8/11/2016
Student Spotlight: Whitten Overby | Graduate School
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Note: This interview was conducted via email and all of
my responses were written rather than spoken.
home » student spotlight: whitten overby
Student Spotlight: Whitten Overby
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Submitted by sk2387 on Fri, 20160805 13:06
What is your area of research?
I write history, theory, and criticism about the relationships
between media—primarily film and television—the built
environment, identity, and politics. My research focuses on
how, why, and where television functions as an apparatus and
an active agent in defining spatial tastes and behaviors, and I
find that spatial tastemaking and the attendant consumption
have become key ways that Americans construct their
individual and collective political identities. Television is the
dominant media we consume, constructing a daily narrative
that runs concomitant with our lives. As a medium, television is
so American because it’s bound up with America’s obsession
with the good life, with the American Dream. Every show
constructs its own vision—and, key to my work, represents and
reinforces this vision using domestic architecture—of this
Dream, but every show’s Dream is a continuous thread with
Whitten Overby, Architecture, on the Coney Island
boardwalk with a Vietnamese husband and wife dressed
as Mickey and Minnie Mouse
intended narrative coherence. My dissertation is called “The
Seekers: Pursuits of American Dream Homes,” and the titular seekers are Americans searching for their Dreams
together and apart. Such dreaming reflects a desire to belong with other Americans while also catalyzing a
process of individualization. America was founded on the idea of rugged, selfreliant individuals making do only to
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rise up and insist upon the power of personal will to define and redefine not only one another but also our
collective politics. Televisual imagery seems a flash point in all of this because it’s so pervasive—it’s a collective
experience, even if largely narrowcasted now—and, at its best, depicts individuals who stand in for, suggest, or
propose ways we may be stronger together.
What inspired you to choose this field of study?
I recently read an online interview of Elizabeth Warren and she said “I always poked at the things that scared me
most.” There are certain prescribed national dreams and they metamorphose into personal fantasies. This
process terrifies me because such dreams manipulate us into thinking only particular somethings constitute our
worthiness. Such an American Dream lets Americans slip into a fearful amnesia. In 1931, Walter Benjamin
identified this issue when he claimed “all Mickey Mouse films are founded on the motif of leaving home in order to
learn what fear is,” which implies the American home is the national respite from fear, one bound up with and
primarily conveyed through mass media. But there’s also such great potential, such optimism, invested in and
perpetuated by both archetypal and individualized American Dream homes, defying prescriptive logics. It’s very
easy, in academia and elsewhere, to get carried away with critique, to adopt chiding pessimism or wary distance,
rather than to sympathetically embrace hope, grace, and potential. These latter concepts are almost scarier
because I think that they challenge us to be better people, better scholars, better citizens rather than to luxuriate
in our imagined distance from whatever “Dream” others are buying into or, worse yet, to turn into lowkey, paper
trail ideologues.
I’ve also always watched way too much television—anything talked about that I could get my hands on—and,
about two years ago, I realized I should turn this dreambuilding leisure activity into work. There can be
something scary, also, about losing yourself too much in a television show. My mom just had a nightmare that
she was dating Dean, Rory Gilmore’s first boyfriend on Gilmore Girls, and I spent the first three years of graduate
school trying to reenact whatever Mad Men’s Peggy Olson did. A lot of people I know live in realities where
fictional or ‘reality’ or ‘news’ television personalities dominate their psyches, and I began to see that these people
coordinated their homes, and their other spaces, to take on these appearances. The obverse of labeling these
momentary or sustained thoughts delusions is realizing, perhaps when tempered, they give us hope that we can
makeover our lives and homes to realize greater potential. We tell ourselves stories in order to live goes the title
of a Joan Didion volume, and, I think, we often tell ourselves stories about how television makes our homes in
order to survive.
Why is this research important?
My goal is to make a place for this kind of academic research outside of the academy. The Undercommons:
Fugitive Planning & Black Study by Stefano Harney and Fred Moten rocked my world and concerns how the
American university is tantamount with neoliberal professionalization and how the most pressing political
academic work should and will take place outside of the university. They’re talking about the role and place of
black studies but I think these claims should apply generally to all scholarly fields, but I especially think they’re
necessary when considering the humanities. I say all of this knowing that people accuse me of being too
theoretical for a historian, and theoretical generally, but can we not make theory legible and prescient for wider
social change? Furthermore, Martha Nussbaum has written about how the humanities are about building more
selfconscious, serviceandhumanitarianoriented citizens. In my view, America is at its best when people have
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enough faith in themselves and in one another to at least try to realize their hopes and dreams. By focusing my
research on how these two things are physically manifested and spatially emplaced, I hope I can get other
academics, students, and, ideally, a popular readership to think about how, since the New Deal, our hopes and
dreams have formed in relation to our homes.
What else has influenced your thinking as a researcher or scholar?
A lot of my influences are nonacademic. I’ve been reading Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace while traveling
across America doing my research and that book as well as his essays get at a lot of my preoccupations with a
maximalist sensitivity for, or empathy towards, everyone’s fractured but everunfolding Americas. He jumbles all
of these Americas up into a seemingly disparate, disjointed kaleidoscope that manages to cohere into a
meditation on how there lies something more profound underneath the superficialities of media, addiction,
competition, and so on that preoccupy every American.
