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  1. Colofon 

  2. Preface 

  3. A Visual Anthropology of Horror: A case of Shadow Animism? - Joshua Sterlin 

  4. Why dance and dancing matters - Sarah Whatley 

  5. Killers of Justice: An Aesthetic and Anthropological Perspective - Anna Kawalec 

  6. The strategic aesthetics of esports - Tom Legierse 

  7. Fashionable veiling in Turkey - Magdalena Craciun 

  8. Student article - Yuvan 

  9. Meet the Team 

  10. Bibliography


The ICA (Institute for Cultural Anthropology) is the semi-scientific journal of Itiwana, study association Cultural Anthropology and Development Sociology at the Leiden  University. The ICA appears twice a year.


Text editors
Nicko Sanders, Nicolás Moreno-Gutiérrez, Eva van der Kooij


Editor in Chief
Iulia Lazăr


Joshua Sterlin, Sarah Whatley, Anna Kawalec, Tom Legierse, Magdalena Craciun, Yuvan Gupta


E-Mail -


The editors reserve the right to shorten and edit articles or not to post them. Acquisition of (parts of) articles is only permitted after consultation with the editors


Everywhere we go, we are surrounded by the idea of ‘aesthetics’. Whether we’re scrolling through social media or walking down the street, going to a museum or going thrifting with your friends, the idea of aesthetics follows us along. When did this start? Has it always been there? Maybe it has been brought to life during the months we all spent inside during the coronavirus pandemic, longing for escapism and rediscovering the beauty in the mundane things of our previous daily life and routines. Maybe it comes from our need to place labels on something we enjoy and identify with. Or maybe it is more complex than we initially think it is. Every definition of aesthetics that you can find relates it to the idea of ‘beauty’. That, of course, brings one of the reasons for its complexity. Beauty is defined as something that is pleasing to the human eye, but aesthetics is much more than that. People can find an ‘aesthetic’ even in things that might not be considered conventionally beautiful. And, as we can see in all of the amazing articles of this edition, aesthetics can be strategic, can bring meaning and change, and make us think about our views on a variety of aspects of life. We are always told to enjoy the beauty in all of the small things in life. Therefore, we should also learn to observe the constant presence of aesthetics and the way they influence our perspective and daily lives.


Iulia is a second year student of Cultural Anthropology and the Secretary of the current Itiwana board. When she’s not working on study association related things, she enjoys reading, skating, hanging out with friends and exploring nature.

A visual anthropology of horror:

A case of shadow animism

Joshua Sterlin


I examine the Western strain of the horror genre as a particular visual medium which gives us insight into a fundamental equivocation in our cultural ontology. Rather than horror being largely about fear of other human beings, or imaginary or metaphorical creatures, I posit that much of the animating force of the genre comes rather from terror at the prospect of agency being felt to be in the wrong place, that is, among other-than-humans. This agency, however, is considered a normal part of everyday life for people throughout the world. I ask, what does this shadow animism, as I call it, have to teach us about our culture and the ways it might shift to be more open to agency beyond the human?


Until my mid-twenties it’s very possible I had never seen a horror film. I’ve always very much enjoyed sitting down to immerse myself in a movie, but I had always avoided horror. The notion of subjecting myself to being scared just for the fun of it had very little to appeal for me. Maybe on some level I remembered childhood fears of glimpsing the certainly less-than-horror X-Files series or Spielberg’s A.I., and the chill that it instilled in a young heart. However, horror is my partner’s favourite genre, and her love for it convinced me to give it a chance. Much to her chagrin, I couldn’t resist applying my anthropologist’s obsessive eye to the movies we increasingly watched.Perhaps you don’t think we need more fear in our lives, find the genre too formulaic, or just can find no appeal in subjecting yourself to jump scares and gruesome scenes of bodily dismemberment. This is a perfectly respectable position, one which I myself long held. In spite of this, maybe I can convince you that there is something anthropologically interesting going on in the genre, which might pique your interest enough to give it a try.Horror has long been a staple of the written word, with H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allen Poe most famous among its authors. As interest in the genre increases, there is a growing set of quite terrifying horror videogames on the market as well. However, the primary way this genre is taken in remains through film. Even though you might sometimes be watching it through your fingers, it remains a fundamentally visual medium. Though the genre is being touted as going through a renaissance of sorts, receiving the larger budgets and flashier techniques of more mainstream Hollywood in projects such as the Conjuring series or in Jordan Peele’s recent films Get Out and Us, it is still often thought of as a schlocky lower form of art that relies on a relatively small, and formulaic, set of techniques to achieve its goals of satisfying the thrill seeking of its audience. While this may often be the case, I would like to take the genre seriously here, not necessarily as an art form itself (this I leave to others), but as an expression of a fundamental equivocation at the heart of contemporary Western society’s ontological leanings.


A Visual Anthropology of Horror


Anthropologists David Sutton and Peter Wogan argue in their book Hollywood Blockbusters: The Anthropology of Popular Movies that the efforts Western cultures expend in the production, consumption, and discussion of films are tantamount to the mythological worlds of other cultures. They state that “movies can be usefully thought of as cultural myths: that movies explore (or exploit) key cultural contradictions and that their appeal lies in their ability to present these cultural contradictions for repeated consideration” (2020:16). The textual analysis of film thus provides a keen insight into key cultural categories.Horror fiction, however told, is well understood to supply a particular window into the lives of a people, and the cultural categories (and contradictions) that matter to them. As David Graeber handily summarizes:“anthropologists have come to understand, over the years, that every society is haunted by slightly different nightmares, and these differences are significant. Horror stories...always turn out to reflect some aspect of the tellers' own social lives, some terrifying potential, in the way they are accustomed to interact with each other, that they do not wish to acknowledge or confront, but also cannot help but talk about.” (2014:149)It can therefore be said that there is a form of ethnohistory written into the stories that people use to scare themselves. These stories, and the monsters and beings that populate them, develop in concert with, and in expression of, a culture’s fears and anxieties as they grapple with larger socio-historical forces over time. The sociological analysis of the manner in which particular developments in the West are reflected in horror fiction, from the Great Depression to contemporary Capitalism, and the examination of what they say about our own culture, has been heavily studied by many others (see for example Asma 2009).A common way of analysing the genre interprets its focus as displaying, in essence, the rejection of ‘othered’ cultural forms, sexualities, ethnicities, animal bodies, spiritual superstitions, broken taboos, and so on. Although this is an insightful way of analyzing horror fiction, it overlooks a more fundamental othering, which I argue specifically characterizes the Western expression of horror. The genre is predominantly – though certainly not entirely – preoccupied with the issue of, to echo Mary Douglas, animation in the wrong places. 

