ANTHMETHGRP2-2425-YUE-MIAO

[Last modified: December, 6 2024 11:36 AM]

Informed Consent

The cornerstone of ethical ethnography is obtaining informed consent. Since the festival involves public activities, there may be ambiguity about whether consent is necessary. I would advise the student to:

-Identify the participants they intend to observe, especially if they will focus on specific individuals or groups.

-Explain their research goals, methods, and how the findings will be used.

-Obtain explicit verbal or written consent from any individuals they interview or closely observe, ensuring they understand the voluntary nature of participation.

-For attendees in public areas who are not directly involved in the research, a sign or flyer informing them of the research can serve as an appropriate means of seeking passive consent.

Protecting Anonymity and Privacy

-Avoid capturing identifiable details, such as names or faces, unless consent has been explicitly granted.

-Use pseudonyms for all participants and describe them in ways that maintain their anonymity.

-Be cautious with multimedia (photos, videos, sound recordings) and ensure that any such material is either anonymised or shared only with consent.

Reciprocity and Respect

-Considering ways to reciprocate, such as sharing findings with the community in an accessible format or volunteering during the festival.

-Avoiding judgemental or harmful representations of the community, adhering to principles of cultural sensitivity and respect.

Transparency in Dissemination

Finally, I would stress the importance of transparent reporting. The student should:

-Indicate in their written work the methods used to protect participants’ identities and how ethical dilemmas were navigated.

-Be cautious in how they share findings, especially in public forums or publications, to avoid unintended consequences for the community.

[Last modified: December, 6 2024 11:31 AM]

For our collaborative observation, my group selected a local coffee shop, a space buzzing with multimodal interactions. Beyond verbal exchanges, the coffee shop revealed a complex network of non-verbal and non-textual communication, shaping the ambience and the experiences of those within it.

The first striking observation was the visual language of the space. The carefully curated decor—a mix of earthy tones, handwritten chalkboard menus, and warm lighting—conveyed an inviting and cosy atmosphere. This aesthetic was not merely decorative but served as a subtle non-verbal communication, signalling the shop’s identity as a laid-back, community-focused gathering spot. Customers’ choices of seating—window-side for quiet reflection or communal tables for socializing—reflected how spatial arrangements shaped interactions. The placement of objects like plants, mugs, and books reinforced the sense of intimacy and personal connection.

Auditory elements played an equally significant role. The background music, a soft blend of acoustic and jazz, set a tone that encouraged relaxation and conversation. Meanwhile, the rhythmic sounds of the coffee machine—hissing steam, the clinking of cups, and the grinding of beans—created a dynamic soundscape. These non-verbal auditory cues communicated the bustling yet controlled activity of the baristas, adding to the authenticity of the experience.

Embodied practices, particularly gestures, emerged as another rich site of multimodal communication. Baristas used deliberate movements—pouring latte art, exchanging smiles with customers, and gesturing toward the menu—to communicate attentiveness and care. Customers reciprocated with nods, hand signals, or even subtle body language like leaning in to signal engagement in conversations. These exchanges illustrated how much can be “said” without words.

Analysing these non-verbal and non-textual elements illuminated how the coffee shop functioned not just as a space for transactions but as a microcosm of social life. The interplay of visual, auditory, and embodied modalities contributed to creating a shared, meaningful environment for everyone present. This observation underscored how multimodal anthropology allows us to capture dimensions of human experience that words alone cannot convey.

Ultimately, this exercise deepened my appreciation for the richness of everyday spaces, reminding me that communication extends far beyond spoken or written language. It reaffirmed the value of a multimodal lens in revealing the nuanced ways people inhabit and co-create their worlds.

[Last modified: December, 3 2024 05:50 PM]

The body in a quotidian context reveals intricate interplays between habit, space, and perception. Consider the act of riding the escalator in an underground station—a routine activity so embedded in daily life that it often fades into invisibility. Yet, within this seemingly mundane motion lies a complex bodily awareness and social negotiation choreography.

Stepping onto the escalator, the body calibrates itself instinctively to the rhythm of movement. Feet find their place on the step, and the body leans slightly forward, balancing against the escalator’s incline. This alignment is so habitual that it often requires no conscious thought. However, when the flow is disrupted—by an unexpected stop, an unusually steep angle, or a crowded platform—the body becomes acutely aware of its position and surroundings. It must adapt, recalibrate, and regain equilibrium, revealing the nuanced negotiation between the body and its environment.

