Capitalism's Favourite Lovechild 2.0

By Varuni Lodha

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Today, the rhythms of society move in tandem with money. From what we wear to what we believe, capitalism isn’t just an economic model, it is the bloodstream of culture.

Karl Marx, bless his 19th-century heart, probably didn’t have Sabrina Carpenter or a

Hindi bop like "Pinky Hai Paise Waalo Ki" in mind when he critiqued the bourgeoisie. But if he rose from his grave today (one that  has been given a Lububu shrine), he’d see exactly what he feared – the mass production of ideas, tastes and trends, all gift-wrapped for consumption, monetization and merch drops.

Or perhaps, maybe even be impressed by it.

Let’s be real, pop culture is capitalism’s favorite lovechild. 

It doesn’t just reflect the system – it sells it.

Pop culture is loud, glittery, endlessly adaptable and always ready for the spotlight.

It thrives on aesthetics, commodifies rebellion and manages to turn even existential

dread into a catchy chorus. It doesn’t just live within capitalism;  it flourishes under

it, evolving to reflect, absorb and ultimately monetize the anxieties and desires of its

audience.

Marx warned that ideology keeps the system in place by shaping how people see the world and pop culture has turned that into an art form with its top hits, hooks and opening weekends. It takes the raw machinery of capitalism and spins it into stories, anthems and trends that feel personal, relatable and even rebellious. The brilliance is that we hardly notice the system at work while humming along. Which is why when we look at films, songs and chart-toppers, we are not just consuming entertainment, we are seeing Marx’s commentary dressed up for the spotlight.


Take La La Land for example, where Ryan Gosling’s character, Sebastian, a

struggling jazz purist, eventually trades his smoky, soulful dreams for a keyboard

and a touring pop band. He tells himself it’s temporary, that it’s for the greater good;  but the message is clear as glass – integrity can wait, bills cannot.

In the world of pop culture, selling out isn’t scandalous. Rather it’s strategic, a

stepping stone, a plot point, a Spotify feature perhaps.

Sabrina Carpenter’s ‘Thumbs’ gives us a peppy anthem about people stuck in routine: spinning on the same axis every day, twiddling their thumbs while the world keeps moving. It’s a deceptively upbeat track that captures the fatigue of modern capitalism where the grind never stops and neither does the playlist. It is, in essence, alienation with a beat drop.

After all, some people keep their hands up, some people roll the dice. Just like she

said, ‘get up everyday to go work for someone else’

What that lyric captures is the quiet cruelty of the hierarchy. Some people rise higher on the ladder, they get the corner office or the fancier tour bus and they start to believe they have escaped the grind. But the truth is they are still working to feed the same system, just at a shinier level. 

Marx called this false consciousness, the illusion that upward mobility equals freedom, when in reality the ruling class still holds the apex of power. The glass ceiling is not only about those who cannot move up, it is also about the illusion that those who do, have actually broken free. In the end, whether you keep your hands up, roll the dice, or clock in every morning, the game is rigged the same way whether we like it or not; everyone is still working under someone else’s command and fueling the machinery of capital while thinking they have it made

Essentially, we're all caught in the same loop – working to get paid, feeding the system and mistaking survival for liberation.

So, I guess we can say Sabrina wasn’t endorsing the system, she was simply vibing

inside it. Like the rest of us. Surviving and attempting to thrive.

Even ABBA, the icons of emotional disco built an empire on heartbreak, money and

dancing through the capitalist hangover. They turned vulnerability into gold records

proof that even pain can be packaged, polished and sold.

Somewhere between lip kits and energy drinks, capitalism found yet another glamorous disguise in celebrity entrepreneurship. From the Kardashians turning contour into capital to Logan Paul and KSI bottling energy as Prime, fame itself has become a business model. 

These brands rarely rely on expertise and they thrive on influence. Consumers don’t buy the product, they buy the person. When David Dobrik’s pizza venture collapsed or when Prime landed in clearance aisles, the illusion cracked for a moment, but that’s it. Because in the spectacle of pop capitalism, bad reviews are still good publicity. People continue to buy, even if it’s to critique, because views gain money. Even though the quality of some products were mocked for its see-through fabric, and celebrity-made alcohol was rated low by bartenders worldwide, sales continued. 

