At some point, or maybe it was always this way, irony became discovered by the good ol' boys club of advertising. See, they started reinforcing the norm by pretending as if they weren’t. For evidence of this, I present this video (which I originally found on one of the greatest blogs ever: Sociological Images).
It’s all very headspinning since you can never be sure whether the shit is really shit or if it’s really just taking a dump on you. Of course, irony is also coopted by the hipster, who doesn’t do anything unless they don’t really mean it. What we really learn from all of this is that irony, like any concept, can be dangerous.
I wonder if Richard Rorty could have anticipated this? Irony used in this form and the snark it accompanies is very much an invention of very recent history. Rorty thinks of irony as a literary concept that is found in books and poetry. His examples come from Philip Larkin, Nobokov, and Orwell. All of these are worthwhile explorations, but it’s clear from the examples in the video that irony needs to be explored from the perspective of pop-culture.
And here’s where I’m going to pause for a hot-minute and say that this, THIS, is exactly why it is so important for academics to embrace pop culture and what it says instead of just analyzing Nobokov all the time - what Anita Sarkeesian is saying is that irony has taken on a role that does more to reinforce dangerous norms than it does to overcome them and it’s only if you’re paying attention to Carls Jr. ads and giving them credit as a text that you are going to notice this.
Back to irony. Honestly, it’s incredibely furstrating because how are we supposed to fight the power aside from punching it in the face? I’ve always seen irony as a gentle way to bring up a feminist perspective or to point out to someone that they enjoy white/male/whateveryoulike privilege.
Not that irony is now off the table, but it means we have to treat it with caution and unerstand that it can be interpreted in ways that reinforce the very fundamentals you’re trying to overcome.
Showing posts with label rorty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rorty. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Detroit, I loved you once
My last post about Detroit was sentimental and maybe a little maudlin. It was a call to action. Even the most "I will never be prescriptive!" political theorist wants people to just get off their asses and do something. Of course, me being the one to ask questions, I find this interesting. Why am I so fucking sentimental about this city?
Maybe it's because I've imagined something great and (hello repetition) imaginary. William Connolly has described this type of imagination in his description of the nation as envisioned by other sources ( this is not Connolly's vision of the nation - this is his baseline):
I should say some things about my life in Detroit. I'm a transplant, but my mom grew up in the area. She has a story of going downtown during the riots because she didn't recognize what was going on. She didn't understand the dire consequences of a history of segregation. She just wanted to go to work. The guy on the trolly kept asking her, "Are you sure you want to go downtown?" So my love of the city is tainted by the ideal, by going downtown without realizing what on earth is happening, of hoping for that ideal.
Let it be known: I am schooled enough in the imagination of our ideals to question everything. This blog, so you know, is founded in irony. Rorty describes an ironist as someone who always harbors doubt. She does not think of her reality as closer to the "real" reality - someone else's reality has possibility, too. It interests me that Rorty introduces this definition in the chapter titled "Private Irony and Liberal Hope." (all of this is on page 73 of Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity). I think that Rorty is both suspicious and admiring of hope. He notes of the liberal metaphysician, "He prays, with Socrates, that the inner and outer man will be as one - that irony will be no longer necessary (92)."
Don't we all pray this way? Irony is exhausting. It is so much more energizing to think of the unified one. To think of a city that was perfect and beautiful and full of hope. I've talked before about the Yves Marchand & Romain Meffre project about the ruins of Detroit - I've spoken romantically of these photos, because that is what they are. Aren't ruins inherently romantic? We visit Rome not to see destruction, but to marvel at past greatness.
But the romance is too hopeful. It is not critical enough of a city that is representative of all that can go wrong with the American ideal. It is especially lacking in critique of the racial tensions still present in the city.
But the romance is so moving. It makes you want to achieve some ideal. I think all I ask of myself and of anyone is that they temper that with irony. Detroit is inherently romantic and hopeful. The motto of the city, of course is, "Speramus Meliora; Resurget Cineribus (We hope for better things; it shall rise from the ashes.")
