Why do so many people read any statement, no matter how innocuous, as being about them? For example, I have mentioned my dislike of chocolate and people have gotten cranky. As if my chocolate hatred will somehow deprive them of it. Huh?
Every time I talk about my love of fashion someone says, “I just want comfortable clothes! Give me jeans and t-shirts!” Which always strikes me as deeply bizarre because a) no one has said a word against jeans and t-shirts, b) t-shirts and jeans are items of fashion, c) having a desire for a ballgown does not mean that person doesn’t also wear jeans and t-shirts. (For the record I am wearing jeans and a New York Liberty t-shirt as I type this. Though I wish I were in my even-more-comfortable pjs, but guests are arriving shortly.)
Colour me puzzled.
I thought everyone understood that people are not all the same. We have different tastes and interests and desires. And hallelujah for that—if we were all the same the world would be a truly boring place.
Why do people keep being affronted by other people caring about something they don’t care about? If it doesn’t interest you, don’t engage. Why the need to tell the world that you hate and/or are bored by it? Why do people read a long post in which someone sets forth their love of antelopes as saying that everyone must like antelopes. You are free to hate antelopes! Go forth and hate antelopes!1 But, you know, don’t bore the person who just spent time and energy waxing eloquent about their love of antelopes. You can take it as read that their interest in your antelope hatred is zero.
I love a good ballgown. I would never make anyone else wear a ballgown.2 I truly loathe chocolate. I have given chocolate as a present to many people. I have even made chocolate cake for a friend. I don’t get why they like it since it tastes like death to me but, you know, it seems to make them happy so good for them.
I suspect that what I’m really asking is why do so many people think everything is about them? I know the ego is a powerful thing. Hey, I’ve got one too. And yet . . .
Let me put this in terms of writing: if you’re unable to empathise or understand people who are not like you, who have different tastes and aspirations, it’s going to be really hard for you to write about anyone but yourself. Only writing about yourself is going to limit the appeal of your writing considerably.3
Thus endeth the rant.
I’d be really interested to hear your theories on this perplexing matter.4
- Poor antelopes. [↩]
- Except for John Scalzi and only because it would make me laugh. [↩]
- Though it seems to have worked out really well for a handful of writers I won’t name out of fear. [↩]
- Unless you’re one of those crazy chocolate loving people. Just kidding. Some of my best friends love chocolate. I even married a chocolate lover. [↩]
…do you like chocolate covered antelopes?
I hear antelope molé is awesome. I could just scrape the chocolate sauce off.
Molé is DELICIOUS. That’s a recipe hidden in the genius of my mother’s cooking abilities I doubt I’ll ever be able to fully extricate. It’s one of those recipes without a recipe. Pure heaven, I tell you!
I don’t understand why you would attack me and the things I care about in this way. What have I ever done to you?
And of course, not wanting kids gets the worst antelope reaction of all…
Man, I don’t get it. I don’t like coffee, but I don’t throw a shit fit because everyone else on the planet drinks it. Even if sometimes I want to because it smells so awful and it permeates the room.
But still, sheesh, people, different strokes. Live and let live. If everyone all wanted to do the same thing, we’d have a lopsided universe.
Goodie.
I hate dogs. Come to think of it, I hate cats, too.
There, I’ve said it. Feel free to hate me, now.
I love writing from the POV of people who have a completely different outlook on life. Those include dog and cate lovers 😉
Damned Skeptic: I don’t like the cut of your jib. Get a new jib and then we’ll see.
Jennifer: That’s because you are denying your femininity! Women were born to have babies! Without them you are nothing!
We can both be nothing together. I am also without children or the desire for them. (And I hate coffee. Perhaps we are soul mates.)
Patty: Careful. Are you from the USA? I hear they revoke citizenship if you don’t love cats and/or dogs over there.
This reminds me of something I was thinking about earlier today—about how I take people’s opinions of books too personally, especially if it’s a favorite book. I guess it’s because books have such an effect on me, I feel like they’re a part of me. So when someone attacks the book, I feel like they’re attacking me. If that makes any sense.
