Monday 25 June 2012
Friday 15 June 2012
A little rant about class and the individual
It's not often my posts are topical, but the second part of Grayson Perry's All in the Best Possible Taste, shown recently on Channel 4, made me livid.
Perry, a Turner Prize-winning artist (that is to say his stuff is ghastly) and self-conscious 'eccentric', purports to examine the tastes of the social strata making up Britain today. Well, arguably the very format is based on a false assumption, that the populace still divides neatly into three socio-economic classes but I'll come back to that.
Perry casts a supposedly uncritical eye over the families and neighbourhoods he tours, weaving his encounters into bluntly satirical cartoons on an enormous, gaudy tapestry unveiled and the programme's end. Quite apart from the fact that Perry, for all his dabbling in Monty Python-style cross-dressing looks more like an Emo Phillips impersonator than anything else, and has half as much charisma as narrator Stephen Mangan (the most charmless and boring man ever to achieve fame as a comic actor in Britain), there's no mistaking his condescension towards the "middle-class" (deliberate quotation marks) people and surroundings that comprise so much of today's Britain, and where Perry himself has roots. This becomes quite explicit in his grotesque tapestry, combining every ugly sofa and ill-judged wallpaper pattern Perry has seen, with the usual iconography of suburban blandness: the cafetiere, Jamie Oliver, and so on. Worst of all, the very people Perry are sneering at are invited to view his work, reacting exactly as they're expected to; politely amused, shyly flattered. It's all painfully English.
Tellingly, Perry opines that much of the faux-sophisticated or whimsical clutter found in people's homes is an expression of 'individuality' by people who may or may not realise that they are doing the exact same thing as their equally insecure neighbours, so actually following a trend. What I think he fails to appreciate is that in an evermore homogenised society, even token attempts to resist conformity are significant and should not be so quickly dismissed.
I've long felt a deep anxiety over this subject, that of striving to be a distinct and self-determined individual without defining myself by exactly the same standards as lots of other 'unique' people. I avoided branded clothes, for instance, partly for this reason, never feeling comfortable wearing someone else’s logo. I wouldn't even wear band t-shirts or hoodies when I was in high school, as they were the uniform of 'Moshers', the interchangeable parade of gloomy kids with piercings, dyed-black hair and crisscrossed scars on their forearms. I was adamant that I wouldn't belong to one 'type', and consequently ended up with no friends. That pretty well sums up the pressures of conformity and the consequences of refusing to blend quietly into your demographic.
Today I feel much the same, albeit a tad more relaxed. I still won't be caught dead in 'name' clothing, and though I'll happily wear my Batman t-shirt, I avoid slogans and the like. There are enough ads in the world as it is.
On the subject of class, gone are the days when everyone fell into one of three categories, upper (wealthy)-, middle (comfortably off)-, or lower (dirt poor)-class. Think about the British people today: Living conditions for those on the very bottom rung of society are far higher than they were 30 years ago, and certainly wouldn't be classed as 'poverty' by those living in less developed countries. Warmth, shelter, electricity, hot and cold running water, and a large variety of foods are taken totally for granted. Once upon a time, poor people starved to death. Today, obesity is our number 1 health concern. The old standards of Rich and Poor simply do not apply to us anymore.
Whereas once the majority worked for enough to live on, whilst only the truly rich people enjoyed luxuries, now luxuries are assumed as a basic right. Broadband and TV channels in their hundreds certainly don't come under the rubric of 'essential to survival'. Furthermore, once the conveniences and gadgets are secured in our homes, they're usually there to stay. Reckless borrowing may leave millions with the threat of repossession hanging over their every purchase, but someone who runs a car is unlikely ever to give up their vehicle in favour of cheaper travel on public transport, anymore than one would opt for water instead of milk on their cereal, purely because one costs less than the other. There's no real sense that the material riches the post-War generation dreamed of will be taken away any time soon. This culture of consumerism and credit for all means that the most lavish lifestyles are within reach of the poorest people, and this is what has led many commentators to remark that, today, everybody is middle-class (I should pause here to point out that I am not actually criticising any of this. As someone who regularly enjoys disposable income, I'm actually far happier with this state of affairs than someone of the Left probably should be).
So then, if most of us, regardless of social class, are driving cars, living well, enjoying foreign holidays, and using top of the line computers and mobile phones, have we not reached a point where, for all intents and purposes, we are all the same? Those monstrous corporations really couldn't care less who buys their products, as long as they get the money. How can any of us hope to stand out in this vast, moneyed crowd? For some, the answer lies in getting Back to Basics, returning to the land and all that. The media is full of tousle-haired types espousing the joys of bucolic pursuits, of country life among the crops and livestock. People living in urban areas are growing their own vegetables or keeping chickens. The Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's and Alex James's witter endlessly about how getting away from it all made everything better. The problem there is obvious: both of them are celebrities, who had plenty of money to fund these rustic mini-utopias. They kissed oppressive urban living goodbye because they could afford it. Those of us with ordinary jobs to go to, shopping to do, kids to take here and there don't have that option, and it's getting to the point where returning to the Green and Pleasant olde England will reveal nothing but vast estates owned by rich people off the telly. In celebrity circles, this type of thing is just another expression of privilege, and so not really 'eccentric' at all, but then most wealthy people don't fret about conformity. The real beauty of money is that it allows you to make your own rules, and that, ultimately, is what we all want.
