Nihilists Don’t Not Believe in Anything^

^ – not a typo.

When I first read this snippet by David Foster Wallace, reviewing  Joseph Frank’s lauded biography of author Fyodor Dostoevsky, I went through the 5-10 second range of emotions that is typical for me when my constructed reality loses a beam:

To inquire of ourselves why we – under our own nihilistic spell – seem to require of our writers an ironic distance from deep convictions or desperate questions, so that contemporary writers have to either make jokes of profound issues or else try somehow to work them in under cover of some formal trick like intertextual quotation or juxtaposition, sticking them inside asterisks as part of some surreal, defamiliarization-of-the-reading-experience flourish.

* Pause for “huh… yeah… wait a minute, that is right… *

Aside from the holy shit truth that DFW spews throughout that review, I want to address this word “nihilistic.” Upon reading this man, one who possessed what I have long deemed to be a solid outlook on reality, bashing something that I, by default and through misunderstanding, had always deemed to be a close-to-the-mark depiction on what we might as well do, I spent a few seconds wondering what was wrong with me before determining that I must either wholly misunderstand Wallace or nihilism itself. Thankfully, it turned out to be the latter.

Since The Big Lebowski introduced the concept of nihilism to my generation of high schoolers a decade-and-a-half ago, I’d considered the belief in nothing a learned, mature, comedic, realistic-though-jaded rejection of religiosity, ideology, exclusion, fraudulent concern and self-importance. Since I don’t believe in a bearded man surveying the ever-decaying ecosystems beneath him, because, you know, fuck Sauron, I figured this nihilism thing was closer to being “right” than religious dogma. Similarly, ideologies themselves tended to pervert into dogmas, which are nothing if not terrible arguments. I don’t want to be a terrible arguer; I went to law school. (*Thumbs up, smiley face.*)

The disdain for fraudulent concern and self-importance is, aside from the blatant opposition to human rights that the grandiose tax shelters have aligned themselves with, the single greatest catalyst in what has been our culture’s movement to nihilism. (That we have moved there would be something I used to dispute, but the more I look at it, the more undeniable our nihilistic anti-ethos has become. Except, we’re doing it wrong. More on that later. ) I’ve come across a great many people that I consider to be smart, well-rounded, funny people that see these progressively dark and stupid times as irreversible, and therefore, not worth the trouble. If the multi-national corporations are throwing together commercials about making the world a better place while simultaneously chucking even more money at anonymously fighting the conservation of all living things, then why should we who know how to read fall for it?

I get it. I’m largely still there, to tell the truth. But our rejection of humanity and descent into aspirations of unified distrust are not at all the enlightened, reasoned conclusions that we so evidently believe them to be. Getting burned is part of everyone’s maturation process. Those who continually get burned through their own failure to think critically or make decisions in their own interests are naive. Since we don’t want to be naive, the tendency is to trust no one. That way, we can avoid the self-hatred-inspired round of reprisals that are sure to come when it becomes clear that we got duped. This lone wolf mentality is especially infectious because so many people have made an effort to adopt it. Someone should call Alanis Morissette. The culture has bought into the idea that to appear smart one must layer irony and detachment, lest the illness of looking stupid, borne on colorless, unforeseeable gusts, navigate our defenses. What empowers this mentality? Other people of like mind, of course. How brave we are. How utterly unique.

I read an article on Medium about our obsession with the show Breaking Bad and what the author, Dr. Nolen Gertz, calls “nihilism porn.” As a fan of the show, I’m the last person that wants to skewer it. And I won’t – neither did Gertz. Rather, I want to point out how sick it is that we watch Walter White with awe rather than revulsion. We hail his ability to lead a double life for a while. We apologize for his murders with the line about doing it for his family. And after all, little Brock didn’t die, did he? What we want to ignore is that Walt’s life is in shambles. He put his wife through hell, got some very good men close to him killed, caused his son to hate his guts, and was at least the ultimate cause of Jesse losing the only two women he loved during the two-year setting of the show. What would Heisenberg do? Um, probably not anything you’d want to do. Sure, he earned an episode titled “Ozymandias,” but he ended up the last-resort stray dog. The actors and creator get that, as Bryan Cranston expressed in one of those Apple meet-the-people-involved stage talks: “I don’t think anybody would trade places with Walter White… This guy’s going to hell.” Sadly, what seems to be the retaliatory response is, “Yeah, well, hell isn’t real, so maybe I would trade places with him,” which misses the point and is a horrifically dangerous, adolescent way to think.