Horror as Ontology

The worlds of horror fiction are populated by a whole host of non-human others, whether they are Christian demons as displayed in the Conjuring film series, ‘pagan’ deities as in the folk horror classic The Wickerman, Indigenous spirits as in the film Wendigo, or other creatures of obvious agency expressing their displeasure in the world of matter. Beings of a variety of kinds predate upon the human characters, and ‘otherworldly’ beings without their own bodies often interact with or possess humans, or even inanimate objects: with doors moving of their own accord, objects falling off of counters, crosses revolving, or furniture attacking the characters. The representations of these beings are often drawn from our own folk history or religious imagination and that of others around the globe, some of which have been drawn from the ethnographic record itself. However, they are often reinterpreted through our own worldview as if they were merely fictional, or at the very least possibly metaphorical and symbolic, as in the 2014 film The Babadook, in which the monster seems to symbolize the grief and trauma the characters shared over the loss of their husband/father. 

Anthropologist Yasmine Musharbash (Musharbash & Henning Presterudstuen 2014) reminds us however that the very notion that these other-than-human agents might be fictional is a rather new one. It is precisely the fact that the experience of animacy beyond the human is, as the ethnographic record well attests, the common everyday experience of peoples throughout the world, that demonstrates that the genre is animated not just by the prospect of ‘other’ human beings, but in a deeper sense, by a horror at the worlds that they live within, which are sometimes filled to the brim with animated beings of all kinds. Horror films are thus haunted by beings that have been exiled from a contemporary Western cosmology, which is largely materialist and anthropocentric in orientation. The experience of agential power in the natural world beyond the human is defined by this ontology as necessarily miraculous, and therefore otherworldly, whereas it is the everyday experience of animistic peoples the world over. Indeed, many anthropologists themselves, from the early days of Evans-Pritchard, who reported seeing, however briefly, “witchcraft on its path” (1976:11 [1937]), to more recently Edith Turner, who details how she experienced the “reality of spirits” (1993), have written of their inexplicable (to their own cultural upbringing) ‘supernatural’ experiences in the field. In light of this, not only is horror then a certain kind of ethnocentric rehearsal, but it is a kind of xenophobia at an ontological level as well. What has been underexplored, and this is particularly what I think the anthropological toolkit is well-placed to investigate, is taking seriously the possibility of genuine fear of the existence of beings, and social relations, in excess of our Modernist ontology.

Fictional Framing and Metaphysical Play


The act of participating in these fictional worlds might be thought of as a kind of complicated form of metaphysical play. The framing of the horror movie as a piece of fiction allows the watcher to safely engage with it according to its internal rules, which are predicated on the fact that it makes no realist claims: it doesn’t argue that spirits are real, but rather engages in a form of make-believe. This is the artifice that allows for its function, and the humouring of it, as a genre. Horror is all well and good so long as it stays securely within the fabrication of the medium, though connections to ‘real’ events are often exploited to intensify the fear. There is a thrill in finding yourself checking the corners of your room before you drift off to sleep, but any deeper indulgence is thought of with the cool disdain of a (at least aspirationally) rationalist culture. What is rehearsed over and again in horror fiction is the dynamic of Western rationalism grappling with its incomplete extinguishment of ‘otherness’. This imperfect repression allows us to continue to fear this illicit animism leaking out of the screen into the world, continuing to provide the animating energy that fuels the fear that is the ultimate goal of the films. The crucial point to make though, is that horror doesn’t display a disbelief of this agency, it does not deny it, but expresses rather a tacit, bounded acknowledgement, and almost ritual rejection of it. It wouldn’t be scary after all if we weren’t even a little suspicious that this kind of thing might be real!My argument is that as a general cultural attribute ‘we’ in the West are terrified to acknowledge the very ontological (and therefore social) reality of animistic peoples the world over. Beneath all its myriad elaborations, fundamentally what is on display in Western horror fiction is the spectre of animism haunting our rationalist world. It is for this reason that I term this tendency, with horror as an especially poignant exemplar, shadow animism.Watching horror movies can therefore be thought of as a way of both managing and controlling our horror at the prospect of other-than-human animacy. Although the agency that is out of place – whether it be spiritual beings or monsters – erupts into the world of the film, pressing its existence on the characters, the film more often than not concludes with the banishment (if not extinguishment) of it through magical practices, rituals, or pure violence. The ontological boundaries are hardened, normalcy is reasserted, both for the characters and the viewer. That is, at least for now. In a sense then, we can see horror fiction as a way in which we engage in a ritual of the re-inscription of our own metaphysical framework, its preclusion of its ‘others’, and reassure ourselves as to the solidity of our worldview. Anthropology Beyond Our HorrorAlthough ‘taking things seriously’ is a complicated affair as Astuti reminds us (2017), with people holding contrary and conflicting views in differing situations, what would it mean to accept the possibility that we are actually scared of something that we are suspicious does indeed exist? Examining the resources the West is able to use to scare itself within a metaphysical register allows us insight into a fundamental equivocation in our culture, and the possibilities this holds out for viewing the world, and its many beings (as many throughout the world already do) beyond the bounds of our own form of rationality.What horror provides, potentially, is perhaps what Descola has termed an animist ‘bubble’ in a largely naturalistic culture. Maybe, just maybe, we can be scared beyond our assumptions and our fears and accept that the world is teaming with other-than-human animacy. Recognizing this fact might not extinguish our fear, but it can at the very least allow us to begin to develop relational competence with other-than-humans in which we do not see them as predators alone. So, next time you decide to turn off the lights and subject yourself to some horrors, don’t blame me if you find yourself checking the corners of your room more often, or wake up from scary dreams. Perhaps you’re just in the shadow of animism. 


Joshua Sterlin is a PhD candidate at McGill University in Canada and is a member of the Leadership for the Ecozoic project. His research ethnographically focuses on the growing nature-connection movement in North America, examining the means and methods in which these modern groups are attempting to ‘rewild’ not only themselves, but their cultures. He has extended this research studying the rewilding of Western cultures, and thinking animacy otherwise, by applying this lens to the genre of horror, as well as to the development of a ‘law beyond the human’. Joshua is a recipient of the Graduate Excellent Award, the Transnational Environmental Law best article prize for 2022, and is a board member of Hunter-Gatherer Research. When not doing all the above, you can find him canoeing Québec’s north. You can see his other research here, or reach him through his website.