Perry, a Turner Prize-winning artist (that is to say his stuff is ghastly) and self-conscious 'eccentric', purports to examine the tastes of the social strata making up Britain today. Well, arguably the very format is based on a false assumption, that the populace still divides neatly into three socio-economic classes but I'll come back to that.
Perry casts a supposedly uncritical eye over the families and neighbourhoods he tours, weaving his encounters into bluntly satirical cartoons on an enormous, gaudy tapestry unveiled and the programme's end. Quite apart from the fact that Perry, for all his dabbling in Monty Python-style cross-dressing looks more like an Emo Phillips impersonator than anything else, and has half as much charisma as narrator Stephen Mangan (the most charmless and boring man ever to achieve fame as a comic actor in Britain), there's no mistaking his condescension towards the "middle-class" (deliberate quotation marks) people and surroundings that comprise so much of today's Britain, and where Perry himself has roots. This becomes quite explicit in his grotesque tapestry, combining every ugly sofa and ill-judged wallpaper pattern Perry has seen, with the usual iconography of suburban blandness: the cafetiere, Jamie Oliver, and so on. Worst of all, the very people Perry are sneering at are invited to view his work, reacting exactly as they're expected to; politely amused, shyly flattered. It's all painfully English.
Tellingly, Perry opines that much of the faux-sophisticated or whimsical clutter found in people's homes is an expression of 'individuality' by people who may or may not realise that they are doing the exact same thing as their equally insecure neighbours, so actually following a trend. What I think he fails to appreciate is that in an evermore homogenised society, even token attempts to resist conformity are significant and should not be so quickly dismissed.
I've long felt a deep anxiety over this subject, that of striving to be a distinct and self-determined individual without defining myself by exactly the same standards as lots of other 'unique' people. I avoided branded clothes, for instance, partly for this reason, never feeling comfortable wearing someone else’s logo. I wouldn't even wear band t-shirts or hoodies when I was in high school, as they were the uniform of 'Moshers', the interchangeable parade of gloomy kids with piercings, dyed-black hair and crisscrossed scars on their forearms. I was adamant that I wouldn't belong to one 'type', and consequently ended up with no friends. That pretty well sums up the pressures of conformity and the consequences of refusing to blend quietly into your demographic.
Today I feel much the same, albeit a tad more relaxed. I still won't be caught dead in 'name' clothing, and though I'll happily wear my Batman t-shirt, I avoid slogans and the like. There are enough ads in the world as it is.
On the subject of class, gone are the days when everyone fell into one of three categories, upper (wealthy)-, middle (comfortably off)-, or lower (dirt poor)-class. Think about the British people today: Living conditions for those on the very bottom rung of society are far higher than they were 30 years ago, and certainly wouldn't be classed as 'poverty' by those living in less developed countries. Warmth, shelter, electricity, hot and cold running water, and a large variety of foods are taken totally for granted. Once upon a time, poor people starved to death. Today, obesity is our number 1 health concern. The old standards of Rich and Poor simply do not apply to us anymore.
Whereas once the majority worked for enough to live on, whilst only the truly rich people enjoyed luxuries, now luxuries are assumed as a basic right. Broadband and TV channels in their hundreds certainly don't come under the rubric of 'essential to survival'. Furthermore, once the conveniences and gadgets are secured in our homes, they're usually there to stay. Reckless borrowing may leave millions with the threat of repossession hanging over their every purchase, but someone who runs a car is unlikely ever to give up their vehicle in favour of cheaper travel on public transport, anymore than one would opt for water instead of milk on their cereal, purely because one costs less than the other. There's no real sense that the material riches the post-War generation dreamed of will be taken away any time soon. This culture of consumerism and credit for all means that the most lavish lifestyles are within reach of the poorest people, and this is what has led many commentators to remark that, today, everybody is middle-class (I should pause here to point out that I am not actually criticising any of this. As someone who regularly enjoys disposable income, I'm actually far happier with this state of affairs than someone of the Left probably should be).
So then, if most of us, regardless of social class, are driving cars, living well, enjoying foreign holidays, and using top of the line computers and mobile phones, have we not reached a point where, for all intents and purposes, we are all the same? Those monstrous corporations really couldn't care less who buys their products, as long as they get the money. How can any of us hope to stand out in this vast, moneyed crowd? For some, the answer lies in getting Back to Basics, returning to the land and all that. The media is full of tousle-haired types espousing the joys of bucolic pursuits, of country life among the crops and livestock. People living in urban areas are growing their own vegetables or keeping chickens. The Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's and Alex James's witter endlessly about how getting away from it all made everything better. The problem there is obvious: both of them are celebrities, who had plenty of money to fund these rustic mini-utopias. They kissed oppressive urban living goodbye because they could afford it. Those of us with ordinary jobs to go to, shopping to do, kids to take here and there don't have that option, and it's getting to the point where returning to the Green and Pleasant olde England will reveal nothing but vast estates owned by rich people off the telly. In celebrity circles, this type of thing is just another expression of privilege, and so not really 'eccentric' at all, but then most wealthy people don't fret about conformity. The real beauty of money is that it allows you to make your own rules, and that, ultimately, is what we all want.
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