Tulipomania is often called the ‘First Financial Crisis’. Therefore, it is appropriate to examine the popular culture discourse of the so-called ‘mother’ of all crises in the first chapter. Current writings, however, cannot agree on a number of things about tulipomania: what motivated the Dutch to trade, who participated in the trade, whether it was a financial bubble, and how the crash impacted the economy and society. In this chapter, I do not aim to find out the truth about tulipomania, but will show how the ‘truth’ of tulipomania was produced in popular culture. I argue that the ‘truth’ was produced with a gendered orientalist understanding of the economy and scientific knowledge. Tulip bulb speculation was at a height from 1636 to 1637 in the early Republic of Holland. During the seventeenth century (aka the Dutch Golden Age), the country made significant advancements in science, technology, arts, and commerce. The Dutch keenness for exotic goods took them to the East, where they brought home previously unseen and unknown objets de curiosité such as animals, herbs, spices, plants, and flowers. One such ‘oriental’ object that fascinated the Dutch was the tulip from the Ottoman Empire. The flower not only attracted attention from botanists, breeders, and wealthy merchants, but it also made a number of people become traders. What were traded were not the blooming flowers, but the bulbs; not the bulbs of the present, but the bulbs of the future, the ownership of which entitled one to a piece of paper (Cook, 2007). One day in March 1637, the market for title papers cooled down, and title owners found it harder to find buyers. A few days later, trading activities further slowed down; the tulip bulb market was said to have crashed. The pattern of over-valuation, a drop in liquidity, and eventual market crash characterised many subsequent crashes. The story of tulip speculation may be
{"title":"Tulipomania: Unchanging Gender Relations in Financial Capitalism","authors":"","doi":"10.16997/book34.b","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.16997/book34.b","url":null,"abstract":"Tulipomania is often called the ‘First Financial Crisis’. Therefore, it is appropriate to examine the popular culture discourse of the so-called ‘mother’ of all crises in the first chapter. Current writings, however, cannot agree on a number of things about tulipomania: what motivated the Dutch to trade, who participated in the trade, whether it was a financial bubble, and how the crash impacted the economy and society. In this chapter, I do not aim to find out the truth about tulipomania, but will show how the ‘truth’ of tulipomania was produced in popular culture. I argue that the ‘truth’ was produced with a gendered orientalist understanding of the economy and scientific knowledge. Tulip bulb speculation was at a height from 1636 to 1637 in the early Republic of Holland. During the seventeenth century (aka the Dutch Golden Age), the country made significant advancements in science, technology, arts, and commerce. The Dutch keenness for exotic goods took them to the East, where they brought home previously unseen and unknown objets de curiosité such as animals, herbs, spices, plants, and flowers. One such ‘oriental’ object that fascinated the Dutch was the tulip from the Ottoman Empire. The flower not only attracted attention from botanists, breeders, and wealthy merchants, but it also made a number of people become traders. What were traded were not the blooming flowers, but the bulbs; not the bulbs of the present, but the bulbs of the future, the ownership of which entitled one to a piece of paper (Cook, 2007). One day in March 1637, the market for title papers cooled down, and title owners found it harder to find buyers. A few days later, trading activities further slowed down; the tulip bulb market was said to have crashed. The pattern of over-valuation, a drop in liquidity, and eventual market crash characterised many subsequent crashes. The story of tulip speculation may be","PeriodicalId":280968,"journal":{"name":"Bubbles and Machines: Gender, Information and Financial Crises","volume":"18 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-05-23","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"116836240","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Conclusion","authors":"","doi":"10.16997/book34.f","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.16997/book34.f","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":280968,"journal":{"name":"Bubbles and Machines: Gender, Information and Financial Crises","volume":"73 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-05-23","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"114319994","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Two online searches for women’s images reveal the contrast between those of ‘women in poverty’ and ‘shopaholic’. Images of ‘women in poverty’ are mostly ‘third-world’ women in Africa and South Asia. The earth tone of the dirt, the dusty air, and the brown faces all contribute to the meaning of female poverty. The images usually show the ‘women in poverty’ standing on a dirt road in a rural village or surviving in an urban slum littered with industrial waste. The women are likely to appear ‘non-Western’ by having their heads wrapped or wearing saris. They are regularly photographed with malnourished and shabbily clothed children who do not seem to go to school. The women’s wrinkled faces document human misery and perpetual suffering. To the camera, they can only force out a blank stare. A casual search for ‘shopaholics’ yields starkly different images. The shopaholics are overwhelmingly white women who are carefully groomed, impeccably dressed up and carrying too many shopping bags. Their dwellings are high streets and indoor shopping malls. They often have a dazzled facial expression such as widened eyes and a wide grin. The images are bright and colourful: her clothing and shopping bags all scream for attention from the viewers. The contrast reflects that the Poor Women are mostly seen as a third-world phenomenon while shopaholism is an exclusively first-world problem. The differences between the discourses are unsurprising because they were produced for different audiences and circulated in different markets. Popular culture discourses about the Shopaholic appeal to a mainstream audience— some of whom may self-identify as shopaholics. In contrast, academic/public discourses about the Poor Women are produced for scholars, policy makers, and a niche public (such as concerned global citizens and academics). Because
