatisation of the self. So now we're living in the science-fiction future that was prophesied when I was a young man.

And that's resulted in there being no new proper youth subcultures for basically the last decade - ones that have all the music and clothes, but also a distinct set of ideals that people identify with, like the hippie movement, or punk, or rave.
I mean, there are several reasons for that. I was your age in 1977 when I got involved in the music industry, and it was for kids - it was a play-pen - not adults. Then, in the 80s, the music industry stopped targeting adolescents - the 15-to-24 range - and began targeting older people as well, meaning all that consumer nonsense was no longer just the preserve of teenagers. So young people lost their special status, which I think is part of the problem.

Also, beginning in the 80s, there began a political attack on adolescents, starting with the Thatcher government and certainly continuing into this government with the social downgrading of young people, youth unemployment, university fees... and all this makes my blood boil. If a country doesn't invest in its youth, then it's going down the pan. That's the message of Teenage: adolescents are fucking great, listen to what they have to say. So what's going on makes me absolutely furious. Some kids are angry at people of my generation, but it's not my fucking fault! I didn't vote for Thatcher and I didn't vote for this government, either!

The only real outcry against all that is the proliferation of left-wing protest groups, which don't quite have the same reach as music or art-driven movements, because not many people want to sit in the rain in central London, threatening rich people with cardboard signs.
Matt: But I think it's really hard to identify with those [art and music-based] movements as they're happening in real time. There are distinguishable and definable youth movements from the 90s, but that's because we can see them in retrospect. I can't reflect as well on the present, because it's happening right now, you know? I think there's a youth culture online for sure, but I think it will present itself in a very different format from some of these things we tend to romanticise, like underground culture and punk.
Jon: I have a lot of theories about this. I was very passionate about Nirvana, and I just wonder if Kurt killing himself didn't sort of kill the idea of rock music being challenging and subversive and dangerous. After that, you had Brit-pop, which had some great records, but it was kind of reheated 60s, really. You've had really good acts since then, like the Arctic Monkeys, but it doesn't mean very much in a wider context. There are fantastic bands and they write great songs, but it's like they're in a kind of vacuum.

Yeah. It's odd - there's plenty of stuff to react to, but a lot of the reactionary stuff nowadays just seems a bit contrived.
Every generation faces its own task. Your task is very different to mine. Your generation's task is dealing with unsustainability; climate change; shrinking resources; how to make the transition from high progressive capitalism into something else - another way of living on this planet where you don't have to throw out the good things that we have in our society. My generation's challenge was to deal with WWII damage, really, which scarred all our parents and literally scarred the landscape when I was growing up.

The Hitler Youth, history's shittiest youth club

What about the idea that the internet crushes subculture? That, as soon as something happens, it's instantly all over the globe and doesn't have the time to grow organically.
Jon: What you also have now - and you've had for at least 25 years - is aggressive marketing and targeting. Punk rock really did develop underground for a while; people from advertising companies didn't take it seriously for about 18 months, until the middle of '77.
Matt: I think it's more like the distinction between what's considered mainstream or underground is much blurrier, and that's empowering for artists and young people who live in remote areas without access to urban resources. It confronts, yeah, but it also completely obliterates some of these distinctions that have evolved between mass consumer culture and independent culture.

Good point. Finally, I've seen the film described as a "living collage". What does that mean?
Matt: Something Jon told me early on in the process is that punks in England took clothes from previous youth cultures, reassembled them with safety pins and made something new. That image was really evocative to me and, in a sense, it's what I did with the film; I took clips, images and quotes from teenagers from all these different eras and countries and tried to find a way to collage that together to create this new work. Because while Teenage is about the past, really my aim is to reflect on the present - to understand how conflicts between generations endure - and to show that we should have a very optimistic attitude towards youth today.
Jon: It's time we start giving adolescents a bit more respect. Not in terms of being consumers, but in terms of being human beings who will be living in the future, and so might have some ideas about how they want the world to be, you know? Which we're not getting from this benighted government, who seem perfectly happy to write off anybody under 25, as well as anybody who's poor. It's completely disgusting. Don't get me started.

