Everyday Sociology Blog

A new look for our blog!

W. W. Norton — Wed, 24 Sep 2025 17:12:44 -0400

Hi everyone!

The everydaysociology blog is getting a new look! Typepad, our current blog platform, is unexpectedly shutting down. Around October 1, 2025, we'll be migrating all of our posts from the last 18 years to a new hosting platform.

The good news? You don't have to do anything! The look of the blog will be a little bit different, but the content will be the same.

Please reach out to us if you have issues or need help (you can send a message to https://support.wwnorton.com/request).

This site might be down for a day or two as we transition--we are not sure! But, just hang in there.

See you soon on the new platform!

How Pizza Became International Cuisine

W. W. Norton — Mon, 22 Sep 2025 03:00:00 -0400

By Karen Sternheimer

Do you remember your first taste of pizza? I don’t because I’ve been eating it all my life, as you probably have been too. Pizza is practically universal food; it’s one of those words that remains the same in multiple languages, although pronunciations might vary a bit.

Why is pizza something you can find nearly anywhere in the (industrialized) world? Yes, it tastes good, it can be portable, and sold by the slice. It’s a food with just a few ingredients that is relatively cheap and easy to produce. But it also teaches us about globalization and the way in which commerce and culture cross borders.

We might think about pizza as Italian food, as its origins are thought to be from Naples, towards the southern end of the Italian peninsula. But as I wrote about last year, pizza’s international popularity has more to do with Italian immigration to the United States, and the mass exportation of American culture to points around the world. Pizza Hut was not the first American pizza franchise, but it has nearly 20,000 restaurants in more than 100 countries, according to its website. Pizza Hut is just one brand and style of pizza; others like Domino’s and Little Caesars have also franchised restaurants globally.

The large number of of U.S. military bases is one reason American pizza chains’ global reach (here’s a quick video of a food court at one base). If you look at the food choices, you can see that they are mostly fast-food options that we might think of as comfort food. It is a relatively easy way to provide military personnel with a sense of home while overseas. Global fast-food franchises are also geared towards setting up shop in places around the world, so it’s relatively easy as well.

The exact number of countries containing U.S. military bases is unclear, but estimates range from 49 countries to 95 countries. This contributes to the global reach of both pizza and Americans, which began just after World War II as the Cold War began.

The expanded military presence is a large factor, but not the only reason that pizza has spread around the world. American culture—movies, music, television, and sports—has been one of our top exports since the mid-twentieth century. In the years following World War II, the American economy boomed and consumption became a way of life, while much of the world took longer to recover economically from the war. Exported American movies, often featuring American prosperity—and occasionally pizza—led to American cultural dominance.

Concerns about American cultural imperialism, or the erasure of local cultures in favor of food, fashion, language, and other aspects of American culture that now dominate some markets, can be reflected in the widespread availability of pizza, for instance. While people might not complain that there is too much pizza, tourists especially might miss other local foods in favor of the familiar pizza and pasta. This might create markets in heavily touristed cities for pizza, for instance, and push other types of restaurants out of business. Locals might have trouble finding traditional foods in areas that heavily cater to tourists.

That’s why wherever I have traveled around the world pizza is never far and always a possible meal option. It may take on different forms depending on where you are: New York, Chicago, and Detroit have their own styles in the U.S. Napoli-style pizza, with its super-thin crust and sparse ingredients might disappoint some people expecting other styles. Since many Italian-American immigrants came from Sicily, we in the U.S. are much more familiar with Sicilian-style pizza, with its thicker crust. Having traveled to northern Italy multiple times, but never southern Italy, my expectations about pizza have been tempered since it is not a local specialty, but just like around the world, some pizzerias are great, and others are just okay (one of the best pieces of pizza I had in Italy was at a grocery store counter in Venice). As I wrote about last year, northern Italian cuisine is very different from the Italian-American food we come to think of as Italian, and shares more connections with its Alpine neighbors (Switzerland and Austria) to the north.