I suppose I should look at it the same way as I look at chocolate or antelopes and realize that it’s just an opinion and NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT ME, but it feels different somehow.
That being said, I have no problem with chocolate lovers or antelope lovers or…whatever.
Justine, I love that you hate chocolate, to which I’m addicted, and love fashion and cricket, to both of which I’m indifferent. I have no response at all to your not wanting children, but I worry that you’ve started channelling my mother, one of whose favourite sayings was, ‘If we were all the same the world would be a truly boring place.’
Meghan: I think there’s something deeply personal about our relationship to the books we love. So it does often feel like a person saying they hate your favourite book is kind of saying they hate you. But truly they don’t. (You know, unless they actually do . . . )
JonathanS: Your mother is a wise woman. You should listen to her.
Today, the mail room ladies put samples of pink bottles of shaving cream in the females’ boxes. I was highly offended and asked whoever put it in my box to retrieve it. First, it was pink. Second, it implied that females should shave their legs. Of course I knew it wasn’t about me, just as I knew your love of fashion wasn’t about me. Your writing ability isn’t about me. My friend getting turned down for grad school isn’t about me. Nevertheless, I have opinions, and in the world of blogs, I express them.
Heh. I’m guilty of this all the time, though I didn’t step in it *this* time. Maybe I’m getting better.
I don’t know why I’m tempted to comment on my indifference or antipathy in situations like that. I don’t generally mean anything hostile by it . . . I just am a talker and tend to say/write what pops into my head. If the topic today is reality TV and the only way I can engage in the topic is to talk about how much I don’t like it, then my tendency is to just jump in with that because the alternative is staying out of the conversation altogether, and where’s the fun in that?!
I wasn’t even conscious that it was an annoying habit until I really ticked someone off by putting down My So-Called Life right after she talked about how meaningful the show was for her. She jumped all over my case, and I was a bit defensive about it, but now I do try to catch myself if I feel tempted to crap all over something someone else likes. I suspect I’m still less than perfect at resisting the impulse, but at least I’m catching *some* of those instances now.
Jude: Every time I talk about fashion there’s a comment exactly like yours. And as I said above it puzzles me. I don’t think it’s analogous to the assumptions being made when they put pink shaving crap in your inbox. I’d be offended too. Unless you’re saying you’re offended by my talking about something that doesn’t interest you. In which case, well, wow.
The kinds of comments I was talking about in this post are basically non-sequitors. They don’t follow from the post. They don’t engage with the post. If someone had commented on the Alexander McQueen post and said I don’t like the fashion industry because of the way that industry exploits its workers. Or because of the way it limits choices because there are only a finite number of people setting the colours and designs each season which means even though I love puce I cannot always get puce-coloured clothing. That’s something that actually adds to the conversation.
But those “I love jeans” comments don’t. It’s the same comment every single time and it basically says “why are you talking about something I don’t care about.” To which my response is, Why are you reading about something you don’t care about? No one’s making you.
I don’t think every opinion is sacred. Not even all my opinons. Some opinions add nothing, some are wrong, some are rude, some are troll-y and etc. I have caught myself mid comment on other blogs and realised that while I had dressed my comment up in fancy clothes basically I was commenting only to say “why are you talking about something I don’t care about” at which point I delete because such a comment adds nothing to the conversation.
Joe: Oh, sure, we all do it. But I think there’s a difference between trashing someone’s opinion in conversation with friends (though you’re right it’s inconsiderate and we should all try to do better—though when they like something truly heinous like Mad Men it’s tough) and showing up on someone’s blog to do so.
If you click through to my post on hating Mad Men you’ll see that plenty of people disagreed with me about it. In fact, there was a very lively and interesting debate in those comments.
John Scalzi in a ballgown! That would be awesome.
So you’re saying that we are all different.
That sounds like a pretty black and white statement. Not giving me a choice to be the same as everyone else in the world.
By reducing my ability to choose aren’t you in fact oppressing me.
And what have you got against Sydney or Melbourne t-shirts – are you Un-Australian too!
John Scalzi would be very cute in a ballgown, I am sure.
