When Pop Culture Meets Pop Decay: Is It Time for "Cultural Snobbery" to Return?

28 September 2025

House of the Dragon. Photograph: HBO

In a provocative essay for The Guardian on September 28, critic Rachel Aroesti suggests that in an era dominated by algorithm-fuelled entertainment and AI-generated “slop,” the idea of cultural snobbery may deserve a comeback. Her argument starts from a pointed observation: when anyone dares to question the quality of a TV show or song, they’re labeled “elitist” or worse, shamed for standing above the crowd. Yet Aroesti warns that without some kind of standard or discernment, art risks devolving into momentary clickbait devoid of depth.

The piece opens with a scene from the Netflix series Too Much, where a character named Jess revels in pop culture favorites reality shows, Miley Cyrus songs, Vanderpump Rules only to be chastised by her ex for falling for “manufactured bullshit.” That interaction is framed as a kind of microcosm of today’s cultural moment: people are told not to judge what others value, even if those values feel shallow or formulaic. Critics of snobbery have long cast it as elitist shame, but Aroesti suggests the real problem is not judgment per se but complacency.

Modern culture, she argues, has flattened hierarchy. Pop films get "prestige" labels, reality shows are treated as literary texts, YouTube stars get podcasters’ billing. The curtain between “serious” art and disposables has softened. In that environment, calling something dull or lazy feels taboo or worse, morally suspect. But Aroesti asks: if everything is elevated, does the concept of quality survive?

She revisits the old debates of “rockism” from the 2000s, where critics favored punk over disco, authenticity over production, and derided pop as inferior. That mindset was rightly challenged as narrow and exclusionary, giving rise to “poptimism,” which made space for pop and mass culture on its own terms. But Aroesti contends that poptimism carried with it its own blindness: when embracing everything, we risk celebrating nothing.

Aroesti introduces the term “slop” to describe content generation focused on scale, not soul AI-made or formulaic art designed to maximize views and shares. She sees “slop” as the cultural equivalent of fast food: cheap, ubiquitous, and low in nourishment. If that becomes the norm, human effort, nuance, risk and surprise lose ground. She argues that cultural snobbery, long cast as toxic, might actually be a defense mechanism against cultural dilution.

The essay also touches on the economics behind entertainment today. Streaming platforms chase retention and clicks, studios favor franchises over originality, and algorithms reward repetition. In that system, creativity is penalized. Shows like House of the Dragon or corporate IP expansions are safer bets than unknown artists or narratives. Aroesti fears this makes “middle TV” polished, safe, and bland the default, pushing out art that demands effort or provokes discomfort.

Her appeal is not for an old school elitism but for gentle discrimination. She suggests consumers reclaim the language of quality not to shame people’s favorites but to reassert that effort, risk, genius and curiosity still matter. In doing so culture might resist homogenization. She invites readers to rethink what’s worth praise or critique.

For U.S. audiences, the essay resonates amid debates over streaming pipelining, reboots, AI music, and the endless churn of reality and franchise content. Perhaps cultural snobbery doesn’t have to be an insult. Maybe it can be a tool a lens that helps us distinguish between what endures and what evaporates.