What other foods have been shaped by globalization?

Understanding Social Construction: What Makes a Country a Country?

W. W. Norton — Mon, 15 Sep 2025 03:00:00 -0400

By Karen Sternheimer

Recently, I took a hiking trip to the Alps, spending time in Chamonix, France, and Courmayeur, Italy. These two alpine towns are connected by a tunnel through Mont Blanc, the highest peak in the Alps. The tunnel is just over 7 miles, and it took us less than an hour to get from town to town by bus.

And yet, when some acquaintances heard that we were in Italy and France, they asked if we went to Rome (about 500 miles from Courmayeur) or Paris (about 425 miles from Chamonix) and were perplexed when we said no.

“You mean you went to Italy, and you didn’t go to Rome?!?” and “You went to France, and you didn’t go to Paris!?!” were common reactions. That Italy conjures thoughts of Rome is no surprise, since we tend to think about countries as unitary spaces, separate and distinct from other countries.

Understanding what’s behind these questions teaches us about the concept of social construction. To say that something is socially constructed means that the meanings we ascribe are created collectively. When people hear of this concept for the first time, they often misinterpret social construction to mean an illusion, or something that doesn’t exist. Hearing that race or gender are socially constructed can yield much resistance from those who might think social construction means something is fake or nonexistent.

As I have written about before, we socially construct social problems, time, art, our possessions, and even our identities. All these things are real—but their meanings are created through interactions that are shaped by time, place, and economic realities. Symbolic interactionism is a sociological approach that explores how these meanings are created through language and connections with others.

Countries are also social constructions. Yes, they are real places with physical properties, but what defines a country is collectively negotiated. In fact, there is less agreement on what constitutes a country than you might think. In 1933, a convention was held to attempt to answer this question, and the negotiating parties determined that to be defined as a country, four conditions must be met:

A permanent population must live there.
The territory is clearly defined.
A government has been formed.
It has ability to have relations with other countries.

As this video humorously explores, some countries do not recognize the existence of countries which others recognize, especially those that are hostile to one another.

Some groups might meet all four of the above criteria and view themselves as a separate country, like Catalonia, which is technically part of Spain, as is the Basque region which is in both Spain and France.

Tyrol is a region in southern Austria that shares connections with South Tyrol in northern Italy. When I visited Zugspitze, a mountain peak where Germany meets Austria, I found it interesting that when you cross the border from Germany a sign welcomes you—to Tyrol. When you cross back, another sign welcomes you to Bavaria, which was once a separate country.

What makes a country a country? Is it a shared language? This partly explains why Italy went from a collection of city-states to a unified country. Around the same time, in the mid nineteenth century, what we now know as Germany was formed as well.

Does shared culture make a country? Religion (as seen with the Balkanization of the former Yugoslavia)? Food? Currency?

Of course, not all people within a recognized country share religious beliefs and practices, culture, or even language. And many countries might share language, culture, and religious practices, and even currency (some non-U.S. countries use the U.S. dollar and 20 countries use the Euro).

Countries are relatively new in human history, a reflection our contemporary political and economic needs to form nation-states. A stateless person, someone who is not a citizen of any country, lacks many basic rights. As the United Nations Refugee Agency details:

When they are born, their parents may not be able to register their birth, obtain a birth certificate or other legal identity documents. Without this, they often cannot be enrolled in school. If they do manage to enter school and receive an education, they may be barred from sitting formal exams to progress or enter university, unless they can prove their legal identity.

As an adult, they may not be allowed to work legally, leaving them at an increased risk of exploitation and abuse as they take low-paying and informal jobs. They often cannot access public services, like health care and must rely on costly private clinics. They also frequently cannot open a bank account, vote, get a passport to travel, buy a home or even get married.