I think the problem you’re talking about is a natural aspect of discourse. You’re a storyteller, so I don’t know if you were ever the person in the group of friends whose stories bored everyone, and to whom nobody listened. Having been there, I can tell you that there’s a natural tendency to try to come up with something that will get a reaction.
When people respond to your blog, they want at least these two things from you: for you to respond to what they say, and for you to find it interesting. If they can’t get the second one, they’ll settle for the first. If they didn’t care about either of these things, they probably wouldn’t respond.
It’s not because they’re bad people. They want you to like them–how bad can that be? But conversation is only secondarily about overt channels of information. It’s primarily about covert channels: “do you like me,” and “am I part of the group” and all that stuff.
It’s only when the covert channel handshaking has been satisfied that what, specifically, is being expressed becomes important. Until then, you say whatever you must to get the handshake to happen.
I’m not saying people are horribly insecure or anything–I’m just saying that we all evolve these communications strategies as we grow up. Consequently, what we say doesn’t always make sense, and it doesn’t even need to in order for the conversation to be basically satisfying.
Of course, this is very frustrating for idea people.
The question of whether or not chocolate is delicious always makes me think of one of my favorite kids books ever, “The Search For Delicious,” by Natalie Babbitt. It’s about a guy writing the First Ever Dictionary, and when he gets the word delicious he writes something like “Delicious is a red apple,” and the Queen says, nonsense, Delicious is fig pudding, and the King says don’t be ridiculous, delicious is — I don’t know, a rare steak. Then there was a quest, and a national survey, and the stirrings of a civil war, until finally the kingdom found something to agree on. A cool drink of water when you’ve had nothing to drink for a long time.
My point here, I think, is that people don’t think it is their opinion they’re arguing for — it’s the definition of the word delicious, it’s an absolute truth of the universe. Delicious is chocolate! Period. Fashion is anti-feminist. Ballgowns and jeans cannot coexist. Fact. Antelope suck. The end. We’re not always very good at separating the subjective from the objective.
In other words: people are very illogical, and everything I need to know about the world I learned from reading kids books.
It’s probably a natural extension of the process of being self-aware. The only real experience you have is of being ‘you’, therefore the first connection you try to make when encountering something is ‘how does this affect/relate to me?” Primed with that answer, people feel ready to interact with whatever they just experienced.
Unfortunately, it seems a lot of people don’t like to think beyond that immediate ‘me’ reaction. They want to say something, but have nothing to say but an anti-me-too.
I think it’s what you said about books — it’s really personal, so someone saying it’s crap is like saying you are crap. But it’s NOT just books. We form our identity out of our likes and dislikes. If liking dogs or kids is a huge part of who you are, and your dog or your kid is a huge part of your life, then you might be a little skeptical of someone who says “I don’t like dogs” or “I don’t like kids” — I mean, what can you possibly have in common with someone like that? Most people here, I gather, love to read. Do you not feel the thrill of annoyance at those who are like “I never read, what a waste of time.”
Some people don’t like food. To them, food is just fuel. I have a hard time hanging out with those people. First of all, they aren’t any fun at dinner parties.
I understand the animosity less when it’s a particular kind of food. Justine loves food, but not chocolate. Scott loves food, but not meat. My agent loves food, but not sushi. We find common ground.
The other issue that leads to the defensiveness, I think, is the fact that so often people are put on the defensive for their personal taste. If they don’t like wine, for instance, it’s not that they don’t like wine, it’s that they have some kind of plebian lack of appreciation for the finer things in life. If they don’t like football, they’re unAmerican wimps. If they don’t slavishly follow the dictates of high fashion, their tacky and unfeminine philistines. So even if you are simply saying “oh, no wine? Cool, more for me!” the person who doesn’t like wine is so used to this pervasive attitude of them-as-philistine that they hear it from you no matter what it is you’re actually saying.
Which is why “childless by choice” people actually CALL THEMSELVES THAT, because they have to pre-empt the assumption that they CAN’T have kids, since clearly everyone who can, does.
