There is no doubt something reactionary about my choice of RJ for today's shoot. I like his style. It's familiar, "comfortable," as he described it to me, like an old pair of Doc Martens. But it's also about as far as possible from the man in the tailored suit look I've been shooting so much lately. I needed a bit of contrast.
Taking this shot, I experienced a wave of nostalgia. Or is it recognition? I know this stance. I've used it before myself. It's the stance of subcultural affiliation, the legs firmly planted and defiant, the thumbs hooked in the pockets, the shoulders slightly hunched. I would recognize him as a subculturalist no matter what he wore. It's in his bodily hexis, as sociologist Pierre Bourdieu would have put it. But the question is, which subculture does he belong to? Is he punk? Metal? Grindcore? Industrial? Neo-electro dubstepper? Subculture these days is like a vague, indefinable allegiance. You know it when you see it. It is a visible stance, a posture, a series of gestures. And yet it hovers in a new terrain, this kind of in between space that resists clear identification.