Clockwise from left: marijuana activism, Banksy, J T Leroy, and Che Guevara t-shirts

Tom Wolfe coined the term 'radical chic' in 1969 after a 'special' party for the Black Panthers held at composer Leonard Bernstein's house. The Panthers were a vaguely Maoist revolutionary African-American organisation designed to promote civil rights and self-defence, and Bernstein and his friends were elite New Yorkers with money to burn and black servants. In Radical Chic & Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers, Wolfe documents the irony and ludicrousness of an upper-class 'jet set' celebrating a controversial, revolutionary clique that, if truth be told, actually wanted to see all that privilege violently removed. Anyway, 'radical chic' is designed for people who know they're privileged and middle class but want to exhibit mildly radical behaviour, or to live vicariously through the more genuinely subversive behaviour of others. It wasn't a new phenomenon when Wolfe coined the phrase in '69 and it's still pretty relevant today, with plenty of examples of things being held up for acclaim because they're supposedly subversive and dangerous and not because they're any good (even though sometimes they are very good). Unfortunately, when something's got a whiff of radicalism about it, people lose all perspective. So here's some recent phenomena that are chicly radical... and which may or may not actually be crap.


'Authentic' novels by the likes of J.T. Leroy


Novelist J.T. Leroy was supposedly a self-harming, sexually ambiguous, HIV-positive, novel-writing rent-boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Frankly, we didn't even need to read his books to know they were good! And obviously loads of people thought the same, which is why Leroy's supposedly semi-autobiographical novels Sarah, The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things and Harold's End were a publishing sensation and Leroy was quickly befriended by the likes of Courtney Love, Asia Argenta and Shirley Manson from Garbage. Soon Leroy in his trademark blonde wig and sunglasses was seen at trendy parties, hand-in-hand with female starlets who attested to his authenticity and to their long, soulful phone conversations with the little treasure. All was beautiful in the garden, until it was discovered that the novels were actually written by a middle-aged woman called Laura Albert and that the 'part' of Leroy was 'played' by Savannah Koop, half-sister of Albert's then partner. Suddenly everyone realised that the books were actually a bit crap, the radical chicness dissipated, and what we were left with was a bunch of celebrities blinking in the cold glare of their own vacuity. It was an awesome literary hoax which saw Albert relegated to the doghouse and highlighted one of the rules of radical chic – don't burn your bridges with the jet set.


Banksy


The work of anonymous graffiti artist and media-darling Banksy costs tens of thousands in galleries, his coffee-table book Wall and Piece has sold a gagillion copies, and bits of wall he's vandalised have sold for hundreds of thousands of pounds. You see, Banksy has circumvented his own mediocrity by putting his stencilled artwork on other people's property illegally. Since Basquiat, any journalist worth their salt knows that a frisson of law-breaking and destruction makes mediocre art more exciting, and if you add the words 'hip hop', then everyone gets a big art-orgasm. For the reality-based community, however, Banksy's work is just postmodern arsery for beginners. Two policemen? How about two policemen kissing? John Travolta and Samuel L Jackson from the film Pulp Fiction? How about John Travolta and Samuel L Jackson with bananas for guns? Monet's garden? How about Monet's garden with shopping trolleys in it?


It all falls somewhere between editorial cartooning and clever advertising – ie, it's nothing to get too excited about. Of course, now that Banksy has been exposed as an ex-public schoolboy called Robin Gunningham (there's nowt 'street' about that), he'll probably end his days working for the advertising industry... where he'll flourish.


1968, 1976, 1988 and other dates of political and mythical significance consigned safely to the past


There are a few key dates in the history of 20th century pop culture. In the eyes of baby-boomers, ex-punks and old ravers, anyone too young for these dates simply arrived after the party ended. 1968 was set alight with student riots in Paris and in Columbia University in the US. 1976 was the 'official' birth of punk rock with the release of Anarchy in the UK by the Sex Pistols, and 1988 was the Second Summer of Love when a bunch of people in Manchester discovered dance music and ecstasy. Being present at any of these events means that you can work for Dell, live in the 'burbs, and still have the radical high-ground. But let's do some deconstruction – 1968? A bunch of French existentialist students throwing bottles at police. We had something similar on the streets of Dublin a couple of years ago – but riot with Sartre under your arm and you're a revolutionary; riot for a pair of runners and you're a thug. As for 1976 and 1988? They were just glorified product launches. At the end of the day, if you want to do something cool and interesting, you don't need to be sitting slap-bang in the middle of 1968, 1976, or 1988, and people need to stop using the myth of a 'radical' past as an excuse for inaction. So start a record label, organise a demonstration, launch a business, join a political party, form a commune, write a novel, volunteer for a charity. Ignore the '68ers. It was just another year.


