What the Hell is Light Academia?
Me? Writing a minimally researched and possibly rambling hot take? It’s more likely than you think.
Let me start this off by saying that I know that certain trends, especially those revolving around pure aesthetics, are all in good fun. I know that, I really do. I don’t intend on this coming off as all “old man yelling at cloud.” But something I’ve noticed lately, is a somewhat distressing obsession on the internet with the genre of dark academia, and subsequently “light academia.” But what the hell does any of that mean? To understand what “light academia” is, you first need to understand what dark academia is.
If you were to go based on aesthetics alone, dark academia is misty mornings, rainy fall afternoons, and late nights at the library. It’s classic books and cold fingers and lamp-light study sessions. Light academia, therefore, is similar, but well, lighter. It’s picnics and charcuterie boards and chunky sweaters. It’s tiny flowers and fresh parchment and soft grass. Personally, I enjoy this aesthetic. I enjoy both aesthetics. They’re cute, they’re comfortable, they’re cinematic. But I think to boil dark academia, the mother of light academia, down to its aesthetic, and then to create spin-offs of it, is to miss the entire point of the genre.
Dark academia is said to be borne out of the novel The Secret History, by Donna Tartt, published in 1992. I read this book in early September, and I loved it. It’s twisting and convoluted and gorgeously written. It’s absolutely encapsulating. I finished it in a week. But it’s also satirical. It’s satirical in a way that if you read it maybe a little too loosely, or didn’t think about it too much, you might miss it. But it is unmistakably satirical. Every character is dark and flawed in their own way. Each one of them is something that seems just a little off. Every situation described, for that matter, is just a little off. Nothing is so far-fetched as to seem completely impossible, but things spiral out of control and in such a way, getting so complicated yet not, that of course it isn’t meant to be read at face value. I mean, what is? The Secret History has all of the aesthetic qualities I mentioned. It has that East Coast, old money, ink-stained gleam. The characters are obsessive, intelligent, and almost magical. They’re human, but somehow not. They’re marble statues, breathing impossibly. But despite their apparent beauty, despite the book’s apparent beauty, nothing should be romanticized (even Tartt herself writes, “beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is quite alarming”). Because for all that these characters are romantic, they’re equally ugly, rotting from the inside out. And I think if you read The Secret History and one of the main things you come away with is that you want to live in this book, you and I read two very different works.
Part of what I got out of The Secret History is that the obsession that the characters experience is corrupting. I don’t necessarily mean that studying or caring deeply about a subject or idea in an academic sense is corruptive. I absolutely don’t mean that. But I do mean that the way that these characters just are, coupled with their academic forays, is not something to idolize. Take Bunny, for example, the arguable antagonist of the book. He’s obnoxious and leeching and bigoted and too proud for his own good. He looks down on others, somehow, despite sitting in the trenches next to them. He might have nice clothes and a loud personality, but he’s not a good person. None of them are. Even Richard, the protagonist. Coming from an average family and often feeling like a fish out of water, Richard is undoubtedly the easiest of any of the characters for the average reader to relate to, never mind the fact that we’re inside his head for the whole book. But even Richard has his flaws. From the way he talks about his peers (outside of Julian’s group) and his parents, it’s clear that Richard feels misunderstood, but he also in a way feels superior. Perhaps not in the same way or from the same perspective as the rest of his Greek-studying peers, but he does feel better-than. Part of that comes with the natural exclusivity of being accepted into Julian’s class, but I think the arrogance that lives inside Richard and grows throughout the novel is at the core of the story itself. Which brings me to Henry. I think Henry is the epitome of what dark academia is. He’s incredibly smart, has a commanding presence, and is utterly consumed by his academic quests. He’s obsessed: with his studies, with the bacchanal, with chasing the high of the bacchanal. And he is so, so arrogant. I won’t go as far as to say that he’s so self absorbed that he lacks empathy because I think that would be incorrect, but his quest for whatever ancient and academic idea that lives in his mind at any given moment is all-consuming, even reaching those around him. Henry, out of the rest, has the most hubris. At least Richard is friendly with Judy, and Bunny is well-liked by his peers, but Henry is separate, and self-important. He fits the mold for that dark academia fever dream, with his ancient obsessions and wire-rimmed glasses, but he isn’t someone to aspire to be, in any aspect.
When I say that the experiences and outlooks of the characters in The Secret History are corruptive, I mean specifically in their interactions with the world beyond each other, perhaps even with each other. By existing almost solely in such an insulated group, these characters have superiority complexes, and not just because they’re in an exclusive and difficult class in a foreign language. They look down on their peers. And even within their group, they tear each other apart. Forget killing Bunny, they push and pull at each other’s edges, from saying abrasive things to fueling the abuse between Francis and Camilla. They stick up for each other out of self preservation rather than genuine care. Part of this corruption is linked to their studies, I won’t deny that. But I don’t think learning Greek and loving the classics and even being in a class of five people is a recipe for the events that transpire in this book. But when you factor in the natural demeanors of the characters, and most consequently, their money, privilege, and power, things start to fall into place.
But Divya, you say. But Divya, why does this matter? What if I just like stepping on crunchy leaves and drinking london fogs? Well, okay, I guess. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the aesthetics of dark academia, and nothing inherently wrong with liking those aesthetics. But those aesthetics do stem out of dark academia as a literary genre, and that genre does stem out of The Secret History, so I think it’s very important to acknowledge that. Not just to understand, but to set boundaries. Because when you don’t set boundaries, when you don’t know the origin of the thing that you praise, you end up with people saying things like “dark academia is too whitewashed.”
