Richard Ocejo critically reflects on the rise of the creative class within today’s “new economy,” comprised of “knowledge-, creativity-, and technology-based jobs for well-educated and culturally savvy workers, [who] wanted to bartend, in spite of their other job options, and, in some cases, the expectations their families had for them” (xvii). Specifically, Ocejo looks at bartenders, butchers, barbers and distillers in New York City in an attempt to understand a new cultural phenomenon: upwardly-mobile, educated twenty-somethings who opt for traditionally working class jobs. This new workforce, as we discussed in class, is often over-educated for the jobs they choose. Does this mean that with our Bowdoin education, we shouldn’t have jobs that we’re overqualified for? Are we “taking” those jobs away from someone else? And the large-picture question is: does this mean we’re appropriating working class jobs, and is that a problem?

In class, we discussed friends who graduate who find various service jobs, while they live as artists on the side. We then asked—is this bad? Should we just become lawyers instead? There’s a difference between not maximizing your “potential” by selecting a job that you’re overqualified for, and what Ocejo deems “upscaling” a job, which is “ascribing an exclusive status on them based on a new cultural understanding of how professionals in these fields should work (xviii). Essentially, this notion is similar to gentrification of the workplace. When young, educated, workers with cultural capital, as Ocejo describes them, attain jobs that are traditionally skill-specialized, service jobs, they change the cultural understanding of these jobs. This phenomenon also occurs within gentrifying neighborhoods.

This narrative feels very familiar to me, especially with respect to my peers at Bowdoin in search for jobs that defy the expected trajectory of high-paying desk jobs in consulting or technology. The reason that I’m particularly engaged with Ocejo’s analysis of the creative class is because it feels deeply personal. His critical questioning of our generation has really forced me to confront my values, why they exist, and why I’m so drawn to become an artist, or a barista, or a waitress in my short-term future (to name a few jobs that I’ve floated as temporary career paths). Is it a resistance identity, in some way, to choose a more skill-specific, light manufacturing job over the jobs that Career Planning encourages us to pursue? Partially, I think yes. This notion of choosing “light manufacturing” jobs illustrates the shifting value of “cultural omnivores,” in opposition to more overtly classed cultural tastes of previous generations.

Further, is the notion of a cultural omnivore problematic? On one hand, the cultural omnivore embraces cultural tastes of all kind, embracing qualities of both low and high culture. However, cultural omnivores also exist within a certain realm of privilege – they have the cultural capital that allows them to be able to embrace “low” culture, instead of relying on high culture as a class signifier. When applied within the context of upscaling jobs, cultural omnivores have the privilege to be able to opt for “light manufacturing” jobs, as opposed to jobs that may be more financially viable. They have security of their cultural capital and education to choose jobs that align more with their passions, like bartending or distilling, and even change the cultural value of that type of hands-on work.

In Race, Class, and Politics in the Cappuccino City, Hyra analyzes the effects of a gentrifying Shaw/U Street on race and class relations within the community (both longtime residents, and newcomers). Specifically, he details the phenomenon of “living the wire”, in which people choose to “reside in an ‘authentic’ urban community whose energy and edge are based on preexisting stereotypes of the iconic Black ghetto, where Blackness, poverty and crime are associated with one another” (19).

In Hyra’s analysis of Shaw/U Street, the notion of forming “authenticity” struck me as an important lens to understand gentrification in the postmodern city. Hyra’s observations are most interesting because he describes two distinct forms of “cultural tourism”: living the wire and Black branding. While distinct, both rely on perpetuating a reduced stereotype of the iconic ghetto, which makes me skeptical of defining either phenomenon as “authentic.” As Hyra explains, living the wire is dependent on perpetuating stereotypes of Blacnkess, poverty, and crime. The strongest example that we discussed is the café, with a preserved bullet hole-ridden wall, that sells rosé 40s in brown paper bags in Crown Heights. This production of stereotypical Black culture appropriates Black culture by coopting the role of 40s and Brown Paper Bag policies from their original contexts, and using the objects’ associated “grittiness” as a token for coolness that white people can benefit from. It also negatively associates poverty, alcohol, policing and violence with Blackness.

In contrast to this overtly negative perpetuation of Black stereotypes is Black branding, which is a seemingly more positive form of cultural tourism. Black branding is distinct in that it highlights, and even lauds, a Black history, specifically Shaw/U Street’s history as the “Black Broadway.” It promotes a positive narrative of Black culture. Hyra cites buildings named after Langston Hughes and Duke Ellington as memorialized preservation efforts. Though this narrative is obviously more positive than preserving stereotypes of violence, drugs and poverty with Blackness, both demonstrate phenomenon in which white individuals determine which characteristics of Black culture should exist. One of my expert questions reflecting on this asked: Is Black branding a successful reappropriation of Black culture, or is it still a White narrative? I think it’s a little bit of both. It depends on who is creating the narrative. Hyra suggested that planning council that determined Shaw/U Street’s new brand consisted of both black and white residents. However, he points to the problems that follow cultural tourism: an increase of in white population, lack of community between newcomers and long-term residents, and decreased political voice and power of long-term Black residents, which is really the biggest problem with rebranding a neighborhood. The audience it attracts is no longer its long-term residents.

After discussing these questions in class and reading Ocejo’s Masters of Craft, I reflected on the relationship between U Street’s development as successful reappropriation of Black culture or perpetuating a white narrative. This can be looked at in tandem with our discussion of the postmodern city as a place of tolerance, and further, as a place for cultural omnivores. These qualities illustrate a changing paradigm of urban values: tolerance and diversity are emphasized, or at least seeming diverse is a priority, as opposed to more overt, historical urban racism. To what extent does cultural preservation use Black culture as a token for white development? Is this priority of diversity an authentic step of progress, or does this quality of a postmodern city still cater toward a white narrative?