Maybe that's for another time. Thanks, guys.

Follow Jamie on Twitter: @jamie_clifton

More stuff about this kind of stuff:

Remembering the Wandervogel: The Fashionable Rent Boy Gangs That Terrorised the Nazis

Thatcher's War on Acid House

Why Everyone Needs to Fall in Love with Happy Hardcore

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What Does It Mean to Be a 'Teenager' Today? - VICE

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Archive photos from the film courtesy of Margaret PR Seventy years ago, teenagers didn't exist. I mean, they did, but nobody called them that - they called them "our future workforce" and made them wear suits and smoke pipes and take elocution lessons when they were 13.

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19-year-old Scot Keiren Hunter, whose mother posted this photo of him passed out online to warn people off NekNominate (courtesy of Deadline News)

NekNomations, the cinnamon challenge, milking, turning up at parties in blackface. For many, these internet-led crazes are the definitive proof that young people in Britain have hit an all-time zenith of stupidity, an absolute cultural zero, the point where no form of intelligence can survive. To the broadsheet commentariat, the people involved - and, in particular, the people who've died - are tragic victims of an increasingly banal society, a depleted culture that treasures mindless peacocking over changing things for the better. To the tabloids, they're just fucking numpties who spend too much time on the internet.

It's easy to sympathise with both points. Watch the NekNomination videos of people drinking pints full of live goldfish, or dead mice, or stripping in supermarkets, or riding horses into supermarkets (these things always catch on in the countryside eventually), and you can't help but wonder if British youth haven't lost the plot a bit. Why now, in our hyper-developed, information-obsessed culture, are young people doing this?

Depending on your perspective, you could level the blame at anything from the international financial crisis to the legacy of Jackass. It might be the bleak employment prospects young people are facing, it might be Grand Theft Auto, it might be Uni Lad culture, it might be British society's lack of respect for alcohol, it might be parents, it might be the lack of religious education in schools. You can choose your own scapegoat; there are plenty to pick from. Wherever you find yourself on the political spectrum, chances are you'll find a facet of modern British life upon which to blame the popularity of NekNominate.

But while the left and right find a kind of middle ground in astonishment, not many people are trying to understand the appeal of NekNominate. I think that perhaps - in their own tasteless, Scream pub kind of way - these internet trends offer some kind of identity to people. I think that this is what we have instead of subcultures now.

A photo from Neville and Gavin Watson's book Raving '89

This country has been home to Teddy Boys, New Romantics, ravers and garage-heads. When I was 14, I had nu-metal; when I was 18, I had new rave. Both of these were things that could quite possibly get you knocked the fuck out. There are pictures of me back then and they're embarrassing now, but that sense of tribal involvement - all the love and fear and acceptance and alienation that wearing Criminal Damage jeans, or glowsticks, or black nail polish could offer you - was just part of growing up. It was something even our parents had gone through. It was ugly at times - and yeah, there was often a lot of drinking, puke and stupidity - but everyone came out stronger the other side. It was a cultural puberty - a coming-of-age lived out in Warped Tour compilations and purple shoes.

But in 2014, subcultures are on the wane. Britain's shopping centre water features are surrounded by kids not wearing Atticus but Abercrombie, and what kind of vital identity can you carve out for yourself in clothes that look like the sort of thing your nan would snuggle up on the sofa in on a Sunday night? It seems to me that young people in Britain have nothing to risk getting beaten up for. Youth culture rivalries give teenagers something to believe in, and subcultures provide a sense of belonging to something more exclusive than just late-Western capitalist society. They're basically al Qaeda for people who like to drink in parks.

