More on “everyone," and the market

Two more thoughts on my last post regarding the use of "everyone" in political and pop-culture punditry.

First, "everyone" is commonly used to refer to either TV viewership or movie audience numbers. So that "everyone" saw Summer Blockbuster X or "everyone" watches Game of Thrones (or Big Little Liars or The People vs. O. J. Simpson). Or even "everyone" on Twitter.

Part of the problem, which is generally admitted, is that the so-called "monoculture" is a thing of the past: gone are the days when nearly half of all American adults watched an important or popular primetime TV episode. But critics and commentators yearn for the relevance of the art they write about, so if either a show generates a lot of content online or if it is legitimately popular by today's standards, the old dependable trope of "everyone" gets tossed about with liberality.

But just consider Game of Thrones, perhaps the most popular show on TV. It gets somewhere between 10 and 25 million viewers on its best night (combining recordings and non-live viewings online). That is between 4 and 10% of the adult population in the U.S. Now the closer to 1-out-of-10 that number gets, the more impressive. But even if it is that high, what that means is that out of every 10 adults in this country, nine do not watch the show in question. In which case, it is fair to say that most everyone does not watch the show. It just "feels that way" to people who write about it, who spend a lot of time in the pop-culture corners of the internet, and who hang out with others who have similar TV viewing habits.

A final thought.

"Everyone" is also used in a justificatory way, that is, to talk about "what matters," because "everyone" is watching/talking about X or Y. The popularity of a pop-culture artifact warrants its discussion even and especially by those who harbor little affection for it.

The thing about this "everyone" is that it is weighted heavily toward the newest, latest thing, as evidenced by its popularity with the newest, youngest adults. Critics deceive themselves into thinking that what they are valuing is creativity or originality, but what they are in fact doing is ratifying the dominance of the market over popular art. Why, in other words, is what "everyone" is talking about the latest fashion or playtoy of twentysomethings? Because 18- to 35-year olds are the target demo for advertisers. Which means that this kind of breathless up-to-date cultural commentary is nothing but capitulation to the market, usually by people who should know better.

What sets the terms for what "matters," then, is not what is most innovative or interesting but what 25-year olds with expendable income and a lifetime of potential brand loyalty there for the taking find most relieves their boredom, at least for the moment. And that is a far cry from artistic merit or cultural cache, however defined.

The thing about “everyone"

Both political pundits and pop-culture commentators have the exceptionally bad habit of referring to "everyone" when what they mean is either (a) an extraordinarily small slice of the population or (b) themselves, their friends, and those like them.

Two examples.

Last November, while discussing the new Marvel film Doctor Strange on The Watch podcast, Andy Greenwald said, "I think that people are battered and beaten down by comic book movies and the Marvel movies." In context, the conversation was about how "everyone" feels—e.g., "people"—regarding the cultural phenomenon of comic book movies.

But note how silly and easily falsified this comment is (coming from an otherwise lovely and thoughtful writer and podcaster). People keep going to see these movies. Not only that, but by all accounts, not least self-report, many to most people who keep going to see these movies appear to like them, even like them very much. That is my own anecdotal experience, at the very least.

Why is it that Greenwald, standing in for the pundit/commentator generally, feels the need to assign to "people" or "everyone" what he himself and/or his friend group feels? Why not say, "It bums me out that there are so many people who lap this stuff up; speaking only for myself, I'm exhausted by it and ready for something different"? Cultural commentary is at its very worst when it becomes self-extrapolation and projection onto the wider culture of one's own and one's circle's thoughts and feelings.

The second example is Trump. And this is simple. Anti-Trumpers feel exhausted, harried, and scared by "the age of Trump." But instead of learning the lesson—a pretty straightforward one, I'd submit—from the election that anti-Trumpers do not exhaust the national population, they extend their feelings of exhaustion and fear to "everyone." So that one can say, offhandedly, "Like everyone else, I'm feeling burdened and worn down by this week's news about Trump." There may be eminently good reasons to feel such a way (indeed I think there are). But that doesn't mean "everyone" does. It means you, the speaker, do, and probably many of your friends. Just say that instead. It's an easy thing to do.

Among others, two risks of this kind of generalization stand out. First, you erase those who are different from you, who feel and think differently than you. And second, you implicitly suggest a righteous inner circle, from which are excluded those who differ from you. Whether this be the pop culture inner circle whose taste in art is the only one that matters or the politics inner circle whose opinion is the only option for decent people, the result is the same. My sense is that, more often than not, this implicit erasure/exclusion is unintended. Pundits and critics would be well served in such cases by simply speaking for themselves, and not for anyone else.

Reboot

From August 2008 through this past spring—nearly nine years—I blogged regularly then semi-regularly then off-and-on then almost never on a blog called Resident Theology, which I created the month I began my MDiv studies at Emory University. I posted 60 times in 2008, 193 in 2009, 156 in 2010, 100 in 2011, 88 in 2012, then a total of 61 in the last four and a half years. The downturn coincided with the beginning of my doctoral work at Yale in fall 2011, and as comps and dissertating and bona fide publishing began to take over my time, blogging fell by the wayside.

Well, the dissertation is completed and submitted, and this fall I begin a new chapter in my vocation as a theologian and academic: Assistant Professor of Theology at Abilene Christian University. To mark the occasion, I am officially concluding the run of Resident Theology and starting up a new blog, very cleverly titled Resident Theologian. I plan on developing a much more rigorous posting schedule, hopefully 2-4 times a week, sometimes of normal-ish blog post size (whatever that is), sometimes quite small. I made countless connections and acquaintances and actual friendships through my former blogging life, and I want to re-enter that world beyond the occasional Twitter thread. I also want to form good writing habits through the discipline of short but common writing stints, and blogging serves that well.

So that's the idea. I'm in the middle of a move at the moment, so the posts may be a bit delayed, but I wanted to go ahead and get the blog up and going, so that it's here when fancy strikes. Looking forward to this new venture. Until next time.