#Goodvibesonly: The Shared Emotions We Don't Quite Name

(MENAFN- The Conversation) Our contemporary lives are saturated with vibes. You buy an ambient lamp to set a vibe, scroll through shopping sites selling“Tuscan vibes” or walk into a room and instantly sense this party has a buzzing vibe.

Yet when someone asks where the vibe comes from, the answer gets slippery. Is it in the light? Not quite. The light blends into the room, mixing with voices, colours and furniture. It's not just one thing. Vibe is elusive. It spreads, permeates and connects. It's in the relationship between things - how people, sounds and materials work together to create a shared feeling.

This is where literary and philosophical thinkers come in. For decades, they've explored such elusive sensations - the collective moods that organize everyday life even when we can't quite name them.

Thinking seriously about vibe reveals something crucial: feeling is a shared form of knowledge shaped by environments - a human experience that may matter more as technology advances.

Long before vibes had a name

The word itself is quite recent. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, vibe appeared in the 1960s as U.S. slang shortened from vibration as a way of describing the emotional charge a person or place gives off.

To say something“has a vibe” is to say your body has vibrated to it in a particular way. It's not just a thought but a physical adjustment: the space, sound or presence around you has moved you, subtly shifting how you feel.

Philosophers, of course, have long been interested in this same experience, though they called it by a different name. Long before vibe entered everyday speech, thinkers used words like atmosphere or ambience to describe the shared feeling that fills a space and shapes our response to it.

Vibe, in this sense, updates an old philosophical question: how does the world around us make itself felt, not just known?

One of the first modern critics to take this question seriously was Welsh cultural theorist Raymond Williams, who coined the phrase “structure of feeling” in 1954. Williams argued that every historical moment has its own emotional texture; the felt sense of what it's like to live in that time.

It isn't a single mood but the background hum of experience that connects people before they can describe it. Think of the buoyant optimism of the 1950s or the political turmoil of the 1960s, similar to what we're experiencing now. We can sense the mood immediately.

For Williams, this“structure of feeling” made art and culture matter. They recorded not just what people thought but what life felt like.

The business of engineered feeling

A few decades later, German philosopher Gernot Böhme gave this idea a physical body. In The Aesthetics of Atmospheres, he argued that atmosphere is something we encounter, not imagine.

Walk into a cathedral, a café or a store, and the air itself feels different. Your senses are triggered and combine to shape how you experience the ambience. Atmosphere, as Böhme sees it, exists in the space between object and subject, sound and listener, light and body.

Companies and marketers understand this better than anyone. They don't simply sell objects, they sell worlds of feeling.

Step into a boutique and you're greeted not by bright displays but by a carefully tuned vibe. The air swirls with fragrance as a salesperson asks if you'd like to sample one. By answering, you fall into the illusion that the perfume alone produces your feeling, when in fact it's the entire composition - soft jazz, the scent of citrus wood - that moves you.

We are enveloped in these designed environments, and we know that the same scent wouldn't move us the same way elsewhere.

Brands no longer sell perfume or soap so much as an atmosphere of belonging. They offer a shared world we learn to recognize and desire through our senses. This commercial atmosphere reminds us that our emotional lives are increasingly shaped by design.

Why sensing atmosphere remains human

As artificial intelligence grows ever more capable of performing the tasks we once called creative - writing, composing, painting - it also changes how we think about perception itself.

If machines can analyze patterns and generate words or images, what remains distinctly human may not be our ability to produce things but to feel them. Catching the tone of a voice, noticing how light shifts across a face or sensing the vibe of a room are forms of knowledge no algorithm yet replicates.

That doesn't mean AI and feeling must be opposites. As we outsource more of our labour to artificial systems, the art of cultivating and interpreting atmosphere may become even more essential.

Learning to name a mood, to notice how spaces and technologies shape emotion, could be one way we stay alert to what connects us as human beings. If AI teaches us efficiency, vibe-thinking teaches us sensitivity. It reminds us that meaning doesn't live only in data or design but in the air between us - the moods we co-create, the atmospheres we learn to share, the vibe.

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