This is a clip from the movie Best in Show. In this clip, a young couple named Hamilton and Meg Swan explain how they first met at different Starbucks establishments (across the street from one another) and knew that they were right for each other because they had similar consumption habits.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQKdEdzHnfU
Here is one of my favorite parts of the scene:
Meg Swan: [Meg and Hamilton are talking about how they met at Starbucks] One day Hamilton gathered his courage and approached me...
Hamilton Swan: I remember, I was drinking a grande espresso.
Meg Swan: I know, and I remember I thought that was really sexy. I was drinking cappuccinos... then I switched over to lattes... now it's double espresso macchiato...
Hamilton Swan: These days I'm a big chai tea/soymilk kind of guy.
Meg Swan: [gravely] Because of the lactose. You're lactose-intolerant now.
One of the reasons why this scene was so funny to me was because, although it is obviously a parody of Starbucks faith and fanaticism (before it became uncool to patronize Starbucks), to be defined by your Starbucks order was not uncommon among the girls at my high school. At another point in the scene, Hamilton explains how surprised he was when he looked over to see that Meg was reading a J. Crew catalog, because at the time he was such a “huge J. Crew person” himself. Although we laugh at Hamilton for loading a small event with such undue significance, we do the same thing ourselves only too often. Bonding over similar consumption habits is easy to do, and often corporations themselves do all they can to encourage a feeling of community and exclusivity among their consumers. Here’s an example from an email I received from the clothing company Anthropologie: “It’s great to be an anthro gal - especially when we’re offering you (and you only!) 30% off all ornaments now through December 8. Simply show your anthro I.D. at checkout. So what are you waiting for? Deck those halls, lady!”
Thinking about catalogs was what originally brought this clip from Best in Show to my mind. When it comes to shopping for clothes, I usually prefer to visit brick-and-mortar stores rather than order online or through the mail, but one thing I’ve always liked to do since I was little is look through catalogs. At home, this was quite easy to do, as my parents were always receiving catalogues in the mailbox from retailers they had previously bought things from. One distinct memory I have is of a particular catalog that sold novelty and “vintage” items like jukeboxes, dollhouses, and grandfather clocks. I absolutely loved this catalog and carried it around with me everywhere. I was about six at the time, and while I didn’t have any use for about 95% of the goods advertised in the catalog, I could have recited the item descriptions from memory and used it often when playing “mall” with my friends. However, if anyone had asked me at the time to name one thing in the catalog that I truly wanted, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I much preferred the idea of the things themselves all in a group.
Maybe I knew, on some subconscious level, that actually going through the process of ordering the items would only lead to disappointment, but I doubt that I was such a cynical six-year-old. I think rather that I was able, at that age, to fully believe in the Myth of Stuff - the idea that owning lots of interesting things can transform you into a better version of yourself. And by carrying that catalog around with me, I was able to channel that belief in a small way. Because I had had very little experience in buying things for myself at that age, that belief didn’t ultimately translate to me becoming a complete retail junkie. However, even today, after taking this class and becoming more aware of the deeper sociological meanings behind consumption and people’s shopping habits, I enjoy thinking about material goods and occasionally find myself believing in the promises behind them, even if I don’t shop as much as some of my peers do.
Here at Williams, one of the first stops I always make whenever I visit Paresky is the mailroom, where I first check my mailbox and then stop by the table of catalogs. Now that the holiday season is upon us, the amount of catalogues advertising “Great gift ideas!” and “Special deals and unbelievable sales!” has increased greatly, and like the sucker I am, I always end up taking away at least three different ones, usually, as it turns out, from J. Crew. J. Crew is certainly one of the best retailers out there in terms of communicating a lifestyle and image that goes along with its products, and although it mass-produces its clothing just like any well-known retail chain, it tries to create an air of exclusivity and “bespoke” by emphasizing the craft stories behind their clothes and charging higher prices than one would expect for a simple wool cable sweater.
