There is a diverse mix of individuals at this event – 11-year-olds with dyed blue hair, strong men in their 40s, and stylish hipsters in their 20s – all hanging onto artificial hand grips on the walls of a spacious gym. Electronic dance music fills the air, as the crowd enjoys Gatorade and artisanal beers. They dance and applaud in sync, while some gather to chat and cheer on those scaling the walls around them. It’s an exuberant and anarchic atmosphere, and even though I’m not a climber myself, I find myself in the midst of it all, sitting cross-legged on the sweaty floor.
I’m not attending this event, organized by a Brooklyn climbing gym, solely for the dim lighting, pulsating bass, and beer – though I do enjoy these things. I’m here because my tween daughter possesses a natural talent for climbing, and my presence at these competitions-cum-parties is not only a parental obligation (she’s still a kid, after all), but it also allows me to connect with this vibrant community. Watching her analyze the climbing routes with graceful hand and arm movements, or seeing her bashfully acknowledge the crowd and wave to her friends after a successful climb, fills me with pride. She is not only engaging her body, but also immersing herself in a community of enthusiasts that I never knew existed until she introduced me to them.
Another reason I find myself at these events is because, like a growing number of Americans, I’ve discovered happiness in something I like to call “collective joy”. It may just be our best response to the demands of the corporate happiness industry.
For most of my life, happiness was marketed as a product I could purchase, like a pill to swallow. It came in the form of literal medications like Wellbutrin and Zoloft, or self-help books and retreats. Happiness was something one was expected to achieve by overcoming pessimism on their own. There was also a strong business incentive behind this notion: a happy worker was believed to be a more productive one.
This idea of happiness drew inspiration from positive psychology, a movement that gained popularity in the 1990s. Martin Seligman, a proponent of this school of thought, aimed to shift psychology’s focus from merely repairing the negative aspects of life to building positive qualities as well. In his words, psychology was “half-baked”, lacking attention to strengths and what we excel at.
Tech companies like Google embraced this focus on power and skill, utilizing corporate happy talk to encourage employees to work late into the night. Figures like Tony Robbins, Dan Harris, and Rick Hanson further propagated this happiness industry. Their books, such as Hardwiring Happiness, offered recipes for prioritizing positive experiences in life. The happiness industry flourished, with the emergence of certificate programs producing chief happiness officers, happiness-themed Ted talks, and an abundance of products promoting happiness as a business model.
However, this notion of happiness varied depending on prevailing trends. Social media promised joy and increased efficiency, but only if we purchased “mindful” products like mayo or nail polish, or consumed “mood-supporting” vitamins. It’s no coincidence that these products are heavily advertised on platforms like Instagram, where idealized images of personal happiness abound.
A recent example of this corporate philosophy is Amazon’s AmaZen, a small meditation chamber introduced in May 2021 aimed at soothing workers. Inside this booth, employees could use a computer to access mindful practices, including meditation videos and positive affirmations. Ironically, the booths resembled toilet stalls in size and shape, highlighting the struggles faced by workers who had to fight for basic rights like bathroom breaks. These “practice rooms” were located within warehouses, and employees were encouraged to lock themselves inside during grueling shifts, all while facing pressure against unionizing.
I spoke with Will Davies, author of The Happiness Industry, who views this complex as a space in which “negative thoughts and low moods were simply caused by bad habits”. According to Davies, this perspective reduces human beings and the concept of boredom to a simplified understanding. It reflects a post-human view of the workforce, treating workers as expendable assets who must be happy at all costs. The television show Severance, where workers undergo brain surgery to erase non-work lives, may not be pure science fiction after all.
The paradigm shifted with the pandemic. It’s not that the happiness industry has vanished, but Covid-19 and its aftermath of “quiet quitting” have shown us an alternative path away from the cycle of buying happiness for increased productivity.
Now, we have the opportunity to explore collective joy. But what exactly is collective joy? It’s a form of happiness experienced within groups. It can be found in significant moments, such as marches and celebrations of identity, as well as seemingly trivial communal events. For me, this extends to reproductive rights events where people dress up as uteruses, or hedonistic dance parties featuring acrobats, Reiki practitioners, and tarot readers. According to a Pew study in 2022, 21% of respondents expressed a renewed appreciation for social activities post-lockdown, particularly valuing large gatherings.
The power of celebration and mass public expression has been recognized by others before me. Barbara Ehrenreich, in her book Dancing in the Streets, delves into the transformative nature of spectacles, carnivals, and events like Pride, rock festivals, and football matches. Such gatherings create communal joy that can evolve into meaning and empowerment.
Terms like “Black joy” are indicative of this idea, with nearly half a million Instagram posts dedicated to the concept. Kleaver Cruz, founder of the Black Joy Project, explains that it offers an account of Black life that doesn’t overlook collective pain but holds it alongside joy. Thinkers like adrienne maree brown, in her book Pleasure Activism, explore the potential for joy within Black liberation, urging people to cultivate collective agency and make decisions through dance.
In my book Bootstrapped, I highlight the emergence of a collective resilience that extends beyond traditional labor movements. It includes mutual aid groups fostering reciprocal altruism within communities, participatory budgeting collectives, and peer therapy communities where unlicensed therapists provide support. Research has shown that one in five college students have received peer counseling, emphasizing the importance and effectiveness of these informal networks.
In addition to these sincere collective endeavors,…
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