Gertz’s editorial notes that nearly all of his students claimed to be distrustful before realizing all of the familiarized acts of trust in which they had engaged just in the previous five minutes. Then, when presented with a Chomsky vs. U.S. Government hypothetical, they either sided with the last argument they heard or decided not to decide – “This was why they didn’t watch the news.” Those who didn’t jump ship to the latest and greatest argument resolved to trust no one.

Of course, this is exactly what would happen when critical thinking skills are abolished from the classroom of the world. Siding with the team to shoot last reeks of gullibility. Blowing the whole thing up so as to avoid picking incorrectly is the darkest shade of jade. But neither are right. What is “right” is up for its own debate, but I can say with confidence that none of Gertz’s students spoke up with the “right” of it. And how could they? It takes critical thinking skills to tame emotion enough to consider what is being argued, to weigh the pros and cons of each choice, and here’s the kicker, to have enough confidence in the process used to decide to choose and move on. Confidence is its own topic worthy of a long form deconstruction, as the word has been perverted to confuse people and prevent them from truly possessing it, lest the ruling class come up with a more costly way to turn a profit than pushing french fries and ending over mending.

A snarky, falsely authoritative evisceration of “confidence” aside, the inability to trust one’s own judgment enough to pick a side naturally leads to aspirations of nihilism. I say aspirations because, as Gertz pointed out, we disillusioned folks don’t actually distrust everyone, we just want to. Distrust is up, there’s no doubt about that, but claimed distrust far outscores real distrust, I think. Feeling lied to by “everyone” would naturally cause a person without years of practice to be unwilling to believe anyone. (See: “The man on my left says 2+2=4. The man on my right says 2+2=5. Who is right? We cannot know, but the answer is probably somewhere around four-and-a-half.” A.k.a. cable “news,” which has meteorically risen just as critical thinking skills have petered out.)

This worldview seems to be centered on the ideas of addition and subtraction, where the valiant goal is to end the meaningless existence as close to zero as possible. Our new nihilism is risk averse, yet unable to curb the urge to *carefully* respond to that text while driving. It is petrified of the prospect of loss, unable to see both that loss implies possession, and that very few of our fears have merit. It cites Icarus, not realizing that it is a deception. It sees debits and credits, addition and subtraction, rather than the division left by horrible acts and the multiplicative power of connection. It is truly a fear-based way to live a life. If it even allows for that.

Part of the issue may be a failure to take comedy all the way (I’m sure someone scholarly on the subject could set me straight here). Most of my favorite, and as far as I can tell most successful, comedians are those who are intellectually honest and demand the same from everyone else. They get fans because, get this, there are a lot of smart people in the world. There’s nothing quite so nourishing to the souls of folks like me as dead-on, holy-shit-drop-the-mic eviscerations of intellectual dishonesty and the fabricating dishonorables who spout it. As social media continues to sort out the morons from the rest, some talents in the world of comedy have been brave enough to take on nonsense and tell the truth. Twitter has allowed for more comedy writers and stand-ups to gain a following that they probably could not have built even ten years ago, at least not all of them, but they’ve done so in a way that mimics what the best of all-time probably would have done given the technology.

The only problem with smart comedy as a force for cultural progress is that it is built on prerequisite knowledge that is not always possessed by the audience at-large. The problem with going all the way, connecting all the dots as it were, in comedy is that what makes something funny is leaving something out. Nobody spoils a joke quite like that numb nuts who pieces it together out loud and then has to tell you why something is so funny. Because, you know, you got it the first time.