But due to a variety of factors - ranging from the post-iPod acceptance of all music, to rising shop rents that equal a monopoly of big chains and their uniform stock - young people feel they have very little ownership over anything. In consensus, coalition, resolutely capitalist Britain, youth subcultures are processed in the same way as veal. They're snapped up by trend forecasters before they've had a chance to grow, locked in a dark room, sold to the high-street butcher and flogged back to the kids at inflated prices. We saw it with Libertines-era indie, dubstep and Odd Future. They should have had a chance to mature and actually make some kind of dent on mainstream culture, but they were all denied that by the collective lack of patience you'd expect of a society used to 4G.

Of course, you can't do that with these internet crazes, because there's no way to monetise drinking a pint full of grasshoppers or getting your mates to pepper spray you in the face. They remain one of the last things in our society that are essentially unmarketable. Very few brands are going to encourage you to drink engine oil any time soon - they don't want a shout out at your funeral, they want your money. NekNominate doesn't, and it remains nihilistically enticing for that.

The author going through a "Thamesbeat phase"

But what are the long-term ramifications of this? What happens to culture as a whole when youth subcultures treat music or fashion as merely a side dish to acting like a prick on the internet? When the dominant youth movement is essentially just a macho pissing contest, an extreme form of weaponised banter?

Subcultures always need to grow, and if NekNominate is a type of subculture, surely it's taken off in this country because it's an extension of the much-maligned Uni Lad thing of 2011 - the hardcore scene to truelad.com's Oi! phase. The semi-ironic, distant, anonymous approach of those sites has now been replaced by something way more flagrant and in your face. NekNominate is the Agnostic Front to their Sham 69, the Skrillex to their Kode9 - the old idea of "cheeky" laddishness has been replaced by a raw and physical kind of deliberate stupidity. It's people playing by the same rules, essentially, just far more seriously. NekNominations isn't uni boys pretending to be Frankie Boyle online, it's valley-boys acting out Danny Boyle nightmares IRL - it's far more real than a couple of Macro-based Maddie jokes.

What happens next? Will slut-dropping pass over from its urban legend status? Does the "condom challenge" become the chainsaw challenge? Will all music become merely a soundtrack to drinking your own blood? Who knows.

However, I still can't help but sympathise with those involved, albeit from my gainfully employed, culturally engaged, city dwelling, mid-twenties ivory tower. In some ways, I think it actually goes further than being just a subculture and becomes something of an unconscious ideological movement. In a world in which the baby boomers are living longer and longer, still refusing to relinquish power and generally fucking it up for the rest of us - in a world where health is such a valued commodity - the idea of young people risking their lives for little more than a few Facebook thumbs up and WorldStar comments is one that's as subversive as it is stupid.

Jack Buckby, the young Liberty GB politician, shaking hands with BNP leader Nick Griffin

As Cormac McCarthy said in No Country For Old Men, "the point is there is no point". Some men just want to watch their own hair burn. Because of that, it's more frightening to previous generations than any Jack Buckby or Jordan Horner.

I'm not saying this hench Welsh lad is an arch provocateur like Aleister Crowley or William Burroughs - if anything, he's a shit Henry Rollins - and I'm certainly not saying that flying a plane while pissed is constructive way of taking on the evils of the modern world. But you can't help but wonder if the NekNominees are the neglected children of a society that's so fucking immature that people in their fifties still write about pop music for a living. So maybe this is an unconscious attempt to reclaim the generation gap. I mean, your dad might be able to download the same Joy Orbison track on the same day as you, but he's unlikely to drink a gallon of vodka and urine, right? Well, I don't know your dad, but my dad wouldn't.

At the risk of stating the obvious, there are no jobs any more and no subcultures. Even the fucking Lib Dems are more than willing to screw the kids over these days. Why not just enrol on a Sports Science course in a cheap town, fail for as many years as you can to prolong your stay, take the loan and piss away your days snorting Creatine and drinking through your eyeball?

The broadsheet writers who frame copies of London Calling above their desks probably won't like it, but NekNominations, the cinnamon challenge, et al really are the closest thing we have to punk in 2014. Society has created a dirty pint of neglect, debt, unemployment and substance abuse, and now it has to down it. In one.