Sarah Whatley



Dance often receives less attention than the other arts because, as an ephemeral artform, it has been difficult to ‘pin down’ and has struggled to find robust ways to be recorded and documented. Nonetheless, this hasn’t prevented dance from being a vital contribution to our cultural memory and an expression of communal identities. As an artform, dance is also evolving in the digital age, with dance practitioners embracing new technologies in the making, performing and teaching of dance.


Dance and communal identities

Dance has come of age within the academy, having developed, by around the early 1980s, its own language, methods, and modes of dissemination, initially by integrating knowledge from adjacent disciplines, such as anthropology, sociology and theatre studies. However, dance has been practiced as a mode of communication and expression of social and community identity for centuries and is a vital part of our cultural heritage. It is also an important aesthetic experience, whether within a social or recreational context, promoting participation and wellbeing within a theatrical or other kind of performance encounter. Dance may successfully challenge established hierarchies of knowledge by promoting the connection between thought and action, body and mind. It may also promote values of equity, diversity and inclusion, challenging prejudicial views of who can access dance and has the right to develop a career in dance. Furthermore, dance researchers and practitioners are increasingly interested in exploring how dance might play a role in overcoming global challenges whilst continuing to emphasise the importance of creativity and the physical benefits of dance.Since the millennium, the increasing interest in digital technologies, and more recently the rising presence of AI, have had interesting bearings on how dance can be made, performed, transmitted and consumed. New modes of dance expression have been emerging, incorporating digital processes such as motion tracking, VR and AR, influencing performance-making and audience reception. They have also raised new questions about authorship, ownership, and the ontological status of the dance ‘work’. There is a concerted move towards more open access to dance, but copyright and licensing rules are complex, confusing artists and users alike. Consequently, dance remains largely in the oral tradition, passed from body to body; as an ephemeral art form, dances themselves might be easily lost. For example, dances of the past are only recoverable through a very limited number of notation scores or reimagined through other kinds of textual traces, artefacts or photographic records, where they exist. The growing discourse that surrounds the differences between materiality and immateriality, and particularly in relation to analogue versus digital, notably within the context of cultural heritage, is disrupted by the logics of dance as an art form that is regarded as residing primarily in the moving physical body.


Choreographic object making

A more recent phenomenon in dance has posed new questions for considering what a robust legacy for dance in all its forms might look like, which is a continuing preoccupation for many dance artists, scholars and archivists. The creation of ‘choreographic objects’, where the dancing body is absent but implicated in the ‘object’, has gained more traction since choreographer William Forsythe’s seminal essay and collection of related works in the 1990s. The displacement of the corporeal dancing body in choreographic objects finds perhaps a natural bedfellow in digital processes where the dancing avatar or digital twin might ‘stand in for’ the live dancer. It is in this context that the notion of the ‘choreographic object’ is interesting for considering how dance may be transmitted in other forms.

Moreover, the epistemological nature of these objects also points to the synergies between dance and other fields of practice, blurring disciplinary boundaries, marking places of cross-fertilisation and influencing their mutual evolution. The choreographic object then raises questions about what constitutes a ‘body’ and whilst the notion of the ‘body as archive’ has emphasised the primacy of the dancing body and its ability to hold its own data. As a valuable storehouse of information, memories and histories, dance also participates in discussions about the unbounded, porous, changing and unfinished nature of the human body. Therein lies a paradox whereby dancers want to claim the authority of the dancing body to avoid the idea of a singular or fixed version of any dance ‘work’, but there is a parallel process of interest growing in other ways to produce ‘objects’ that transmit the dance. The new paradigm of ‘thinking about choreographic thinking’ that stimulated the development of these choreographic objects has thus generated much discussion and questioning: how might the objects reveal the collaborative and creative process of choreography, and particularly where that collaboration involves experts in technology, computing science, philosophy, psychology and anthropology? Early iterations of choreographic objects in a cross-disciplinary context have led to new thinking about the potential of non-textual forms of notation, scoring and description of the dance-making process.


The intrinsic role of dance

However, the choreographic object is not the same as a live performance and can’t replace the embodied engagement that dance produces and promotes. They attempt to offer another mode of analysis through an abstraction from the dance and may disseminate dance across a wide community. By foregrounding the labour of the dance artists and creative teams involved in their production, choreographic objects might also perform a sociopolitical function by becoming a new kind of commodity within the dance economy. This may create a new form of exchange, even if the value of that exchange is yet to be quantified. Moreover, by abstracting the object from the dancing body, it might mean that different dancing bodies, and more particularly disabled dancers, may find their individual creativity and disability identity smoothed over or erased in ‘objectifying’ the work of the dancer. A complex tension may thus arise between whether the choreographic object serves the dancer well or undermines their individuality and effectively removes them from the event altogether. A disabled dancer may be drawn to explore the transformative potential of a choreographic object for many reasons, but may well be reluctant to physically remove themselves from the dance, which may also deter others with disabilities from believing that they can participate on an equal basis with non-disabled dancers.What is clear is that dance continues to evolve as an artform and as a participatory practice that promotes social integration, as well as health and wellbeing. It is perhaps all the more reason why ensuring everyone has access to dance, within an educational context or as a lifelong practice, is so important. Moreover, dance has the potential to influence how other disciplines think about how the moving body holds unique knowledge and wisdom, particular to the individual, whilst reflective of the culture and community in which the dance is practiced. While the field of dance is developing new approaches to artmaking through the inclusion of technical and design-informed approaches, methodologies and conceptual lenses, innovations including the creation of many kinds of choreographic objects, dance remains a uniquely human mode of expression and exchange.

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Sarah Whatley is Professor of Dance and Director, Centre for Dance Research at Coventry University, UK. Her PhD at University of Surrey Roehampton (2002) explored the movement vocabulary of British choreographer Siobhan Davies. She performed and choreographed with various contemporary dance companies before taking up an academic career, and was Head of Performing Arts at Coventry University until 2009 when she became a full-time researcher. Her research is funded by the UKRI, EU and various trusts, and has focused on a range of themes, often interdisciplinary in focus, including dance and new technologies, dance and disability, new archival practices and somatic pedagogies. She has published widely on these themes and was founding editor of The Journal of Dance and Somatic Practices. She was a panel member for the UK Research Excellence Framework in 2014 and 2021 and is a strategic reviewer and member of the peer review college of the Arts and Humanities Research Council.

Anna Kawalec

KILLERS OF JUSTICE: an aesthetic and anthropological perspective

206 minutes. An almost three-and-a-half hour long film about injustice. That's about the seventh part of a day, a lot for an individual's existence counter. Is it worth its purpose? That's about the 24th part of a week. Does sacrificing 206 minutes of the viewer's life serve the purpose envisioned by the creators of this cinematic image?


