Have you noticed how quickly university catalogs have started looking more like streaming service menus? One semester it is a deep dive into a chart-topping artist. The next it is an entire class built around a reality competition that airs on television. San Diego State University recently added a course centered on RuPaul’s Drag Race, and the reaction has been anything but quiet. Students will examine race, gender, sexuality, class, and the politics surrounding the show. Critics say the whole thing turns higher education into entertainment. Supporters insist it meets young people where they already are. I keep coming back to the same question: when does using pop culture as a teaching tool stop being clever and start diluting the point of a degree?
What The New Drag Race Course Actually Covers
The class carries the title RuPaul’s Drag Race – Media, Markets, and Power. It sits as an upper-division undergraduate offering. According to the description, participants will look closely at how the program frames and receives queens of color. They will also dig into ongoing debates about trans inclusion. The course promises to unpack fandom, digital communities, and the strange mix of pleasure and policing that shows up online. A final project asks students to connect the series to larger questions of media power, commodification, and cultural politics in the streaming age.
On paper it sounds ambitious. The professor behind it, Nathian Rodriguez, has explained that the goal is greater cultural literacy. He points to widespread misinformation about LGBTQ individuals and argues that popular culture offers a practical entry point. In his view, if pop culture lacked real influence, people would not spend so much energy trying to silence or regulate it. He has used similar approaches before, once building a full semester around the Puerto Rican artist Bad Bunny. The idea is to pick one cultural figure or phenomenon as an anchor and then layer theoretical concepts on top of it.
I find that approach understandable. Students already spend hours with these shows and songs. Turning that familiarity into classroom discussion can feel efficient. Yet efficiency is not the same as rigor. The question is whether the analysis stays sharp or whether the glamour of the subject starts to overshadow the harder academic work.
Why Critics Call It A Waste Of Public Money
Not everyone is impressed. Leaders at a conservative advocacy group have called the course a mockery of higher education. They argue that students will leave the classroom no better prepared for the job market and possibly less grounded in core knowledge. The strongest complaint focuses on public funding. When tuition already strains family budgets, every elective that seems more lifestyle than scholarship draws scrutiny.
Those concerns are not new. For years parents and taxpayers have watched course catalogs fill with offerings that prioritize identity exploration over traditional disciplines. Some of those classes produce genuine insight. Others feel like expensive group discussions that could happen free of charge on social media. The difference often comes down to whether the syllabus demands critical thinking or simply celebrates the subject.
In this case the professor has not publicly answered detailed questions about learning outcomes or assessment methods. That silence leaves room for skepticism. Without clear evidence that students gain transferable skills, the charge of wasted resources gains traction.
The Professor’s Defense Of Pop Culture Anchors
Rodriguez maintains that the method works. He chooses one high-profile figure or show and uses it to illustrate denser ideas. Students who might glaze over during a lecture on media theory suddenly engage when the examples come from a series they already binge-watch. He describes the process as meeting students where they are and then guiding them toward the theoretical side.
There is real logic here. Many successful teachers have long used current events, films, or music to open difficult topics. The risk appears when the anchor becomes the entire ship. If the final project never forces students to move beyond the show itself, the class risks remaining surface-level. Cultural literacy matters. So does the ability to write clearly, argue from evidence, and separate entertainment from analysis.
I have watched similar experiments in other departments. When done carefully, they can spark genuine curiosity. When done casually, they reinforce the idea that higher education exists mainly to validate personal interests rather than expand them.
Similar Courses Appearing Across Campuses
San Diego State is not operating in isolation. Another university is currently running a class on the same Puerto Rican performer, focusing on fashion as political expression and concepts such as decoloniality and intersectionality. The instructor there has said that a familiar celebrity helps students grasp complex ideas more quickly. At still another institution, a stage makeup course includes a dedicated module on drag techniques taught by a former contestant from the very same competition series.
These examples form a pattern. Popular culture has become a preferred vehicle for discussing identity, power, and representation. The trend makes sense in an era when students arrive already steeped in streaming content and social media discourse. Yet the pattern also raises a practical concern. How many of these specialized electives can a single student take before the core curriculum starts to shrink?