Follow Clive on Twitter: @thugclive

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NekNominations Are What This Generation Has Instead of Punk or Rave - VICE

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19-year-old Scot Keiren Hunter, whose mother posted this photo of him passed out online to warn people off NekNominate (courtesy of Deadline News) NekNomations, the cinnamon challenge, milking, turning up at parties in blackface.

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Youth culture is an ephemeral, nebulous, kind of unexplainable thing. Almost anything can become part of it as long as it's young, fun and the Evening Standard doesn't quite understand it.

For much of the 20th century, the generational divide made it easy to work out what counted as youth culture, with older people looking on dumbfounded at guitar solos and impractical clothing. But in an age of climbing life-expectancy rates, acid house grandparents and a general sense of staying young for longer in the face of not really knowing what else to do, real youth - that is, teenagers - are becoming increasingly overlooked by both the media and brands, often in favour of the affluent, metropolis-dwelling late 20-somethings clinging onto their younger years.

All millennials and Gen Xers seem to know about teenagers is that they are the vanity generation; one defined by selfies and six packs, sexting and segways, vloggers and Instagram superstars. They're shallow and compliant because they grew up watching The Kardashians and filling in UCAS applications while we had Top of the Pops and Proper Pills.

Someone like YouTube star Zoella is often cited by the "used to go to Shoom, now do the school run" crowd as an example of how far the standard has fallen. And sure, she is disturbingly popular. But so were Westlife when I was a teenager; so were Bros when they were teenagers. There's always going to be banal, basic shit that gets popular, but it rarely tells you anything about real youth culture. Look beyond Dan and Phil, Snapchat and Harry Potter fandoms and you'll find that today's teenagers have their own scenes, style, preferred sounds and micro-economies, in exactly the same way previous generations did.

There are few better examples than the (relatively) new breed of urban teenagers: the kids replacing alcohol with NOS, wearing shotter bags - those little, over-the-shoulder Nike knapsacks - and bucket hats, and largely swapping clubs for parties of their own creation, illegal raves or squat parties in reclaimed or abandoned spaces.

Take the visual identity: these teenagers worship at the dual altar of sportswear and streetwear, Sports Direct and Supreme, forging an alliance between skate culture and what would have once been called scally culture - a blend that was unimaginable when I was a teenager.

For anyone who ever lived through a bus stop kicking for wearing a World Industries hoody, or got egged for wearing Adidas poppers by a group of vengeful emos in a Peugeot 206, the idea of combining townie clothes with skater clothes seems quite bizarre. But in today's fractious, anything-goes youth culture, it's become the norm. It's as if the old tribes have finally seen the best of each other, spawning this new breed who aren't limited by the prejudices of older generations.

The lives of today's British teenagers seem to be under a sustained attack from the generations above them: not able to go out, not able to stay in, we accuse them of being obsessed with social media, but it's remarkable how much they've managed to create for themselves in the real world, considering how little society is willing to give them. These kids, who can't go to a pub, can't really work, can't even get the £30-a-week EMA that my generation were given, have created something of their own, and almost nobody is applauding them for that. Instead, so many people seem to be telling them that they did it better, before them.

Some will inevitably say that it's all incredibly shallow, that this is only really clothes and music and dancing and drugs, but that's all youth culture has ever been. Of course, it's the variations between these permanent facets that come to define different scenes, the tiny little changes in the cut of trousers or the speed of the beats or the mood that the drugs put you in. These differences tell a story of modern times, and totally reflect the politics around them.

Those old, terrible, Inbetweeners-style clichés about Strongbow and fingering are looking increasingly redundant, as this new culture of free parties, balloons, bucket hats and internet economies takes ahold, yet the same age-old tribal ideals of escapism and exploration that date right back to the dawn of the teenager are still at the heart of what they do.