For example, on one page advertising a coat in the new Holiday 2008 issue of J. Crew, the blurb on the side reads as follows: “If You Only Knew… this isn’t just any old double-cloth. It’s made by Lanerie Tempesti, an 80-year-old Italian mill known for its incredible wools. We loved their work so much we asked them to make this fabric especially for us. We know a good thing when we see it.” Sure, the coat might be mass-produced by J. Crew factories, and by buying it you’re not really being unique at all, as thousands of other people will probably purchase it as well. BUT: it’s not just any old double-cloth coat; it’s a coat with a story behind it. I read that paragraph and smiled knowingly to myself (“Ohoho, you J. Crew scoundrels! I, knowledgeable young student that I am, know better and will refuse to buy your $300 coat - not because I can’t afford to, although I really can’t, but because I refuse to buy into the myth that I will become a classier individual if I do get it!”), but at the same time, I found myself thinking longingly of the rolling hills of Tuscany, and somehow that became connected with my image of the coat.
After a while, I couldn’t help but deconstruct all of the pages of the J. Crew catalog, which, though fun for a while, only depressed me in the end. I put the catalog away, and began to wonder if learning more about consumerism in this class had completely taken any joy out of the act of shopping for me.
I decided in the end that this true, but only to a certain extent. Although learning about the ideology behind consumerism and the corporate trends of conformity used to perpetuate shopping habits certainly made me rethink my individual decisions as a consumer, being able to deconstruct ads and think critically about consumption had made me realize that joy, in terms of shopping, had never entered the picture in the first place. I can still take pleasure in a smart buy, or in purchasing gifts for friends or family, but I believe that part of “smart shopping” is the realization that consumerism is not, and should not, become the end-all, be-all to our needs and qualms about ourselves and everyday living. You can admire the color and cut of a high-quality coat, but in the end, you are good enough to get along without it.
To quote from another great movie, here’s Tyler Durden from Fight Club talking about the meaning of a duvet: “It's a blanket. Just a blanket. Now why do guys like you and me know what a duvet is? Is this essential to our survival, in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word? No.”
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
A simpler holiday season
Recently I came across this article in the New York Times Style Section. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/30/fashion/30laidoff.html?ref=fashion
Titled, “The Holidays Downsized: No Job and Fewer Gifts,” the article discusses a form of downshifting similar to what Juliet Schor explores in The Overspent American. In her book, Schor interviewed several people who, due to changed circumstances such as a dramatically reduced income or being laid off, were forced to change their spending and lifestyle habits, eventually scaling back significantly. Eating out became less common for these people, as well as vacations to the Caribbean, impulsive shopping purchases, and throwing extravagant parties. Some of the people Schor interviewed “made do” by substituting their previous purchases with other, cheaper ones (i.e. limiting family vacations to the annual summer Cape Cod trip, instead of going to Paris for Christmas), whereas others simply did without.
In her book Schor makes the distinction between downshifting, which usually resulted from changes in outside factors, and voluntary simplicity, which is just what it sounds like – people deciding to make their lives “simpler” by consuming less, thinking more about their consumption habits, emphasizing happiness from spiritual and family values rather than material goods, etc. The people interviewed for the New York Times article are examples of downshifting, as they are deciding to cut back on their usual holiday practices in light of the economic recession. Susan McCabe, for example, used to treat her friends and family for Christmas, going “all out” with gifts like “high-end cameras for adults, Nintendo Wii for the children” and “proudly treat[ing] the immediate family to dinner at romantic white tablecloth restaurants in Manhattan.” However, when her company failed and she lost her job, she found that she was struggling to pay the rent on her apartment, let alone treat her family to the traditional Christmas Eve dinner and expensive presents.
Even those who were not affected as directly by the recession are cutting back on their spending and party habits “in solidarity,” “out of unaccustomed need and shame,” or “prudent apprehension.” Even for those who may not have been as hard-hit by the economic downturn are aware that spending extravagant amounts on holiday preparations this season might be seen as gauche, risky, and awkward for friends and relatives who were affected adversely.