Battles over the right to become a citizen reflect the socially constructed nature of countries. Even if we don’t define our identities through our nationality, others do, which can lead to very tangible consequences. Even though countries are social constructions—with borders negotiated and fought over—the consequences of these constructions are profound.

Drawing the Line Between Research and “Me Search”

W. W. Norton — Mon, 08 Sep 2025 15:00:00 -0400

By Karen Sternheimer

A common question that comes up in my research methods class has to do with conducting research on topics that we are interested in, and maybe even groups that we are part of. Can we do research on issues close to our experience while still maintaining objectivity, or does our membership in a group mean that we are “biased?”

First, a note on terminology. Objectivity means that we are “faithful to the facts,” as this article on researcher objectivity points out. It doesn’t mean we don’t have related experiences or points of view, but instead that we are able to set those aside when evaluating our findings and be open to being wrong, or at least that others’ experiences might differ greatly from our own.

We can do this by laying out our assumptions and reflecting upon our personal experiences and how they might shape our perspectives. Ironically, as much as students might like to point out possible “biases” in others’ research, they can have a hard time identifying their own assumptions.

If objectivity is fidelity to facts, bias literally means slanted in one direction, or ignoring findings to fit a preconceived narrative. It begins by failing to question basic assumptions we might make and a stubborn adherence to an outcome regardless of the data we gather.

While research often springs from personal experience, it doesn’t mean that research is necessarily biased. Sociologist Max Weber wrote that research should strive to be value free, but realistically we should acknowledge that much of our thinking is shaped by our own specific social identities. Even being aware of a particular issue worth studying stems from our experiences, perhaps related to our ethnicity, gender, nationality, religious background, or a combination of these things. Studying people in one’s ethnic group, or any other shared connection isn’t a deal breaker for good research.

So how do we conduct research—a systematic study where we gather data and rigorously analyze our findings—rather than “me search”—filled with our own personal experiences, opinions, and assumptions?

Start by unpacking your assumptions

While you might not include your relevant personal history in a research paper, it’s a good idea to reflect upon how your background might shape any assumptions you may have. For instance, you might be a part of a religious group and be faithful to its religious texts. That’s fine, but it is important to be aware that as a participant you might have blind spots that a newcomer might not. Philosopher Alfred Schutz wrote about the importance of “making the familiar strange,” or trying to think like an outsider even if you are not.

Think about how you would describe this group to people who aren’t familiar with it: what are its core beliefs? It’s taken-for-granted assumptions? It’s rules and rituals?

It’s always a good idea to realistically consider what you are open to thinking critically about and what you are not. Your research question might steer clear of religious doctrine if you are interested in something else but are focusing on this group as your central source of participants.

Create a research question

Your research question is the centerpiece of your study. Remember, a question is something you don’t already know the answer to but is what want to learn. You might be interested in what brings newcomers to your congregation, and how they assimilate into the group. Is the process seamless or does it involve written or unwritten procedures?

You might be inspired to ask this question because at one point you were new to a congregation when your family moved to another city, and the process of fitting took time. Or perhaps it was seamless—do members who are part of neighboring congregations blend in easier than others?

Asking questions means being open to finding out answers from the research participants, not only using your personal experience (me search) to answer the question.

Choose a method and collect data

Your research question will guide you to choose the best method to answer your question. If you are looking for broad, macro-level patterns, finding an existing dataset might be your best option. To understand people’s experiences, choosing a qualitative method like in-depth interviews or ethnography will probably work well.

What if you are already a member of the group; will that present a conflict of interest of sorts? Not necessarily—in fact, ethnographers sometimes work hard to gain access to groups, so being a member already might help you bypass gatekeepers. But you must consider your role in this group, and how it might impact your ability to gather data to address your research question.

Regardless of your role, it is vital to keep an open mind and do your best to “make the familiar strange.” If you are in a position of authority, how might this impact your interactions? Ethically, you might need to disclose that you are doing research to allow people to opt out if they choose, depending on your research question and method.