Another key as to why smart comedy requires at least some awareness of how the world works is the tactic of reversal. Acting like life is pointless and nobody is important is so funny and connective precisely because it is so opposite of our default settings. We all slip into micro-level analysis every day – probably most waking (and certainly sleeping) minutes of each day. Our lives are über-important. Our daydreams aren’t about leaving zero marks on those around us. So it feels nice to be reminded that, oh yeah, this too shall pass and we are only one of over seven billion people in the world and shit, we will eventually die too. Remember that we have to be reminded of these facts. It feels good to do so en masse.

The unfortunate next stopping point for a lot of us seems to be, “Well fuck it then, none of this matters.” Without wanting to get derailed on this ever-so-concise journey that we’ve been on so far with pontifications on the appropriate definitions of the terms “none,” “this” and especially “matters,” I just want to point out how forced this worldview is. Not only is it irreconcilable with those mantras from which it appears to have spawned (at least for some people), but it is decidedly unnatural. I don’t mean that in a judgy, “dudes shouldn’t be kissing dudes” kind of way, of course, but I mean it in a “you have to actually go against your nature to even claim to believe in nothing and nothingness and life’s total absence of meaning, purpose and intrinsic value” kind of way. Sometimes going against one’s own nature can be a good thing – it is often quite necessary to change diets for the better, to get off the couch and move five feet to do some pushups, to stop defaulting to anger, to opt for responses other than fight or flight, etc.

But when it comes to a worldview, I think the current culture of western civilization not only drives a wedge between one’s true nature and developed default settings, but logically manifests itself into aspirations of the false refuge of nihilism. Consumerism naturally tips the plane vertically, spilling an ever-increasing percentage of the population into the group of the have-nots. This leads those in the bottom 95 (or is it higher?) percent to wonder why they are where they are, never coming across those who would teach them of the ever-verticalizing plane of consumerism. In fact, most people are trained by the church of consumerism to implement alarm bells that go off any time a person even uses words like “consumerism.” If I cannot understand why I am where I am, my ignorance would logically manifest itself into anger and distrust. But even if I can understand, there is the danger that the explanation involves a macro-level understanding of economics, which does nothing so well as tossing the importance of the individual into the proverbial recycling bin. Like I said earlier, this nihilistic spell we’ve put on ourselves isn’t solely caused by or held strong by stupid people. Many of us tend toward the refuge of it. It makes sense to downgrade your own importance when you figure out how the sausage is made.

I think our move toward nihilism is a reaction to The Death of God, an outflow from the dissatisfaction of the victory of oligarchy, and for me above all, the exact response in the smarter half that the ruling class would desire. Keep those without critical thinking skills happily funneling their money where it “belongs,” and cause enough of the pestering would-be do-gooders to become disillusioned and passively accept this idea that they have no power, that nothing matters, that life sucks and then you die. It is in the plutocrats’ interest to desensitize as many people as possible to injustice, to beat back dreams of making a difference, to alter and craft meaning if it cannot be abolished, to make people tap out.

And that’s what nihilism is, really. It’s an active tapping on the mat to the idea of the threat of future pain. It’s a false opposite to theism or self-importance, both of which are to some degree to be avoided, or at least tempered. It’s fear-based and it’s not even what it claims to be. Because our new nihilistic spell isn’t the absence of a belief in anything – just ask a few questions of anyone who seems to be enchanted. “What do you mean by that?” tends to get you where you want to go. No, our own nihilistic spell is both pervasive and against-the-grain. It takes an active decision to try to believe in nothing. You knew I’d eventually get to that title that might have otherwise looked like a typo! And of course, nihilistic distrust itself is false, as evidenced by the many trusts that Gertz’s students displayed without even recognizing that they had. It’s a response to not knowing, and to the anger that there are so many illogical phalluses using logical fallacies to justify why they claim to “know.” It’s a detached fear of looking so naive as to care. It’s the Inception of irony, since the whole point is to try hard to make sure others think that you don’t trust anyone or believe in anything. You know, so some of those others will like you and you can build mutual trust. It’s bothering to craft an image of one who can’t be bothered.