I thought the tone of the article was very interesting, as the author clearly sympathized with the downshifters but was also straining to keep a relatively light-hearted spin on the events: “Many people have a narrative about their holiday rituals: the worship, the setting, the food, the gifts, the personae, the drama. But this year, the economy is rudely tearing apart those yellowed scripts.” This personification of the economy as a rude, Grinchlike interruption on the time-honored traditions of these poor (both figuratively and literally for some) families seemed to be an attempt at undercutting the otherwise popular image of the economic recession as an immediate crisis. The article instead focused on the little, individual things that we can all do to cut down on costs for the holiday season, as was made clear by the following: “But Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa and New Year’s all honor light in a dark season. Perhaps that is why people around the country, in describing how they are adjusting celebrations this year, speak of finding the upbeat in the downbeat — at least until the last scrap of wrapping paper is tossed.”
It was clear that for some, cutting back on Christmas this year was only temporary as a case of short-term downshifting – or at least people like Carl Sartori hope so. Mr. Sartori, a marketing and advertising manager from Bloomfield, NJ, had always made a tradition of throwing “joyously over-the-top celebrations” and buying lots of presents for the holidays. However, after being laid off in October, Thanksgiving dinner at Mr. Sartori’s was much simpler, with a free turkey and ham from savings coupons. However, when asked by New York Times reporters how he felt about these changes to his holiday traditions, he made it clear that “This year is just a stumble” and that “Wretched excess will make a comeback…‘I’ll double up next year.’” If Mr. Sartori were hypothetically to invite Ms. Schor to one of his famous Christmas parties after bouncing back from his losses this year, I can only imagine the field day she’d have with him. “Merely the substitution of genuine family and holiday spirit with blatant materialism,” I can picture her sniffing as hordes of children descend on the wrapping paper with glee.
Schor would certainly approve, however, of others who are “recasting these pared-down celebrations as a return to the true meaning of the holiday,” and believe that “the changes they were making this year were not detours, but new roads.” Returning to one’s roots and emphasizing family traditions, as well as homemade gifts and home-cooked meals, have all become part of this new movement towards a simpler holiday season. Although it certainly can be mortifying for someone like the Sioux Falls, S.D. grandmother interviewed for the article to have to forgo giving Christmas gifts to the grandchildren, maintaining the old and relatively inexpensive traditions of family, food, and togetherness can be a source of comfort, inspiration, and security in the troubled economic times. And although many parents are afraid that gift deprivation this holiday season will send their children into fits of despair, it should be noted that having an over-the-top Christmas wasn’t always the norm and that, in the words of New York therapist Evan Imber-Black, children can be given “a sense of plentifulness in a different way than gifts under the tree” such as an increased emphasis on traditions or family gifts.
Honesty, simplicity, and gifts that have more meaning than monetary value attached to them – although the title of the article was “The Holidays Downsized,” renewed emphasis of these once-standard values doesn’t really seem like downsizing at all to me. Just as Schor notes in The Overspent American, being forced to downshift can lead, in the end, to greater appreciation of the things you do have, rather than a continual yearning for more material goods.
Titled, “The Holidays Downsized: No Job and Fewer Gifts,” the article discusses a form of downshifting similar to what Juliet Schor explores in The Overspent American. In her book, Schor interviewed several people who, due to changed circumstances such as a dramatically reduced income or being laid off, were forced to change their spending and lifestyle habits, eventually scaling back significantly. Eating out became less common for these people, as well as vacations to the Caribbean, impulsive shopping purchases, and throwing extravagant parties. Some of the people Schor interviewed “made do” by substituting their previous purchases with other, cheaper ones (i.e. limiting family vacations to the annual summer Cape Cod trip, instead of going to Paris for Christmas), whereas others simply did without.
In her book Schor makes the distinction between downshifting, which usually resulted from changes in outside factors, and voluntary simplicity, which is just what it sounds like – people deciding to make their lives “simpler” by consuming less, thinking more about their consumption habits, emphasizing happiness from spiritual and family values rather than material goods, etc. The people interviewed for the New York Times article are examples of downshifting, as they are deciding to cut back on their usual holiday practices in light of the economic recession. Susan McCabe, for example, used to treat her friends and family for Christmas, going “all out” with gifts like “high-end cameras for adults, Nintendo Wii for the children” and “proudly treat[ing] the immediate family to dinner at romantic white tablecloth restaurants in Manhattan.” However, when her company failed and she lost her job, she found that she was struggling to pay the rent on her apartment, let alone treat her family to the traditional Christmas Eve dinner and expensive presents.