Killers of the Flower Moon is a non-standard production based on David Grann's eponymous novel . It is retelling, 100 years after the historical events, the Reign of Terror on the Osage Reservation. Native American criticism of the film refers to the insufficient presentation of the historical context that motivated the crimes on the Osage Nation Reservation in Oklahoma, USA. Indigenous Americans, however, appreciate the involvement of world-renowned filmmakers in the production (director Martin Scorsese; actors Leonardo DiCaprio, Robert de Niro, and Lily Gladstone, herself raised on the Blackfeet Reservation, Montana); as well as the tackling of their difficult history (David Smith,, 3 Nov., 2023). The film does not explain to the global audience the historical, colonial contexts, corruption and false agreements of the US government with indigenous communities. Scorsese mainly tells a family story, with a small yet original and beautiful background of Osage customs, religion, language, and moral values. He pursues the epic – and for Scorsese well tested – formula of a timeless aesthetic, replete of cultural and moral values, in which the involvement of authentic Native actors plays a fundamental role. An important thread is also devoted to the origins of the FBI – a systemic attempt to bring justice. The whole thing is as much as three and a half hours of vision.


A viewer accustomed to action pictures (this is how this production is most often classified) might feel weariness halfway through the film, wondering about the purpose of a three-and-a-half-hour production. An unusual answer may come to mind: the director demands the viewers to stop, to grapple in the moment, to adopt an attitude of contemplation. The film is an artistic material that fills in the “undefined places” – schematism, in R. Ingarden’s terminology – only when confronted with the recipient's sensitivity.


The film opens with an image of offering tobacco in a pipe to Wah'Kon-Tah at a critical moment of the tribe's imminent destruction. We also witness the ritual of the character Mollie Kyle's morning prayer or paying respect to the phenomenon of a storm, a scene which prompts the questions: Why do they act this way? What is the cause of the imminent destruction? Who is the Wah'Kon-Tah to whom Mollie prays? Is our attitude towards storm phenomena, towards other people, towards the sun, towards death, correct? Is it a just one? Isn't the world we live in losing something essential to its own existence, to its own formula of identity? Do our unjust relationships with elements of the world contribute to the enormity of the injustice we see on TV or the Internet? The director commands us to stop, makes us ask questions, look for answers, and pay respect to the unknown phenomena and often mystified rituals of indigenous communities.


The recipient’s intellectually and emotionally engaged attitude completes the work. This process enables the formation of a work-index, as British anthropologist Alfred Gell calls a work of art. He claims that the index “becomes a person or at least a partial person. It is a congealed residue of performance and agency in object-form, through which access to other persons can be attained, and via which their agency can be communicated” and assigns it the status of secondary agent (Alfred Gell, Art and Agency, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1998; Anna Kawalec, Person and Nexus, Wydawnictwo KUL, Lublin 2016). An artifact, according to Gell, is an essential element of the artistic nexus: an intentional network composed of prototype, artist, index and recipient. The index, however, is not necessarily the product of only the person nominated as an artist in Western culture.


From the perspective of cross-cultural anthropological research, an artist and their product do not have to be a person or an object/activity characterized by special aesthetic qualities. An artist is conceived to be part of a tribal community, performing a specific function, working for the common good of the community. Their work, however, is not a specified creation belonging to a set of “brilliant” because “artistic” creations, but fulfills functions that are useful to the community. In this perspective, we read the words of Edmund Ladd from Zuni Pueblo about Native American art: “What is now called ‘art’ Native people first made for utility… Every woman, man, and child was an ‘artist’” and the words of Michael Lacapa ( Apache/Hopi/Tewa): “The word ‘art’ is not found in our language… We make pieces of life to see, touch, and feel…” (Here, Now, and Always: Voices of the First Peoples of the Southwest, Exposition, Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, 2017, Santa Fe, NM, USA). It is in this perspective that we interpret Gell’s criticism of the cult of the artist and art in Western culture (Gell The Technology of Enchantment and the Enchantment of Technology, in: Anthropology, Art and Aesthetics, red. Jeremy Coote, Anthony Shelton, Clarendon, Oxford 1992, pp. 40-66).


Gell’s anthropology of art values artifacts in unique terms, not as works from a special aesthetic field, but as pieces that express the meanings deepest to the individual and their community, which constitute the core of their identity. As a reservoir of meaning, the artwork serves as a valuable communication tool. Through it, a special contact is established between people: they come to embody the creator and the recipient, regardless of whether their relationship is corporeal or intentional. Gell therefore discounts the value of purely abstract and purely formal art (Gell Alfred, On Dance Structures: A Reply to Williams, “Journal of Human Movement Studies” 1979, no. 5, pp. 18-31), and instead emphasizes interpersonal relationships.


Human creations full of existential and cultural meanings can function as art without ascribing any special status to them or their creators. Actions without deep meaning, aimed only at "self-expression", are not adequate for a human being, as per Gell. His attempt to form an anthropology of art without reference to aesthetic categories was criticized by many anthropologists who created formulas of art that synthetically treated the goals of anthropology as well as Kantian aesthetics (Coote Jeremy (1992), “Marvels of Everyday Vision': The Anthropology of Aesthetics and the Cattle-Keeping Nilotes”, in: Anthropology, Art, and Aesthetics, ed. Jeremy Coote, Anthony Shelton, Clarendon Press, Oxford, pp. 245-273; Coote Jeremy, Shelton Anthony ed. (1992), Anthropology, Art and Aesthetics, Clarendon Press, Oxford; Morphy Howard, Perkins Morgan ed. (2005), The Anthropology of Art: A Reader, Wiley-Blackwell Publishing, Oxford). However, Gell’s concept of anthropology of art seems unique, firmly grounded in the canon of the nexus of justice (and perhaps that is what makes it so interesting).

Aesthetics and anthropology are products of the intelligentsia of Western societies. Aesthetics as a research discipline since the 18th century has been co-forming the trend of subjectivist philosophy and the area of epistemology, taking over the field of fine arts along the way. Aesthetics today seeks new fields of research: social, political philosophy, non-Western and non-classical art, non-Western traditions (John Dyck, A Beautiful Future for Aesthetics: Three Avenues of Progress, “Biulletin Aesthetics”, Spring 2017, pp. 1- 3….). However, he infrequently views aesthetic values in the context of moral goals (Kawalec Anna, Integral aesthetics. Project: Introduction to a Timeless Controversy Over Contemporary Art, “Annals of Cultural Studies” 2021, 12(1): 7-18), and if he does, it involves the background of colonialism (Gustavo Dalaqua, Aesthetic injustice, “Journal of Aesthetic and Culture” 2020, vol. 12, issue 1). Anthropology is a somewhat younger discipline, having been founded on the cutting edge of the encounter between different cultures, it is still ‘deconstructing’ its shape and even its roots (Ingold Timothy, General Introduction, in: Companion Encyclopedia of Anthropology, ed. T. Ingold, Routledge, London 1996, p. xvii). Less known histories of anthropology from the modern era, however, describe other ambitions for the discipline: “a connection between understanding the world as a whole and knowing the human body and soul” (Tricia M. Ross, Anthropologia: An (Almost) Forgotten Early Modern History, “Journal of the History of Ideas” 79, 1 (2018): 1–22), which are no longer valid today due to the scientistic and materialistic assumptions of this discipline (Marilyn Strathern, April 25, 2019, “Persons and the partial person,” https :// and Western culture.