Dare I say that great minds think alike? I ranted on this just after the Oscars:
http://zoethe.livejournal.com/726637.html
I can’t decide if the internet actively encourages solipsism or whether it freaks people out to by exposing them to larger groups of people than they ever encounter in their daily lives. More than that, I wonder if they go about in their daily lives thrusting their intolerant opinions into every conversation. It would certainly self-select their friends to the few who share their every belief.
I think you nailed it. It’s ego. No matter how open we all think we are, we also believe that any negative or strong statement pronounced within hearing distance is about us.
I don’t enjoy the TV series, Lost. I find it boring and so annoying with its false leads and its artificial cleverness (the product I’m sure of a bunch of boys smoking pot and sitting around a big table and seeing how clever they can be), that it makes me itch with irritation.
I’ve been jumped on for mentioning it. Rabid fans, you know. Perhaps their own existence/happiness is so wrapped up in whatever it is that a negative comment is actually a personal attack.
Say something critical about Twilight and you’ll get the same reaction.
Somewhere along the way good healthy debate about our differences became something bad. And that’s too bad.
Because of course there’s only one universal experience (i.e., what the other person likes/believes/does), and if you dare deviate from that, you must be brought forcefully back into the fold. *gag*
Okay, I should add that it’s about the self-awareness or lack thereof that Sofie mentioned above. When we can’t see outside our own filters–not being self-aware and understanding ours is just one way of being/thinking–we have to correct the other person so that he or she falls in line with our worldview.
I think that what Ted Lemon says is very key. Discourse is definitely about other things than the subject of discourse. Also, when readers visit JustineLarbalestier.com, whether they’re regular readers or not, it’s usually obvious that you are a person of firm opinions, and so they may be more likely to respond with firm opinions of their own. The tone of a blog post does a lot to set the tone of the comments. So if you love something strongly, it’s likely that you’ll get people here reacting in the opposite way just as strongly …
Because, on the internet, commenting is largely about reactions in an I-love-it/I-hate-it way. This is the off-the-cuff response that the web, I think, often encourages (e.g. with Facebook’s “like it” button). Actual real discussion can certainly be had, but you (the moderator) do have to work hard to make sure it happens. (Such as by posting things like this post.)
But yeah, I think ego has a lot to do with it, too.
Sigh. This is why I tend to lurk more than comment on most blogs. I also try to avoid engaging in comment thread argument with someone who believes strongly about something- those antelope-haters won’t change their minds just because I want them to.
Now we know what to urge Scalzi to do the next time he wants to raise money for something; it looks like more than a few would be amused by Scalzi + ballgown.
Also, while I am amazed every time I encounter someone who doesn’t care for chocolate (because so many love it, not because I find it unthinkable to dislike it), I don’t find fault–because it means I can have their share!!!!!!! I won’t have to guard my stash from them, either. How can that be bad?
OMG! I know you said lots of intelligent, thought-provoking things here but all I can say is that I’m SO HAPPY to meet someone else who hates chocolate! It does taste like death. Thinking about eating it makes my tongue feel fuzzy. It’s gross. It’s so nice to see someone who is not afraid to publicly admit they don’t like chocolate!
My own mother swears I must’ve been switched at the hospital because she loves chocolate so much.
Hrm. Put me down as one of the people who might state an opinion that looks rather in opposition….but only if you cast it in that light. I mean, if we’re discussing fashion–and I do have some few fashiony moments–I might actually say that I personally prefer jeans and tshirts and sensible shoes, IF you’d just stated what you like to wear, but it’s not in opposition to what you’d be saying. It’s because the subject was fashion, and you expressed what you wore/personal preference…that’s the subject at hand to me. If we’re talking Alexander McQueen, and somebody (not me! I love McQueen’s work! so sad about him! the last collection was gorgeous!) said they had no use for McQueen because they wore T-shirts and jeans, I’d be scratching my head, and then I’d try to disabuse them of the notion.
I have noted that one definitely has to be sort of careful how one expresses these things though. It’s easy for a statement about personal preferences to tip into judgey sounding statements. Or its easy to mistake somebody’s opinion for a judgement on other folks. (I found myself annoyed with somebody stating that all the folks who claim not to have TVs don’t impress them. And I was annoyed, not because I don’t watch TV, but because I’ve never tried to say that it’s anything other than my personal choice. But apparently I’m not allowed to bring it up, even when friends ask WHY aren’t you watching LOST/other popular show.)
