my history with irony

did you read christy wampole’s new york times opinion piece “how to live without irony” last week? it’s been one of those things that’s really stayed with me…  i’ve been trying to write things other than songs everyday, so here is a personal mini-essay in response.

My History with Irony

After reading Christy Wampole’s NYT article “How to Live Without Irony,” I have been looking wistfully on my history with the device. I don’t think irony ever worked its way into my ethos, like Wampole describes; either it was more of a party trick or I was more of a poser.

In fact, I’ve always been pretty traditional and religious – losing your dad in middle school can quickly reorganize one’s high school priorities. Don’t get me wrong, I still dabbled in ironic high school expression: I took unattractive yearbook pictures, wore Nike Dunks to prom, hung out at Waffle House with my theatre friends. But I was also a mini-fundamentalist: I didn’t party or mess around with guys; I led bible studies and sang in the church band. To be honest, I may have sat a little too pretty on my high horse, but by college my butt got sore.

At orientation my friends and I retold our Perks of Being A Wallflower stories as soon as we arrived (“manifesting a nostalgia for times … never lived”). We listened to Belle & Sebastian on vinyl, drinking Jack Daniels from mason jars and petitioning for organic, fair-trade items in the cafeteria. We were dabbling in Wampole’s definition of the ironic ethos (in 2005), but what did you expect? We were in college: foraging for our individuality, dodging responsibilities and trying on different versions of ourselves while smirking in the mirror. After a while, I pieced something together for myself; I was too earnest (and too much of a perfectionist) to be indifferent.

I was 21 when I stuffed my last ironic cheerleading t-shirt into a trash bag destined for Good Will. I took down the kitschy paper goods that illustrated our PG-13 collegiate adventures — they were pinned up, ironically, in the bathroom. I packed away the Polaroid of our 2008 Halloween party (pictured above): I was a Pilgrim (made from items in my own closet, of course) nervously shaking the hand of my roommate, a convincing Sarah Palin. Graduation was looming and I was moving out to get married – the most unironic thing a girl at my age could do. I wasn’t being post-postmodern or meta-anything; we just happened to be young and unrecklessly in love (still are).  Since then, I’ve moved on. My irony was a phase, like I think (and hope) it is for most people.

Irony has remained a kind of social cigarette for me. After a few drinks, I give myself permission to sneak off to the back porch and rattle off jokes at other people’s expense, but at the end of the night, I feel exhausted, weak and embarrassed. I don’t think irony as a rhetorical device should go away. I mean, what will I do at Halloween parties?

Looking back at my essay, a part of me sees myself as the mouth of a balloon, stretched tightly while it deflates, making that annoying squeaking noise. WHEEEEEEEEKKKKK. Perhaps I need to dust off the ashes of irony that have settled on me.

photo credit: the deep, dark recesses of Facebook

4 Responses to my history with irony

  1. abbyleigh says:

    that picture kills me! i can’t stop thinking about that piece, either. thanks for continuing the conversation!

  2. mom says:

    Keep writing mini essays and songs…. Got to send you another ironic picture…..

  3. Kyle W. says:

    I hadn’t really considered Ms. Wampole’s idea of hipster culture/irony functioning priomarily as a defense mechanism – so I appreciated the opportunity to think about it in a new way. But the whole piece came across as sort of bitter. Did anyone else get that?

    • alvaleigh says:

      Hmm I could see that, but I also don’t know if I entirely disagree with her… I think she is disapproving but I do think she paints an extreme and (a little outdated) picture of hipster culture. sparked a lot of interesting ideas for me though… already working on another piece about it.

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