In one scene of Scorsese's film, the Chief of the Osage National Council spoke to the assembled Native families. Describing the critical situation of the tribe, he explained the counterbalance to the evil the tribe was experiencing. He said that their value was their community and that they had a Lord who was good to them. That they never prayed for a comfortable life, that they only prayed for life. They are now praying only for the life of their children. The subsequent story of the Osage tribe confirms the words of the Chief of the Osages.


The film Killers of the Flower Moon evokes a shocking reaction. The viewer must ask themself questions: Can a person be so cruel? Am I that cruel? Can a person be so deceitful? Could a ‘white man’ so ruthlessly destroy the friendly and hospitable Osage community, which had its roots in the eighth century BC? What consequences does the experiment of integrating two such different communities entail? The film is an index, in Gell’s sense, provoking today’s witness of this story to stop and think about the individual and community scale of values and moral attitudes. The central value in human relationships is justice, which involves both the aesthetic and moral planes of human life. Justice concerns adequate relations between man and the natural and cultural world (Kawalec Anna, Covid-19 as the primary agent, “Social Anthropology” 2020, vol. 28, issue 2, pp. 295-296).


During one of the fieldworks (Anna Kawalec’s interview, Laguna Pueblo, July 5, 2019) I recorded a statement from a Laguna Pueblo interviewee: “Ugly is a man who undergoes his ego, who wants more and more”. Two aspects of this statement I would like to emphasize here: all – without exception – Natives I know combine aesthetic and moral categories. They even treat them interchangeably, as exemplified by the above statement (Kawalec, Stand-Up Comedy as a hallmark of western culture, „Journal of Aesthetics & Culture”, Volume 12, 2020 - Issue 1, The separation of the two is a sophistic product of the boastful European culture, which in turn has fashioned tabernacles of art that mumble superficial compensation for the lost fundamental needs of every person and every community. Laguna Pueblo teaches us a second aspect: Hubris and greed. The perfect image of this global evil, both in the internal dimension of the individual as well as the systemic one, is Killers of the Flower Moon (in the film the so-called “white man”, also as representing the corrupt system of the US government). It is hubris and greed – the names of realized injustice – that are the evils that demolish ‘the royalty’ of every man and women (S.v. צֶלֶם ṣelem and אָדָם ʾādhām in Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, eds. Gerhard J. Botterweck, Helmer Ringgren, Heinz-Josef Fabry , Vol. XII, (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 386–396). The hubristic and covetous should seek therapy in some Native American communities. The treatment will be effective.


Modern man (coming not only from Western culture, but, unfortunately, today, from most of our globe) in regimes of hubris and lust for possessions no longer feels that primordial ‘royalty’ of self, no longer feels the sublime beauty of the world. The aesthetics of everyday life dominate aesthetic thought, and relationships with other people and with elements of the world are morally disproportionate. They are therefore determined by injustice. Scorsese’s film, like a classic Western – unlike the postmodern confusion of elements – separates good from evil: it shows a model of man’s royalty and a model of his meanness. In human history, however, the incarnations of both models when combined have always resulted in injustice.

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Anna Kawalec is an Associate Professor in the Department of Epistemology at the John Paul II Catholic University of Lublin. She received her MA in Polish philology, specializing in history and theory of theater, and her MA study and PhD in philosophy (the dissertation was written at the seminar on philosophy of God and religion). She received habilitation in anthropology and cultural studies (University SWPS). Her recent bigger work is Person and Nexus: Alfred Gell’s anthropological theory of art (in Polish, 2016). Creator and coordinator of Applied Anthropology Programme at KUL. Internships: DAMU Praha (Czech Republic), LSE (as Research Grant Award; Brunel University (UK), Manizales (Colombia). Fieldworks in: New Mexico (USA, selected tribe), Sibundoy/Putumayo (Colombia). Areas of specialization: Social, cultural and philosophical anthropology, philosophy of religion, aesthetics, performing arts, literature, category of agency.



The videogame industry has been struggling with a negative public image of gameplay and gamers. The most widespread stereotype (still) portrays the gamer as a young, socially awkward and nerdy man living on energy drinks and crisps. Videogames have been typically described as a waste of time and as dangerous for the development of our youth. When competitive gaming started developing from a leisure activity to something that might make you a living, the bad reputation of gaming was one of the hurdles to overcome in order to become a legitimate career path in the public eye. Competitive gaming began distancing itself from ‘regular’ gaming by branding itself as electronic sports. Thus, esports were born. But this attempt at gaining legitimacy goes beyond just a name change from competitive gaming to esports. The image of esports over the years has been strategically curated to fit the comparison between competitive gaming and traditional sports. Esports could not just be called sports, it also had to play the part. We see this represented in the rules, regulations and organizational structure of esports events, as well as the aesthetics of the spectacle that esports represents. Arguably, this shift has been very successful in making competitive gaming become more accepted and boosted its popularity. From hosting a tournament finale in Beijing’s Olympic Stadium to getting official recognition from the International Olympic Committee with the Olympic Esports Series, esports are on the rise. Games for men The aesthetic shift from competitive gaming to esports is more than just successful (re-)branding. Choosing to curate an image of competitive gaming as sports is not innocent. Traditional sports have been built on ideals of masculine superiority, which are present throughout its aesthetic presentation. In adopting the organization and aesthetic presentation from traditional sports, esports have presented itself as a key site for the reproduction of masculine domination. As Taylor argues, esports have become a gender problem exactly because they have aligned themselves intrinsically with the ideals (and aesthetics) of traditional sports. To pick traditional sports as a blueprint for the aesthetic presentation of esports, has set the rules of play. 