On the internet, I think it’s ruder than it is in Real Life(tm) to posit these contrarian positions, because on the internet, it’s super easy to skibble off to another page or a conversation that interests me more. In Real Life(tm) I find that it’s less easy–people want to feel like they are part of the conversation, even if their position is a contrary one. If somebody brings up Twilight on the internet, and my opinions may harsh their squee, well, I skibble off to my own site, if I really feel the need to vent. In Real Life(tm), what are my options? (I might say it’s not my thing, but if somebody gets to proselytising, then I feel free to air my side.)
And then I guess….what is the unsaid thing when somebody posits one of these statements? If the statement is boiled down to “I have nothing else to offer on this topic,” than perhaps one should rethink. But I don’t think the hatred or love of antelopes is necessarily to be ignored, PROVIDED one is offering real and substantive contributions to the subject at hand.
Jo, it could just as easily be the opposite of ego. I think when it comes to some topics, someone who passionately loves something I hate can make me feel insecure. Like if I hear someone going on about W B Yeats or James Joyce. I can’t stand works by either of these guys, so I think a part of me wonders, when I hear that someone loves them, if I’m somehow an inadequate reader. I mean, I’m an English major–why don’t I get into these quintessentially literary artists?
I wonder if we’re more likely to have that crap-all-over-someone-else’s-fun response when the topic challenges some aspect of our sself-image. (Like how come The Office leaves me cold when all my smart friends seem to love it? Am I just not that smart? Is my sense of humor lacking?) I think I feel an impulse–one that can be controlled, of course–to tear down the offending topic, to prove that it’s not I who is inadequate, but those who like the thing I don’t get.
It might be fair to say that those of us who see ourselves as inadequate where fashion is concerned are overrepresented among the readers of this blog. Maybe some of us have a knee-jerk hostility to the world of fashion, and reading about someone else’s enjoyment of fashion–and the blog’s host, no less–makes some of us feel threatened, and makes some of us feel like we have to justify ourselves and our lack of fashion sense.
I have noticed this happens a lot with romance genre discussions, too. I have a friend who writes romance, and posted about being happy with her current work in progress, and immediately a well-meaning friend jumped in and talked about how she prefers to read Books With Substance. It struck me as the same kind of reaction you mention happening with your fashion posts. My romance writing friend enjoys reading other genres, too, but that isn’t really part of the topic at hand, is it?
Frustrating.
I think it might tie back to the sense that what one likes is personal, and letting other people know about it makes us vulnerable. When people say they don’t like things which we hold dear, it can feel like they’re judging us (even if they’re not). Aggressively stating one’s dislike for things can put the disliker in a power position from a best defense is a good offense sort of standpoint.
Maybe people are just making conversation?
Often times I will comment back only on things I agree with the person on, but others have written to me on other blogs I use about what they disagree with, to make conversation.
hehe, writing books about someone like yourself in bizarre situations *could* make a good story.
I think that when people say stuff like that they’re trying to validate their own opinion and the internet gives them the freedom to do it easily. That being said, I think the world they live in changes the way they perceive things – like in Japan where the Lolita look is popular in places – the girls who dress like that aren’t saying they approve of the paedophilia associated with the novel “Lolita”, they probably don’t even know about it. Their cultural background means their interpretation of the word “Lolita” is different.
I like to think that I allow for cultural differences when people react to things and say things without thinking, but what really bugs me is when people won’t even give things a chance. I find that particularly in rural Australia a lot of the kids I teach are dead set against religion – in particular, Christianity, to the point that they won’t even discuss it. I’m not particularly religious myself, but I don’t hate someone just because they believe in a particular God. A Jehovah’s Witness goes to my sister’s house every week to try to convince her that her religion is the true one. In return my sister tries to convince her that her beliefs are the true one.
I guess what my point is, is that people should really listen to what other people think instead of trying to drown them out with their own opinion.
Thanks everyone for such an excellent discussion. Was fantastic to wake up to.
