Punk isn’t dead; you just can’t get off your phone

Miles Dillahunt, Contributing Writer

I was nervous about my first punk show. I had lied to my parents about my whereabouts and now found myself in a cramped backyard. 

My heart rate spiked as the first band started. I watched as two dudes hopped into the pit, sprawling their arms like eagles. They started running in circles, flailing and jerking their legs in every direction. As more joined the chase, I gained the confidence to join in. 

I threw my arms and legs around faster than my body could balance. I fell hard, scared for a split second that I would get trampled. I closed my eyes in anticipation, only to feel hands pull me up and hear voices reassuring me I was okay. I had never experienced care like that from strangers before. Although a little injured, all I could do was smile.

That night, I found a community. Online, however, I’ve found the opposite.

Punk only dies when you go online. The killer? Internet punks.

I have noticed a huge difference between people in the scene and those who post like they are. These posters’ authenticity is a digital illusion. I’ve found that internet punks don’t listen to punk music, don’t go to shows and aren’t politically involved. Their “rebellion” is a performative thread of hashtags without conviction.

Offline punk fashion culture is handmade. It’s reinforced through second-hand clothes, repurposing old garments and mending your wardrobe for longevity. 

Online, it’s Temu battle jackets adorned with plastic studs from Amazon. Those weekly SHEIN hauls with promo codes, the “alternative” fashion influencers collaborating with racist brands for money — they don’t represent punk values. However, anyone looking to join the subculture will initially consume this content since it is the most accessible, and be misguided.​

While punk is a costume for fashion influencers, on the opposite end of the internet poser spectrum are the hardcore “tough guys” who think aggression is authenticity. I can’t count the number of times I watched a mosh pit playback on social media with a smile on my face, only to lose it upon opening the comments.

“If anybody tried that karate shit on me, I’d beat their ass.”

“Moshing is so cringe, these people look ridiculous.”

“If I saw you in the pit, I’d crowdkill you.”

Comments like these warp what shows actually feel like. It’s not a warzone — it’s a community. It is not people beating each other senseless — it is picking someone up when they fall. It’s spinning with your friends, jumping off their backs or even just standing off to the side to watch the bands. When you are in the pit, you don’t have time to worry about someone judging you because you are too busy having fun.

The worst aspect of internet superficiality is the prevalence of fake values. The first punk song I ever heard was “Godless” by Nausea. Through the aggressive vocals, the lyrics painted a story of liberation from religious oppression. Even the most popular mainstream punk band, Green Day, is political. Their song “American Idiot” calls out American propaganda and media manipulation.

Punk was political in the 70s when it was blaring out of someone’s basement. It was political when I discovered “Godless” through a TikTok comment. It remains political as my band plays benefit shows for charities such as H.E.A.L. Palestine and Safe Harbor, under dusty bridges and cramped backyards.

​The abandonment of politics in online spaces has created a black hole of negativity. People aren’t standing up for anything, and in that void, bigotry has only grown. Since punk’s resurgence online, I have noticed an increase in bigoted bands hosting gigs that leave vulnerable minorities feeling unsafe and unwelcome. 

That is why we have to remember what punk has always been — punk is local, punk is physical and punk is political. 

Your local scene needs people to show up, not scroll and post. Your local scene is hosting benefit shows that need attendees to help raise funds for local mutual aid organizations. Your local scene is restoring safe spaces and building families for people who don’t have one. 

Punk dies when it is treated like a trend, but it lives when the community shows up.