I had a somewhat startling realization the other day -I was in the middle of listening to my gazillionth German podcast, which I’ve alternately interpersed with arguing about German grammar on the internet, and it struck me. I speak a foreign language. Well, sort of. I understand a foreign language – speaking it is going to be the difficult part. It’s an odd sort of benchmark to reach – I’ve been undergoing all sorts of psychic distress about how I didn’t learn a foreign language young enough, and my Boca’s region never split in half, and I’ll never understand like a native speaker, and… You get the idea. Precisely the sorts of thoughts that led early man to discover alcohol. And then I realized I’m actually doing it, and it didn’t really take that long. Granted, I’ve been spending 4-5 hours a day doing this since the summer started, but that’s really only been 2 weeks or so. Amazing – and simultaneously depressing, because with every accomplishment, I’m forced to reckon with its inverse; If I could do such and such in such and such a time, then what the fuck have I been doing until now? Why have I been wasting all this time? This argument holds for traveling, reading, writing, foreign languages, fucking, working – everything! It’s a distressing epistemology, and I’m not sure what induces it, nor how to rid myself of it. Maybe this is why people get religious – because you don’t have to worry about running out of time anymore. Or maybe not. I can’t help but feel that this anxiety isn’t intrinsic; it’s induced, exogenous, or at least surmountable. I suppose their may be biological difficulties to overcome: organisms that feel happy or content probably don’t get their genes into the next round as often as ones that don’t. But hey, I tell myself, that’s what SSRIs were invented for, and wind up right back at Lexistentialism.
I’m somewhat amazed by psycho-pharmacology in this regard, for two reasons. One: Humanity has advanced to such a point that it can medicate itself well enough that it’s no longer subject to the burden of progress. I would not be entirely unamused if civilization just stopped at the invention of the SSRI – perhaps even more humorous would be if the unmedicated third world caught up to and surpassed the now indolent West. It’s a funny thought, really. Perhaps a bit pedestrian, but if people became content with what they have, the whole system would break down. Of course, the system would also break down if people became too upset about what they have (or rather, don’t) and decided to even up accounts with the rich a little bit. Maybe the balancing act is a little bit more complicated than I thought: on the one hand, hunter-gatherer; on the other, French Revolution.
I can’t help but wonder what sort of a role advertising has played in this. I was having some sort of bizarre discussion with my mother recently about whether or not kids get fat because they eat too much, or because they don’t exercise. My mother is very good (bad) at being myopic and self-selecting in perceiving faults – the issue at hand this time being whether or not my little sister needs to be forced to begin to do something with herself a little bit more demanding than changing from Disney to Nickelodeon. My father is of the opinion that she needs to start playing a sport, where as my mother’s self-righteousness gene (and confirmation bias) kicks in and determines that it’s my father taking her to Dairy Queen that will ultimately be the deciding difference. Now, barring engagement with the actual argument (although I think my father is right; plenty of American kids eat junk food and remain skinny, because they do things), I want to focus on something my mother said afterward. She was engaging in some sort of nostalgic remniscence of her childhood, and said that her family didn’t stop for “junk food” the way ours did now. I pointed out that this simply wasn’t possible then, because she’s a dinosaur and McDonald’s never offered McSaurusburgers, but also that it’s simply an unavoidable part of our world. More now than ever before, you’re bombarded with advertisements telling you about McDonalds and Starbucks and organic cereals; real men drink Coors Light (unless they drink Heineken – being a ‘real man’ is suddenly so much easier and so much harder.) She responded that this was in fact not the case; while there weren’t fast food outlets, there were snacks and things sold – chocolate, popcorn, icecream, etc.
I pointed out (and remain of the opinion) that the situation then was entirely different – a Starbucks drink now is an accessory, just like any other. Things aren’t marketed now -they’re branded. And what’s more, we’ve been taught that these brands are how you create your identity. It’s an odd sort of simulacrum: beyond even “you are what you buy,” we’ve arrived at a point of “you are because you buy.” The market place is loaded with brands and the information that they convey – purchasing decisions become identity decisions. It’s unavoidable, too – there is information conveyed in shopping at a thriftstore, or second hand, or sewing your own clothes, and it’s unavoidable – everyone knows it, and as a result is beholden to it. In short, self-expression requires conscious choice about brands, and our next generation of consumers must be aware of this. And consequently, I think my little sister has to play a sport – if only so she can buy Nike shoes, to show that she’s goal-oriented and upwardly mobile, and drink Jamba Juice, to show that she’s relaxed, can kick back, and not overly body-conscious.