Universities face constant pressure to stay relevant. Relevance, however, should not mean mirroring every trend that trends. A balanced catalog still needs space for history, science, literature, and quantitative reasoning. When identity-focused media courses multiply, something else usually loses hours.
What Students Actually Gain From These Classes
Defenders of the approach list several benefits. Students practice media analysis. They learn to spot framing techniques and commercial strategies. They discuss how audiences form communities and how those communities police behavior. In theory the skills transfer to any form of public communication.
In practice the transfer depends on the assignments. A well-designed final project can push students to compare the show with older forms of performance or with other reality formats. A weak project simply asks them to reflect on their own fandom. The difference is significant. One builds analytical muscle. The other rehearses feelings already present.
I have spoken with graduates who took similar classes. Some still reference the theoretical frameworks years later. Others remember the fun discussions and little else. The variation suggests that the quality of instruction matters more than the subject itself. A gifted teacher can extract insight from almost any text. A less rigorous one can turn even Shakespeare into soft conversation.
The Broader Question Of Curriculum Priorities
Every new course competes for limited resources. Faculty time, classroom space, and student credit hours are finite. When a department adds a class on a current television phenomenon, it implicitly decides that this topic deserves space over something else. That decision deserves open discussion rather than quiet administrative approval.
Parents paying tuition want graduates who can think clearly and communicate effectively. Employers want the same. Cultural literacy has value, yet it is not the only literacy that counts. Numeracy, historical perspective, and scientific reasoning still form the backbone of most professional paths. A catalog heavy with niche identity electives risks producing graduates who know a great deal about one corner of popular culture and relatively little about everything else.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect is how quickly these courses multiply once the first one succeeds. Momentum builds. Other departments notice the enrollment numbers. Administrators see high fill rates and approve more of the same. Before long the catalog tilts. The original intention of meeting students where they are becomes a permanent destination rather than a temporary bridge.
Looking Ahead To More Identity-Focused Offerings
San Diego State already has plans for another course in spring 2027. That one will examine comic books and graphic narratives through the lens of LGBTQ culture, identity, and politics. Students will practice what the description calls queer methods of reading. The pattern continues. One popular form of media after another is filtered through the same set of theoretical concerns.
There is nothing inherently wrong with studying comics or drag performance. Both have rich histories and cultural significance. The issue is concentration. When nearly every new elective circles the same themes of identity and power, the intellectual range of the university narrows. Students lose opportunities to encounter ideas that challenge rather than confirm their existing frameworks.
I keep wondering what a truly balanced approach would look like. Imagine a media course that pairs the drag competition with older theatrical traditions or with international performance forms that do not share the same political vocabulary. The conversation would become richer. Students would have to compare rather than simply affirm.
Public Funding And Accountability
Because the university receives public support, the debate inevitably turns to taxpayer responsibility. Citizens fund institutions that are supposed to prepare the next generation for productive lives. When those institutions appear to prioritize cultural affirmation over skill development, trust erodes. The erosion shows up in legislative hearings, in declining enrollment at some campuses, and in growing interest in alternative credentials.
Accountability does not require banning every pop culture class. It does require transparent learning outcomes and evidence that graduates leave with measurable abilities. If a course on a reality competition can demonstrate clear gains in analytical writing or media literacy, the criticism loses force. Until that evidence appears, skepticism remains reasonable.
In my experience, the strongest university programs welcome scrutiny. They publish syllabi, share assessment data, and adjust when results disappoint. Programs that treat questions as attacks often have less to show for their methods.
Student Perspectives And Classroom Reality
Students themselves hold mixed views. Some enroll because they already love the show and want academic credit for exploring it. Others sign up out of genuine curiosity about representation and media economics. A smaller group may take the course simply because it fits their schedule or sounds less demanding than alternatives.
Classroom discussions can become lively. Participants bring personal knowledge of contestants, catchphrases, and online controversies. That energy is valuable when the instructor channels it toward deeper questions. It becomes limiting when the conversation stays inside the show’s own universe. The best moments occur when students step back and ask how the program shapes public attitudes or how commercial incentives influence which stories get told.
