HAIRCUTS Very Much Matter
When friends from the traditional art world ask me about the current state of the NFT space, I always point them to the Haircuts exhibition by Yeche Lange Gallery. My reason isn’t just to show them what’s happening; it’s to watch their reactions unfold. Usually, the first response is something like, “But this looks like a normal exhibition. Where are the screens? What’s the point of NFTs if the exhibition looks so traditional?”
This reaction fascinates me every time because it feels like I’m offering a glimpse of a “vibe shift”—a whole new direction in art that some of them can’t grasp, almost as if they feel confronted by it. They’re standing on the edge of something significant but can’t quite see it, still rooted in old conventions. For me, Haircuts was a revelation. It was the first time I saw physical works by artists from the crypto space presented so radically, and suddenly it hit me: Why shouldn’t artists who originated in the crypto world also create physical works, without needing everything to be on-chain? Who set that rule, anyway—that if you come from the crypto space, you must be labeled a “crypto artist”?
This exhibition isn’t just about “NFT art” or “crypto art.” It’s about a gallery that’s moved beyond those labels entirely, merging IRL artists with anonymous crypto artists—anons, a term that captures their multifaceted roles. These aren’t just artists; they’re also collectors, traders, community builders—whatever role they need to embody to bring their visions to life. In Haircuts, this blending felt effortless, as if it had always been the norm. What I saw here felt like the beginning of a redefinition, a turning point, a way to rethink what art is and who gets to participate in shaping it.
From here, the questions started flooding in. If we’re no longer bound to traditional categories, what does this mean for the role of the gallery? What happens to a gallery’s power when they work with anons who are financially independent because of on-chain activities? In this model, it’s no longer about the gallery controlling the artist’s income or market position; instead, it becomes a collaboration, where both sides bring something essential to the table. Each needs the other to grow—a mutually beneficial dynamic that could elevate both the gallery and the artist to new levels.
Anonymity adds another layer to this shift. Marcel Duchamp’s alter ego, Rrose Sélavy, introduced in the early 1920s, allowed him to experiment with gender and persona, challenging conventions by highlighting how art could transcend the artist’s own identity. Duchamp’s experimentations planted seeds, but today’s anons in the crypto world are building an entirely new framework on this foundation, using anonymity as a means to transcend traditional art-world structures. Equipped with a hyper-financialized toolkit, they can operate independently from galleries and curatorial gatekeepers. This isn’t just about sidestepping conventional channels; it’s about realizing a vision, prioritizing community, and redefining what “art” can be—entirely on their own terms.
But with the emphasis on identity and representation that has intensified with the rise of the woke movement—a shift that, at first, felt necessary and healthy, giving voice to those long ignored in the art world—there has also been an unintended shift toward exclusivity rather than inclusivity. What began as an empowering force has, at times, shifted into an environment where art feels dictated by external standards, where cancel culture introduces a new gatekeeping that determines what is acceptable and what isn’t. Haircuts reminded me of the unique power art holds when it speaks solely through the work itself.
With some of these pieces, I have no idea what kind of person is behind them—which feels strangely unfamiliar. I’m so used to googling artists, finding their histories to place their work in context. But here, a search might only lead to a Twitter profile or NFT marketplace, leaving the art to stand on its own. There’s no extensive write-up from a famous curator providing context, no catalog from a prestigious gallery placing the work in an art-historical narrative—just the work, with nothing to “legitimize” it in traditional art-world terms. And sometimes, these artists even use multiple pseudonyms to create as different personas, further detaching identity from the work. That’s the irony: in this model, many of these artists don’t care about validation from traditional structures. Their work and its reception exist independently of institutional endorsement.
This creates a fundamentally different experience, sparking conversations that evolve with technological shifts—especially in an age of AI, where soon we may not even know if we’re conversing with a machine or a human. In this context, the very nature of identity is being questioned, prompting us to ask: how much does knowing the artist’s identity truly matter in experiencing art today?
This shift doesn’t just impact anons; it also affects those who choose to exhibit under their real names. How might traditional artists reconsider their practices and future directions when exhibiting alongside anons who operate independently—not just financially, but free from conventional expectations? Isn’t that inspiration enough to question one’s own position as a contemporary artist, especially when feeling trapped in a traditional art world where structures often feel more exploitative than supportive? And if financial independence could free artists from the psychological strain of constant compromise, enabling creativity to thrive beyond mere survival, isn’t that worth pursuing?
To me, this is the vibe shift I’ve been waiting for—a moment where power dynamics aren’t just shifting but are being fully reexamined. There’s now a middle ground where artists and institutions can renegotiate their collaborations, growing together to create new conventions while still retaining their individual strengths. It’s not about overthrowing the system in one sweeping stroke; it’s about observing, adapting, and reimagining what’s possible, setting a fairer framework for everyone involved—right in the middle of the learning curve.
Maybe that’s the real shift Haircuts reveals—not just what’s new in the NFT space, but how subtly these changes are merging with art’s traditional structures. It doesn’t need screens or digital markers to show that NFTs have arrived; instead, it quietly brings different worlds together. Haircuts shows that labels like “NFT” or “crypto art” may become less significant, as the work itself begins to move beyond those definitions.
And perhaps that’s why I enjoy showing this exhibition to my normie friends—because it doesn’t try to force any grand point; it just lets them experience it. For me, Haircuts is a reminder that art’s boundaries are expanding, inviting us to reconsider how we categorize, define, and experience art. And in that shift, there’s room to observe quietly, to let things unfold as they will.
Imagine a future where leaving anons out of an exhibition isn’t just an oversight—it’s almost cringe, a reminder of a time when art’s boundaries were limited by choice.