These very real social consequences should not be overlooked. These ‘rules of play’ in esports largely echo those of gaming as a whole. Discussions of who gets to call themselves a ‘real’ gamer, or what is a ‘real’ game have been prevalent since games started to enter popular culture. Men have attempted to defend games and the gamer identity from an influx of women and queer players by ways of discrimination, exclusion and hate campaigns. Partly as a result of this, men also represent the majority of esports players. Esports have been very successful in naturalizing the exclusion of women and other minority genders from the playing fields. The absence of women and queer competitors is explained to be the result of a lack of skill development, affirming the stereotypical assumptions that were already present. Women are seen as casual, non-competitive gamers, which makes them unfit for competing in esports events. Gatekeeping women from competing is therefore legitimized as an effort to ensure quality of competition, above all else. Critical enjoyment Esports have their issues, and one of them is a lack of inclusivity. I have briefly highlighted the fundamentally gendered nature of esports and its aesthetics. Does this mean we cannot enjoy competitive gaming, or esports? Of course we can. I have been to countless competitive events, as an amateur player, as a fan and as a researcher. I enjoy competition and the spectacle of competitive videogames. Enjoyment, however, does not have to come without critical engagement. I believe competitive gaming should be better, and I am hopeful that it can. The only way for this to be achieved is if we turn a critical eye to the very foundation of esports. The way esports presents itself is by no means neutral or a given. The aesthetic of it has been strategically constructed with specific aims and goals attached to it. As anthropologists, we are especially equipped to unpack these strategies and goals, to critically scrutinize them and to envision alternatives together with our interlocutors. This is exactly what I will keep doing in my research on competitive gaming.


Tom Legierse (26) is a CADS (and ICA!) alumni after completing both the bachelor and master programme in Leiden. He did research on gendered issues in competitive videogaming for his master’s thesis and will continue some of this work in a PhD project. After working as a junior lecturer for 2.5 years in Leiden, Tom recently moved to Norway to pursue a PhD at the University of Bergen.




The anthropological record contains ethnographically informed discussions about what enables, impedes, objectifies and signifies the articulation or, to the contrary, the separation of aesthetics from ethics in various contexts. This article exemplifies this trend through a case study, that of the debate on fashionable veiling among religious conservatives in contemporary Turkey.


A three-quarter sleeve

One morning in January 2012, I met Emine for the first time , a young, veiled designer-entrepreneur, who created fashionable garments for observant Muslim women. I learned about her from Ayşe (both names are pseudonyms), the veiled fashion editor of a recently launched Islamic fashion magazine, who was as interested as I was in locating the new actors on the Islamic fashion market and inviting them to present their creations in this magazine. Ayşe included Emine on her list of rising designers, for she had made a name for herself on social media with a collection of colourful, floor length tulle skirts. I contacted Emine and she invited me to her boutique. I stayed with her for about an hour, talking about her work and browsing her Instagram account together. She explained that she created garments and assembled outfits for young women who, like her, found the offer of established conservative clothing companies a bit too sober. When I was about to leave, two women entered the boutique. They were both veiled: the mother followed the dominant revivalist interpretation of veiling, wearing a long, loose-fitting coat and an oversized squared headscarf tightly pinned under the chin, completely covering the hair, forehead, ears, neck, shoulders and bosom, while the daughter preferred a more fashionable style of veiling, wearing a three-quarter, loose-fitting coat, wide-leg trousers and a shawl tightly pinned under the chin, completely covering the hair, forehead, ears, and neck. The young woman chose not only a tulle skirt, but also a loose-fitting top. Yet, the mother disagreed with her second choice, for it had a three-quarter sleeve.

       Upon their departure, Emine emphasised once more that hers was not an easy business and invited me to return to her boutique, for there were many things I needed to learn. I spent the rest of the morning wandering on the streets around the Fatih Mosque, in a neighbourhood that was considered one of the most conservative districts of Istanbul, encountering women wearing all-enveloping black cloaks (çarşaf) as well as women wearing fashionable veiling. I entered shop after shop with clothes and accessories for observant Muslim women, some more fashionable than others.

       Once I returned home, I wrote my field notes and then decided to create a new document, titling it ‘Controversial sartorial details’. The first detail I entered was the three-quarter sleeve. By the time I finished my research on the Islamic fashion industry, in 2014, the document included disputes about the number of headscarf pins, shapes and length of garments, headscarf wrapping styles, costume jewellery, oversized sunglasses, bodily postures and social media exposure. I had learned about them directly while visiting shops, spending time in designers’ boutiques, taking part in fashion shoots and meeting with veiled fashion professionals and religious conservatives, and indirectly from comments on social media posts and mass media discussions. I had conducted my research at a time when the Islamic fashion industry entered a new stage of its development with the appearance of headscarf-wearing fashion professionals, from designer-entrepreneurs to journalists and editors, who experimented with fabrics, forms, and styles to create new types of conservative dress. This fashionable veiling had become the topic of heated debates that centred on competing notions of piety, modesty, fashion and modernity (Gökarıksel and Secor 2010; Bucar 2016; Crăciun 2017a; Kütük-Kuriş 2021).


Fashionable veiling

Ethnographically, it is to this list of controversial sartorial details that I have kept returning while formulating the argument that fashionable veiling is a realm of both the aesthetic and the ethical. Theoretically, I have worked within an enlarged definition of the aesthetic that includes fashion (Negrin 2012). Moreover, I have considered veiling to be not simply conformity to religious norms, but an ethical practice. Piety is an ethical category, which individuals appropriate as part of the process of ethical subjectivation (Fassin 2012). Piety is the very form that ethical life takes. Ethical reasoning and action are grounded in assertions of faith and personal self-monitoring and self-disciplining articulate with explicit religious knowledge (Keane 2014). However, piety is not something entirely internal or immaterial. Material and bodily practices such as veiling, praying and fasting are considered crucial for the constitution and expression of pious subjectivity (Mahmood 2005). Veiling is, thus, essential for the fashioning of an ethical subject and, simultaneously, acts as a guarantor of pious subjectivity.


Furthermore, I have built on Lambek’s (2010, 2) discussion of ‘ordinary ethics’, namely an ethics that is ‘relatively tacit, grounded in agreement rather than rule, in practice rather than knowledge or belief’ and on Keane’s (2010, 82) amendment that ethics are not only tacit competences, but also require deliberation and invention. In a debate such as that I analysed, the tacit becomes the explicit. This approach permitted analytical distance from an interpretation of the debate over fashionable veiling as illustrating the opposition between the normative and the lived.