Social conventions further shape this experience. The body learns to navigate the implicit rules of shared space: standing on the right to allow others to pass on the left, and maintaining personal space while sharing the confined platform. These unwritten norms demand bodily discipline, synchronisation with the collective rhythm of urban commuters. Breaching these conventions—blocking the passing lane or standing too close—elicits subtle, embodied responses: a frustrated sigh, a shift in posture, or an assertive brush past.

In this routine act, the body is both agent and subject, enacting its movement while responding to the spatial and social constraints of the underground. This dynamic interplay echoes Thomas Csordas’s notion of the body as a “locus of experience,” constantly engaged in the process of being-in-the-world. The escalator ride becomes a microcosm of everyday embodiment, where habit, perception, and sociality intersect.

The ordinariness of this activity belies its complexity. The body, through habit, seems to transcend its physicality, blending seamlessly into the mechanical rhythm of the escalator and the social choreography of the underground. Yet, disruptions remind us of the body’s centrality, of its constant, tacit engagement with the world. In this interplay, the body is both ordinary and extraordinary — an ever-present, dynamic participant in the mundane theatre of daily life.

[Last modified: December, 3 2024 05:42 PM]

In exploring blind box culture, the political dimensions of my research project surface in its consumer and cultural focus, which inevitably interacts with social, economic, and ideological systems. Blind boxes, as mystery collectible items, reflect broader themes within consumer capitalism, the emotional value of material goods, and even cultural identities. As a Chinese researcher studying a phenomenon that holds significant popularity in East Asia, my project carries with it implicit assumptions and orientations tied to these contexts. For instance, my understanding of “value” and “desirability” is influenced by cultural perspectives on novelty, scarcity, and material accumulation common in modern East Asian consumer societies.

The project design assumes that blind box engagement is motivated by factors such as emotional attachment and social identity, which are themselves politically charged constructs. Exploring why certain items are valued more than others can also carry implicit economic and cultural biases. As a woman and fan of blind boxes, my positionality further complicates this, potentially enhancing empathetic access to participants while also risking an uncritical affinity with the subject. This alignment may lead me to overlook aspects of blind box culture that have negative societal or psychological implications, such as the commodification of identity or the reinforcement of consumerist values.

The potential political outcomes of my research may include nuanced understandings of how consumption-driven social identities form, and how cultural artifacts like blind boxes are appropriated as vehicles of personal and collective value. Such findings could contribute to discussions about the effects of consumer culture on individual well-being and cultural expression. There is also a risk that insights into the motivations and values driving blind box culture could be used by commercial entities to refine marketing strategies and further entrench consumerist behaviours.

To adapt my methods to account for these political dimensions, I could employ reflexivity, actively acknowledging my biases and positionality throughout the research process. Conducting regular positionality reflections could allow me to question how my background may shape interpretations, particularly when evaluating responses around value and desirability. Additionally, incorporating a diverse sample of participants across socioeconomic and cultural backgrounds could help balance my perspective and mitigate my assumptions. Engaging participants in discussions around the potential influences of broader societal forces on their collecting practices may also reveal further political dimensions of blind box culture, ensuring my research captures a multifaceted view of this phenomenon.

[Last modified: December, 3 2024 05:40 PM]

As I sift through the notes from my ethnographic study of blind box culture, the atmosphere of curiosity and anticipation floods back vividly. The hum of a bustling store, punctuated by the occasional gasp of surprise or a triumphant cheer, seemed to encapsulate the excitement of unboxing the unknown. My sketches from the field—quick, unpolished renderings of eager hands tearing at wrapping paper, shelves brimming with colourful figurines, and expressions ranging from elation to disappointment—help anchor these memories in sensory detail.

The main story I want to tell centres on the dual nature of this culture: the tangible thrill of discovery and the intangible allure of value assignment. Motivations differ—some are drawn to the artistic craftsmanship, others chase the exclusivity of rare finds—but everyone shares an almost ritualistic engagement with the process. Notes detailing conversations with collectors reveal their meticulous valuation criteria: rarity, personal connection, and the buzz of trading. These fleeting moments of dialogue, scribbled hastily, now feel like keystones in constructing a narrative of shared fascination.