{"title":"The Indebted Women: Microcredit and the Credit Card","authors":"","doi":"10.16997/book34.c","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.16997/book34.c","url":null,"abstract":"Two online searches for women’s images reveal the contrast between those of ‘women in poverty’ and ‘shopaholic’. Images of ‘women in poverty’ are mostly ‘third-world’ women in Africa and South Asia. The earth tone of the dirt, the dusty air, and the brown faces all contribute to the meaning of female poverty. The images usually show the ‘women in poverty’ standing on a dirt road in a rural village or surviving in an urban slum littered with industrial waste. The women are likely to appear ‘non-Western’ by having their heads wrapped or wearing saris. They are regularly photographed with malnourished and shabbily clothed children who do not seem to go to school. The women’s wrinkled faces document human misery and perpetual suffering. To the camera, they can only force out a blank stare. A casual search for ‘shopaholics’ yields starkly different images. The shopaholics are overwhelmingly white women who are carefully groomed, impeccably dressed up and carrying too many shopping bags. Their dwellings are high streets and indoor shopping malls. They often have a dazzled facial expression such as widened eyes and a wide grin. The images are bright and colourful: her clothing and shopping bags all scream for attention from the viewers. The contrast reflects that the Poor Women are mostly seen as a third-world phenomenon while shopaholism is an exclusively first-world problem. The differences between the discourses are unsurprising because they were produced for different audiences and circulated in different markets. Popular culture discourses about the Shopaholic appeal to a mainstream audience— some of whom may self-identify as shopaholics. In contrast, academic/public discourses about the Poor Women are produced for scholars, policy makers, and a niche public (such as concerned global citizens and academics). Because","PeriodicalId":280968,"journal":{"name":"Bubbles and Machines: Gender, Information and Financial Crises","volume":"60 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-05-23","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"123455849","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Introduction: Bubbles and Machines","authors":"","doi":"10.16997/book34.a","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.16997/book34.a","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":280968,"journal":{"name":"Bubbles and Machines: Gender, Information and Financial Crises","volume":"87 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-05-23","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"121825925","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Two kinds of screen have played a paramount role in informing the general public about a financial crisis. The first kind of screen is the trading screen; the second kind of screen belongs to a device from which the viewers learn about the crisis. The screen device can be a computer screen, a handheld screen, a television screen, or a cinema screen. In other words, the trading screen that reflects a crisis is mediated through another screen that informs a popular understanding of the crisis. Media studies scholars have long been interested in understanding how television and films construct social relations, but they have paid little attention to how information on the trading screen constructs a relation between the screen and the viewers. This chapter aims to fill in the gap. To illustrate how the two kinds of screen constitute meanings of a financial crisis, consider how photojournalists choose to represent a financial crisis and how the viewers understand photojournalistic representations on a device screen. Googling ‘financial crisis’ images will yield many photos that show trading screens in the background and a trader in the foreground. Photojournalists use semiotic cues to visually communicate what a crisis looks like. First, the red tiny figures on the screen mean the market is in trouble because stock prices are falling (see also Ch. 4 about prices printed on ticker tape). Second, the posture of the male trader (head lowered; back leaning against the chair) shows his resignation. Third, the position of the screen in relation to both the trader and the photo viewers directly invites the audience to make meanings of the screen and the trader. Why is this image commonly used to represent a financial crisis? Unlike events such as natural and human-made disasters, a financial crisis is intangible: its damage can neither be seen nor touched. In addition, the causes of a crisis are too complicated to illustrate: while terrorists are blamed for