Britain has a long, incredible lineage of youth culture, and today's teenagers are every bit as part of it as their forefathers. Most importantly, they're a long fucking way from Zoella.

More on VICE:

Why I Felt Loved at Whirl-y-Gig, London's Longest-Running Club Night

A Love Letter to Oceana: Britain's Best Worst Club

I Sleep Where You Danced: What Happens to Nightclubs After They Close Down?

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NOS Balloons, Shotter Bags and Squat Parties: Understanding the New Urban British Teenager - VICE

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Youth culture is an ephemeral, nebulous, kind of unexplainable thing. Almost anything can become part of it as long as it's young, fun and the Evening Standard doesn't quite understand it. For much of the 20th century, the generational divide made it easy to work out what counted as youth culture, with older people looking on dumbfounded at guitar solos and impractical clothing.

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The Sex Pistols (Photo: Getty Images)

I caught the tail end of punk, when the Pistols were already disbanded, and less revolutionary but still decent bands like the Stranglers, The Fall and Pete Shelley's Buzzcocks were spitting and being spat on, and shouting out against boredom and bad pop music. At the time, my small village in Lancashire was also home to slightly older greasers (or smellies), rather impoverished New Romantics, a few Northern Soulers, some Two-toners, a tiny band of latterday hippies in Afghan coats, some electronic music fans, and a couple of narcissistic Roxy Music idolaters.

* Being a skinhead was about sharing a sense of style

When I hit 16, I swapped my drainpipes and oversized Beetlecrushers for an Oxfam mac and eyeliner and went (sort of) goth for a while. Fashion - or at least clothes - underpinned music, and from that seedbed I grew into a fan of Bowie, Scott Walker, Brel, Velvet Underground, Patti Smith. My tastes widened, but never got too wide, and to this day I would never trust a man aged over, say, 45 who was not - at least briefly - a member of the punk contingent.

There were, of course, plenty of members in the largest group of all in my village: the nothings. These were people too interested in football playing (not watching, as they had their own groupings), sniffing glue or smoking weed, or getting an early start on girls and sex, to be bothered to root out vinyl, or go to Liverpool to see gigs, or dye their hair white.

When I walk through that village now, or the town where I live - Totnes - or, indeed, London or Manchester, I don't really see any tribes except, perhaps for raven-haired emos and leather jacketed rockists. What I do see is a single look. It goes by various names, but hipster is the most common. Its dress code is "funny" or "unique" T-shirts, trousers with tight calves, perhaps an ironic tweed jacket, perhaps branded archless pump and perhaps a WG Grace/Taliban beard.

What else?

Well, perhaps a hat - on these same hispters. Otherwise, there's pretty much nothing to brighten the streets, except - on a good day - (generally poor) copies of what has gone before.

* The hipster is dead, long live the hipster

The causes for this flattening of society are myriad. Social media encourages gang conformism with its "like" buttons and "retweets". Amazon and other retail websites have honed algorithms that coopt trends, so that when someone reveals they like, say, Sonic Youth, it is assumed they must like Firehose or Dinsoaur Jr - effectively short circuiting choice. There is also the phenomenon of "retromania" and the way digital media encourage consumers to access everything all at once. Fashion and music are no longer linked to a moment or an event.

Are hipsters a tribe? (Photo: Getty Images)

Primark eats up fashions and makes DIY akin to a middle-class affectation. Meanwhile, TV shows like Nathan Barley and magazines like Vice and Dazed & Confused gobble up scenes before they've evolved, presenting them fully packaged for the mass market. No cult is private. No sect is secret. Someone, somewhere, will attach a product to a movement, and claim ownership.

The midlifers who luxuriated in an era of dynamic and varied subcultures may also be part of the problem.

"There remain a small number of distinctive youth groups or subcultures," says sociologist Dr Paul Hodkinson of the University of Surrey. "There is an increasing tendency for at least some of these to become enduring affiliations for participants, rather than fleeting moments of rebellion or curiosity.

