thesis drafts → vibes, commodified
In September 2020, Nathan Apodaca posted a 22-second video on TikTok where he is seen skateboarding on an empty road drinking cranberry juice from a half gallon plastic bottle, lipsyncing to Fleetwood Mac’s Dreams playing in the background. Nathan, a 42 year old Native American (Northern Arapaho)-Mexican Idaho resident, was on his way to work at the potato warehouse when he found his car had broken down and jumped on a board to make it on time. The TikTok ended up being viral, making him into another overnight success story and internet sensation. Soon to follow were late night shows appearances, mainstream media interviews, and commerical collabs with big brands. The brand that produced that cranberry juice, whose sales immediately skyrocketed, got Nathan a new car and a lifelong supply of their product.
The video's appeal lies in its authentic and uplifting nature, especially during the challenging times of the COVID-19 pandemic. The empty roads, a result of lockdown measures, provided a serene backdrop, symbolizing a moment of peace amidst global uncertainty. Additionally, the choice of "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac bridged generational and cultural divides, highlighting the song's enduring appeal across diverse audiences.
Apodaca himself represents a demographic often overlooked in mainstream American media—he is of Native American (Northern Arapaho) and Mexican descent, living in Idaho, far from traditional pop culture hubs like Los Angeles or New York. His presence on social media subtly challenged stereotypes about who can be a cultural trendsetter – he was
The act of skateboarding down an empty highway sipping cranberry juice creates an ironic contrast: skateboarding is often associated with youth rebellion and urban culture, but here it becomes a serene, almost Zen-like act against a rural American landscape. The video’s carefree tone contrasts sharply with the hardship it unintentionally exposes: the lack of reliable transportation, the need to keep working despite a global crisis, and the financial instability that defines much of the American workforce.
the modern economy’s dependence on virality
The COVID-19 pandemic created a temporary suspension of normal life, and Apodaca’s video captured that in a subtle way. The empty highway behind him was a result of lockdowns, which had drastically reduced traffic. While cities were marked by anxiety and political protests, rural America remained quiet, highlighting the different ways communities experienced the pandemic.
His story also unintentionally highlighted systemic economic struggles, particularly for Indigenous and Latino communities, who were disproportionately affected by COVID-19 due to healthcare inequalities and higher rates of frontline employment. That he had to skate to work, rather than receiving financial relief to stay home safely, speaks to the failure of the U.S. government to provide adequate support for its working-class citizens.
Furthermore, the role of corporate America in this story is telling. Ocean Spray quickly capitalized on Apodaca’s virality, sending him a truck and using his video for marketing. While it was a feel-good moment, it also reinforced how brands exploit working-class stories for their own benefit. Apodaca’s fame was monetized by companies that gave him gifts, but that didn’t change the structural economic conditions that put him in that position to begin with.
Like many viral stars, Apodaca’s moment of fame eventually faded. He continued making content, but he struggled to maintain the same level of attention. His story highlights the fickle nature of internet fame—millions celebrated his positivity during a difficult time, but few stuck around when the world moved on.
His trajectory is symbolic of how American society often romanticizes working-class resilience while doing little to actually improve material conditions. People loved the aesthetic of him joyfully making the best of a bad situation but didn’t necessarily advocate for policies that would prevent others from facing similar hardships.
Nathan Apodaca’s TikTok was more than just a viral moment—it was a snapshot of America in 2020. It reflected the exhaustion and resilience of the working class, the unifying power of nostalgia, and the way corporate interests capitalize on authenticity. It was a rare moment of shared joy in a divided time, but beneath the surface, it revealed deep social and economic tensions that still persist today.
Working class struggles and resilience: commodified, packaged, sold and paid for.
There is something uncanny about this story, a sad aftertaste despite its celebratory tone. Whenever it is told, the focus is always on the uplifting and life-affirming attitude in the times of hardship that Nathan embodied – as he himself puts it, “good vibes only”. His calm stoic positivity is nothing but admirable, and that is probably why it resonated with so many people on the platform. Fleetwood Mac being the
As usual, something changed the moment the big brands entered the picture: all of a sudden, Nathan’s authenticity was measurable in monetary terms, and profit margins
There is a lot of symbolism in these 22 seconds: Nathan’s Native American roots, he is vibing to Fleetwood Mac
Even him going to his work at the potato warehouse is a symbol in itself, since wild potatos are indigenous to the Americas.
It’s not an artwork, but in a way, it’s a culturally significant piece. The spirit of the time was captured in it, and millions of people could somehow recognise it, just by watching this short clip.
12.02 deepseek
In the digital marketplace of affect, “vibes” emerge as the ultimate commodity—ephemeral emotional textures packaged as lo-fi beats, Instagram sunsets, and TikTok nostalgia cores. Metamodernism’s pendulum swings here: consumers oscillate between craving curated authenticity (a cottagecore daydream, a neon-lit “liminal space”) and cynically acknowledging its synthetic seams. Algorithms monetize yearning, selling serenity or rebellion as interchangeable SKUs. Yet, within this transaction lies a paradoxical hope—that even prefab vibes might spark fleeting moments of resonance. The result? A culture equally fluent in hashtagging #aesthetic and deconstructing its emptiness, embodying the metamodern dance of buying in, winking, and buying in again.
With his viral TikTok, Nathan unintentionally crystallized the metamodern commodification of vibes. The popularity of his product can be attributed to its USP: unique selling proposition, a dopamine dart of carefree nostalgia. Unscripted, lo-fi, and unapologetically earnest, it was consumed as “pure” authenticity. Yet within days, the vibe was disassembled, repackaged, and sold back.
Fleetwood Mac streamed the song to Gen Z playlists; Ocean Spray gifted Apodaca a truck and a year’s supply of juice; TikTok’s algorithm splintered the clip into memes, reaction videos, and branded hashtags (#DreamsChallenge). The “moment” became a product, its spontaneity retrofitted into a marketing funnel. Yet, crucially, audiences knew this — and leaned in anyway. Memes mocked the commercialization (“cranberry capitalism”) even as users performed their own Dreams reenactments. Apodaca, now a self-aware mascot of the paradox, oscillated between gratitude and shrugs (“It’s just me on a board, man”).
Here, metamodernism’s double helix is laid bare: the vibe is both felt (a shared longing for uncomplicated joy) and framed (a content-strategy relic). Doggface’s skateboard rolls on, suspended between the genuine and the grift—a cultural petri dish where resonance and ROI thrive symbiotically.