can punk be commercial?

Punk at its core is a rebellion; a raw, unfiltered reaction against the status quo.

Born in the 1970s amidst economic despair and social disillusionment, the punk movement was a voice for the voiceless, a space where working-class youth could vent their frustrations and channel their anger into something powerful.

But in today’s London scene, there’s a trend on the rise that’s been acutely observed by those involved in the scene: a growing number of self-dubbed punks that arouse an almost subconscious suspicion.

These are individuals who adopt punk’s aesthetics and attitudes but come from backgrounds that are anything but disadvantaged.

This phenomenon raises an important question: can someone from a privileged background truly embody the spirit of punk, or are they merely co-opting an image for personal gain?

A good place to consider this fairly loaded and sensitive topic, it would be worth revisiting punk’s origins.

The punk movement in the UK was deeply intertwined with the working class.

In the mid-1970s, Britain was in the grip of an economic crisis: high unemployment, inflation, and widespread disillusionment with the government.

Young people, especially those from working-class backgrounds, felt abandoned by a system that seemed rigged against them.

Punk emerged as their voice, a way to express their anger and frustration.

Bands like The Clash and the Sex Pistols didn’t just play music; they embodied the struggles of their generation.

The DIY ethos of punk—where anyone could pick up an instrument, start a band, and make a statement—was a direct response to the elitism and inaccessibility of the mainstream music industry.

Punk was about rejecting the polished, the pre-packaged, and the pretentious.

Fast forward to today, and the scene has evolved.

London has seen a wave of gentrification that has inevitably impacted its subcultures.

Amidst this change, a new breed of punk has emerged—one that looks the part but lacks the lived experience that originally defined the movement.

These individuals might have the look and the sound, but some argue their privilege sets them apart from the roots of the culture they’re emulating.

When your rebellion is underpinned by financial security, it raises questions about authenticity.

Are these individuals truly angry at the system, or are they playing at rebellion because it’s fashionable?

Sometimes you can’t help but feel there’s a certain irony and performativity in watching someone who has never struggled to pay rent or find a job, for example, scream about societal oppression.

And while punk has always been inclusive in many ways, welcoming misfits and outcasts of all kinds, some argue the co-opting of punk by the privileged can dilute the movement’s original message.

However, there are those who argue that this perspective is overly rigid and potentially exclusionary.

Punk, they say, has always been about breaking down barriers and rejecting elitism, and that includes barriers based on class or background.

By its very nature, punk is inclusive and welcomes anyone who feels alienated, regardless of where they come from.

To gatekeep based on socioeconomic status could be seen as antithetical to punk’s core values.

Moreover, punk is not just a working-class movement; it’s a broader rebellion against any form of oppression or conformity.

While it’s true that punk emerged from economic hardship, rebellion can take many forms.

Privileged individuals might not face the same economic struggles, but they can still experience and reject other forms of societal pressure.

Most would agree that authenticity in punk is more about intention and commitment than background.

If someone from a privileged background is genuinely dedicated to punk’s values—DIY ethics, anti-authoritarianism, and social justice—then their contribution to the scene can be just as valid as anyone else’s.

In fact, the diversity they bring might help broaden the movement’s appeal and address a wider range of social issues.

There’s also the argument that criticizing someone for their privilege could be a form of reverse elitism, creating a new kind of hierarchy within the punk scene.

The danger here is that by insisting on a certain type of authenticity, we might romanticize poverty or struggle as the only "true" punk experience, which could exclude those who genuinely want to contribute but don’t fit the stereotypical mold.

Therefore, in my usual style, with a lot having been said but no tangible point being made, I will keep with my style by simply saying that the conversation around accusations of “fake” punks and authenticity is complex.

On one hand, it’s important to recognise and challenge inauthenticity, especially when it risks diluting the movement’s original message.

Whereas on the contrary, punk has always been about inclusivity, and turning it into an exclusive club where only those with the "right" background are welcome goes against the spirit of the movement.

Ultimately, I feel the natural instincts of an audience are well-attuned enough to be able to identify that music coming from a band that all hail from three-storey houses in the heart of Kensington despairing of financial hardship is probably not worth their time anyways.