« ClearChannelisIrrelevant.org | Main | On a Golden Razor »

Material

The Green Line.

Sometimes I feel like a capitalist apologist. I expend an undue amount of mental energy examining critiques of the capitalist system in which I live and, while I don't come to many clear conclusions, I feel like these mental exercises yield some interesting writing material. This week's topic is inspired by the thing that capitalist critics love to hate most: materialism.

I wish it had been a joke, but I don't think it was. I spent a bit of my Sunday afternoon watching MTV's Pimp My Ride, a show that profiles the owner of a whack ride who has been selected for a complimentary pimping of said whack ride. Sunday's episode featured Antwon, the endearing owner of a beaten Mitsubishi Mirage. His poor car was running on the smallest spare tire I've ever seen, the upholstery was coming off, a rear window had been kicked out, one of the back door panels was missing, and the dome light was hanging by a wire. Antwon's friends were interviewed, a montage of their comments dissing Antwon's sorry set of wheels was immediately followed by a montage of "but Antwon's the greatest guy" comments. I don't want to sound like I believe that Antwon's friends weren't being sincere; as far as I could tell, Antwon is the greatest guy. I wasn't kidding when I said that he was endearing. In but a few brief moments on camera, Antwon exuded a genuinely kind and charming persona in spite of his awkward gait and pimply skin. The kid is blessed with a remarkable self-deprecating sense of humor as well. I can't think of anyone who I would rather see receive the treatment that MTV gave him: iridescent paint job, chrome rims, leather bucket seats, suede lined ceiling, mp3 CD player, DVD player, 10" drop down TV screen, Playstation 2, and...and a fish tank installed between the back seats for his goldfish, Ike and Tina. I'm not sure if I remember correctly, but I think the tally was something like $20,000 worth of goods poured into a $900 car.

I could go on forever about this show. It's fodder for a million discussions, but I'm going to touch on but one shining moment from the program: Antwon's final remark. After profusely thanking MTV for his gift, he sighed with relief that "finally! people will respect me for what I've got!" Yeah, I wish it was a joke, because it would have been hilarious. Who knows though? I wouldn't put it past him; if Antwon slipped in such a powerfully dark punch-line on purpose, that's a mighty roast on MTV.

"Finally, people will respect me for what I've got!" What words! May they echo through the ages, not as a stark reminder of the deplorable consumer society in which we life, but as the feeble prayer of gratitude of any human who has ever managed to acquire something "nice." Whether a conch, crown, scepter or robe, people try to impress their peers with evidence of their lucre or power. It's a fact. The people who make great efforts to distinguish themselves through material goods are no 20th century monsters, the deformed children of Smith and Keynes.

The only difference between the materialists of our capitalist age and those of yesteryear is that there are so many more of them these days. Some people are daunted by the fact that the masses are able to distinguish themselves through their possessions. I mean, who's Antwon to sport such a fine ride? He didn't earn it! The easy distribution of status symbols makes people uncomfortable, just as it perturbed John Adams' colleague James Warren way back in 1779 when economic shifts prompted by the Revolutionary War had allowed "fellows who would have cleaned [his] shoes five years ago" to "[amass] fortunes and [ride] in chariots." Today, it seems that people fear being surrounded by impostors who simply shouldn't be allowed to have what they have. Why do people feel this way? I'm not sure, but I have an idea and it stems from the idea of the poseur.

One can only be a poseur if one is branded as such by someone else. I guess I'll tell a personal story to illustrate how this happens. I bought the Pixies' Trompe le Monde when I was in 8th grade and fell in love with it. By the time I had graduated from high school, I had bought every Pixies album, single and bootleg I could find and I was convinced that my status as a true Pixies fan was without parallel. Then Fight Club came out. The masterful use of the Pixies' "Where is My Mind?" to close the movie blasted the doors open on the private Pixies party that I had been enjoying for years. Suddenly, I was surrounded by kids who "loved" the Pixies based on their familiarity with one (totally awesome) song. Now, I suppose I've strayed from my discussion of material goods, but I wore my love of the Pixies on my sleeve. It wasn't a necessarily a physical good, but my "cool" taste in music was an asset and I was sad to watch the masses debase my prized hipness. None of the new Pixies "fans" could appreciate the band as I did! They were poseurs! They didn't have the 8th grade discovery! It just wasn't fair, and I didn't want them at my party, but there was nothing I could do.

I had to let them enjoy the song. It's a free country. And, because it's a free country, the hipster who first dyed his hair black because he really "felt black on the inside" has to sit back legions of faux-depressed hipsters follow suit. And everyone who thinks that they can spot a poseur should check themselves and make sure there isn't someone behind them calling them out on their lack of credibility. I mean, there were a bunch of Pixies fans who preceded me.

So, if you want people to love you based on what you have (be it your chariot, ride or CD collection), watch out, because just about anyone can go ahead and buy the same items that identify you; and before you can yell "poseur," someone's already questioning your credibility. This is true whether you identify with your belongings or not. It doesn't matter if you're a thug, a pimp, a hipster, a jock, a geek, or a nobody, someone is going to think you're a poseur. So, what do you do about it? I recommend that you don't worry about it.

But what if you can't help but worry about it? Take the plunge and follow the advice of La Agrado, a transvestite character in Pedro Almodovar's film, All About my Mother. This is the story of her life as s/he tells it:

...I'm very authentic. Look at my body! Everything's made to measure. Almond eyes: 80,000 pesetas. Nose: 200,000 (down the drain because I got punched in the face the next year. I know it gives me character, but if I had known I'd lose it in a beating, I wouldn't have touched it.) Breasts: two, because I'm no monster. 70,000 each, but I've already earned all that back. I've got silicone in my lips, forehead, cheeks, hips, and butt. It's 100,000 a pint. You can figure the total yourselves because I've lost count. Jaw reduction: 75,000. Laser hair removal (because women are just as if not more closely related to apes than men): 60,000 per session. Depending on how hairy you are, you might need two to four sessions... Anyway, as I was saying, it costs a lot to be authentic girlfriend, and there's no reason to be stingy about this because one is most authentic when one most resembles what one has dreams of being.