Quality doesn’t sustain these empires, the attention does. The goal isn’t to sell longevity, but to sell presence, to stay relevant long enough for the next drop.

India, of course, mirrors this rhythm with its own flair. Our celebrity economy has mastered the art of turning visibility into currency. Actors launch perfume lines, cricketers sell earbuds, influencers open cafes and restaurants and suddenly every star has a “lifestyle” brand. Kriti Sanon’s Hyphen, Deepika Padukone’s 82°E, and even Priyanka Chopra’s Anomaly prove that the name is the brand, not the product. 

The Indian market runs on this same emotional investment – the idea that buying what a celebrity sells brings us a step closer to their life. It’s not commerce anymore, rather it’s the proximity. Yet, the volatility is the same. Trends fade, controversies flare, and brand loyalty dissolves as fast as the next influencer collab drops.

And in this massive and changing economy, even the biggest names aren’t spared. The hustle has trickled up. Shah Rukh Khan, once associated with luxury, now is an ambassador for Harpic, a humble reminder that even icons bend to market demands. 

The economy spares no one. Everyone, from the influencer with a ring light to the superstar on a billboard, is working to stay relevant and solvent. Pop culture’s capitalism doesn’t just trap the working class, but humbles the rich, too. Everyone is selling something, and money remains the ultimate audience.

Bollywood, as well, thrives on loud, bold, chaos and the promise of upward mobility – and in doing so it functions as capitalism’s ultimate storytelling machine. The films craft worlds where the working class is lovable, relatable and endlessly entertaining, while the rich are dazzling, distant and almost mythic in their desirability. From flashy musicals to over the top comedies, the narratives give audiences someone to root for, someone to laugh with and someone to envy.

Take something like the Housefull series, where the protagonists are constantly hustling, scheming and failing in ways the audience can recognize, all while dreaming of a life far beyond their means. This tension between aspiration and reality keeps viewers engaged, entertained and invested in a system that benefits from their attention and consumption.

In Marxist terms, this is his ideology at work. Pop culture in Bollywood creates what can be called a proletariat subculture: a shared world of stories, songs and inside jokes that distract, unite and socialize audiences simultaneously. It packages the pressures, desires and humor of working life into consumable narratives that feel personal, while subtly reinforcing the structures of class and capital. The system stays in order because people are entertained by it, laughing at the chaos, rooting for the underdog and quietly accepting the hierarchy that places the elite just out of reach. Films like these do not just reflect society, rather, they train audiences in the rituals of aspiration and consumption, showing Marx’s commentary on ideology and the superstructure in full technicolor, shimmer and songs.

By ‘superstructure’, I mean to refer to essentially the social, political, cultural and ideological systems that sit on top of the economic base to justify how our economy functions. Law, Media, Pop Culture, Education and Art all come under - what we call, as the superstructure of the society.

So, what is Bollywood if not for its music, specifically its item numbers. Pinky Hai Paise Waalo Ki is a blunt and brilliant piece of satire wrapped in a bouncy bollywood melody. It doesn’t waste time with metaphors. It just outright declares it. The idea of desire belongs to the rich and that’s that. It's funny because it’s true and it's tragic because it's funny. 

The hierarchy is laid bare, set to a rhythm and played on loop. It’s the kind of blunt

poetry Marx would've high-fived. ‘Here’s class divide with a killer hook. The rich get the girl, the swag and the screens’

The rest of us? We get to hum along while waiting for the EMI to clear and the

coupon codes to not be expired.

Pop culture is capitalism’s most charming mouthpiece, its most lucrative invention,

trapping the masses.

It gives us escape while tethering us tighter to the very system we’re escaping from.

It doesn’t critique capitalism so much as bedazzles it, hands it a mic and sells tickets to the show.

Marx may not have foreseen Spotify algorithms or influencer culture, but his theory

speaks directly to this moment.

The superstructure he warned of now dances in sparkles, guitars, speaks in hashtags and

earns royalties (but do they actually?). And we, the audience, continue to consume.

Not merely content, but ideology, aspiration and belonging. One track, one trend,

one curated identity at a time. 

After all , pop culture is capitalism's favourite love child.