The saddest part of the religion side of our nihilistic spell is that whether you believe in hanging out in a wallless room where nothing ever happens nor can ever happen because time does not exist, and that is brighter than any friend’s couch next to a window with no curtains on the morning of a hangover, or you believe in an unceasing dreamless sleep, the fact is that this is your life, and it will one day come to an end. That what you do matters ought to be self-evident.

It is time to start questioning this nihilism in ourselves and our friends. It is time to start bothering and being bothered. Don’t worry, not being able to be bothered by something so inconsequential as life can still be used as a reversal tactic. It’s still funny. But remember, it is really supposed to be satire. We can still tell the difference between satire and earnestness, can’t we?

Wallace concludes his review of Frank’s biography of Dostoevsky accurately and with a layer of suggestion:

Part of the answer to questions about our own art’s thematic poverty obviously involves our own era’s postindustrial condition and postmodern culture.  The Modernists, among other accomplishments, elevated aesthetics to the level of metaphysics, and ‘Great Novels’ since Joyce tend to be judged largely on their formal ingenuity; we presume as a matter of course that serious literature will be aesthetically distanced from real lived life.  Add to this the requirement of textual self-consciousness imposed by postmodernism, and it’s fair to say that Dostoevsky et al. were free from certain cultural expectations that constrain our own novelists’ freedom to be ‘serious.’

But it’s just as fair to observe that Dostoevsky operated under some serious cultural constraints of his own: a repressive government, state censorship, and above all the popularity of post-Enlightenment European thought, much of which went directly against beliefs he held dear and wanted to write about.  The thing is that Dostoevsky wasn’t just a genius – he was, finally, brave.  … who is to blame for the philosophical passionlessness of our own Dostoevskys? The culture, the laughers? But they wouldn’t – could not – laugh if a piece of passionately serious ideological contemporary fiction was also ingenious and radiantly transcendent fiction.  But how to do that – how even, for a writer, even a very talented writer, to get up the guts to even try?  There are no formulae or guarantees. But there are models. Frank’s books present a hologram of one of them.”

How unfortunate it is that we’re in a period where open contemplation of unanswered questions is deemed not serious enough for public consumption. How unfortunate that to just examine the human condition is “brave.”

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Nike Kids’ T-Shirts, ICYMI

This is seriously WTFish. Saw these in the kids department at a local department store recently. I’m trying hard not to go on a “wonder what’s wrong with kids these days” geezer rant. The better question would be what kind of parent would buy these for their kids.

Brought to you by Nike, sponsor of LeBron James and victims of teammate-on-mother intercourse everywhere.

Brought to you by Nike, sponsor of LeBron James and victims of teammate-on-mother intercourse everywhere.

Oh, my mom knows something? And what exactly pray tell, kid shopping in the kids’ department, does my mom know? You? Probably not. You in an intimate way? Almost certainly not. You may as well be wearing a T-shirt that reads “I Am Lying” or “Inferiority Complex” or “I’m Not Sayin’, I’m Just Sayin'” or fucking “SWAG.” I have had too little coffee to properly eviscerate a parent who would consciously consume this shirt with the intention of putting it on their own spawn. But seriously, WTF Nike?

Here’s the one that really gets me though: “PLAY ME OR TRADE ME.”

Kids demanding to be played or traded. That's where we're at, America.

Kids demanding to be played or traded. That’s where we’re at, America.

The phrase “Play Me or Trade Me” above a swoosh on a kids’ T-shirt has to be the saddest thing I’ve seen from consumer culture this week. 1) It reveals a microwave mentality that betrays the virtue of patience; 2) It is egomaniacal; 3) It speaks to entitlement, that despite there being 12-15 players on a given basketball team, nobody actually thinks of themselves as deserving to slot in anywhere lower than 6th on a team’s depth chart; 4) If taught by a parent buying this shirt, the statement reveals said parent’s propensity for getting in fights with little league officials and likelihood that this kind of bullying trait is already being passed down; and worst of all, 5) IT PRESUPPOSES THAT THE CHILD ATHLETE IS THE PROPERTY OF SOME ARBITRARY TEAM.