Those moments are not automatic. They require deliberate design. A syllabus that lists big theoretical terms does not guarantee that students will wrestle with them. The daily work of reading, writing, and arguing determines the real outcome.
Balancing Relevance And Rigor
The tension between relevance and rigor is not unique to this course. Every generation of educators faces the same dilemma. Use the material students already care about, or insist they stretch toward material they do not yet value. The most effective teachers do both. They begin with the familiar and then move outward.
A drag competition series can serve as that starting point. It can also become a comfortable stopping point. The difference lies in how far the assignments push. Do students have to research the history of drag before television? Do they compare American formats with performances in other countries? Do they examine the economic model that turns a cable show into a global brand? Those questions raise the intellectual stakes.
Without such demands, the class risks becoming an expensive book club for fans. Book clubs have their place. Universities are supposed to offer something more structured and more demanding.
What This Trend Signals About Higher Education
The appearance of these courses signals a larger shift. Universities increasingly treat student interest as the primary guide for curriculum design. Market logic enters the academic sphere. High enrollment becomes the measure of success. That logic has advantages. It keeps departments solvent and students engaged. It also carries costs. Subjects that require sustained effort and delayed gratification struggle to compete.
Over time the institution begins to resemble the entertainment culture it studies. The boundary between classroom and content feed softens. Graduates may leave with strong opinions about representation and weaker skills in areas employers still value. The mismatch shows up later in hiring data and in public frustration with the cost of college.
None of this means every identity-focused class should disappear. It does mean administrators should ask harder questions before approving the next one. What core skills does this course develop? How will success be measured? What existing offering will it replace or reduce? Those questions protect the long-term value of the degree.
Practical Considerations For Students And Parents
Students considering the class should look past the title. Request the full syllabus. Examine the reading list and the nature of the final project. Ask previous participants how much writing and analysis the course required. A thoughtful elective can complement a stronger major. A soft elective can leave gaps that become costly later.
Parents reviewing tuition bills have every right to inquire about the return on investment. Degrees still open doors, but the content of those degrees matters. A transcript heavy with highly specialized media electives may raise questions during job interviews. Balance remains the safest strategy.
I have found that the students who thrive are those who treat every class, even the entertaining ones, as practice in clear thinking. They write more than required. They challenge the assumptions of the material. They leave with skills rather than just memories of lively discussion.
The Role Of Cultural Literacy In A Crowded Curriculum
Cultural literacy is valuable. Understanding how media shapes attitudes helps citizens navigate a complicated information environment. The danger appears when cultural literacy crowds out other forms of literacy. A graduate who can deconstruct a reality competition but cannot interpret a basic statistical claim faces real limitations.
Universities used to treat broad exposure as a virtue. Distribution requirements forced students into unfamiliar territory. That model is under pressure. Students prefer choice. Administrators prefer high enrollment. The combination produces catalogs that feel increasingly narrow even as the number of options grows.
A healthier balance would keep space for pop culture analysis while protecting the less glamorous subjects that build durable skills. The two need not compete if the overall structure remains intentional rather than reactive.
Final Thoughts On The Debate
The San Diego State course will run. Students will enroll. Some will gain genuine insight into media power and representation. Others will treat it as an easy credit. The larger conversation will continue because the underlying tension is not going away. Universities must decide whether their primary job is to affirm the culture students already inhabit or to expand the range of what those students can understand and do.
Pop culture can be a powerful teaching tool. It can also become a comfortable substitute for harder intellectual work. The difference depends on design, expectations, and honest assessment. Until those elements are clear, skepticism about courses built around television competitions will remain healthy.
In the end the real test is simple. Do graduates leave more capable of independent thought than when they arrived? If the answer is yes, the method justifies itself. If the answer is uncertain, then the proliferation of similar classes deserves closer examination. Higher education still carries a public trust. That trust is best protected by rigor, not by chasing every cultural moment that captures attention on screens.
The conversation about what belongs in the classroom is far from finished. Each new course description adds another data point. Watching how universities respond to criticism and how students actually perform will tell us more than any single syllabus ever could. For now the debate itself serves a useful purpose. It forces everyone involved to articulate what they believe a university education is for.