Marijuana activism and drug culture


You walk into somebody's house. The curtains are closed. They have some books on the shelf – Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh (actually a good book), Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson (an alright book), and Mr Nice by ex-drug dealer and shyster Howard Marks (barely a book at all). There's a picture of Bob Marley on the wall, a well-used games console on the ground, and the people on the couch think everyone on the television is stoned. "Dude he's so stoned," they say, as Barney the dinosaur, Brian Cowen, or Worf from Star Trek appear on the screen.


Well, back away from the bong, Cheech. You have entered the world of marijuana culture, a self-reflecting environment in which all books, music and television bring you back to drugs and conversations about the many uses of hemp. It's as radical as a nice sleep and it gets worse when the protagonists start believing that their lifestyle of drug-enhanced idleness has political value. And then they become (shudder) marijuana activists. Why would anyone pick this as their priority issue in a world beset by so many other problems? The answer is – because they're stoned. So to prevent a reactive coup by Daily Mail-reading hysterics, it's best to lead the would-be campaigners back into their womb-like sitting room, roll them a joint, point at the television and say – "look, a children's television presenter? He must be buzzed!" Check in on them every few months to make sure they have enough Doritos, haven't fallen on their backs, or been eaten by cats. That should do the trick.


Guerrilla gardening/golfing/gigging


Guerrilla anything really. Why is something better if it's 'unofficial' and slightly (and I stress slightly) illegal? Guerrilla gardening, the act of illicitly planting flowers in a public space, can sometimes be a beautiful phenomenon, but when enacted by a bunch of half-assed urbanites, it often results in a pile of soil and a wilting plant ready to be swept away by beleaguered street cleaners. Guerrilla gigging involves straggly indie bands having impromptu concerts in public places (we used to call that busking). And any sport with 'guerrilla' on the front of it usually involves people playing it somewhere they aren't welcome (golf in the ghetto, in the case of guerrilla-golf). Well, gardening, golf and gigging are all perfectly acceptable activities on their own, thanks very much. Do you know what's truly radical, however? Guerrilla Warfare. But none of us would really like to see that. The house prices have been hammered enough.


Che Guevara tee-shirts and communism as a 'branding tool'


It all started with generations of people (like me) unthinkingly wearing Che Guevara shirts because he was a revolutionary who looked cool, and putting Chairman Mao on band posters because he was 'iconic'. This, of course, ignored the executions-without-trial Che was responsible for, and the fact Mao was a heartless mass-murderer. What's creepy these days, however, is how these communist icons have made the jump from misguided bedsit chic, to misguided brand icons. Vivas Health launched itself with pleas for revolution and an advertising campaign featuring Castro lookalikes.


Then there's the restaurant 'Mao' which is covered in images of that loveable dictator smiling down at diners as if to say "you'll be getting none of this nice food on the 'long march'!" Have we reached the point where advertising agencies feel they can drain images of all history and use them for their resonant 'edginess'? Yes, apparently. It's only a matter of time before we have 'ironic' concentration camps and 'postmodern' torturers.


The Gumball 3000


Oscar Wilde described hunting as "the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable" – well, the Gumball 3000 rally involves the "un-imprisonable driving the unaffordable" as each year a convoy of the world's richest people drive fast through East European countries they could buy for half the cost of their fancy motors. Established by Maximillion Cooper in 1999, this annual cross-continental car rally has featured celebrities who should know better, including Kate Moss, Guy Ritchie, Johnny Knoxville and Jodie Kidd. And last year the inevitable happened when two locals in Struga, Macedonia were killed in a collision with the Porsche 911 turbo of Nick Morley and Matthew McConville. Morley was released on bail, re-arrested when he tried to escape the country in a private jet, and ultimately received a suspended sentence. The Gumball 3000 started yesterday (9 August) with an entry fee of $120,000. If you're rich and thick enough, you're probably involved.


Believing in 9/11 conspiracy theories


The real world is boring. Instead of its problems being caused by loads of complex and overlapping geopolitical issues, wouldn't it be great if everything was caused by Dick Cheney in a Darth Vader mask? Many people think so. At the moment, the most commonly held conspiracy theory is that the US government was somehow responsible for 9/11.


The theorists will engage in long cumbersome arguments involving the melting point of steel and the collapse of the seventh tower at the World Trade Centre (don't ask). However, given that the US administration couldn't successfully prosecute a war on a tin-pot dictator, failed to convince us that Saddam had WMDs, and was unable to save their own people from a high tide in New Orleans, does anyone really, really think they'd be capable of a mass conspiracy involving the murder of 5,000 people, without someone, somewhere spilling the beans?


Yes, apparently, and you` can't win in an argument with a conspiracy theorist, because any gap in the facts indicates for them incontrovertible evidence that their theory is fact. Of course, sometimes a hole in the information is just a hole in the information, not proof of a massive cover-up. But saying that is neither radical nor chic.