I started by mocking my own lack of irony when listening to power ballads, but ended up issuing a call to arms for the post-modern generation to stop feeling ashamed to be genuine. It was, of course, quite hypocritical, given that my opening gambit was in that vein of humour (although it also began to express my growing conflicted attitude towards it…).
I’m a hypocrite, of course, because I’m never short of a smart remark myself, but I can’t help but feel that there’s a real fear behind the fun – it’s more than a style of banter, it’s a way of interacting with the world for our generation. Or rather, of not interacting with it.
A few things have got me mulling this topic recently; for example, a recent minor tiff with a friend of mine. I was unable to attend a dance event she’d sent a group invitation for, and instead of politely refusing I couldn’t resist gently mocking the high-brow nature of the event (and underlining my lack of interest in this area). Much to my surprise my friend took great umbrage. I was duly apologetic, but I couldn’t decide if I was being in some way mean-spirited, or simply communicating in the style that people of our generation and education-level do. I knew there was no malice in what I said – I was just being myself – and I knew if I took a straw poll most people would have been surprised at her offence, and recognized that I was just trying to be smart. Yet part of me thought she had a point. We are often much more interested in showing everyone how witty we are, than in actually talking to them. We are more interested in our style of communication than in actually communicating. (I am still pleased with what I said, despite the saga that ensued because, hey, it was funny, and that’s the important thing!)
Another thing I keep noticing is that, however frustrating the naifness of some of my American acquaintances is (and may I take pains to point out that I am not tarring all with same brush) there is some merit to a lack of cynicism. That optimism and an irritating lack of self-doubt actually gets things accomplished. We might be ever-so-sophisticated in our analysis, and suitably open to self-doubt, but we’re, frankly, a whole lot less effective. Clearly I’m not about to morph into Ned Flanders – I will always be the depressed sucker who opts for truth over happiness – but I feel less keen to mock the Flanderses out there, because they’re probably achieving a lot more in real terms in the world than me. I have a grudging respect (and jealousy) for those who are not riddled with self-doubt and who live in a simpler world than me.
Recently I was at a wedding where everybody was asked to contribute a comment about the happy couple, which would then be incorporated into a speech. It worked well, and was warm and very funny. What was notable from my point of view is that I was literally the only person who contributed a sincere (i.e., not funny) comment. When asked at the start to think of something to contribute, my first reaction was a stab of anxiety – what if I can’t think of anything funny to say? What if every one else’s is funny and mine isn’t? I suspect not all of that is my neurosis – I’d bet there’s an extent to which everybody else was thinking the same. It was like some kind of gauntlet thrown down to prove that you were as witty as everyone else. As cool, as desirable, etc. I decided quite quickly that whilst I was probably up to the challenge of saying something that would have brought a smile, I would bravely experiment with being sincere and saying something that would be meaningful both to me, and the groom (my friend). Much to my surprise I was the only person who did so. Part of me did feel silly, and inferior, and like I had opted out of the challenge, and like others would mock me for being sincere, or that privately they would think I was incapable of producing something funny, or that I was a humourless person, etc etc. But I also felt quite proud and brave to have eschewed my initial urge to hide my feelings behind humour in that coy British way. We are so emotionally prudish!
I have this sense that it’s a way for people to distinguish themselves from the masses. The masses are sincere, the masses watch Trisha with a straight face, the masses don’t know that Top Gun is really gay, the masses listen to 80s power ballads and enjoy them without irony. But I have a distaste for the Trisha-watching masses. I am apart from that, I am cleverer than that, I am ‘in’ on something they are not. Therefore I will be funny and people will know that I am not the masses, and I will distinguish myself accordingly. That is the thought process underpinning all of this, I think.
Take channel 4’s ‘yoof’ programming, for example – you always feel like there’s an in-joke. The gist of this presenting/programming style is to make you feel part of it (graced to be included), in a way that an older, less media-savvy generation never could. But there’s something nasty and clichy and smart-arsed about it, too. It’s about feeling that there’s some joke going on at somebody’s expense, and you’d better be in on it, in case it’s you. And it’s a social competition to be part of some higher echelon of those with an exquisitely nuanced media sophistication – those who can step back and see the layer upon layer of once-removed self-conscious medium-conscious parodic post-modernism, the like of which you don’t see in either Europe or the U.S. It is something I used to revel in at a formative time, when I began to understand how excited I was by ideas. And there’s a real teenager-ish part of me that’s still excited by it, and still wants to be cool enough to be apart enough from the herd to get the in-joke, and still thinks Joyce is the greatest writer, and is ashamed to admit to liking power ballads without a distancing irony, etc. etc. (Why does everything boil down to still wanting to be the coolest kid in the playground, no matter how old we get…?) But I think it is a more mature part of me that thinks: “This is wank”. There’s a fundamental hollowness about it. It’s cleverness for cleverness’s sake, and after you’ve gotten over the intricate Celtic knot of it, and the self-congratulation, there’s no content.
Maybe I’m just old enough to have acquired enough wisdom to realize that content is the important stuff. I want real. I want stuff. Not just clever hot air. I want to be ok with expressing something genuine, without looking over my shoulder for fear of being mocked, without dressing it in qualifications and caveats to buffer and preclude that mocking. I want to connect to real people, goddamnit, and maybe even have them connect to real me. And whilst I don’t want to be in danger of turning into a humourless lump, I don’t want to be constantly sabotaging that possibility of intimacy by hiding behind ubiquitous snide condescending distancing humour. Is that wisdom, or just foolhardiness? The reality, of course, is that I will continue to be a smart-arse, and make witticisms in the hope the world will see how funny I am, and hopefully not see all of the despoiled reality I wish to hide. The human need for self-presentation and image-management is one of my own peculiar obsessions that constantly finds an out one way or another in my work. The whole ‘behind the white picket fence’ thing is a real recurring theme for me. The disparity between the primal creature inside (and whatever dirty earthy urges that comprises) and the tailored suit and shiny shiny shoes that are presented to the world (and the deference we accord that!). Why are we so ashamed of our fundamental humanity? I can’t help thinking about all of us - all these people living in their own hermetic internal world, lonely and desperate to make a connection. Longing for intimacy, for sincerity. All so afraid of being mocked that being openly sincere is out of the question. God forbid we reveal something of ourselves to the cruel world at large. The long slow dance we perform before letting people see what’s under the skin, when that’s all we truly desire. It’s a sad irony, huh?
Btw – Heart’s ‘Alone’ is the most listened-to song on my ipod. And I say that to you in sincerity and without shame. Well – ok – maybe just a bit of shame (and whether I’m sincere or not, is anyone’s guess…)
First posted on Facebook, 6th November 2008
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