        I summarised the debate about fashionable veiling as follows. The religious conservatives who participated in this debate insisted that veiling was only about ethics. They saw fashionable veiling as being only about aesthetics and, consequently, rejected it as non-veiling. Moreover, they argued that in veiling the only possible and permissible relationship between ethics and aesthetics was one of subordination of aesthetics to ethics. The religiously sanctioned aesthetics of veiling objectified this relationship. In contrast, the most visible practitioners and, at the same time, the most vocal defenders of fashionable veiling – namely, headscarf-wearing fashion professionals – argued that fashionable veiling was veiling, and that the pleasure taken in designing, presenting 

had no disruptive effect on ethics. Furthermore, they claimed that in fashionable veiling the relationship between ethics and aesthetics was one of identity; namely, that aesthetics was ethics. The reworking of religiously sanctioned aesthetics was itself an ethical practice. It was both subject-centred and intersubjective, reflecting responsibility towards the self and the other. In addition, they emphasised the modernity of this type of veiling, which allowed observant Muslim women to participate in the modern public sphere and partake in its aesthetics.Both practitioners and critics regarded veiling as an ethical practice of self-cultivation. The dress hypostatised a particular religiously sanctioned aesthetic (an aesthetic of the proper form); and the practitioner committed herself to a religiously defined restrained, subdued, and modest conduct (an aesthetics of the correct posture). Fashionable veiling was (also) a sartorial practice of self-enhancement. It demonstrated experimentation with materials, forms and colours within a religiously sanctioned aesthetics; and the practitioner’s public behaviour evidenced, depending on who judged it, both conformity with and transgression of religiously defined conduct. Therefore, fashionable veiling generated debate over the relationship between the form and content of veiling, as well as the compatibility or incompatibility of these particular practices of self-cultivation and self-enhancement. Anthropology, aesthetics and ethicsThe debate about fashionable veiling is emblematic of the type of relationship that could exist between aesthetics and ethics, and of who is qualified to define that relationship. The anthropological record contains numerous other ethnographically informed discussions about what enables, impedes, objectifies and resignifies the articulation or, to the contrary, the separation of aesthetics from ethics in various contexts (e.g., Hirschkind 2009; George 2010; Stokes 2013; Crăciun 2017b). Though they might differ with respect to the notions of aesthetics and ethics they employ, such studies document and reflect on the ways in which aesthetics and ethics relate in their respective ethnographic cases. They also appropriately refrain from proposing a definitive conceptual, theoretical and methodological approach. Collectively, they demonstrate the value of this undertaking and encourage other scholars to focus closely on this relationship and claim for themselves an analytical place between ‘the aesthetic turn’ in the social sciences and ‘the ethical turn’ in anthropology.

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Magdalena Crăciun holds a PhD in Anthropology from University College London and is currently a Lecturer at the Faculty of Sociology and Social Work, University of Bucharest. She has conducted fieldwork in Turkey and Romania and is interested in material culture and materials (plastics). She has published Islam, Faith and Fashion: The Islamic Fashion Industry in Turkey (Bloomsbury Academic, 2017), Material Culture and Authenticity: Fake Branded Fashion in Europe (Bloomsbury Academic, 2014; Routledge, 2020) and peer-reviewed articles in Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Journal of Material Culture, Ethnos: Journal of Anthropology, World Art, Eastern European Politics & Societies and Anthropology and Humanism. 

Visual design and anthropology


Around the turn of the century, consumers and designers were propelled into an era where graphic and web design kept steadily gaining increasing traction alongside the spread of the internet and digital consumerism. Over the last two decades this has led to great growth in technology, processes and requirements around the aesthetics of products and services, but no category felt this wave more than digital platforms and services. At the dawn of digital products services and consumerism, the products/services were so functionally different that consumers could differentiate between them organically. However, as the space grew, the barriers to entry fell and it became harder and harder to differentiate different providers for the same functionality. This ushered, in my opinion, the age of User Interfaces (UI) and User Experience (UX). This meant that competitors were now differentiating between services not by their functionality but by the ease of understanding and use to a non-technical audience. While some cases where aesthetics and the ease of use of the product or service are not of the highest importance still exist, they are niche cases. These people have enough knowledge to navigate these systems without assistance, but as of late, when these niches grow and expand, they start to pay attention to UI and UX. An example of such a field is the Linux space. Linux is a computer operation system which is still considered quite niche. It is regarded to be the best for developers and software engineers. However, as of late, it has begun to gain popularity with a wider audience who want either more customisable operating systems or better privacy and data protection. With this influx of newcomers, the Linux community has placed a much greater importance on UI and UX as seen by the popularity of more accessible Distributions of the OS like Pop! And Manjaro. Therefore, one can claim that UI and UX are quintessential in the digital age. Corporations often play minute attention to these aspects as the reception of UI and UX choices could vary between cultures. Many companies go as far as creating multiple versions of their products/services to cater to different groups of users. This phenomenon is most easily noticed in the multimedia industry, for example movies. Disney has been known to change the script and animation of their movies to better fit their consumers based on geographical location and culture.

For example, the colour of Ubisoft’s mascot was changed from purple to blue in the Japanese versions of the product’s release, as the colour purple had negative connotations in the country. This is just one example of thousands of changes made to UI/UX and marketing material across companies and culture. Since each culture has a unique way of perceiving UI and UX design, could it be possible that some cultures care more/less about these features? Some UI/UX designers claim that while design is important, some cultures place more/less importance on these features. In some examples, India is often mentioned. A lot of local products and solutions, which include essential government services like applying for permits, appointments and booking tickets for public transit, are riddled with unintuitive design and non-accessible systems hidden in heaps of menus and options. An anonymous UX developer claimed that the market of India places less value on the aesthetics and ease of use of a product/service as long as it functions. Often, people seemed to prefer the worse UI/UX as when provided with the same service for the same price, they felt they were getting a better deal with the worse experience. The better experience was not preferred, as the focus on UI and UX made the consumers feel that they were being charged more for the convenience and they would rather not pay that. They seem to be content with a worse experience for a working product and a cheap price, as these were elements they associated with each other. However, the developer went on to claim that this was changing with the introduction of foreign solutions in the same price range with a better user experience, something which was previously inaccessible. This is a very interesting exploration on the impact and importance of aesthetics in modern digital products and solutions. There are numerous instances of companies failing to enter markets due to a lack of consideration of UI and UX choices. Therefore, while people may not care as much about UX consciously, it subconsciously plays a major role in our decision making where the existence of good Ui or the lack thereof may be the final straw in the conclusion of a sale, pinning another chapter in the key importance of aesthetics in global economic patterns.


Yuvan Gupta is currently a student at Leiden University studying cultural anthropology and development sociology. He specialises in Digital ethnography. He has a background in visual art and design. He is also the communication officer for the study association Itiwana. He also likes frogs.