"Metal, goth and its offshoots, skate and hardcore punk, are notable examples. Research on older participants indicates that involvement can sometimes extend well into adulthood even though such groups remain 'youthful' in various other respects."

I've seen quite a few skateboarders in their late thirties, and rock gigs are packed with large-bellied chaps in greying gig T-shirts. It's pretty obvious that the 40-65 generation, which had its teens during those prime years of youth culture, is still claiming ownership of them. BBC 6 Music's devotion to the church of John Peel and indie-ism and its salt-and-pepper-haired presenters keeps alive a musical attitude that peaked in about 1980.

Last year's Northern Soul film by Elaine Constantine hit a popular note because it reminded lots of fiftysomethings how cool they were. Some people just can't give up being hip.

So does the youth of today have anything at all to counter this Peter Pan postmodernism? The internet coughs up a handful of crass pseudo-scenes, like so-called "haul " videomakers who upload footage of their clothing purchases, seapunks who have a vague nostalgia for 1990s internet culture and cosplayers - people who dress up to change image, gender or culture - who belong to a scene which has its roots in early 1990s Japan and is now global and mainstream.

But there is nothing new out there in the ether or on the city streets to rival the opening chords of an 'Anarchy in the UK', the two-stroke perfume whiff of a passing Vespa or the stylishness of an original Mod.

As with so many other lacks in contemporary culture, the demise of tribes united through music and/or fashion can be linked to the orchestrated dissolution of the working classes. A lot of modern subcultures are more like occupational guilds. IT workers all look the same. Graphic designers do, too. There has been an elision of work and leisure and, co-synchronously, notions of edgy smartness and rebellious scruffiness have been sucked into a bland vortex.

* Meet the men who are obsessed with denim

Even football tribes - once comparable to urban armies - have been eroded by millionaire players, big-brand sponsorship, all-seater stadia and overpriced tickets.

Society in general is, frankly, less diverse, less colourful, more focused on work than pleasure, and more superficially homogenous - which, I suspect, disguises deeper and more insidious divisions than any there were back in the 60s, 70s and 80s. The kids are not all right anymore. They're all the same.

Paul Hodkinson disagrees: "Perhaps it's more a question of whether diversity takes the form of committed attachment to identifiable spectacular collective groups or whether things are a little more complex and fluid than that.

"It's probably also important to remember that, even in what some regard as the heyday of subcultures, they still tended to be a minority pursuit - so, yes, things have changed but it is easy to look back with rose-tinted spectacles."

But it was the very smallness and exclusivity of the scenes that made them so fascinating to observe and so much fun to be in. I accept that my specs are pink on this one - but that was always a punk colour anyway.

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Why don't young people want to be part of a tribe any more?

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The Sex Pistols (Photo: Getty Images) I caught the tail end of punk, when the Pistols were already disbanded, and less revolutionary but still decent bands like the Stranglers, The Fall and Pete Shelley's Buzzcocks were spitting and being spat on, and shouting out against boredom and bad pop music.