Of course, if we are talking about ((whispers) unic***ns) none of your wise words apply…
It would be awesome if there were actually a filter preventing the word “uni**rn” from being typed in the comments here. *grin*
Well, I’m no PHP expert but I imagine it could be done if Justine hacks her blog program. The following should turn the evil word into something more sensible.
preg_replace(“/unicorn(s?)/i”, “zombie$1”, “unicorns”);
🙂
I agree with most of what people have said here about ego and forming identity around likes and dislikes. There’s the added element that this is a near-real-time “conversation” in which you can’t actually see, smell, feel, or hear your interlocutors, so an attack on something you love feels more like an attack.
But I think there’s a further element to it. There are the random trolls who’ll drop in on anyone who disagrees with them, but they are relatively rare. I think the folks who’ll disagree with you the most are probably people who read your blog regularly (correct me if I’m wrong. Maybe they’re lurkers.)
I say this because it’s really easy to identify very closely with a favorite blogger. I read many blogs, but there are a few, including this one, which I hit every day, or every time they’re updated, rather than, say, once a week or so. I do that partly because I feel a close match in values and opinions and ways of expressing them, and partly because I feel you express them *better* than I could, and are so much more reliable about actually expressing them. There are other reasons.
Basically, my favorite blogs do something for me that nothing else in the world does: a complex of being an organ for my opinions (when you can find the right favorite blogs), an information network for things I’m interested in but can’t find for myself, a place to react in near-real-time with the like-minded, etc. It’s like nothing else.
So when one of my favorite bloggers expresses a contrary opinion to mine, I actually feel betrayed. I’ve gone a bit overboard in the past (like many have admitted to doing above) to disagree with bloggers I read religiously when they have “betrayed” my trust, even though all they did was express an opinion they had a perfect right to express.
I’m sure it’s very annoying, and unaccountable, for the bloggers themselves, but blogging is still fairly new and we still don’t really know what kind of effect reading and participating in blogs has on how people interact with information and society. So it’s possible that blogging actually engages the emotions in a way we haven’t seen before.
I’ve noticed this occurs in verbal conversations as well. People no longer respond to the topic, but with “I had this same thing happen . . . ” or “I don’t agree . . . ” Conversation has become a game of one-upmanship centered around experiences and opinions rather than an exchange of ideas.
Some commentors may not realize (or think) that statements like “Give me jeans and t-shirts” are conversational dead-ends. I think this indicates an erosion of the art of conversation and debate as much as anything else. But I wonder, does it also illustrate a preoccupation with the individual?
We (especially in USA, but also in other countries) increasingly place the individual above everything else even to the detriment of self, society, etc. Perhaps this shift towards egotistical-based conversation subconsciously mimics that selfish preoccupation?
I’m curious. Do you find the positive egotistical comments equally perplexing? For instance, responses along the lines of “me, too!” with little else to say.
(PS What is with all the un***rn-hating? I’ve come to expect openness and acceptance of diversity on this blog, and am saddened by the blatant species-ism in some of the comments here.)
I wonder how much of liking or hating things other than people or resources is a cultural thing? Just curious because I’m living in Tanzania and studying antelope (really!) and here people often don’t have any view on them at all (perhaps with the exception of finding them tasty). That goes for lots of things here actually, and this level of acceptance or indifference (or whatever it is) sometimes results in unexpected tolerance. Maybe the tendency to unintentionally categories any/all things into “like” and “dislike” categories is influenced by privilege, and if so maybe privilege influences tolerance?
RE: Chocolate – my dearest, oldest friend didn’t like chocolate when I met her. Hated it. Would bake chocolate chip cookies sans chips. Then she got pregnant with her first boy, and suddenly loved chocolate. None of us can figure out why or how it changed. Some body chemistry or taste buds thing? She’s also one of those people who can’t abide certain bitter vegetables.
We should write a letter demanding there be a formal study. 😀
I recently had an osteopathis adjustment that didn’t fix the pain in my feet but removed my craving for chocolate. Yesterday I ate some of what used to be my favourite kind and have been feeling slightly nauseous ever since.