Even those who were not affected as directly by the recession are cutting back on their spending and party habits “in solidarity,” “out of unaccustomed need and shame,” or “prudent apprehension.” Even for those who may not have been as hard-hit by the economic downturn are aware that spending extravagant amounts on holiday preparations this season might be seen as gauche, risky, and awkward for friends and relatives who were affected adversely.
I thought the tone of the article was very interesting, as the author clearly sympathized with the downshifters but was also straining to keep a relatively light-hearted spin on the events: “Many people have a narrative about their holiday rituals: the worship, the setting, the food, the gifts, the personae, the drama. But this year, the economy is rudely tearing apart those yellowed scripts.” This personification of the economy as a rude, Grinchlike interruption on the time-honored traditions of these poor (both figuratively and literally for some) families seemed to be an attempt at undercutting the otherwise popular image of the economic recession as an immediate crisis. The article instead focused on the little, individual things that we can all do to cut down on costs for the holiday season, as was made clear by the following: “But Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa and New Year’s all honor light in a dark season. Perhaps that is why people around the country, in describing how they are adjusting celebrations this year, speak of finding the upbeat in the downbeat — at least until the last scrap of wrapping paper is tossed.”
It was clear that for some, cutting back on Christmas this year was only temporary as a case of short-term downshifting – or at least people like Carl Sartori hope so. Mr. Sartori, a marketing and advertising manager from Bloomfield, NJ, had always made a tradition of throwing “joyously over-the-top celebrations” and buying lots of presents for the holidays. However, after being laid off in October, Thanksgiving dinner at Mr. Sartori’s was much simpler, with a free turkey and ham from savings coupons. However, when asked by New York Times reporters how he felt about these changes to his holiday traditions, he made it clear that “This year is just a stumble” and that “Wretched excess will make a comeback…‘I’ll double up next year.’” If Mr. Sartori were hypothetically to invite Ms. Schor to one of his famous Christmas parties after bouncing back from his losses this year, I can only imagine the field day she’d have with him. “Merely the substitution of genuine family and holiday spirit with blatant materialism,” I can picture her sniffing as hordes of children descend on the wrapping paper with glee.
Schor would certainly approve, however, of others who are “recasting these pared-down celebrations as a return to the true meaning of the holiday,” and believe that “the changes they were making this year were not detours, but new roads.” Returning to one’s roots and emphasizing family traditions, as well as homemade gifts and home-cooked meals, have all become part of this new movement towards a simpler holiday season. Although it certainly can be mortifying for someone like the Sioux Falls, S.D. grandmother interviewed for the article to have to forgo giving Christmas gifts to the grandchildren, maintaining the old and relatively inexpensive traditions of family, food, and togetherness can be a source of comfort, inspiration, and security in the troubled economic times. And although many parents are afraid that gift deprivation this holiday season will send their children into fits of despair, it should be noted that having an over-the-top Christmas wasn’t always the norm and that, in the words of New York therapist Evan Imber-Black, children can be given “a sense of plentifulness in a different way than gifts under the tree” such as an increased emphasis on traditions or family gifts.
Honesty, simplicity, and gifts that have more meaning than monetary value attached to them – although the title of the article was “The Holidays Downsized,” renewed emphasis of these once-standard values doesn’t really seem like downsizing at all to me. Just as Schor notes in The Overspent American, being forced to downshift can lead, in the end, to greater appreciation of the things you do have, rather than a continual yearning for more material goods.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Cultural consumption and irony
This past summer, while riding around in a friend's car on the way to another friend's house, the well-known David Bowie/Queen collaboration song "Under Pressure" came on the stereo. As the familiar bass line intro kicked in, my friend jokingly remarked that humming this part of the song while conversing with a stranger is one way to judge what kind of person they are: if the other person responds to the bass line with the words "Ice, ice, baby!" (in the words of rapper Vanilla Ice's 1990 hit single), it's an indication that they, obviously, have no soul.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtrEN-YKLBM (Under Pressure)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vp-is6S_b_g&feature=related (Ice Ice Baby)
My friend was alluding to a bit of controversy that arose when Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby" was first released. At the time, Vanilla Ice, aka Rob Van Winkle, claimed that he owned no royalties for using the bass line that introduces the song, even though it was virtually identical to the intro of "Under Pressure," which had been released earlier in 1981. Later on, Van Winkle settled out of court, and songwriting credits were given to David Bowie and the members of Queen.