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Instagram

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Northern Soul

Grime

Madchester

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Nobody - bar The worrying thing is that the Take the former Tory MP Jocelyn Cadbury, for example, who (Photo by Henry Langston) maybe Charles Bronson - likes being set upon by police. As FBI crackdown on juggalos isn't anything new; authorities have been targeting subcultures for decades, presumably under the premise that anyone intentionally dressing like an idiot and putting themselves through, say, an entire Bullet for My Valentine concert must be completely detached from all societal norms and values. That, of course, translates to an increased propensity for robbing chicken shops and throwing cats in rivers, leading to the eventual moral decline of an entire generation. blamed punk and rock music for a rise in crime in the early 1980s, arguing it created an "ethos of violence". Or the Tory government of the early-90s, which introduced new legislation to stop people from gathering in fields to spend the night listening to piano house and hugging each other. we recently discovered, people like it even less when their only crime is listening to a relatively unpopular form of hip hop and occasionally wearing clown make-up. To get a better idea of the history of police clamping down on British youth subcultures I spoke to Dr Chris A Williams, Professor of Urban History and a specialist in policing and crime, and Dr Andrew Wilson, Professor of Sociology and a specialist in drugs and subcultures. SCUTTLERS Emerging in Manchester's slums during the late 19th century, scuttlers were maybe the first British youth subculture - if beating the shit out one another with belts wrapped around your fists can constitute a "culture". Storming around in brass-tipped pointed clogs, bell-bottomed trousers and neckerchiefs, the scuttlers belonged to various local youth gangs and would challenge each other to fights - or "scuttling", as you'd call it if you were around in 1873 - in an attempt to prove their neighbourhood was the toughest in the city. For whatever reason, police didn't like this increase of children bludgeoning each other in the street, so cracked down hard on anyone with even a vague level of involvement. "The response was based on fear and a high level of violence that wouldn't be allowed today," explained Dr Williams. "Police didn't need to know much about them, or make sure they were scuttlers - they could look the same as any other working-class youth." Thanks to the police aggression, harsh sentencing and the rise of youth clubs and association football - which allowed them to refocus their energies on screaming at players and each other - scuttlers had all but disappeared by the turn of the century.

Police gradually began to clock on to the fact that all these basement rooms playing imported Motown records were also full of sweaty speed freaks, and in 1971 Manchester's Twisted Wheel club - the SKINHEADS Before the skinhead look had been co-opted by racists and Dutch fashion designers, authorities targeted the relatively peaceful, apolitical subculture under the banner of public safety - because shaving your head and holding your trousers up with braces is clearly a sign that you want to bottle strangers. However, as Dr Williams noted, much of that initial violence was manufactured by the police themselves. "You had a very working-class police force at the time," he explained, "and creating problems was one of the things they enjoyed." Dr Wilson added that skinheads were singled out from very early on, and were made to remove their shoelaces at football games so they couldn't run away or kick out at people. "One element of the skinhead fashion was a piece of material in your top pocket," he said. "At clubs and bars, if you had this they'd not let you in. At one point, a lot of them were wearing red ties, and this was a warning signal. This policing based on your clothing was relentless." The early northern soul scene basically subsisted on teenagers in tank tops and baggy trousers stealing speed from chemists. Dr Wilson - a soulie himself at the time - remembered that "burglaries took place mid-week" in preparation for the weekend, before dodgy backstreet pills took off as a slightly less brazen alternative from the mid-70s onwards. SOULIES epicentre of the scene - was closed down after pressure from cops and the council. "It was a constant cat and mouse chase," said Wilson. "Police would take you to one side and shine a torch in your eyes to look at your pupil dilation. If you failed you went to one side, and if you passed they kicked you out. It was a real ritual."

All this dressing up came to a head during Operation Julie in the mid-70s. Targeting two major LSD rings, bosses had dozens of cops trained in the ways of the hippie - paving the way for the future HIPPIES The hippie movement was the first non-working class subculture that police paid real attention to. Because even though establishing world peace and sharing herpes wasn't illegal, the mass production, supply and ingestion of LSD definitely was. This led to hippies being subjected to the first systematic policing of subcultures; instead of cops just wantonly bashing teenagers, they actually started putting some effort into their work. "A lot of drug squads decided to go undercover," said Dr Williams. "The officers grew their hair long and disguised themselves as hippies for months at a time in order to nick people." Mark Kennedys of British policing - and dispatched them to a farmhouse in Wales that overlooked a cottage belonging to one of the suspects. After 13 months of surveillance, 87 homes in England and Wales were raided, leading to the arrests of 120 suspects and the seizure of 1.1 million tabs of acid. PUNK Punks weren't directly targeted by police in the way other subcultures had been, though all their spitting and pre-watershed swearing was picked up on by the media and spun to create a widespread moral panic (despite the fact the culture was formulated by art school students who just wanted to sell more bondage wear and swastika T-shirts). That said, the police did keep an eye on them, thanks to - as Dr Williams put it - "the fact that punk and post-punk communities were strongly aligned with left politics; they were sympathetic towards the miners, for example". Predictably, punk shows were made difficult to host. In December of 1976, the Sex Pistols, The Clash and Johnny and the Heartbreakers united for the Anarchy Tour, a series of concerts throughout the UK. Many of these gigs were cancelled by venue owners after local police hyped up minor incidents involving punks and the national media jumped in, claiming the bands and their fans weren't really the kind of people you'd want getting drunk in a building you own.

