Is there anything more boring than an ‘individual’? You know, those personality vacuums whose only form of meaningful expression is to outwardly present as aliens. Twenty years ago, it was all green mohawks and knee-high stomper boots—now it’s morbid obesity and contracting monkeypox. If I had my way, straightjacketing suits and long dresses would return—with the option of a pocket, square for the flamboyant or a paisley tie for the rebel. But, as a modern 21st century man, I accept there is such a thing as free choice—putting aside the cost to the NHS and all the rest—live and let live. As obnoxious as the blue hair and ear stretchers might be, I can get over it. However, there’s one thing I can’t abide by: the demand that I celebrate it.
The social media algorithm seems minded about my propensity to judge. Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube insist on plugging content from outlets I don’t follow, and have never engaged with, into my newsfeed. The constant in these unsolicited or “recommended” interventions is that they feature stories about so-called body positivity. There’s an endless stream of 30-stone ‘supermodels’ who are defying societal norms to prove you can be healthy at any weight. Then there are those who have undergone plastic surgery to transmorph into a parrot or a cat and are congratulated for expressing their authentic selves. And more latterly, it’s been tattoos—specifically individuals with 90% and more of their bodies covered in them—and insisting that we celebrate their completely sane and normal choice to have ink scratched into their eyeballs.
Invariably the comments section overflows with enthusiasm for the subjects of these stories. The reactions are overwhelmingly positive, and the top-rated comments bristle with praise. Maybe I’m just out of the loop, or perhaps everyone who agrees with me and who takes the time to comment gets banned. Perhaps I’m being baited into making an intemperate contribution by the algorithm, teased into making a transgressive remark so I can be Zucked.
The latest piece of offending material was a video, entitled “In Your Face: Confronting Tattoo Prejudice.” It was a short documentary that followed three individuals sporting tattoos on their faces and necks, in addition to other body modifications such as stretched ears, facial piercings, and metal teeth.
The documentarians sent the individuals—each a clone of the last—into central London and tasked them to interact with perfect strangers. They’d stop passers-by and ask to borrow their phone, query directions, or change a tenner for two fives. Unsurprisingly there were very few takers. Where were these people in the Facebook comments section? Afterwards, the tattooed trio took turns to do a piece to camera, variously bemoaning the small-mindedness of the Londoners who had declined to turn over their phones. Presumably, only an enlightened individual can see through the barriers they have chosen to erect around themselves, so please excuse us mere mortals for not handing our phones to someone who looks like they just jumped the asylum walls.
But this documentary exposed an interesting phenomenon. Although elite media, algorithms, and the chattering classes pray in aid for the individuals, the society at large still takes affront. And it’s not, as they say, because most people are too stupid to comprehend the beauty of Playboy models with type 2 diabetes or the raw expression of truth that watermelon-sized breast implants radiate. The affront is caused because these types of body modifications instinctively, and with reason, ring alarm bells in our lizard brains.
When somebody chooses to obscure their face, it telegraphs danger. We identify one another by looking, and more importantly, understand the person by seeing them. If someone has chosen to plaster bloodied daggers and grim reapers all over their cranium, it not only signals a morbid intent but conceals the emotions we would ordinarily read on their face. When they approach to ask to borrow our phone, we can’t determine what are their intentions. It’s not a tedious societal expectation that we ought not to carve paint into our skin, it is a biological imperative. If your ancestors bumped into a woad-dyed Pict in the forest and stopped to ask for directions, you wouldn’t be alive now.
It’s the same story with the overweight. Pointing out that a body mass index of 50 is unhealthy, gluttonous, and detrimental to society, is said to be “fat shaming.” Even if you keep your advice to yourself, you’ll be expected to consider the scale-breakers who have come to dominate magazine covers as specimens of Aphrodisiac delight, else you be branded one of those small-minded bigots. Again though, there are plenty of good reasons to be a fat shamer, not least because it’s not prudent to mate with a body positivity pioneer because they won’t be around long enough to raise the kids. We could benefit from a culture of shame, which would do wonders for waistlines.
The attempt by elite media to override the instincts of their readerships—or even those outside their readerships whose feeds are invaded by their tabloid trash—is typical of most of the modern media environment. It is less and less informing and entertaining, and more and more ‘re-educating.’ It wants us to question and then reject the instincts which have served us well for millennia. It wants us to doubt our own eyes and ears. It wants to normalise the abnormal and the unhealthy, and then prescribe them. They say you ought not to be judgmental, prejudicial, or unkind. But if your mate tells you he wants to tattoo a razor blade on his forehead, the right thing to do is to call him a nutter. If someone you know is dangerously overweight, let them know. And if a family member wants to stretch their earlobes out advise against it. And if a face-tattooed obese ear-stretched individual asks to borrow your phone, say “No.” It might just motivate them to get themselves sorted out.
If in doubt, refer to the wise words of Dirty Harry: “When a naked man is chasing a woman through an alley with a butcher knife and a hard-on, I figure he isn’t out collecting for the Red Cross.”