This was one of the first things that came to mind when we were discussing the idea of cultural condescension and capital in class the other day. Among most pop culture aficionados, it's agreed that "Under Pressure" is a much better song than "Ice Ice Baby," and I doubt you'd find any who would argue that Vanilla Ice's body of work is musically superior to that of Queen or David Bowie (this is evident in the fact that the name Vanilla Ice is practically synonymous with one-hit wonder, whereas Queen and David Bowie have had many hits to their respective names and continue to be appreciated after the 90s).
My friend was, of course, joking at the time, as there could be any number of flaws or exceptions to this "rule." However, assuming that you encountered a person who was likely to be familiar with both "Under Pressure" and "Ice Ice Baby," humming this infamous intro and asking them to respond to it might actually be a somewhat valid means of obtaining a snap judgment of their character, or at least their taste in music. As we also discussed in class, modernity and the increasing prevalence and importance of the Spectacle to our lives have decreased the amount of time we have to get to know others, as well as make ourselves known to others. Consequently, we're more likely to turn to outside manifestations of personality such as wardrobe choices, CD collections, Facebook profiles, and iTunes playlists. We can bemoan the fact that our judgment of others has become limited to such seemingly superficial indicators, but I personally believe that this turn of events, although certainly not the best and most comprehensive way to get to know someone, is a legitimate and almost inevitable result of the "fast" times we live in nowadays. It's certainly an efficient one at that.
"But where do you draw the line?" I found myself wondering after our class's discussion. When does simple aesthetic criticism of a work translate to mere snobbery and putting-down of other people due to a lack of shared interests? And where does irony fit into this? On Friday nights when my friends and I do not feel like braving the cold to go outside, we discuss (and occasionally argue over) what movie to watch. It's usually a battle of wills between the side that wants a "movie that's actually good" and the side that wants to watch a more "fun" but probably less critically acclaimed movie like American Pie or The Bride of Chucky. And usually the case is that the latter faction, while certainly capable of enjoying the works of an Ingmar Bergman or an Alfred Hitchcock, would prefer, at that moment, to watch a movie that did not require much thinking or active appreciation. This is also the thought process I go through if I opt to watch a formulaic comfort movie like You've Got Mail (a predictable romantic comedy starring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks that I've loved since I was 12) over Bergman's The Seventh Seal, which was widely acknowledged by "serious critics" and high art appreciators to be a cinematic masterpiece, etc. Another possibility is that a movie like the 1998 Godzilla, which was nominated for 5 Golden Raspberry (Razzie - like the Anti-Oscar) Awards, including Worst Picture, Worst Director, Worst Supporting Actress, Worst Screenplay, and Worst Remake or Sequel, might be enjoyed by viewers who only want ironically appreciate it and poke fun at its low-quality, terrible, or cheesy elements.
There is a definite distinction between a movie that one knows is not artistically superior but enjoys in spite of its flaws (for sentimental, comfort, or nostalgic value, like You've Got Mail) and a movie that is bad and is enjoyed because it is bad (for example, the notorious Showgirls, a movie starring Elizabeth Berkeley of "Saved By the Bell" fame as a stripper-turned-Vegas-showgirl, garnered a cult following despite dismal box office ratings because of its laughably bad overacting, cheesy sets, poor screenplay, and general terribleness). People can take pleasure in a bad move because by laughing at it, they are automatically elevating themselves.
But can ironic appreciation of a bad movie translate to genuine cultural enjoyment and enrichment? In "The Price of Irony," political theorist Benjamin Barber says no: "The dirty little secret of the ironist is of course that irony is always parasitic and can exist only by virtue of the earnestness it takes such pleasure in annihilating. Like sentiment, which has been called unearned emotion, the new irony is a form of unearned skepticism. It creates nothing of its own but waits to ambush moral purpose, to play havoc with common sense, to deny reason its moment. The only stand it takes is that there is no stand to be taken, so neither the author nor the audience has to take one." In this sense, irony can be seen as the ultimate cop-out; it only exists in order to poke fun at something else, and therefore it takes no risks and has no meaning outside of the thing it is making fun of. Another point that Barber makes is that "The ironic bystander (the phrase is redundant) is the citizen's jeering nemesis and the poet's wily shadow trying to make sure that truth and beauty and goodness, those stalwarts of the world before it was disenchanted, do not re-infect the postmodern's cool voice with hot earnestness. Or make us think too hard or feel too keenly."
