The Struggle: Standardisation of Identity

“Not everything is political,” says Jean, “Well of course it is,” responds Viv, her girlfriend. This scene summarizes why Blue Jean (2022), directed by Georgia Oakly, is my favorite film and suits this edition’s theme perfectly. They are sitting on the couch, eating instant ramen, in 1988 Newcastle, watching “Blind Date,” your typical heteronormative and infantilizing dating cable show. Against the backdrop of Thatcher’s Britain and the enforcement of Section 28, which sought to erase LGBTQ+ visibility and promote the “normal happy Christian family,” the film delves into the standardization of identity under heteronormative pressure. It’s a slow-burning, symbolic exploration of what it means to try fitting in without losing oneself.

In short, the film follows Jean, a closeted PE teacher trying to keep her head down while Section 28, a legislation aimed at banning not only the publication of LGBTQ+ works but also the promotion of homosexuality in schools all across the UK, looms over everything. By day, she’s cautious and reserved at school, but by night, she regularly visits a lesbian bar with her girlfriend Viv and their friends, finally able to breathe. The problem is, she’s living two totally separate lives, and that delicate balance starts to crack when she spots one of her students, Lois, at the same bar. From there, things start to spiral. Jean’s fear of being outed puts her job, her relationship, and her sense of self on the line. The true power of the film lies in its picturesque capacity to capture that tension, the exhaustion of hiding who you are, as well as the cost of staying silent. 

Throughout the film, Section 28 serves as a symbol for the government's all around attempts to homogenize, particularly heteronationally, its population. With queerness serving as the object getting in the way of this being achieved. This was obviously not only the case during Thatcher’s pervasively conservative leadership but noticeable within most societies in modern times. Jean’s story is an accurately crude portrayal of what it means to live within, and quietly perpetuate, the very system that oppresses you. Her double life, as a closeted and accorded teacher by day and a quietly defiant lesbian by night, embodies the struggle of trying to exist within a structure that forbids any kind of mismatch. The film visualizes this tension through recurring acts of concealment and conformity. For example, the mere detail of Jean regularly bleaching her hair, constantly “fixing” it before her real color shows, becomes a potent metaphor for the standardization demanded by society when it comes to basic physical appearance. This self-editing, routinely modifying her perception to align with the expected, is her way of surviving within the “shame regime” Thatcher’s Section 28 enforced.

Even in private spaces, like the toilet scene where she confronts her reflection under the graffiti “Resisting the shame regime,” the film reminds us that politics and oppression seep into every corner of life. Even though within this film, standardization is explored through violent and homophobic oppression, I think it can be used to very easily highlight the broader homogenization that structured society and mainstream culture expects. 

Jean’s partner Viv is a woman unafraid to stand out, covered in tattoos, with a buzzed head and a multitude of punk-alt accessories. She marks a very strong contrast with Jean, who dresses plainly and fits in during the day, it’s almost like one embodies the expectations of the homogenous society and the other the rejection of it, because it is. It also highlights Jean’s resistance to disruption; she just wants to live quietly, to not cause trouble, embodying the “resistance through existence” motto. In a way, existing outside of the norm, even discretely, is a form of rebellion. Yet, despite her denial, she remains complicit in the oppressive mechanisms she fears, the ones wishing to make her “like everybody else”, the very one that creates such a thing as “everybody else.” This is also metaphorically explored throughout the film, as Jean owns a goldfish as well as a cat, the latter constantly attempting to eat the fish, staring at it, symbolizing how Jean’s very own life and identity are mutually oppressive, the very threat coming from inside of her. Her silence makes her part of the system. The narrative’s slow burn, the cassette tape gradually breaking, her neighbour observing her, her growing insomnia, her exhaustion; mirrors her disintegration under the weight of conformity. 

The nightmare sequence, in which Lois is chased by her classmates while Jean serves as referee, crystallizes her guilt: she has “thrown her to the wolves,” policing queerness rather than protecting it, or on a more generally-applicable basis, imposing a war on difference. Even her attempts to socialize, like reluctantly going to the pub with colleagues, symbolize her desperate attempts at normalization, something her sister later challenges when she says, “You can’t pretend your past never happened.” The film’s title itself, Blue Jean, encapsulates this contradiction: adding an adjective, a color, a deviation from standard denim, marks difference, individuality. Yet, Jean spends two-thirds of the film trying to scrub out that color, to disappear into uniformity. Through its quiet repetition of political imagery and subtle visual metaphors, Blue Jean doesn’t just depict the consequences of Thatcher-era homophobia, but rather the timeless human impulse to self-regulate and conform under pressure, an impulse that makes us both victims and enforcers of standardization. What speaks to me through this film is something I see in day to day modern life as well. 

When scrolling through Pinterest or Instagram, as most of us do, or even just walking down the street, the effects of standardization become hard to ignore. This aesthetic and behavioral homogenization seems to have reached nearly everyone. With smartphones in every pocket and instant access to mainstream culture, trends have become more widespread and more fleeting than ever. As a result, most of us consume the same books, films, music, brands, even political ideas. I’m no exception. I listen to the same music others do, wear baggy jeans that once felt distinctive but now don’t, feel compelled to watch whatever movie everyone is talking about, and probably wouldn’t have my hair cut the way it is if it weren’t considered “cool” enough. It pushed us to question to what extent our influences are aimed at standardizing us despite their broadness and diversity. Of course, parts of my identity remain unique, but they’re still shaped by what I see around me, by what’s expected, what’s valued, and what aligns with the image I want to project. Without realizing it, many of these choices are influenced by both political forces, passing trends, and a generally standardised identity impacting all. This is particularly done through what this edition called “the era of nonchalance,” the urge to pretend one does not care despite definitely caring. Even if you didn’t care, society cares for you.

This standardization goes beyond aesthetics, it extends deeply into our moral and political identities. Western politics has become increasingly polarized, dividing the world into binaries of right and wrong, liberal and conservative. If you identify as left-wing, you’re expected to agree with the entire ideological package that comes with it; the same goes for conservatives, who are often assumed to support stereotypically traditionalist views such as anti-abortion policies. Whether in “liberal” nations like Spain or Norway, or in more conservative ones such as Hungary or Italy, the drive toward homogenization persists. In left-leaning societies, governments often promote a shared set of progressive ideals, equal rights, a living wage, gay marriage, while right-led governments push for unity through nationalism, religion, and moral conservatism. Both sides, however, depend on rejecting the other, reinforcing a binary system where difference is subdued rather than embraced.

Even smaller communities, both online and offline, have been swept up by this trend. What once felt niche or subcultural now becomes fashionable the moment it gains traction. Internet aesthetics like corecore, hopecore, or any other “-core” have turned into hashtags, stripped of the irony or authenticity that once made them interesting. Likewise, real-life subcultures, crochet, graffiti, even drag, have shifted from being underground or marginalized to becoming commodified movements, packaged for mainstream appeal. Of course, this visibility can be empowering, especially for minorities, but it raises questions about intention. Today, art, people, and ideas seem to gain attention not because of their quality or message, but because of their virality, their capacity to catch on. Like populism, it thrives on popularity over substance. Even “alternative” or “indie” music, films, and art, once valued precisely because they existed outside the mainstream, have become just another marketing category, another mold for audiences to fit into. To me and the reason I chose to bring Blue Jean into this article is because it truly summarises the push and pull dynamic of trying to fit in whilst remaining unique.