Genres of YouTube: The Fine Bros, Tradmarking, and the YouTube Community

There's recently been an outpouring of anger among the YouTube community.

More so than usual.

You should be afraid. Be very afraid.

Recently, the Fine Bros, a YouTube channel that does "react" videos (such as "kids react," "elders react," and "teens react") experienced a great deal of backlash when they announced that they were trademarking the react video, and that anyone who wanted to make a similar video had to go through the Fine Bros new business venture, "React World."

The brothers have since taken down that announcement, but luckily, there are a slew of outraged YouTubers who have saved the clips for us and further explained what's going on.

Yes, the podcast is nearly an hour long. However, it's DEFINITELY worth your time, a) because Jenna and Julien are magical landshark unicorns, and b) because it's one of the most well-articulated discussions I have seen on YouTube for a long time.

So, now that you're all caught up, dear reader, on the current drama of the Internet (actually, this is like week-old news, but I've never been one with the times), I wanted to share my unwarranted opinion with a bunch of strangers.

Because that's what the Internet is for...right?

My initial reaction was to be grossly horrified at the notion of trademarking the word "react." It's squashing other content creators' imaginations! It's purely greed based! They're horrible; why did I ever subscribe to them in the first place???

While I still find it ridiculous to trademark such a vague, pre-established format on YouTube, my take on the situation has since gotten a little more nuanced (I hope).

No matter the artistic format, there has always been a fine (hah, fine...gettit??) line between inspiration and copying. It seems that this has been an established debate in the music industry--remember the great Martin Gaye Blurred Lines controversy of 2013? The same goes with network television. The industry has been around for so long, we've reached, for the most part, an understanding of what makes an allusion to another show, versus what is considered downright stealing.

The trouble here is not that YouTube is filled with greedy, get-rich-quick  schemers. The trouble is that YouTube is still a relatively new platform. It's made massive changes since its inception in 2005, and it continues to grow astonishingly quickly. Everyone's pushing their boundaries because YouTube was built on the idea that people needed a platform to push boundaries. This isn't a new idea--it's just gotten more publicity as the popularity of YouTube expands. What's more recent, however, is that the boundary-pushing doesn't just end with creative content--it extends to the idea of ownership and business expansion as well.

In that case, I sympathize with Benny and Rafi Fine. They were pushing limits and finding new ways to expand their business--they probably should have known their audience and realized that it would massively backfire,  but the idea itself wasn't entirely unheard of. It was simply one of the first highly-publicized risky business ventures that we've seen on YouTube.

However, we really can't gloss over the fact that react videos were around on YouTube long before The Fine Bros ever created their brand. What the Fine Bros did, rather, was establish and popularize a genre of YouTube.

If people started trademarking genres, no one would be able to make anything ever.

Think of it this way: there's a much clearer understanding that there are literally thousands of beauty gurus who will do Sephora, Bath and Body Works, and Ulta hauls throughout their careers. The formats of these videos are basically identical: a pretty girl with extraordinary eyelashes sits on her bed with dozens of shopping bags, says "hey guys!" in a really chipper voice, and proceeds to show the camera what she bought that day.

As far as I know, no haul video has tried to stray from this format, and Zoella hasn't tried to sell "Haul World" to her viewers.

This is where Jenna Marbles' argument comes into play: YouTubers gain inspiration from other content creators all the time. That's what makes it an interactive platform. If there hadn't already been react videos, or "what girls do when..." videos on YouTube, numerous viewers would never realize their creative potential, would never create anything. The interactive nature of YouTube is partly what distinguishes itself so well from things like network television.

And, as Jenna said, it's flattering to see so many people inspired by your work.

Maybe this is just how I view the Fine Bros, but I never saw them is the prime example of what YouTube is about. Watching their videos, I always perceived a sense of distance between myself as the viewer and the Fine Bros as creators. They were clearly excellent entertainers, but, unlike other YouTubers, they didn't emphasize the importance of collaboration, or instigating conversations in the comments section. They were a show, a brand. They didn't really fit in the YouTube community in its current state. They worked as entertainers in the same way we might see The Daily Show.

So, in my view, the Fine Bros biggest mistake was not knowing their audience and not knowing what people look for in the YouTube community. They succeeded at making a simple formula that generated views. Because of this, I didn't feel that Benny and Rafi Fine had personally failed me. They simply failed to understand the consequences of trying to turn a community into an entertainment center.