Bring Back Prejudice
Is there anything more boring than an ‘individual’? You know, those personality vacuums whose only form of meaningful expression is to outwardly present as aliens. Twenty years ago, it was all green mohawks and knee-high stomper boots—now it’s morbid obesity and contracting monkeypox. If I had my way, straightjacketing suits and long dresses would return—with the option of a pocket, square for the flamboyant or a paisley tie for the rebel. But, as a modern 21st century man, I accept there is such a thing as free choice—putting aside the cost to the NHS and all the rest—live and let live. As obnoxious as the blue hair and ear stretchers might be, I can get over it. However, there’s one thing I can’t abide by: the demand that I celebrate it.
The social media algorithm seems minded about my propensity to judge. Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube insist on plugging content from outlets I don’t follow, and have never engaged with, into my newsfeed. The constant in these unsolicited or “recommended” interventions is that they feature stories about so-called body positivity. There’s an endless stream of 30-stone ‘supermodels’ who are defying societal norms to prove you can be healthy at any weight. Then there are those who have undergone plastic surgery to transmorph into a parrot or a cat and are congratulated for expressing their authentic selves. And more latterly, it’s been tattoos—specifically individuals with 90% and more of their bodies covered in them—and insisting that we celebrate their completely sane and normal choice to have ink scratched into their eyeballs.
Invariably the comments section overflows with enthusiasm for the subjects of these stories. The reactions are overwhelmingly positive, and the top-rated comments bristle with praise. Maybe I’m just out of the loop, or perhaps everyone who agrees with me and who takes the time to comment gets banned. Perhaps I’m being baited into making an intemperate contribution by the algorithm, teased into making a transgressive remark so I can be Zucked.
The latest piece of offending material was a video, entitled “In Your Face: Confronting Tattoo Prejudice.” It was a short documentary that followed three individuals sporting tattoos on their faces and necks, in addition to other body modifications such as stretched ears, facial piercings, and metal teeth.
The documentarians sent the individuals—each a clone of the last—into central London and tasked them to interact with perfect strangers. They’d stop passers-by and ask to borrow their phone, query directions, or change a tenner for two fives. Unsurprisingly there were very few takers. Where were these people in the Facebook comments section? Afterwards, the tattooed trio took turns to do a piece to camera, variously bemoaning the small-mindedness of the Londoners who had declined to turn over their phones. Presumably, only an enlightened individual can see through the barriers they have chosen to erect around themselves, so please excuse us mere mortals for not handing our phones to someone who looks like they just jumped the asylum walls.
But this documentary exposed an interesting phenomenon. Although elite media, algorithms, and the chattering classes pray in aid for the individuals, the society at large still takes affront. And it’s not, as they say, because most people are too stupid to comprehend the beauty of Playboy models with type 2 diabetes or the raw expression of truth that watermelon-sized breast implants radiate. The affront is caused because these types of body modifications instinctively, and with reason, ring alarm bells in our lizard brains.
When somebody chooses to obscure their face, it telegraphs danger. We identify one another by looking, and more importantly, understand the person by seeing them. If someone has chosen to plaster bloodied daggers and grim reapers all over their cranium, it not only signals a morbid intent but conceals the emotions we would ordinarily read on their face. When they approach to ask to borrow our phone, we can’t determine what are their intentions. It’s not a tedious societal expectation that we ought not to carve paint into our skin, it is a biological imperative. If your ancestors bumped into a woad-dyed Pict in the forest and stopped to ask for directions, you wouldn’t be alive now.
It’s the same story with the overweight. Pointing out that a body mass index of 50 is unhealthy, gluttonous, and detrimental to society, is said to be “fat shaming.” Even if you keep your advice to yourself, you’ll be expected to consider the scale-breakers who have come to dominate magazine covers as specimens of Aphrodisiac delight, else you be branded one of those small-minded bigots. Again though, there are plenty of good reasons to be a fat shamer, not least because it’s not prudent to mate with a body positivity pioneer because they won’t be around long enough to raise the kids. We could benefit from a culture of shame, which would do wonders for waistlines.
The attempt by elite media to override the instincts of their readerships—or even those outside their readerships whose feeds are invaded by their tabloid trash—is typical of most of the modern media environment. It is less and less informing and entertaining, and more and more ‘re-educating.’ It wants us to question and then reject the instincts which have served us well for millennia. It wants us to doubt our own eyes and ears. It wants to normalise the abnormal and the unhealthy, and then prescribe them. They say you ought not to be judgmental, prejudicial, or unkind. But if your mate tells you he wants to tattoo a razor blade on his forehead, the right thing to do is to call him a nutter. If someone you know is dangerously overweight, let them know. And if a family member wants to stretch their earlobes out advise against it. And if a face-tattooed obese ear-stretched individual asks to borrow your phone, say “No.” It might just motivate them to get themselves sorted out.
If in doubt, refer to the wise words of Dirty Harry: “When a naked man is chasing a woman through an alley with a butcher knife and a hard-on, I figure he isn’t out collecting for the Red Cross.”
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