Perhaps because the hope is for something better, the romance in the city is full of irony: we know things have been for shit, and we'd like to make it better, but to do so, we must critique.
Things I read while writing this:
Why I am Not a Secularist by William Connolly
Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity by Richard Rorty
Something Fun:
New Feist!
Maybe it's because I've imagined something great and (hello repetition) imaginary. William Connolly has described this type of imagination in his description of the nation as envisioned by other sources ( this is not Connolly's vision of the nation - this is his baseline):
Above all, then, nationhood is founded on shared memories of sacrifice and a common will in the present. It is refined by its memory of the enemies it faced in the past. Its victories fill it with glory. Its defeats fill it with the determination to reverse that result in the future. What's more, a nation is formed out of "a long past spent in toil, sacrifice and devotion." (75)Detroit, much like this baseline idea of the nation, bears the shared memory of sacrifice. Weren't all of us working on the line, putting together cars? Didn't we all take the streetcar downtown to shop at Hudson's? Wasn't a house in Boston Edison or Indian Village just the height of "You've made it!"?
I should say some things about my life in Detroit. I'm a transplant, but my mom grew up in the area. She has a story of going downtown during the riots because she didn't recognize what was going on. She didn't understand the dire consequences of a history of segregation. She just wanted to go to work. The guy on the trolly kept asking her, "Are you sure you want to go downtown?" So my love of the city is tainted by the ideal, by going downtown without realizing what on earth is happening, of hoping for that ideal.
Let it be known: I am schooled enough in the imagination of our ideals to question everything. This blog, so you know, is founded in irony. Rorty describes an ironist as someone who always harbors doubt. She does not think of her reality as closer to the "real" reality - someone else's reality has possibility, too. It interests me that Rorty introduces this definition in the chapter titled "Private Irony and Liberal Hope." (all of this is on page 73 of Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity). I think that Rorty is both suspicious and admiring of hope. He notes of the liberal metaphysician, "He prays, with Socrates, that the inner and outer man will be as one - that irony will be no longer necessary (92)."
Don't we all pray this way? Irony is exhausting. It is so much more energizing to think of the unified one. To think of a city that was perfect and beautiful and full of hope. I've talked before about the Yves Marchand & Romain Meffre project about the ruins of Detroit - I've spoken romantically of these photos, because that is what they are. Aren't ruins inherently romantic? We visit Rome not to see destruction, but to marvel at past greatness.
But the romance is too hopeful. It is not critical enough of a city that is representative of all that can go wrong with the American ideal. It is especially lacking in critique of the racial tensions still present in the city.
But the romance is so moving. It makes you want to achieve some ideal. I think all I ask of myself and of anyone is that they temper that with irony. Detroit is inherently romantic and hopeful. The motto of the city, of course is, "Speramus Meliora; Resurget Cineribus (We hope for better things; it shall rise from the ashes.")
Perhaps because the hope is for something better, the romance in the city is full of irony: we know things have been for shit, and we'd like to make it better, but to do so, we must critique.
Things I read while writing this:
Why I am Not a Secularist by William Connolly
Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity by Richard Rorty
Something Fun:
New Feist!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Nazi: That Word Does Mean What Sheldon Wolin and Glenn Beck Think it Means
It is so easy when you are angry to make comparisons to things that everyone finds appalling. These days, the angry want to say that the current political and social situation can be compared if not to Nazi Germany, then at least to Weimar Germany. This comparison creeps up if you are an American conservative or an American liberal.
Fortunately, if you’d rather not be living under fascist regime, the comparison does not hold when rigorously analyzed, but the comparison is tempting even for the most sensible and precise among us.
In his most recent book, Democracy Incorporated, Sheldon Wolin asks his readers to watch out for Nazis in Republican clothing. Wolin may be more elegant and more liberal than that other Nazi-finder, Glenn Beck, in his comparisons, but his motives are no less frightened and no less visceral.
This is not to say that these comparisons are unfounded or that the visceral can hold no weight in creating political ideas. However, to create a specter grounded in comparison to past events suggests that a familiar foe is waiting around the corner. I would like to argue that the foe we fear is not at all familiar.