{"title":"The Screen, Financial Information and Market Locale","authors":"","doi":"10.16997/book34.e","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.16997/book34.e","url":null,"abstract":"Two kinds of screen have played a paramount role in informing the general public about a financial crisis. The first kind of screen is the trading screen; the second kind of screen belongs to a device from which the viewers learn about the crisis. The screen device can be a computer screen, a handheld screen, a television screen, or a cinema screen. In other words, the trading screen that reflects a crisis is mediated through another screen that informs a popular understanding of the crisis. Media studies scholars have long been interested in understanding how television and films construct social relations, but they have paid little attention to how information on the trading screen constructs a relation between the screen and the viewers. This chapter aims to fill in the gap. To illustrate how the two kinds of screen constitute meanings of a financial crisis, consider how photojournalists choose to represent a financial crisis and how the viewers understand photojournalistic representations on a device screen. Googling ‘financial crisis’ images will yield many photos that show trading screens in the background and a trader in the foreground. Photojournalists use semiotic cues to visually communicate what a crisis looks like. First, the red tiny figures on the screen mean the market is in trouble because stock prices are falling (see also Ch. 4 about prices printed on ticker tape). Second, the posture of the male trader (head lowered; back leaning against the chair) shows his resignation. Third, the position of the screen in relation to both the trader and the photo viewers directly invites the audience to make meanings of the screen and the trader. Why is this image commonly used to represent a financial crisis? Unlike events such as natural and human-made disasters, a financial crisis is intangible: its damage can neither be seen nor touched. In addition, the causes of a crisis are too complicated to illustrate: while terrorists are blamed for","PeriodicalId":280968,"journal":{"name":"Bubbles and Machines: Gender, Information and Financial Crises","volume":"102 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-05-23","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"115584493","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Inside the Nasdaq Building in Times Square in New York is a broadcast studio whose curved wall is lined up with dozens of electronic screens, each of them displaying the ‘real time’ trading price of a major stock or commodity. The centre of the screen shows the most prominent information: the change in price and percentage. A price in green means upward movement and a price in red means downward. The less prominent information occupies the bottom of the screen: the trading price is on the left; the volume traded is on the right. The multiple illuminated screens in the studio confirm a belief that technology has always been at the forefront of the financial industry. The same belief was held by nineteenth-century stock brokers; at that time men in top hats gathered around a machine that made a ‘tick, tick, tick’ sound when it printed out stock prices on a long strip of paper unwound from a wheel inside the machine. The symbol and the price were simultaneously printed by two type wheels: one had the letters A-Z, another had the numbers 0-9 and the fractions of 1/8. An ink roller installed beneath the type wheels impressed on a narrow paper strip unwound from another roll (Prescott, 1892). A modern day trader may not find the machine useful, but she will have no problem with understanding what the letters and numbers mean. Similarly, a nineteenth-century stockbroker may not understand what the gleaming electronic boards are, but he may still be able to recognise some of the abbreviated symbols (such as WU for Western Union) and understand what the prices mean. The format of stock price display seems to be too stubborn to change, even though digital technology offers many possibilities to reformat the price display. The similar format of stock price display in the analogue and the digital
{"title":"Financial Information Reporting in the Earliest Wall Street","authors":"","doi":"10.16997/book34.d","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.16997/book34.d","url":null,"abstract":"Inside the Nasdaq Building in Times Square in New York is a broadcast studio whose curved wall is lined up with dozens of electronic screens, each of them displaying the ‘real time’ trading price of a major stock or commodity. The centre of the screen shows the most prominent information: the change in price and percentage. A price in green means upward movement and a price in red means downward. The less prominent information occupies the bottom of the screen: the trading price is on the left; the volume traded is on the right. The multiple illuminated screens in the studio confirm a belief that technology has always been at the forefront of the financial industry. The same belief was held by nineteenth-century stock brokers; at that time men in top hats gathered around a machine that made a ‘tick, tick, tick’ sound when it printed out stock prices on a long strip of paper unwound from a wheel inside the machine. The symbol and the price were simultaneously printed by two type wheels: one had the letters A-Z, another had the numbers 0-9 and the fractions of 1/8. An ink roller installed beneath the type wheels impressed on a narrow paper strip unwound from another roll (Prescott, 1892). A modern day trader may not find the machine useful, but she will have no problem with understanding what the letters and numbers mean. Similarly, a nineteenth-century stockbroker may not understand what the gleaming electronic boards are, but he may still be able to recognise some of the abbreviated symbols (such as WU for Western Union) and understand what the prices mean. The format of stock price display seems to be too stubborn to change, even though digital technology offers many possibilities to reformat the price display. The similar format of stock price display in the analogue and the digital","PeriodicalId":280968,"journal":{"name":"Bubbles and Machines: Gender, Information and Financial Crises","volume":"28 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-05-23","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"116427853","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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