I am the first person to want more representation in fiction. I think it’s utterly necessary and long overdue. I find content without it, even casually, exhausting, even if the story itself is good (yes I am looking at you, Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach). But dark academia simply cannot exist in the same way. You cannot ask to have more representation of people of color, or people of varying socio-economic status. Having LGBT characters is a little different (partly because of the almost inherent homoeroticism ingrained in the classics), but still almost the same. You can’t go into a dark academia story looking for a wholesome same-sex relationship or a brown-skinned girl who looks like you or a kid from nothing who turns himself into something and makes it out unscathed. All of those things go against the grain of what makes dark academia possible in literature, because dark academia in literature is not just steaming mugs and fresh snow and long coats. It is also obsession and corruption and a certain brand of foulness that can only really be borne out of money and privilege, two things which historically have been held by white men. You can’t take the pretentious white man out of dark academia because then it wouldn’t be dark academia, and I think even the suggestion that something like that is possible is a blatant ignorance of the messages at the core of the genre.
Now I will say, the aesthetic is whitewashed. That’s a completely fair argument to make, because at this point the aesthetic has almost a life of its own. But the text itself cannot be un-whitewashed. The text itself is a critical examination of classism, sexism, racism, and homophobia, and seeks to criticize that bigotry by displaying it in full force from the people who establish it — people who have privilege because of their skin tone and gender and bank account. Which is also why it’s counterproductive to wish the genre had better representation. I understand, for example, wishing Camilla was a better character, saying she should’ve had more depth, arguing that the book’s passing of the Bechdel test on a technicality isn’t enough. I understand that, of course I do. I could probably name the books I read as a kid who had strong female characters in them on one hand. But I don’t think it’s productive to say that Camilla should’ve been more than someone who’s characterized by her “niceness” towards Richard, because again, that’s the point. The story is from Richard’s perspective. He’s prejudiced, self-important. To him, she’s valuable because she’s nice and pretty, the fact that she’s just as smart as him is an afterthought. Tartt doesn’t write that into her novel to praise it, rather to criticize it, same way the genre itself chooses to criticize the harshness of the world by depicting it wholeheartedly yet still satirically.
But Divya, you say. But Divya, what’s wrong with the aesthetic, just by itself? Isn’t it that just people having fun online? Well, yes, in theory. But in practice, a large group of the participators of this aesthetic have bottled the actual moral musings down to the physical aspects of the genre. Honestly, this meme explains it more concisely than I ever could:
But either way, the fundamental misunderstandings of the genre lead to people saying “not just rich people can be dark academics.” Which, honestly doesn’t make a whole lot of sense because (and maybe I’m just splitting hairs here) there’s really no such thing as a “dark academic.” You can be an academic. You can study Greek and Latin and ancient philosophers and all the same things that the characters in a dark academia study. If you want to do that, you absolutely should do that and you’re absolutely right in thinking that doing that isn’t just for rich people. But, only rich people can exist as the focal points of a dark academia story because the dark part isn’t about the textbooks or the essays, it’s about the power and the attitudes, and that’s not something you can have without being rich and out-of-touch, and frankly that’s not something you should want to be.
And honestly, my core problem with the aesthetic is its romanticization of a genre of literature that almost begs to not be romanticized. With the aesthetic, you have people creating lists like “dark academia things to do today,” which again, make no sense because doing a “dark academia thing” isn’t taking out a fancy crock pot or going to a museum alone, it’s murdering someone in a maniacal frenzy and then getting away with it because you’re a psychopathic man with seemingly endless power and money. And you don’t want to be that, or do that.
I think dealing with the dissonance between the genre and the aesthetic is perhaps difficult to avoid, given the nature of internet culture and how it has evolved over time. I mentioned it in my post about Hamilton, but the internet often has trouble dealing with things that aren’t fully fiction. And that’s not to say that The Secret History is non-fiction, rather, it’s not escapist fiction. And whether or not intentionally intended that way or not, most fiction that exists nowadays is in a way escapist. But not all fiction can be escapist, and on the internet escapist fiction is so common that all fiction is misconstrued as being that. Dark academia isn’t escapist and it can’t be, the same way that you wouldn’t read Brave New World or Fahrenheit 451 as escapism. Sure, it’s all good writing and engaging and the world building is phenomenal, but the works exist to serve as a reflection of the times in a heightened and satirical way, in order to highlight specific misgivings in society that the authors have issues with.
All this to say that light academia, then, should not really exist. To create a whole sub-aesthetic around another aesthetic that already ignores its core text is, well, strange. Again, there’s nothing wrong with the aesthetic itself. If you want to make a picnic basket and wear an itchy off-white sweater and hike into the hills with your friends, you’re more than welcome to do that. But there simply is no such thing as light academia. There is no “dark academia without the badness,” because that badness is sown into dark academia, irremovably so. Call the aesthetics autumnal, New England-esque, or whatever else, because frankly that would be more accurate than to simply remove the material aspects of an entire literary genre and take it as your own. You don’t want to be Henry Winter or Julian Morrow. You don’t want to live in The Secret History. You don’t want your life to be a dark academia novel, because that doesn’t just mean small liberal arts colleges and dog-eared books, it means untamable hubris and continuing and heightening amorality. The Secret History is satire, but I’d like to think it’s also a warning, and one that should be heeded. ⬥
Subscribe for blog updates: