We love irony. We make fun of ourselves, we make fun of what we love, we make fun of what we hate, we make fun of everyone else and we make fun of our own inability to take anything seriously.
Phrases such as "it's so self-aware" and "it's so meta" are the highest praise my friends and I offer films, novels, tv shows, music, art and commercials. "Self-aware," of course, refers to something's acknowledgement of its own intrinsic qualities. "Meta" refers to something's ability to see beyond itself. These phrases endorse mockery. If our entertainment fails to mock at least itself or the viewer, we are repulsed, offended by its blindness to its own weaknesses, its empty flattery of us. After all, we say, we live in a flawed world. Everything and everyone is flawed, and who wants to interact with a form of entertainment that claims perfection? And we hate being taken advantage of by entertainment that compliments. We can't trust it; we know it only wants to sell us that self-assurance, to enslave us. We think we can trust irony.
The internet offers a number of articles explaining the history of today's ironic culture. One of my favorites can be found under this link.
I am not at all above irony. I write ironically and talk ironically. There is safety in the self-disparaging remark, with which you accuse yourself before anyone else can, thus robbing them of any vindictive pleasure. Yet we often don't realize what we're doing: irony has disguised itself as intelligence. Because today's ironic culture finds its roots in satire—used to reveal and to critique that which is difficult to address in any other way—we consider our mockeries a result of our education, of our insight.
Moreover, we believe that irony is a mark of maturity. We believe that making fun of pop music and teen novels makes us adults. We believe that because we address the wonders we learn in class with little more than snide remarks, we are true intellectuals. The implication is as follows: In order to grow up, we must lose our ability to truly enjoy things.
Though, as previously stated, I am usually as much a part of this ironic culture as anyone else, I have also occasionally been called "childish" for my excitement over things like rainbows, big trees and puppies. People who speak thus often do so fondly, but their reaction is nevertheless a little depressing. It is an acknowledgement that honest enjoyment is unusual, and inherently naive in some way.
I would like to challenge my readers to step outside the box this week and set aside the snark. For at least a day, try addressing life face-to-face, without allowing irony to obscure things. Consider whether your words are constructive, or even accurate to the true soul of what you're discussing. Life can be a lot more fun when we resist constantly mocking everything we encounter.