Analyze your data—and be open to what you find

What did you find? Is it different from your expectations and experiences? It’s okay if your findings vary from your predictions; in fact, findings that challenge our assumptions or the beliefs of others is what makes research interesting. Remain “faithful to the facts” and your research will be useful to the sociological conversation.

Getting into Sociology: Advice for High School Students

W. W. Norton — Mon, 01 Sep 2025 03:00:00 -0400

By Karen Sternheimer

I had a really cool social studies teacher in high school, and he taught a sociology class as an elective. I didn’t take it. Why?

It could have been the age-old “didn’t fit my schedule” or someone mentioned it was “hard.” I took his psychology class instead, maybe because I thought I knew something about psychology (I didn’t) or thought it might be easy (it wasn’t).

Looking back, I suspect I would have loved his sociology class, and it would have given me a little more of a background into what sociology is about. This is a question I get all the time from prospective students: what exactly is sociology? If there is no sociology class in your high school, how can you prepare if you are thinking of majoring in sociology?

First, sociology is the empirical study of groups, institutions, and how individuals navigate their lives within them and with each other. The American Sociological Association’s definition is:

The study of social life, social change, and the social causes and consequences of human behavior. Sociologists investigate the structure of groups, organizations, and societies and how people interact within these contexts. Since all human behavior is social, the subject matter of sociology ranges from the intimate family to global communities; from deviance to organized crime; from religious traditions to state institutions; and from the divisions of race, gender and social class to the shared beliefs of a common culture.

Second, explore. What interests you most about the world around you? A sociologist is someone who observes and asks questions. You might do this naturally. When I was growing up, a friend and I used to critique television commercials, looking at assumptions made about who was supposed to use the product (like why were women always in cleaning ads but men hardly ever were?).

The task of becoming a sociologist involves developing a sociological imagination, learning to ask sociological questions and how to think like a sociologist. But sociologists don’t all think the same way—start looking for debates and challenges within a topic that interests you. And keep in mind that sociology is a science, and science means that we are always asking more questions and conducting more research, rather than presuming that one study will yield everything we need to know about an issue.

Third, read work by sociologists. I recommend starting with blogs, articles and books that are written for general audiences and when you are ready dig into content geared primarily for sociologists.

If you’re reading this post, you have taken the first step: read sociology blogs like ours! Also, check out The Society Pages blog and Contexts, a sociological magazine with articles written by sociologists for general audiences.

Fourth, read books on topics that you find interesting. A search for “best sociology books for beginners” yields a list that I would recommend saving for classroom reading: the theoretical works of Marx, Weber, Durkheim, Goffman, and Berger & Luckmann are great for new graduate students but many high school students might be better off starting with more accessible reads.

Many sociologists (like me) have written books geared for readers who might not have a background in sociology. If you search your local library’s catalogue, choose nonfiction and sociology as categories to sample what books come up. Beware: some will not really be works of sociology but might be categorized as such if they deal with topics in current events. You might start with memoirs written by sociologists, which are very relatable as human stories from a sociological perspective (click here to see a few I recommend).

Fifth, take a class. This might be an actual class in your school, at a community college, or an open-source class online. I’m a fan of the Great Courses audio books and often listen to them while commuting. If you don’t have time to do a whole class, take a look at an introduction to sociology textbook to get an idea of the multitude of topics that sociologists study.

Becoming a sociologist doesn’t have to mean that you have to become a sociology professor—there are many pathways to consider, and many tools you will develop as a student of sociology. Although I’ve been a sociology professor for more than 25 years, I am still a student of sociology and sharpening my sociological imagination.

Longboarding Towards Social Interactionism

W. W. Norton — Wed, 27 Aug 2025 17:49:35 -0400

By Joey Colby Bernert, Graduate Student, Michigan State University

The first time I fell off my longboard, I learned something about pain. The second time, when I got back up in front of all my friends, I learned something about performance. Longboarding, for me, has never only been about rolling downhill. It has been about meeting people, reading signals, and figuring out how to play a role in a scene.