Richard Rorty reminds us that a book like 1984 and the fears it identifies could cease to hold meaning if a new way of describing the horror of the mid 20th century is adopted. But, as Rorty notes, we really haven’t developed better methods. The point being is that the descriptions of a book like 1984 describe a particular type of government and a particular type of fear that is located in a very specific time. The time we are in now is not 1984. In other words, we need new metaphors.
Nazis have stood in for our fears since Indiana Jones first cracked his whip. Uncertain times call for certain villains, but our villains aren't certain at all.
But what is it that makes the hair stand up on the back of our neck? Let’s name our fears (and I choose these based on no political ideology, but just on what I've heard people mention as something that makes them nervous):
There are so many new things to fear, and many of them have very little to do with fascism. Indeed, many of these fears are not located in one central governmental node of power that we could call Nazism. They are scattered, disparate and not everyone fears the same thing.
I tire of these political theorists and yellow journalists writing about Nazi Germany and the Weimar Republic. Sure, I do not like much of the policy that the Republicans have planned and would happily call them Nazis if I thought it would help, except that it won't do much to actually get at what is pissing me off. I'm not sure what to call the politicians I love to hate (maybe wankers?) but Nazi surely isn't the right word.
Stuff I read while writing this:
Democracy Incorporated by Sheldon Wolin
Contingency, Irony and Solidarity by Richard Rorty
I also watched a lot of Glenn Beck and read a little Judith Shklar, who I'll talk about later because you can't talk about fear without talking about Shklar.
Something that's not pretentious to clear your palate:
Fortunately, if you’d rather not be living under fascist regime, the comparison does not hold when rigorously analyzed, but the comparison is tempting even for the most sensible and precise among us.
In his most recent book, Democracy Incorporated, Sheldon Wolin asks his readers to watch out for Nazis in Republican clothing. Wolin may be more elegant and more liberal than that other Nazi-finder, Glenn Beck, in his comparisons, but his motives are no less frightened and no less visceral.
This is not to say that these comparisons are unfounded or that the visceral can hold no weight in creating political ideas. However, to create a specter grounded in comparison to past events suggests that a familiar foe is waiting around the corner. I would like to argue that the foe we fear is not at all familiar.
Richard Rorty reminds us that a book like 1984 and the fears it identifies could cease to hold meaning if a new way of describing the horror of the mid 20th century is adopted. But, as Rorty notes, we really haven’t developed better methods. The point being is that the descriptions of a book like 1984 describe a particular type of government and a particular type of fear that is located in a very specific time. The time we are in now is not 1984. In other words, we need new metaphors.
Nazis have stood in for our fears since Indiana Jones first cracked his whip. Uncertain times call for certain villains, but our villains aren't certain at all.
But what is it that makes the hair stand up on the back of our neck? Let’s name our fears (and I choose these based on no political ideology, but just on what I've heard people mention as something that makes them nervous):
- Facebook, which knows more about you than your own mother
- Google, which probably knows how you vote
- Socialized medicine
- Fox News
- The lamestream media
- Terrorists
- Killer bees
- Global warming
- Not eating right
- Not living your best life ever
- A flu of some kind
- Giant corporate mergers
There are so many new things to fear, and many of them have very little to do with fascism. Indeed, many of these fears are not located in one central governmental node of power that we could call Nazism. They are scattered, disparate and not everyone fears the same thing.
I tire of these political theorists and yellow journalists writing about Nazi Germany and the Weimar Republic. Sure, I do not like much of the policy that the Republicans have planned and would happily call them Nazis if I thought it would help, except that it won't do much to actually get at what is pissing me off. I'm not sure what to call the politicians I love to hate (maybe wankers?) but Nazi surely isn't the right word.
Stuff I read while writing this:
Democracy Incorporated by Sheldon Wolin
Contingency, Irony and Solidarity by Richard Rorty
I also watched a lot of Glenn Beck and read a little Judith Shklar, who I'll talk about later because you can't talk about fear without talking about Shklar.
Something that's not pretentious to clear your palate:
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