I'm inclined to agree with Barber. However, I do believe that irony can be used quite effectively. Although irony is problematic when it becomes one's sole approach to life and art (how long can you keep mocking everything?), I believe that its existence also allows for increased appreciation of art as a whole. Irony is part of the human experience, and incorporating it and using it to examine different artworks can be an important tool for understanding where it fits into our lives. What I'm trying to say is ultimately that, while I would not be averse to an evening of ironically appreciating Invasion of the Animal People (a horror film wherein the country of Sweden comes under attack by aliens. And their pet Sasquatch), I would never be able to respond to the bass intro of "Under Pressure," a song I consider to be an inspirational anthem about the everyday "pressures" of life, with Vanilla Ice's lyrics, no matter how funny the words "Ice Ice Baby" might be. Irony can be a way of reexamining art and evaluating it on our own terms, but as Barber mentions, irony can also become a shield and set of blinders for those who are either too scared, insecure, or lazy to confront the issues brought up by the artwork in question.
Bourdieu, with his ideas of cultural capital as "the knowledge, experience and or connections one has had through the course of their life that enables them to succeed more so than someone from a less experienced background" (Wikipedia), might have argued that the ability to see something or appreciate something as being ironic vs. the inability to do so might be an indication of more cultural capital and sophistication (i.e. experience with art). This then answers the question of why irony is so popular; most people would prefer to appear culturally savvy and sophisticated than not, and poking fun at something gives you an edge over it that being earnest does not.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtrEN-YKLBM (Under Pressure)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vp-is6S_b_g&feature=related (Ice Ice Baby)
My friend was alluding to a bit of controversy that arose when Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby" was first released. At the time, Vanilla Ice, aka Rob Van Winkle, claimed that he owned no royalties for using the bass line that introduces the song, even though it was virtually identical to the intro of "Under Pressure," which had been released earlier in 1981. Later on, Van Winkle settled out of court, and songwriting credits were given to David Bowie and the members of Queen.
This was one of the first things that came to mind when we were discussing the idea of cultural condescension and capital in class the other day. Among most pop culture aficionados, it's agreed that "Under Pressure" is a much better song than "Ice Ice Baby," and I doubt you'd find any who would argue that Vanilla Ice's body of work is musically superior to that of Queen or David Bowie (this is evident in the fact that the name Vanilla Ice is practically synonymous with one-hit wonder, whereas Queen and David Bowie have had many hits to their respective names and continue to be appreciated after the 90s).
My friend was, of course, joking at the time, as there could be any number of flaws or exceptions to this "rule." However, assuming that you encountered a person who was likely to be familiar with both "Under Pressure" and "Ice Ice Baby," humming this infamous intro and asking them to respond to it might actually be a somewhat valid means of obtaining a snap judgment of their character, or at least their taste in music. As we also discussed in class, modernity and the increasing prevalence and importance of the Spectacle to our lives have decreased the amount of time we have to get to know others, as well as make ourselves known to others. Consequently, we're more likely to turn to outside manifestations of personality such as wardrobe choices, CD collections, Facebook profiles, and iTunes playlists. We can bemoan the fact that our judgment of others has become limited to such seemingly superficial indicators, but I personally believe that this turn of events, although certainly not the best and most comprehensive way to get to know someone, is a legitimate and almost inevitable result of the "fast" times we live in nowadays. It's certainly an efficient one at that.