This is where sociology comes in. Symbolic interactionism is the idea that people create meaning through everyday interactions. Gestures, objects, clothing, and language all matter. A nod from a stranger, a quick joke with someone you just met, or even how you take a fall can say more than words.

Think about the longboard itself. A board with a wide, flexible deck signals dance and flow. A stiff downhill board with tiny trucks signals speed and risk. If another rider notices your Paris trucks and gives a compliment, that is more than talking about parts. It is recognition, a small moment of shared understanding.

Skateparks make this even clearer. Erving Goffman, in The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, compared social life to a stage. We are all actors managing impressions. Skaters do this constantly. The way they push off, hold their boards, or even crash becomes part of the show. Did you try to fall with control, or did you let yourself tumble? People notice. Those choices shape your image and eventually your identity.

Clothing adds another layer. I have shown up to the skatepark in a white bandana, a pink Tommy Hilfiger dress shirt and slacks. They were the same clothes I had just worn to lead a group therapy session. Wearing them at the park is not random. It is a symbol that says, “I belong here,” but it also manages the impression I give off. One hour I am a therapist. Next, I am carving a hill. Performance does not stop when you change settings.

Sociologist Howard Becker, who wrote about labeling theory, pointed out that deviance is not in the act. It is in how people define it. A longboarder in traffic might be “cool” to one driver and “reckless” to another. The action is the same, but the meaning depends on the audience.

Learning to longboard is also learning a language. There is slang, but also posture, timing, and flow. That is identity work. You shape how others see you and how you see yourself. Cultural theorist Dick Hebdige argued in Subculture: The Meaning of Style that clothing and behavior in subcultures are about making meaning. It is how people carve out space for themselves in a world eager to define them.

When I think about Émile Durkheim, I see the skatepark as a place of ritual. If Hebdige helps explain the meaning of style, Durkheim helps explain the meaning of ritual. The nods, the claps, the handshakes after a fall all create what he called “collective effervescence.” We feel bound together for a moment when someone lands a trick or takes a brutal fall. Even strangers get caught up in that shared energy. I have felt it myself, and it helps explain why skate culture can feel so tight knit. It is not only about boards and tricks. It is about the solidarity we build through these repeated acts.

From a functionalist perspective, I can also see the skatepark as more than a hangout. It works like a social institution that channels energy, creates routines, and strengthens bonds. We learn patience while waiting our turn, trust when we spot each other, and discipline by practicing the same move again and again. These routines stabilize the scene. In this way, the skatepark becomes like a classroom or a team, providing structure that holds our community together.

Watch the rituals at a skatepark. A nod after a kickflip, a glance to see if anyone noticed your carve, or a hand offered after a hard fall. None of these need translation. They say, without words, “you belong.”

You can see similar dynamics in barbershops, protests, or video games. What makes skating unique is that it is embodied and fast. You cannot fake belonging. You either stick the trick or you do not. When you fall, everyone sees.

That is what makes it sociological. It is one thing to read about performance in a textbook, but it is another to live it when you are sweating, bleeding, and still getting back on the board. You risk your body, your image, and your place in the group. Theories about identity and interaction are not abstract here. They are alive.

Symbolic interactionism helps explain why these small scenes matter. It shows why one photo can capture a whole identity and why a fall can be just as meaningful as a perfect ride. The half-pipe becomes a stage. The board becomes a symbol. The self is something you build, fall off, and climb back onto again. What looks like play on concrete is also a lesson in how we make selves together.

Overtourism: Revisiting the Sacred and Profane

W. W. Norton — Mon, 18 Aug 2025 03:00:00 -0400

By Karen Sternheimer

You have probably seen news of protests in Europe about overtourism—locals upset about their hometowns being overrun with crowds, often pricing them out of local housing markets. Cities like Barcelona, Florence, Venice, and Paris have experienced problems with overwhelming summer crowds.