Neither the police or the government of the late-80s The ambush was mayhem, and journalists at the time reported vicious scenes of police brutality; ITN reporter (Photo by Gavin Watson) RAVERS really knew how to deal with ravers at first - something Dr Williams told me was due to their elusiveness compared to other more recognisable subcultures. "People going to these acid house raves didn't necessarily look like they were going to one," he said. "You didn't have to dress ridiculously to be a part of the subculture." Of course, the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act was eventually passed in 1994, which tightened up the laws around throwing illegal parties in fields. Raves were then moved indoors, meaning the government could tax the hell out of everything and police could raid clubs for drug dealers and users. THE PEACE CONVOY It's hard to think of anything more menacing than a bunch of mild-mannered hippies sloping around the country, smoking weed, stewing lentils and washing in rivers. Which is probably why Tory MPs at the time compared these New Age travellers to "medieval brigands" - gang members who ambushed and robbed people in forests - and police raided the 1985 Stonehenge Free Festival, in an attack that would later be dubbed the "Battle of the Beanfield". According to Dr Williams, "That was the first time in British history where you had a subculture that wasn't necessarily being overtly political, but every element of it was being treated as criminal." Kim Sabido said what she'd seen had been "some of the most brutal police treatment [she'd] witnessed in [her] entire career". Vehicles were contained, windows were smashed and people were beaten with truncheons, which cops naturally claimed was a response to the hippies pelting them with wood, stones and even petrol bombs. Claims that, weirdly, were dropped and never mentioned again in the following court cases.

All of this control revolves around Form 696, a risk assessment sheet that judges the supposed danger of violent crime at an event (Noisey released But what's all the surveillance even for? Occupy - if you can class that as a subculture - fizzled out as quick as it started. The last real musical subculture we had in the UK was emo - or maybe new rave, if you grew up somewhere with a metro system - and the only impact that had was a couple of misguided Tempa T with a baseball bat (Photo by James Pearson-Howes) GRIME AND GARAGE According to Dr Williams, grime and garage are the first two subcultures that the police have found unsettling in a long time. While cops can't force a venue to shut down a grime show, "they can threaten to revoke licenses", said Williams. "They can also make it very difficult for a venue to hold an artist they see as problematic." A recent example was Just Jam at London's Barbican, set to feature artists like JME and Big Narstie. The night was cancelled the day before on the grounds of "public safety", AKA venue owners bowing to police pressure. a great documentary about it earlier this year). There used to be a section asking whether there would be any ethnic minorities in attendance, but despite that blatant red flag of racism now being removed, the question is still implied. It's a worryingly effective way of policing an entire musical subculture. THE FUTURE "Police have become a lot more powerful with regards to public order in the last 20 years," said Dr Williams. "They're on top of nearly every gathering that happens." And he's right - it's a lot harder to keep things quiet than it was when outdoor raves meant driving to a spot and hoping there'd be a rig there. Nowadays, police generally have a good idea when the next warehouse party or unscheduled gathering at an English Heritage site might be happening. Daily Mail headlines and a proliferation of young adults with dangly earlobes. "The music industry is blocking genuine crazes," Williams suggested to me. "I can't see anyone on a major label releasing a single about all the scary crime going on at the moment." More stuff about this kind of stuff:

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How the Police Have Obliterated British Youth Cultures

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Skinheads, hippies, ravers, punks - all have fought their battles with the law.

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The Punk

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