“Play me or trade me” is an ode to professional athletes with six-to-eight-figure annual contracts that become frustrated with their situations within their given team or club. It’s an old phrase meant to say, “Look, you’re paying me this money but you’re burying me in your doghouse. I’m good enough to play, so either play me or trade my rights to a team that will play me and pay me under the terms of my current contract.” The phrase in and of itself is not unreasonable. If the player uttering it were, say, the 11th best player on the league’s worst team, then yes, the phrase would be ludicrous. But professionals want to practice their craft, and riding the pine can be in direct conflict with certain pro players’ personal goals.

This situation can not, in any way, translate to unpaid children who are supposed to be playing whatever game it may be for the enjoyment of said game. Their rights are not owned, there is no standard player contract for kids. With regard to scholastic athletics, a kid typically plays for his home school district, with house leagues and travel leagues in the offseason. “Play me or trade me” is never an ultimatum that can even be posed to a kid’s coach, because there is no contract to play for pay. At least, there isn’t one for the ages of children that would fit into the T-shirts I was seeing on stunted mannequins, aghast with horror for the future.

This is just the latest in a long line of examples of disregarded self-awareness from the sports industry and the self-important, mindless consumer that is the American sports parent. Teaching kids to view themselves as the property of an organization before they develop the critical thinking skills to see why this view is akin to cutting their arms with forks down the street or across the road so that their blood can get more oxygen from the outside air and also that their every wish must be satisfied by the elders who are charged with molding them can only lead to a further gone generation of  narcissistic little assholes that will grow up and aspire to business and political leadership that might make us long for the crazy, regressive days of today.

Stay classy Nike. Keep unconsciously consuming, sports parents.

Taylor Swift is Kinda Wack: “22”

Parrying and thrusting at Taylor Swift’s lyrics seems a little too easy, but given that she has almost 30 million Twitter followers and seems hellbent on reversing nearly a century of progress, I feel that someone must pick up the scalpel and carve up these lyrics which are at times laughably hypocritical, ignorant, self-unaware or just bass-ackwards. I’m going to seem like a hater, which is something I am not and do not want to be. But voicing one’s findings following a stint of critical thinking often grabs the misnomer of “hatin'” in today’s world. So be it. Someone has to tell the truth, and George Carlin died.

It’s very important that we all accept that before calling something “wack” we should be able to, if called upon to do so, clarify the reason(s) said thing is wack. If a person calls something “wack” without knowing why said thing is “wack,” then that person is probably either an actual hater or just another group-think zombie. People: Getorix are neither. For this inaugural episode of TSIKW (which I might rename “Slaylor Swift”), let’s look at her most recent single from her latest album Red, “22.”

Can you see all the hipster irony?

Can you see all the hipster irony?

 Photo Credit: MIKE-AN-IKE via Compfight cc

Verse 1, Lines 1 & 2 (Henceforth known as “22 1:1-2”): “It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters, and make fun of our exes, uh uh uh uh.” Okay, we’re busy right off the bat. The distinction between hipster and simply in fashion has almost wholly disappeared by the middle of 2013. I should note that in the music video for the song, Taylor is wearing black booty shorts and a black hat, that look anything but thrift-shoppy, to go along with a white, kinda sheer looking T-shirt thingy that reads “NOT A LOT GOING ON AT THE MOMENT.” She throws on some red, heart-shaped sunglasses to really hipster it up.

In the next shot, she’s leaning on what appears to be an island tabletop with a way-too-big chocolate and vanilla marble birthday cake. Swifty is rocking a blueish button-down that she’s hippishly left unbuttoned with rolled up sleeves. But she really drops the irony when she places, gasp, big, not-all-that-thick-rimmed new-age wayfarers on. That lets you know she’s really in hipster mode. Not at all what plenty of normal hot or otherwise girls dress like these days.

The thing about making fun of their exes I’m going to let slide, because far be it for me to be hypocritical whilst pointing out how hypocritical someone else is. We make fun of people who aren’t around. Like I’m doing now. Okay, fine.