While the rebound after the COVID shutdowns of 2020 kept people from traveling for a year or more is part of the explanation, we can use our sociological imagination to think more deeply about why certain places draw crowds.

Sociologist Émile Durkheim wrote about how societies designate distinctions between the sacred and profane. While sacred sites might relate to religious practices, they can be any place that is inspirational to members of society, something that has meaning that transcends its basic purpose. For Durkheim, the profane is part of everyday life, maybe even mundane and lacks transcendental meaning.

Some places might be sacred to some people—not only religious sites, but places given new meaning because of social media platforms like Instagram—but not to others. Places might become “sacred,” or meanings that go beyond their everyday purpose, thanks to viral Instagram posts, movies, or other lore.

For instance, sites might take on “iconic” status if they are familiar to fans of the Lord of the Rings film trilogy. A trip to New Zealand can be made even more meaningful with a “pilgrimage” to the places where the films were shot. Going to Austria? Why not do a Sound of Music tour, with locations that may be familiar to fans of the 1965 movie of the same name (although much of the movie was filmed in Hollywood). Never mind that the movie was filled with inaccuracies about a family’s escape from the Nazis, and is not familiar to people in the region. The tours solely exist for North American tourists to feel connection to a classic movie.

When travel writer Cameron Hewitt explained why he doesn’t recommend that tourists visit Loch Ness in Scotland—a destination made famous for the “Loch Ness Monster” which by most accounts doesn’t really exist—the local press went ballistic. Hewitt’s point was that there are many other more interesting and meaningful sites to see in the beautiful country, but Loch Ness and its gift shops had become a sacred cash cow.

These examples fit Durkheim’s definition of sacred, as do the myriad of sites made famous via social media, even if there is no specific religious connection. These transcendent meanings can draw crowds to places. The larger the crowds, the greater the feeling that something must be important about the location, creating a cycle of meaning,

By contrast, religious sites can take on transcendent meanings beyond their religious origins, as I wrote about last year. On a recent visit to Milan’s Duomo, pictured below, timed tickets helped keep the crowds manageable.
As a religious space, there is a specific dress code: no hats, no swimsuits, flip-flops, shoulders should be covered, no bare bellies, and so forth. I was wearing a dress that just reached my knees and was nervous that it could have been considered too short. But when approaching the entrance, I was surprised to see lots of bare midriffs and shoulders, making my knees a whole lot less worrisome.

Visitors would still be allowed to enter if they purchased cover-ups, like the ones pictured below:

It was a hot summer day, and these sheer coverups seemed to be everywhere in the sanctuary. These people had bare midriffs and shoulders before purchasing cover ups for about €2 (about $2.25 USD). While the Duomo’s website says that dress code violators would be denied entry, these paper shawls likely drew some modest revenue and thus tolerance for violations.

Milan’s Duomo, like many other religious tourist draws, struggles to balance maintaining a site of religious worship with a site of tourist pilgrimage. It was clear that some people were engaged in prayer while others in sightseeing.

Old sacred spaces, like Milan’s Duomo, which dates back to 1386, are costly to maintain. While visiting, there was scaffolding along the sides, perhaps for cleaning or restoration. Along with the admission fee (starting at €10 (about $11.70), there are numerous places where visitors are asked to make donations. We paid extra (€22, or $25.72) to walk upstairs to the terrace, where there was also a great view of the Milan skyline.

These kinds of fees highlight Durkheim’s concept of the profane—the everyday, usualness of a location like this as a business—coexists with its sacredness.

Tourism is about more than just seeing important places—it is about reconstructing places as important as we visit, pay, record and share our visit with others. Overtourism is perhaps a reflection of the abundance of meaning placed within specific spaces. By visiting these spaces, we might experience some of the transcendence with which they are imbued.

Photos courtesy of the author