What the hell are Internet subliminals?
This pseudoscientific trend is taking Gen-Z by storm.
Hello all you wandering Internet cowboys, cowgirls, and cowthems. Late-stage capitalism has arrived on the World Wide Web, and everyone is online hawking their own brand of tonic, tincture, and tall tale.
This is the first ever post for Snake Oil, a newsletter that will cover Internet grifts, cons, propaganda, and disinformation. I will sift through online hokum and hooey, digging into the stories behind the Internet’s revolving door of circus salespeople.
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Welcome to the rodeo.
Today’s post is about Internet subliminals. A trend that intersects with the “grindset,” K-Pop, pro-Ana, and other micro-Internet communities, there is Much to unpack here. I plan to make Internet subliminals an ongoing series. Today’s article lays the groundwork.
Internet subliminals promise the improbable and the impossible.
A type of social media video content, subliminals claim that through faithful viewing you can do any number of things: change your eye color, make $10,000 dollars in three days, or shift realities. Darker videos romanticizing mental illness suggest you can develop an eating disorder or depression after viewing. “Rise and grind” videos avow that by watching you can become a millionaire. Fandom videos promise a gander will make you look more like your favorite K-pop idol.
Called “subs” by the community, videos range anywhere from minutes to hours long, and usually contain one image or looped animation, and music. A scroll through comments sections indicates a largely Gen-Z audience.
To understand the origin of “subs,” one has to understand two strands of pseudoscience: subliminal persuasion, and the “Law of Attraction” (LOA).
Subliminal persuasion describes the act of influencing people below the level of their conscious awareness. First introduced in the 1950s, subliminal messaging was a purported tactic that could be deployed in advertising to increase sales. In his 1952 book, The Hidden Persuaders, Vance Packard claimed that subliminal messaging in a New Jersey movie theater had increased Coca-Cola and popcorn sales. This anecdote was later found to be fabricated.
But the idea had caught on. Subliminal persuasion peaked in popularity during the 1970s and 80s, leading to a cottage industry of self-help subliminals sold on audio cassette tapes. The industry thrived, despite a lack of compelling scientific evidence that subliminal messaging actually works.
The story behind LOA can be traced through a long line of whimsical, pseudoscientific quacks – beginning with an 18th century Austrian physician by the name of Franz Anton Mesmer. Mesmer, from whom we get the verb to mesmerize, claimed he had discovered an invisible “magnetic” substance that connected all living and nonliving things. He claimed he could manipulate this substance with his hands to cure ailments, a skill which, following his move to France in 1778, Mesmer graciously applied to aide fainting and convulsing ladies in drawing rooms of the Parisian beau monde. He called this force “animal magnetism.”
Mesmer’s belief in a universal, invisible substance persisted, finding its way into New Thought spiritualist and self-help movements in America. Phineas Quimby, a mesmerist, clockmaker, and founder of the 19th century New Thought movement, believed that illness began in the mind, and therefore could be healed if one could “establish the Truth” in their thought (he alleged this method cured his tuberculosis). Wallace Wattles, author of 1910 book The Science of Getting Rich, claimed an “Original Substance” could be manipulated to manifest one’s own desires, simply through the power of the mind. Norman Vincent Peale’s mid-century book, The Power of Positive Thinking, advocated for a sunny mind to precipitate physical and emotional healing.
Then came Rhonda Byrne, penner of the 2006 book The Secret. Byrne’s self-help book, which has sold over 19 million copies, is predicated on a culminating piece of hooey—the Law of Attraction. LOA, which Byrne asserts is “ancient wisdom,” is the idea that what you think about consistently becomes manifest in your life. This brand of quantum mysticism views thought as a universal force of “pure energy” that shapes reality. Somehow (it is never explained by Byrne) the “vibrations” or “frequency” of your thoughts tune with the universe and attract what you desire.
This is the genealogy of Gen-Z “subs.” One foot in New Thought spiritualism, the other in LOA fanaticism, the world of “subs” fuses together the best of pseudoscientific self-help baloney and wraps it in SEO-optimized packaging.
Daniel Simons, professor of Psychology at the University of Illinois, says there is nothing newfangled about this phenomenon. “If I were trying to parody subliminal persuasion and the law of attraction, you couldn’t get much better than that—take something silly and make it sillier by making the implausible mechanism even less potent.” And yet, subliminals are still pervasive on YouTube and other platforms.
Eggtopia is a popular Gen-Z subliminals creator on YouTube. At the time this is being written, she has 301K subscribers and over 85.6 million video views on her channel, according to data aggregated by Social Blade. Using an estimated cost per mille (CPM), a term referring to the cost per 1,000 advertising impressions on a webpage, ranging from 25 cents to $4 USD, her monthly earnings fall anywhere from $1,200 to $18,700 USD.
Subliminals are a clever con. They capitalize on teenage anxiety about appearance and status, providing a fast solution to a constellation of interlinked desires. Content creators can rack up AdSense revenue on YouTube merely from piecing together one image and one clip of unassuming background music. Half of the work is in fine-tuning the SEO of the video title and description, appealing to a specific enough Internet audience. This is self-help turned compulsively clickable Internet content.
For Gen-Z, a generation immersed in a hyper-visual, image-conscious culture, subliminals promise that anyone can achieve a level of cosmetic perfection, even without expensive surgeries or injections. Subliminals prey on teenage romanticization of eating disorders and extreme thinness. They whisper in the ear of wannabe millionaires that even in a system where you are more likely to be homeless than rich, watching a YouTube video can help you rise above the rest. They open a door to escape to other realities for those who need reprieve.
According to Simons, the appeal of “subs” also draws upon a cognitive bias in humans—the illusion of potential, or the idea that we each have vast wells of untapped brain power. “People wouldn't bother with this sort of thing unless they thought that they could gain huge benefits with little effort. It also taps into the idea/fear/belief that we are influenced by things outside of our control or awareness.”
Subliminals might be a new shrine of supplication for 21st century teens—or just a source of light entertainment. What is clear with “subs,” and the fads that preceded them, is that there is no end to invention when it comes to grifting.
Cant wait to keep reading!
Really nicely done! I'd never heard of this side of YouTube before. Love your sourcing, and how you contextualize "subliminals" with the history of mesmerism.