Again, these are just my (largely uneducated) thoughts. I'd be happy to welcome other opinions and insights!

And, just to break up the tension, here's Jenna Marbles being a pro:

New Blog: An Announcement

Yes, it certainly seems like I'm announcing a new blog every two seconds, but this time I really mean it (no, really).

As I apply to teach in South Korea through the EPIK program, I wanted to document the highs and lows of the application process--and, if I get in, the actual adjustments to living and working in Korea. Even before applying, I relied heavily on other expats' personal experiences to be better informed on life in Korea, and to make the decision if it was the right move for me. However, I would have liked to see more information about people's personal experiences with the application process, which is why I'm starting this project now (even though there's a chance that I won't get in and this will just be a disappointing reminder of my failures).

The blog is titled "The K-Odyssey" and you can find it here.

If you have any questions about the application process, I 1)will probably be freaking out right alongside you, but 2) I will try to help in the best way that I can. Conversely, if you have more experience living and teaching in Korea, I would love to hear your advice!

And, to make this a less boring post, here is a video of a dinosaur figure skating:

Namaste. 

Re-Thinking Titles

I'm a fan of titles. Not so much hierarchical titles such as "Mr., Mrs., and Miss," but more so titles that I hoped would explain the meaning of human existence. This has always been a poorly justified reason for indulging my ego and taking the Myers Briggs test five million times.

(In case y'all were curious, I'm an INFP, which basically means I'm that person who breaks down in tears when people say "you look tired."

One of the reasons that I started this blog four years ago. was to clearly define who I was and what I liked. I was bound and determined to transform myself into the stereotypical yogi that rocked a head of dreadlocks and could not only resist a heaping of Wendy's chicken nuggets, but was the epitome of healthy living.

Two nights ago, I stuffed my face with chicken tenders and ice cream. So you tell me how that one's going.

While my obsession with coffee has never been an issue, my self-proclaimed yogi title has caused a lot of inner turmoil, as seen here and here. (There are more, but I'll let you save yourself from the soul-crippling boredom go down that rabbit hole yourself.)

However, as luck would have it, the one thing I love more than titles is a good paradox. Thus, it was yoga that taught me to be less trapped in strictly defined categories, and to simply live my life as a complex, nuanced human being.

However, as yoga taught me a vital life lesson, that realization led me to conclude that I needed to spend less time defining--and letting others define--myself as "that girl who does those poses and breathes."

Sure, some of this stems from my own self-consciousness. I don't eat kale or vegan cheese. If I'm not in the yoga studio, there is rarely a day that goes by when I remember to meditate or chant. During my short journey in the yoga teacher training class, I felt like an anomaly who could never quite "just get it."

I guess I didn't advertise the "lipstick yogi" trend hard enough.

Mainly though, my reason for quitting the teacher training wasn't the fact that I couldn't fit in. I'm pretty swell at eating tofu, wearing long, floral skirts, and talking about the energy flow around me. My reason for quitting was based on my realization that I could fit in but didn't want to. I didn't want to try to squash my authentic, somewhat-materialistic-but-working-on-it, goofy, glitter-loving self.

Somehow, I knew that running through Eddie Izzard's "Cake or Death?" skit wouldn't fly at a yoga studio. 

It's scary to leave a place/community that has felt like home for so many years. But, especially at a time when refusing transitions stunts your emotional growth, it's necessary.

I should have expected this outcome, but ever since leaving the teacher training group, I've felt a much wider distance between myself and yoga. I still go to class, but I recognize that I fall short when looking past the physical benefits of an asana practice (just to clarify, I mean the fact that my body feels calmer and looser, not the fact that I have abs. As far as I can tell, I still don't have abs). But it's awfully freeing to admit that while I am happy to do pigeon pose for five minutes, being "the yogi" just isn't me.

I've come to terms with the fact that self-reflection can be challenging when you don't necessarily fall into one neat category. However, after years of wailing that no one in the world would understand who I was or what I was going through, I've gained friends who also don't fall into categories. I've, as my friend Brave Heart put it, "found my little group of misfit toys."

And somehow, even though I'm at a point that's more confusing than ever, I'm okay with that.