Taking notes in the field was more than documentation; it was an active form of immersion. In the act of writing, I found myself better attuned to the nuances of the scene—the nervous energy in a participant’s voice, the way their fingers lingered over a box before committing to it. These observations, when revisited, transformed fragmented memories into a cohesive story. My sketches, though imperfect, held an emotional resonance, bridging the gap between my immediate impressions and the broader themes emerging from my research.

The experience underscored how note-taking, both visual and textual, acts as a dialogue with the moment itself. It sharpened my focus, helping me identify the threads worth pulling to weave a compelling narrative. This blend of observation and introspection not only enriched my understanding but also heightened my appreciation for the intricate layers of blind box culture.

[Last modified: October, 18 2024 06:56 PM]

In reflecting on my positionality as a woman, Chinese student researcher, and fan of blind box culture, I recognise that my background brings both advantages and potential biases to my ethnographic study.

As a Chinese researcher, I have direct access to the context where blind box culture is especially popular, which provides me with rich, localized insight into the phenomena. My identity as a fan means that I am already embedded within the community I am studying, allowing for deeper access to insider perspectives, conversations, and motivations. This closeness to the topic can be advantageous for building trust with participants and understanding nuanced behaviours or attitudes that may be missed by an outsider. However, it also raises concerns about potential biases—such as over-identification with participants or failure to critically question certain assumptions or practices due to my familiarity and affinity with the subject matter.

There are also potential cultural dimensions to my positionality that could shape my understanding. Being Chinese, I may bring certain cultural assumptions into my interpretation of why people engage with blind boxes—perhaps focusing more on the social or communal aspects that resonate within my cultural context. This could limit my ability to see other cultural or individual motivations that may be present among international or non-Chinese participants.

In terms of gender, as a woman, I may be more attuned to gendered aspects of blind box collecting, such as how certain types of products or marketing strategies target women. Conversely, I might overlook how men or non-binary individuals engage with the culture or have distinct experiences and motivations.

To account for my positionality, I would take several steps to design my research more thoughtfully. First, I would actively seek diverse perspectives, including those of participants from different genders, cultural backgrounds, and levels of engagement with blind boxes, to avoid over-representing my views. Additionally, maintaining a reflexive research diary would allow me to continuously assess how my personal experiences and biases may be influencing the research process. Finally, incorporating peer review or collaboration with researchers who are more distant from blind box culture could help ensure that my findings are well-rounded and less subject to bias. By remaining conscious of my positionality and taking deliberate steps to account for it, I aim to produce a more balanced and inclusive ethnography that captures the full complexity of blind box culture.

[Last modified: October, 16 2024 01:07 AM]

My Research Topic: Ethnographic Study of Blind Box Culture

Observations on 11 Oct

In a bustling corner of the student centre cafe, Helen, a 23-year-old UCL student, sat down with a smile, eager to discuss her fascination with blind boxes. I asked her why she engaged in blind box collecting, and she responded with an enthusiastic “because it’s fun.” For Helen, blind boxes seemed to represent a refreshing escape, a small thrill she could indulge in on a whim. She explained that she never goes out of her way to buy them, but if she happens to pass by an offline store, she might be tempted to pop in and purchase one. For her, blind boxes were a chance encounter, an unexpected little joy that added to her day.

As she explained her approach to collecting, Helen shared a strong stance on an aspect of blind box culture known as “Duanhe”. This practice, popular among some collectors, refers to the methods to determine the box’s contents before purchase (purchase all the boxes in one IP series at one time), thereby circumventing the surprise element. Helen dismissed this as “cheating,” saying that it spoiled the game and contradicted the essence of blind box culture. She emphasised that part of these boxes’ charm—and the thrill—was their unpredictability. This viewpoint underscored her perception of blind boxes not merely as collectables but as a small, addictive game with a sense of honour.

Helen’s reflections offered insights into the broader appeal of blind boxes among young adults, particularly how they evoke excitement within the bounds of everyday life. Her refusal to seek out specific designs or bypass the element of surprise suggests an appreciation for the mystery at the heart of this culture. Helen’s approach showed how blind boxes are more than just items to collect; they’re tiny gambles that, in Helen’s words, “shouldn’t be broken.” This ethnographic encounter highlighted the sense of play and informal etiquette embedded within blind box culture, shedding light on the motivations and attitudes shaping its popularity.

[Last modified: October, 1 2024 05:57 PM]

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