I also always find myself returning to James Baldwin’s essays and early novels, and really to as much black
American literature as possible. Baldwin’s prose is searing and woke me up to queerness so long before I ever
knew what queer meant or seriously read queer theory. More contemporary black authors like Toni Morrison (a
cliché by now, but I stayed up all night reading Song of Solomon), TaNehisi Coates, and Claudia Rankine also
get at the heart of the potentiality embedded within our national American tragedies. I’m equally indebted to a lot
of recent rappers—mainly Kanye West and Kendrick Lamar—with whom I practice yoga most mornings. I guess I
just listed a lot of men, which is odd because I’m far more influenced by feminine and trans people, on television
and in everyday life.
I understand you received this year's Distinguished Master's Thesis Award from the Northeastern
Association of Graduate Schools. Congratulations! What does this award mean to you?
I almost daily have trepidations about doing work that’s as interdisciplinary as mine. My Ph.D. is in the history of
architecture and urbanism, and you don’t really see much interdisciplinarity or even populism there, so I know
and am afraid that I’ve been transgressing a bit too much. I think there’s value in still handling whatever we call
the canon in, at the least, introductory survey courses, but I don’t want to dedicate too much of my research to
rethinking it. In some ways, I’ve already spent too much time doing exactly that, and I find it regrettable. So, the
only reason I want to write about the Seagram Building ever again is to discuss how Larry went to therapy there
in season eight of Curb Your Enthusiasm. I just want to ask questions not about style, learnedness, or allusion
nor about superimposing a theoretical term onto a built structure. I’d like to think the thesis used history to tell a
theoretically rich story about my experience of a building, to tell an intimate history about a mass mediated space.
Can you speak a bit more about your thesis and its focus?
Well, I think the abstract I first submitted to be considered for the award best sums it up:
Every day at the Holy Land Experience, a Christian theme park in Orlando, Florida that recreates the architecture
of ancient Jerusalem, pilgrims flock to see the life of Christ performed in anthemic song and dance numbers.
Drawn into rapturous firsthand scriptural reenactments produced by the American televangelical corporation
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Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN), most of the Holy Land’s pilgrims profess to attaining grace, enacting a
simplicity of movement through the Experience in order to receive virtuous blessings from a Christian God.
“Postcards from God” redefines the conventional bounds of architectural, urban, and television history, theory,
and criticism. It argues consumer agency and taste rather than formal refinement or other elite factors should
determine what, how, and why we examine built and televised spaces. Theme parks, and the Holy Land in
particular, represent not the corporate brainwashing of consumers but their active deviation from branded
architectural narratives to attain individuated transcendence. Immersing pilgrims in an extensive television set,
the Experience allows visitors to determine their course within that mass medium’s flows, cast members of a
lavishly produced New Testament that proffers sensory experiences enhancing their Christian television
viewership.
I use the Holy Land as a case study to politicize the architecture we choose to document and narrate. TBN’s
theme park embodies the waning power of conservative evangelical America and its suburban strongholds, a key
chapter in national and international politics. Ethnography—conducting interviews, recording my own
experiences, and extensively documenting the spaces in which both transpire—rather than conventional archival
work furnishes a history of the immediate present that assesses and salvages this political movement’s
seemingly cheap, mundane, and diurnally inhabited spaces; ethnography complicates rather than judges the
Experience’s thrall, using spatial understanding to mediate between American academic leftist and populist
conservative politics.
What’s next for you?
I’ll catalog some of my American Dreams: writing and producing a pilot for a television show about academia;
publishing my dissertation as a book; writing for popular online and print media sources; teaching media studies
courses; living in a dense urban area and not always having to drive; finding a partner; being able to afford cable
and a DVR without compromising my food budget; doing Ashtanga Mysore yoga every day but moon days;
reading more nonacademic prose; and going on vacations completely unrelated to research or conferences.
Any advice for incoming graduate students?
Don’t stick too hard or fast to any idea, topic, theory, ideology, or otherwise singular thing. Beware of people who
do, and beware of professors who superimpose their own singularities upon students. Don’t become too swept
up in literature reviews or slavishly responding to discursive precedents; learn enough to teach and to be wise but
not so much that you risk becoming a lemming. Beware advisors who emphasize these things. Make connections
between completely unexpected things and then construct arguments around them. Logic can be bristly and
unexpected. Do some serious and critical internet deep dives on the contemporary state of academia. It is not an
American Dream and it is for many of us a temporary resting place. Think about the ways in which your degree
could be spun into other careers while trying to enjoy the good fortune of being given five to seven years to learn
exactly what you’ve always wanted to learn. If you’re just applying, then consider and reconsider exactly what
you want to spend the better part of a decade studying and have candid conversations with current graduate
students and professors. I chose Cornell because the kinship between professors and students in my program
was apparent when I visited. Also, go somewhere interdisciplinary and avoid hermeticallysealed disciplinary
boxes because, while they may land you a job at a likeminded institution, they won’t lead you to your own
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version of the undercommons.
Interview by Sally Kral, communications and outreach assistant in the Graduate School
students & faculty
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