22 1:3-4: “It feels like a perfect night for breakfast at midnight, to fall in love with strangers, uh uh uh uh.” Unless you’ve been sleeping while all of the second-shifters were working, I don’t think you can call the midnight run to Taco Bell or Waffle House “breakfast,” regardless of the nutritional makeup of the courses. You’re not really breaking any “fast,” since I just saw you crushing cake at the party in the last frame. Additionally, am I the only one who, when presented with an image of T. Swift, is not struck with the overwhelming feeling that this is not a girl who wears a shitty diet? I mean, I went through college, and I know what the early A.M. meals do for me. They don’t make me look like Taylor Swift, so I unfortunately had to give them up. This skepticism is both a compliment to your physique, Taylor, and a refusal to believe that any meal at midnight is in your repertoire.

Looking like a Waffle House regular.

Looking like a Waffle House regular.

Falling in love with strangers seems like a behavior that is probably strongly correlated with being clingy. I mean falling in love is cool and all, and if it was going to happen with someone you knew, it probably should have already, but the use of the words themselves, at least if presented to some stranger, probably arouse memories in the dude that have to do with taking the half-off parking lot to get an extra ten-dollar beer at the Milwaukee Brewers game and consuming just better than Triple-A baseball before walking the extra four blocks to his now double-parked Grand Am. It screams “you can get in, but good luck getting out.” I think The Eagles wrote a song about that or something.

22 1:5: “Yeeeaaaahhhhhh.” Yes.

22 1:6: “We’re happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time.” You know what, that’s cool. I think I get what you’re saying. I’d question that word “free” though, given Taylor’s track record and position in the consumer culture.

22 1:7: “It’s miserable and magical. Oh yeeeeahhhhh.” Umm, it really shouldn’t be miserable. Causing misery. Yeah, I’m almost certain that’s not the appropriate word here. I would offer “confusing,” but you used that in the last sentence, so… “difficult?” Oh, and it isn’t magical either. Magic isn’t real.

22 1:8: “Tonight’s the night when we forget about the deadlines, it’s time. Uh oh.” What deadlines, and how is tonight any different from every other night in that respect?

22 Chorus 1:1: “I don’t know about you but I’m feeling 22.” Taylor, you are 22. Or, at least you were when you wrote the song. I want to say you can’t really “feel 22,” but maybe we shouldn’t take it that far. But I can say with confidence that a 22-year-old claiming to be feeling 22 carries a lot less weight than, say, a 37-year-old claiming to be feeling 22.

22 Chorus 1:2: “Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you.” For who, me? Why? So I can be unavailable all night? If I’m going to submit to a cock blocking, there better be the likelihood of us leaving that midnight meal together and going to the same place, otherwise everything will not be alright. Not alright at all.

22 Chorus 1:3: “You don’t know about me, but I’ll bet you want to.” Man, this one really got me. So, I started off all like, “oh yeah, what kind of odds are we talking about on that bet? Because I’m a lock to win this one.” Then I got to thinking, “wait, this betting line looks like a trap, like when the Seahawks were +4 against the Steelers in Super Bowl XL then got jobbed worse than a WWE face might by special guest referee Tim Donaghy. Maybe I should reconsider.” So I did, and I realized that you’re right Taylor. If push came to shove, and I were single of course (or my significant other gave me the go-ahead on the “hail mary for half” play), I guess I probably would want to know about you. But I’d hate myself for it. Thanks a lot, Taylor Swift. Your booty shorts and your nice hair and your pretty good makeup and your healthy-diet jawline and your slenderness and your coached-up improved dancing skills and your youth and your probable good heart. Damn you. You’ve forced me to confront both that I totally would be down and that I still have all the makings of a gambling problem. Next line.

Ugh, alright. No bet. I guess given the chance I would "wanna know about you."

Ugh, alright. No bet. I guess given the chance I would “wanna know about you.”