"But where do you draw the line?" I found myself wondering after our class's discussion. When does simple aesthetic criticism of a work translate to mere snobbery and putting-down of other people due to a lack of shared interests? And where does irony fit into this? On Friday nights when my friends and I do not feel like braving the cold to go outside, we discuss (and occasionally argue over) what movie to watch. It's usually a battle of wills between the side that wants a "movie that's actually good" and the side that wants to watch a more "fun" but probably less critically acclaimed movie like American Pie or The Bride of Chucky. And usually the case is that the latter faction, while certainly capable of enjoying the works of an Ingmar Bergman or an Alfred Hitchcock, would prefer, at that moment, to watch a movie that did not require much thinking or active appreciation. This is also the thought process I go through if I opt to watch a formulaic comfort movie like You've Got Mail (a predictable romantic comedy starring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks that I've loved since I was 12) over Bergman's The Seventh Seal, which was widely acknowledged by "serious critics" and high art appreciators to be a cinematic masterpiece, etc. Another possibility is that a movie like the 1998 Godzilla, which was nominated for 5 Golden Raspberry (Razzie - like the Anti-Oscar) Awards, including Worst Picture, Worst Director, Worst Supporting Actress, Worst Screenplay, and Worst Remake or Sequel, might be enjoyed by viewers who only want ironically appreciate it and poke fun at its low-quality, terrible, or cheesy elements.
There is a definite distinction between a movie that one knows is not artistically superior but enjoys in spite of its flaws (for sentimental, comfort, or nostalgic value, like You've Got Mail) and a movie that is bad and is enjoyed because it is bad (for example, the notorious Showgirls, a movie starring Elizabeth Berkeley of "Saved By the Bell" fame as a stripper-turned-Vegas-showgirl, garnered a cult following despite dismal box office ratings because of its laughably bad overacting, cheesy sets, poor screenplay, and general terribleness). People can take pleasure in a bad move because by laughing at it, they are automatically elevating themselves.
But can ironic appreciation of a bad movie translate to genuine cultural enjoyment and enrichment? In "The Price of Irony," political theorist Benjamin Barber says no: "The dirty little secret of the ironist is of course that irony is always parasitic and can exist only by virtue of the earnestness it takes such pleasure in annihilating. Like sentiment, which has been called unearned emotion, the new irony is a form of unearned skepticism. It creates nothing of its own but waits to ambush moral purpose, to play havoc with common sense, to deny reason its moment. The only stand it takes is that there is no stand to be taken, so neither the author nor the audience has to take one." In this sense, irony can be seen as the ultimate cop-out; it only exists in order to poke fun at something else, and therefore it takes no risks and has no meaning outside of the thing it is making fun of. Another point that Barber makes is that "The ironic bystander (the phrase is redundant) is the citizen's jeering nemesis and the poet's wily shadow trying to make sure that truth and beauty and goodness, those stalwarts of the world before it was disenchanted, do not re-infect the postmodern's cool voice with hot earnestness. Or make us think too hard or feel too keenly."
I'm inclined to agree with Barber. However, I do believe that irony can be used quite effectively. Although irony is problematic when it becomes one's sole approach to life and art (how long can you keep mocking everything?), I believe that its existence also allows for increased appreciation of art as a whole. Irony is part of the human experience, and incorporating it and using it to examine different artworks can be an important tool for understanding where it fits into our lives. What I'm trying to say is ultimately that, while I would not be averse to an evening of ironically appreciating Invasion of the Animal People (a horror film wherein the country of Sweden comes under attack by aliens. And their pet Sasquatch), I would never be able to respond to the bass intro of "Under Pressure," a song I consider to be an inspirational anthem about the everyday "pressures" of life, with Vanilla Ice's lyrics, no matter how funny the words "Ice Ice Baby" might be. Irony can be a way of reexamining art and evaluating it on our own terms, but as Barber mentions, irony can also become a shield and set of blinders for those who are either too scared, insecure, or lazy to confront the issues brought up by the artwork in question.
Bourdieu, with his ideas of cultural capital as "the knowledge, experience and or connections one has had through the course of their life that enables them to succeed more so than someone from a less experienced background" (Wikipedia), might have argued that the ability to see something or appreciate something as being ironic vs. the inability to do so might be an indication of more cultural capital and sophistication (i.e. experience with art). This then answers the question of why irony is so popular; most people would prefer to appear culturally savvy and sophisticated than not, and poking fun at something gives you an edge over it that being earnest does not.
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