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I recently finished Leaving the 20th Century by McKenzie Wark, and I have to say, it really got me thinking. I’ve read some of her earlier work, which mainly focused on Marxist critiques of political economy and capital rather than art. Her book Capital Is Dead is another great read—highly recommended if you’re into theoretical political economy. In that one, she explores how data commodification has become the dominant force in today’s world, overtaking the traditional focus on labor that you see in classic Marxist texts.
Leaving the 20th Century dives into the political and economic theories that set the stage for the rise of the Situationist movement and what it really stood for in its time. The Situationists were way more radical than the Dadaists and Surrealists—almost like their more extreme, Jacobin-style offshoot. What I found really fascinating was that most of them didn’t even consider themselves artists, nor did they produce what we’d typically call “art.” Yet, the movement itself is still often classified as an art movement. By the end, though, it had shifted more toward revolutionary political theory than anything else.
The Situationist International (SI) officially formed in 1956, growing out of the Lettrist movement, which had fractured into different groups developing really niche, layered critiques of capitalism. Unlike the Lettrists, the Situationists were based in Paris, with key members like Guy Debord, Asger Jorn, and Pierre Sanguinetti—all former Lettrists themselves.
What set them apart was their focus on constructing situations. They moved away from the Lettrist mission and instead focused on creating physical, immersive environments that they believed could trigger revolutionary change. They blended satire, scandal, and performance to critique consumer society, building on the foundations of earlier avant-garde movements.
One of the most ironic things about the Situationists—something Wark touches on—is how they tried to reject being labeled or categorized, yet they still called themselves the Situationist International, effectively giving themselves a label anyway. They were constantly trying to negate everything, including their own existence as a defined movement.
One of their main strategies was détournement, which was basically taking mainstream media—images, text, ads—and remixing them to completely subvert their original meaning. They’d turn these into collages, posters, graffiti, and pamphlets to challenge consumer culture. What’s wild is that, unlike other movements that critiqued commodification but still ended up producing stuff to be bought and sold, the Situationists rejected the entire idea of making art as a physical product.
Aside from Asger Jorn, a Danish painter associated with Neo-Romanticism, the Situationists didn’t really create tangible artworks. This makes sense given their anti-commodification stance—it’s actually kind of impressive when you think about how other movements, even when critiquing capitalism, still fell into the trap of producing things that could be consumed.
Compared to someone like Marcel Duchamp, who disrupted art by turning everyday objects into “readymades,” the Situationists went even further. They argued that even that was still too rooted in the idea of authorship and artistic intent. For them, any form of creation—even a lack of process—could still be co-opted by capital, turning labor (even artistic labor) into a form of private property.
One of their biggest contributions was the idea of psychogeography—basically, how cities shape our emotions and behaviors. They encouraged people to engage in dérive (literally “drifting”)—aimless, unplanned walks through urban spaces to uncover hidden meanings and challenge the rigid, functional way cities were designed.
Since the movement was Paris-based, their critique was mostly about how the city itself had become a place where movement was dictated by capitalism—commerce, work, efficiency—rather than curiosity or subjective experience. Debord and Jorn even created their own maps of Paris, rejecting traditional navigation. One of the most famous ones, The Naked City (1957), chopped up parts of the city and reassembled them with red arrows, suggesting new, chaotic routes instead of structured ones.
A lot of this still resonates today. Take urban planner Jeff Speck’s Walkable Cities—he argues that cities should be designed for walking not just for convenience but for social and economic well-being. Similarly, Jane Jacobs, in The Death and Life of Great American Cities, emphasizes how vibrant communities grow from diverse, small-scale urban planning. It’s funny because, in a way, the Situationists were calling out rigid city planning before car-centric urban design even took over.
The Situationists weren’t just an art movement—they were fiercely anti-capitalist and radically left-wing. Wark describes them as a Hegelian branch of Marxism, seeing history, culture, and consciousness as deeply intertwined with material struggles.
If you’ve ever read Debord’s The Society of the Spectacle, you’ll recognize his core argument: under modern capitalism, we’re alienated from real life because everything we experience is mediated by the spectacle—advertising, media, entertainment—all designed to shape our desires and perceptions. We don’t just consume things; we consume identities, aesthetics, and narratives carefully packaged for us by capitalism.