Aestheticism arose from the Aesthetic Movement, which rejected “the notion that art should have a social or moral purpose”. The focus, then, is turned on the beauty and intellect of art. The beliefs could be said to be cherry-picked notions from both Neo-Classicism and Romanticism meshed together to create a new artistic revolution. “Art for art’s sake”, as the famous saying goes. Oscar Wilde, Max Beerbohm and Aubrey Beardsley are three of many acclaimed figures attributed to the movement.

Believing that art should not always hold a social or moral purpose is not inherently problematic. However, the belief can conflict with historical notions about art. All post-Victorian era art is inherently political. The poet W. H. Auden once said "the mere making of art is itself a political act." Even being political is a political stance. But does that mean all art has a social or moral purpose?

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Purpose of the art is determined by the artist. Whether or not the art created is meant to convey a moral is determined by the artist. Purpose, though, does not erase the political aspects inherent in the art. Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray was censored for gay undertones. Max Beerbohm’s satiric work in the Yellow Book was regularly condemned by the establishment. Aubrey Beardsley was known for his grotesque and innuendo-filled works, and was one of the most controversial contributors for the Yellow Book. All three broke the social and political norms of their day through their art. Their identities were political as well—Wilde was convicted of sodomy, and both Beerbohm and Beardsley were suspected of being asexual.

There is also the issue of interpretation from artist to audience, and audience to audience. Even if the artist does not intentionally add a social or moral purpose to their work, their audience might. The audience has beliefs of their own. After all, there should be no rules when it comes to art or thought.

In essence, art did not have to be created with political purpose to be valuable. This in no way erases the inherent political nature of art—it merely focuses on a different aspect of it and broadens the scope of artistic freedom.

So what about the culture of aestheticism, particularly in today’s world?

Aesthetic has taken on an adaptable form in the 21st century, with each person determining their own definitions of beauty. Classical aesthetic survives alongside the glitchy pixelated aesthetic gracing the blogs of users on Tumblr.

But there is something commonplace, something that connects all forms of aesthetic and art: a lack of inclusivity.

Pre-Romanticism art was reserved for the elite. After Romanticism, a straight, cis, white, and able-bodied person no longer had to be elite to create and sell art. Inclusivity was vital in the emergence of widespread participation in art. So as time goes on, why are the vast majority of artists still white?

It’s no secret that opportunity and education are more easily handed to white people than to people of color.

Junot Díaz wrote about his experiences at Cornell while pursuing an MFA in creative writing for The New Yorker. The article, titled MFA vs. POC, became viral. He wrote in one of the most notable parts of the article:

“That shit was too white….Too white as in Cornell had almost no POC—no people of color—in it. Too white as in the MFA had no faculty of color in the fiction program—like none—and neither the faculty nor the administration saw that lack of color as a big problem. (At least the students are diverse, they told us.) Too white as in my workshop reproduced exactly the dominant culture’s blind spots and assumptions around race and racism (and sexism and heteronormativity, etc). In my workshop there was an almost lunatical belief that race was no longer a major social force (it’s class!). In my workshop we never explored our racial identities or how they impacted our writing—at all. Never got any kind of instruction in that area—at all. Shit, in my workshop we never talked about race except on the rare occasion someone wanted to argue that ‘race discussions’ were exactly the discussion a serious writer should not be having.”

Furthermore, Díaz’s class only read works by white authors. The voices of writers of color were nowhere to be found, and people of color were only revealed through the voices of white people. While claiming that oppressive societal structures didn’t apply to their classroom, Cornell actually exemplified them. Though Díaz took the class over twenty years ago, many prestigious colleges still struggle to incorporate people of color in their classrooms (whether it be through content or actual students). And it tends to be prestigious colleges that invest in the arts.

I empathize with Díaz’s pain. My school district was very white. Very white, heteronormative, and ableist. I would be lying if I didn’t confess that my writing was affected. For years, I altered my narratives because my peers told me my voice was "unrealistic" and "distant". I only realized during my junior year of high school that my writing voice was “unrealistic” and “distant” because I was trying to write from the perspectives of white protagonists. By stifling my own voice—and identity—I had been holding myself back.

But who can blame me for writing in such a way? Almost everything I read in school had been written by a white person. We didn’t read works by writers of color until high school (come to think of it, my peers and I were never required to read a book by someone who was Indian and/or Muslim like me), and even those had to be analyzed through perspectives invented by and for white people. We were all silently taught that whiteness was the standard in art. And I believed what I was taught. Why? The erasure of marginalized identities was normalized by now. A few teachers eventually telling me about this erasure wouldn’t dismantle years of internalized racism in my perceptions of art overnight. They did, however, begin to challenge my views and writing. If my teachers hadn’t validated my identity, when would I have been comfortable writing with my true voice? Would I have continued to listen to my peers and strangle it?

I worry about the young artists of color, especially those whose teachers won’t challenge the overwhelming whiteness of art featured in mandatory curriculums. I worry about the disabled, LGBT+, migrants, refugees, women, and other marginalized peoples whose beautiful voices are stifled by society’s artistic standards. I worry that the lack of visibility will discourage their creative souls into silence.

Furthermore, the lacking opportunities and oppressive discouragement allows for poor visibility to be widely accepted. Most corporations and organizations that feature inclusive advertisements, products and concepts do so for commercial reasons. Everything is commodified, plastic and gleaming with artificial affection. For example, Urban Outfitters will hire models of various races, ethnicities and sexualities, but find no problem with releasing products that offend them in the same executive decision. Falsified inclusivity hold marginalized artists to falsified standards. In an industry that already second guesses them, many will go along with these standards in order to “make it”. Everything is coated in whiteness.

I’ve seen some aesthetes, particularly on Twitter and Tumblr, brush off the whiteness, heteronormativity and ableism of their aesthetics:

We don’t believe in the social or moral obligations of including anyone else in their preconceived notions of art. It’s not that we’re racist/sexist/ableist/etc., we just don’t believe it’s important. Feminists, SJWs, and leftists are being overdramatic. Everyone subscribes to their own perceptions of beauty anyways—why can’t those who complain come up with their own art and leave us alone? And don't you have a few nice pieces of art to admire anyways? Isn't that more than enough? It's not as if there's nothing to behold!

These apathetic aesthetes participate in the active erasure and silencing of marginalized voices. In doing so, they insult every artist who fought for the right to create. They insult every artist whose identity threatened both their art and livelihood, including famous aesthete Oscar Wilde.

Aestheticism merely promotes the idea that art does not need to have a social or moral message in order to be considered art. Where, in that definition, is there political erasure? How can art exist for art's sake when some artists cannot create art without creating revolution? When those same artists are silenced? Isn't that censorship? Ignoring art's inherent political nature is not promoting aestheticism—it's promoting oppression. And aestheticism does not promote oppression.

I realize that not every aesthete is ignorant, and that many acknowledge the lack of diversity in art and artistic opportunities. Arguably, I'm one of them. But the erasure of marginalized voices must be realized. We are just as important as anyone else and we deserve to be recognized as active members of society. Our voices must be heard, for they are a required part of this revolution.

Art is by and for the masses. Never forget it.