When 19-year-old philosophy student Eddie Hewer began creating his now signature digital collage videos — which combine and overlay original poetry, other TikTok videos, news clips and archive footage — there wasn’t a name for that particular style of editing online. “In the summer [of 2022], Dylan Cherry, Mason Noel, John Rising and I were the first few people to make these kinds of videos, and I remember under all of our videos there were comments asking ‘what kind of video is this?’” he says. The style has since been reluctantly anointed #corecore by the internet. “I didn’t feel like giving it a name, but the community has more power in this case and they do not hold back in mentioning the word corecore in every comment section of mine.”
In recent months, corecore has risen from a somewhat niche TikTok genre to being labelled as one of the “artistic movements of our time”. The videos, that are often one-minute long, usually start out with a sentiment that defines the modern human condition in some way (like feeling lonely or longing for the past) and combine a series of clips from other TikToks, YouTube videos, political speeches and movies, to evoke a feeling or translate a particular message to the viewer. There have already been multiple online debates about the original motivation behind corecore and how it’s since been corrupted, with some claiming it’s an anti-capitalist movement that explores technology’s effect on society. There have also been comparisons made to dadaism, while others argue that it’s a dangerous genre that will make people “more depressed” (and even lead lonely young men into totalitarianism).
Eddie says that calling corecore a generational artistic movement “blows the niche much out of proportion to what it is”. “I feel that rather this represents niche artists who feel similar responses to late-stage capitalism, the addiction and overstimulation of modern technology, and the struggle to find meaning in the digital age,” he says. “I would say rather that corecore fits nicely into broader movements of postmodernism and deconstruction.” Eddie views corecore as a stepping stone to larger fields of art, or a way for people to dip their toes into the art world. “It feels like corecore is more of a vessel for young artists to experiment with before stepping out into the broader world of art,” he says.
While corecore has been critiqued for often including dark themes, many creators argue that it’s simply a response to living in late-stage capitalism. In one viral video, corecore creator Mason overlays a video detailing how to become a millionaire with footage of fast food workers taking orders during a flood. The result, undeniably, pokes holes at the American dream. Since Gen Z is considered the generation that “no longer dreams of labor”, it’s easy to see how these types of videos are appealing to young people online. One commenter even said that corecore “shows the human experience in a way that can’t be put into words”.
The irony with corecore, however, is that the scream is coming from inside the house. Young people are using the same technology they’ve grown to resent to express said resentment. “The videos we make are excruciatingly ironic because the means in which we make them is sourcing, compiling and recycling content from a platform we hate, and publishing it back to that same platform to receive our own commodity in the form of likes and engagement,” Eddie says. “We scream from within a chamber in which we can only hear the others screaming.”
People have argued that corecore has now become an aesthetic divorced from the ideological origins of the movement, something Eddie says can feed into the very system people were hoping to criticize. Filmmaker Kyle Richard McCarthy, even got heat online recently for making a video that “intellectualized” corecore. “It’s as if merely talking about it destroyed the value of it as an art movement,” he says. “As an artist, I like to talk about art that inspires me and even though I know the name corecore itself is kind of a meta-joke, it’s helpful to have a term to talk about this style I really enjoy.” This meta-joke, of course, plays off the tiresome amount of “core” trends that have been churned out over the past couple of years.
Kyle views corecore as any video or audio collage that makes a larger point about the human experience (whether that be about the pitfalls of a modern capitalist society, consumerism, environmental destruction or loneliness and isolation in the modern world). He also believes it will have a long term effect on visual storytelling, especially in regards to how people edit films and video. “Corecore feels intentionally sloppy when it comes to editing,” he says. “Random screenshots popping on top of a video would have been a big ‘no no’ in editing five years ago, but with corecore, ultimately the emotion that is evoked is more important than creating a clean video edit.” For this reason, it’s also being compared to “shitposting” on Instagram.
It seems as if corecore, like its extremely online name, has confused, captivated and enraged people since its onset. And while people continue to debate “what it means” in TikTok comments— with some calling it an anti-intellectual reflection of feelings, others saying the internet is “watering down” it’s original message and/or that the genre simply reflects the absurdity of living today — the style is the internet eating itself from the inside out. As we continue to make and consume content about the woes of living through a consumption-driven era, Kyle hopes that corecore can become a place for community.
“I think there is a fear that corecore videos can often be nihilistic, but I want to see more positive corecore edits get some love as well though,” he says. “I hope, in the future, people use corecore to share their own vulnerabilities and help others feel less alone.”