Entering “Theory Trading Cards” into Amazon and seeing the autocomplete fill in before you’re done is almost disorienting. The reason this specific product shouldn’t exist in the first place is not that it’s shocking that people purchase academic tools online. This deck of cards, which is meant to be played like a kid’s trump game, features Michel Foucault, Judith Butler, and Anthony Giddens, whose works are feared by the majority of undergraduates. And yet here it is—searched, bought, reviewed, and seemingly cherished.
The origin story is subtle enough to seem almost coincidental. In 2000, David Gauntlett, a media professor with a clear penchant for the ridiculous, started Theory.org.uk Trading Cards, releasing one every month in a low-key manner. Giddens, a British sociologist who spent the 1990s charting how contemporary identity is constructed from cultural noise, came first. Then there is Butler, whose claim that biological sex is just as manufactured as gender continues to cause discomfort in academic settings. Next was Foucault. Gauntlett’s choices became more bizarre after that, with Tracey Emin, Gilbert & George, and abstract ideas like postmodernity seated next to theorists like an odd cousin who shows up at a family dinner and manages to fit in.
Borrowing from Pokémon was the design choice that made everything work. Gauntlett included a picture, a brief synopsis of concepts, important publications, biographical information, and—most brilliantly—a list of strengths, weaknesses, and unique abilities on each card. One of Foucault’s documented strengths is his joyful rejection of outdated frameworks in favor of new ones. Players have reportedly been perplexed by Duchamp’s unique talent for the past 20 years. Gauntlett might have meant that ambiguity. It seems too ideal to be coincidental.
The New York Times had taken notice by 2004. For a short while, a limited print version was available on Amazon. A formal 21-card edition was then created by AltaMira Press; it was more refined, more textbook than toy, but it still contained the same fundamental ideas. The startling thing is that none of this should have persisted. The 2001 internet culture, which included Angelfire pages, Flash animations, and niche projects that flickered and vanished, gave rise to the cards. They didn’t. The deck was chosen by Bournemouth University as a teaching tool for first-year media students because theory intimidates beginners and something about holding a physical card—looking at a face, reading three bullet points—makes the concepts seem approachable rather than unbreakable. less like a test. More like a dialogue.
Within a few years, scholars and students began creating their own unofficial versions. Karl Marx appeared. Next were Germaine Greer, Marcel Duchamp, Carl Jung, Edward Said, Simone de Beauvoir, and Walter Benjamin. Instead of objecting, Gauntlett maintained a running list of fan-made additions on his website, demonstrating the same kindness that independent bands show their bootleggers.
It’s difficult to ignore the true irony that lies at the heart of all of this. The entire situation would have been concerning to Guy Debord, who spent his career cautioning against the spectacle of commodification. It is argued that making critical theorists collectibles substitutes ownership for comprehension. Appearance takes precedence over being. The very intellectuals who criticized consumer culture end up as consumer goods. It’s a genuine tension that is difficult to ignore.
Nevertheless, the cards continue to function. If Amazon search trends are any indication, they sit on desks, stuff themselves into bags, and seemingly continue to find new readers who then search for the books themselves. That may be a trading card’s most covert act of generosity. not take the place of the theory. Just make it less intimidating to start.⁖※