Thank you so much for reading this edition of the ICA! Making this magazine has been an amazing process and we hope you enjoy it as much as we do. If you have any questions, requests, or wish to contribute to upcoming editions of the ICA, do not hesitate to contact us by email. See you in next semester’s edition!

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From ‘A Visual Anthropology of Horror: A Case of Shadow Animism?’ - Joshua Sterlin:


Work Cited: 


Asma, Stephen. 2009. On Monsters: An Unnatural History of Our Worst Fears. Oxford: Oxford University Press.


Astuti, Rita. 2017. Taking People Seriously. Hau: Journal of Ethnographic Theory. 7(1): 105–122. doi:, Philippe. 2013. Beyond Nature and Culture (J. Lloyd, Trans.). Chicago: University of Chicago Press.


Evans-Pritchard, Edward Evan. 1976. Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic Among the Azande. Oxford: Clarendon Press.Graeber, David. 2014. Debt: The First 5,000 Years. Updated and expanded ed. Brooklyn: Melville House.


Musharbash, Yasmin and Henning Presterudstuen, Geir. 2014. Monster Anthropology in Australasia and Beyond. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.


Sutton, David. E., and Wogan, Peter. (2020). Hollywood blockbusters: The Anthropology of Popular Movies. London: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group.


Turner, Edith. 1993. The Reality of Spirits: A Tabooed of Permitted Field of Study?. Anthropology of Consciousness. 4(1):9-12.


Movies and Television Referenced:

Carter, Chris. 1993-2022. The X-Files. Fox.

Fessenden, Larry, dir. 2001. Wendigo. Antidote Films; 91 mins

Hardy, Robin, dir. 1973. The Wicker Man. British Lion Films; 88 mins.

Kent, Jennifer, dir. 2014. The Babadook. Umbrella Entertainment; 94 mins.

Peele, Jordan, dir. 2017. Get Out. Blumhouse Productions; 104 mins.

Peele, Jordan, dir. 2019. Us. Monkeypaw Productions; 116 mins.

Spielberg, Steven, dir. 2001. A.I.: Artificial Intelligence. Warner Bros. Pictures; 146 mins.

Wan, James, dir. 2013. The Conjuring. New Line Cinema; 112 mins.


From ‘Killers of Justice: An Aesthetic and Anthropological Perspective’ - Anna Kawalec:


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Coote, J., & Shelton, A. (Eds.). (1992). Anthropology, Art, and Aesthetics. Clarendon Press, Oxford.


Dalaqua, G. (2020). Aesthetic injustice. Journal of Aesthetic and Culture, 12(1).Dyck, J. (2017). A Beautiful Future for Aesthetics: Three Avenues of Progress. Bulletin Aesthetics, Spring, 1-3.


Gell, A. (1992). The Technology of Enchantment and the Enchantment of Technology. In J. Coote & A. Shelton (Eds.), Anthropology, Art and Aesthetics (pp. 40-66). Clarendon, Oxford.


Gell, A. (1998). Art and Agency. Clarendon Press, Oxford.Ingold, T. (1996). General Introduction. In T. Ingold (Ed.), Companion Encyclopedia of Anthropology (p. xvii). Routledge.


Kawalec, A. (2016). Person and Nexus. Wydawnictwo KUL, Lublin.Kawalec, A. (2020). Stand-Up Comedy as a hallmark of western culture. Journal of Aesthetics & Culture, 12(1). Retrieved from


Kawalec, A. (2021). Integral aesthetics. Project: Introduction to a Timeless Controversy Over Contemporary Art. Annals of Cultural Studies, 12(1), 7-18.


Morphy, H., & Perkins, M. (Eds.). (2005). The Anthropology of Art: A Reader. Wiley-Blackwell Publishing, Oxford.


Museum of Indian Arts and Culture. (2017). Here, Now, and Always: Voices of the First Peoples of the Southwest [Exhibition]. Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, Santa Fe, NM, USA.


Ross, T. M. (2018). Anthropologia: An (Almost) Forgotten Early Modern History. Journal of the History of Ideas, 79(1), 1–22.


Smith, D. (2023, November 3). Indigenous voices matter: Hollywood must do better. The Guardian. Retrieved from


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Romano, L. (2021). Retro Game Music: How the 8-Bit Sound Affects Gameplay. ROMchip: A Journal of Game Histories, 1(1). Retrieved from


From ‘Fashionable Veiling in Turkey’ - Magdalena Craciun:


Bucar, E. M. 2016. “Secular Fashion, Religious Dress, and Modest Ambiguity: The Visual Ethics of Indonesian Fashion-veiling.” Journal of Religious Ethics 44 (1): 68–91.


Crăciun, M. 2017a. “Aesthetics, ethics and fashionable veiling: a debate in contemporary Turkey.” World Art 7(2): 329-352.


Crăciun, M. 2017b. “Anthropological approaches to the relationship between aesthetics and ethics.” World Art 7(2): 1-18.


Fassin, D. 2012. “Introduction: Toward a Critical Moral Anthropology.” In A Companion to Moral Anthropology, edited by D. Fassin, 1–18. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.


George, K. M. 2010. Picturing Islam: Art and Ethics in a Muslim Lifeworld. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell.


Gökarıksel, B., and A. Secor. 2010a. “Between Fashion and tesettür: Marketing and Consuming Women’s Islamic Dress.” Journal of Middle East Women’s Studies 6 (3): 118–48.


Hirschkind, C. 2014. Commentary on Everyday Islam Curated Collection. Curated Collections, Cultural Anthropology website. Accessed January, 2024.


Lambek, M. 2010. “Introduction.” In Ordinary Ethics: Anthropology, Language, and Action, edited by M. Lambek, 1–36. New York: Fordham University Press.


Keane, W. 2010. “Minds, Surfaces, and Reasons in the Anthropology of Ethics.” In Ordinary Ethics: Anthropology, Language, and Action, edited by M. Lambek, 39–63. New York: Fordham University Press.


Keane, W. 2014. “Ethics as Piety.” Numen 61: 221–36.


Kütük-Kuriş, M. 2021. “Piety, fashion and festivity in a modest fashion shopping mall in Istanbul.” International Journal of Fashion Studies 7 (2): 167 – 191.


Mahmood, S. 2005. Politics of Piety: The Reform of the Feminist Subject. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.


Negrin, L. 2012. “Aesthetics: Fashion and Aesthetics – a Fraught Relationship.” In Fashion and Art, edited by A. Geczy and V. Karaminas, 43–54. London: Bloomsbury.


Stokes, M. 2013. “New Islamist Popular Culture in Turkey.” In Music, Culture and Identity in the Muslim World: Performance, Politics and Piety, edited by K. Salhi, 15–34. London: Routledge.

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