Joyce Messier: Yes, you and I belong to the supraculture. We're common, the herd. The music on the radio, the food in the chain restaurant -- those are all too *popular* for the girl in the old-lady rags.
She prefers a fantasy world -- an *infraculture* with its own dress code and vernacular. It is an illusion, I'm afraid. There is no refuge from the supraculture.
Harry: Okay, now explain the same thing -- but to a child.
Joyce Messier: I can't. That's how simple it is. One may dye their hair green and wear their grandma's coat all they want. Capital has the ability to subsume all critiques into itself. Even those who *would* critique capital end up *reinforcing* it instead…
There's No Refuge From the Supraculture