22 Chorus 1:4: “Everything will be alright if we just keep dancing like we’re 22. 22.” Actually, I totally agree. I used to run with a girl who physically resembled you quite a bit, and this line has to be the most truth laden assertion of the song. My buddy-whatever-you-wanna-call-it and I would dance like we were 22, back when I actually was, in the sense that she was going strong on drink number five and was 19 or 20 at the time. So yeah, it was as if she were 22. Or at least 21. And the thing is, everything always did end up being alright. Or maybe more accurately, all right. Guys, this is the line to highlight if you’re scoring at home. (So… much… restraint… Must not… type… bad… pun…).

22 Verse 2: Lines 1-2: “It seems like one of those nights this place is too crowded, too many cool kids, ah ah ah ah (‘who’s Taylor Swift anyway?’).” Dear God. Help me. No, I have to do this. Okay. Here we go.

TAYLOR SWIFT IS THE FUCKING COOL KID. She was worldwide at 17 years old and has been ever since. Her music is on every pop station, which as I recall from the days of every fucking time ever, is the barometer of “cool” if we are using that word in a popular sense. Cuz, you know, “pop(ular) music?” Now, those of you inclined to enjoy this post are probably of a different mind when it comes to the definition of “cool,” and I agree with you. But the idea that there are a bunch of people out wherever Taylor Swift is that don’t know who Taylor Swift is because they are “too cool” is preposterous. If a person can distance themselves from pop culture that much, more power to them. But the much more likely scenario for a person aged 15-23 not knowing who Taylor Swift is almost certainly looks like a lack of internet connection caused by extreme poverty. All of her fans seem to be suburban daughters. So spare me the bogus underdog story. Again, 30 million Twitter followers as of this post. More money earned in show business than nearly any woman alive, any under-25er alive, hell, any person alive or dead. Taylor Swift cannot be the underdog. She cannot be “uncool” in the way she would use the term.

This attitude perfectly sums up her total lack of self-awareness, fake modesty, and commitment to always playing the underdog whilst never being the underdog. This isn’t just a Taylor Swift problem, either. She plays the underdog because scores of people for generations have talked about how much they root for and identify with the underdog. Studies the world over consistently show that’s bullshit. If that were true, mob mentalities wouldn’t have shaped the world from the moment man left the savannah until he finally brings about his extinction. If that were true, the sports teams with the highest payrolls would not also be the ones with the most fans. Or, more precisely, the ascension of Team X’s payroll would not precede the multiplication of the fan base. It would be the other way around; it would be organic. For those who may not have been aware of the world of sports over the last twenty years, it’s not organic at the top. That is what it is, money begets money, tradition begets tradition, etc. But people, en masse, do not root for the underdog. They do, however, claim to.

The rest of Taylor Swift’s song “22” is pretty much a rehash of lines we’ve already broken down, so it’s about time to wrap this edition up. What we learned:

  • Hipsters are intentionally ironic; Taylor Swift is unintentionally ironic.
  • The term “hipster” was not originally intended to refer to en vogue or wholesome money projects.
  • Taylor Swift is almost certainly lying about being the kind of chick who eats breakfast at midnight (see Taylor Swift’s body).
  • People who fall in love with strangers might also get clingy and/or vengeful (see Taylor Swift’s lyrics)
  • Taylor Swift feels her age.
  • There’s a fine line between keeping things chill and voluntarily submitting to a cock block.
  • I still get excited about betting lines.
  • I have a gambling problem.
  • I am physically attracted to Taylor Swift.
  • Dudes, you want to be in a situation where you and a girl are dancing like you’re 22. Everything will indeed be alright.
  • Taylor Swift has more Twitter followers than all but four or five people on Earth yet still claims to be an underdog.
  • Kids that Taylor Swift would consider cool somehow would not currently know who Taylor Swift is, according to Taylor Swift.
  • Taylor Swift remains one of the least self-aware people in pop culture.
  • Don’t claim to root for the underdog if you don’t actually do that. Cuz, like, that’s just being part of the problem.

Again, Taylor, I don’t think you’re a bad person. I don’t think you’re of below-average intelligence. You’re certainly not ugly. Here’s hoping you take some time to be quiet and be still. Listen, look, touch, eat, drink, sniff. More importantly, hear, see, feel, taste, smell. Grow. Evolve. Report back.