Walter Benjamin taught us that works of art, when seen reproduced in a book or on a postcard, lose their ‘aura’. It is obvious that a reproduction can be very good, even absolutely faithful to the original colors and sizes –in the case of a painting–, or that the observer can get a very thorough idea of what, for example, the Mona Lisa is. But a reproduction of La Gioconda is not the original, because the original has the aforementioned 'aura', which comes to it from that theorized 'distance': the original has traversed time, and often also space, and appears before us in a place, without losing either its mystery or its authority. The concept of aura, then, is back in fashion now, it seems due to young people who meet to compete in fascinating and a bit grotesque 'aura battles', which first must be cultivated, or 'farmed', as they say, making an English verb their own, mainly learned from video games. Aura is cultivated because through battles or clashes between different young people, it is achieved that the social perception that others have of one's own charisma, style, presence, confidence, or the ability to show oneself as 'cool'. But young people are sharper than it seems; we must want to go beyond the blind and blunt criticism that many make on social media to end up understanding 'the game', because all of this is too revealing. Often one just needs to take a little care. Because the more aura you want to have, the less you have, or the more it seems you want to act cool and charismatic, the more your true colors show and you lose the game completely. I would not say that within the literary field things work in a very different way: there are those who have aura and those who do not, and no one seems more grotesque or dispensable than those who want above all to cultivate aura, that is, to start pulling strings or pushing buttons to appear to have greatness or insight or grace, when precisely if one had all that, one would not have to do anything, because we would already be there. The game or irony is competing for something for which one should not want the victory, because just by wanting it –or by exhibiting that desire– they can no longer give it to you. The winner must be the one who seems to want it the least, and at the same time the one who does things that, for one reason or another, end up fascinating the public the most. Now the aura is quantified, as Benjamin also taught us to do, who knew how to see which things were or were not 'authentic'. And this is where art returns, because all of it is pure simulation: one must make it look like one is doing nothing, no effort, or that the way of dressing, walking, dancing, or looking are not the result of hours of trial and error. If for Benjamin the aura was destroyed because of technology, these young people have learned that technology is the only way in which they can cultivate it. Art was unrepeatable, but the aura that is now sought to be had ends up being nothing more than a reputation for singularity produced through repetition. Art says nothing to them, surely, but what they do is nothing more than seek, in a more or less showy way, the artistic experience.