Let People Hate Things

Before we get started, I just want to add a disclaimer that this is about art. I’m not going to get back in the weeds of an old Facebook post in which I once said (in a rather basic way) that people should like what they like without a sense of “Guilty Pleasure”. Just own your appreciation for what you find pleasant, I said, do your thing. It took, I believe, two comments and around fifteen minutes for someone to say “UNLESS IT’S CHILD PORN.” To which I should’ve said, “Quite right, you fucking dildo. At what point did you think that’s what we were talking about here, when my lead-in was saying that Britney Spears actually had some good songs?”

But I didn’t, as I have tact. Instead I just said something along the lines of “Well obviously. Maybe read the assignment next time.” Shockingly enough, they don’t really talk to me anymore. I can’t fathom the insights I’m missing out on these days.

But as that serves as a rather fantastic jumping-off point, let’s just start here. I have always and will always be a strong proponent of art being a wholly subjective experience. Whether that art is read, watched, or listened to, we bring so much of ourselves to the proceedings that it seems to me to be a rather preposterous exercise to describe it as anything else. Sure, the art itself exists as its own entity, a creature that was created by a creator with a very individual identity and soul, but once that art is released upon the world, then it becomes a part of that world and is then experienced by all manner of people who, if we’re being honest, rarely give a damn about the how or why it actually came to be (on the basest of creative levels). People will see what is in front of them, and they’ll internalize it so they can understand it, and that understanding of that art will inevitably be reflective of their understanding of most everything else. Which is to say: Flawed, limited, and, in all likelihood, a little self-important.

That might sound pithy, but it’s genuinely not intended to be. I just think people are limited in their objectivity, usually mistaking their own personal quirks and grievances for said-objectivity, and it’s rather hilarious to act like they’re not. Especially in the case of art and one’s enjoyment of it.

Given this now thoroughly-established context, I’d like to launch an aggressive broadside against one of my absolute least favorite dialogues in modern times. It is seen in the Twitterverse, blogs, forums, and any group that was spawned over the past five to seven years, usually said with the tone of a holier-than-thou churchgoer at yet another disappointing baked goods sale. Those words? “Let people like things.” That’s it. And, I’ll admit, while they might appear to be fairly anodyne, I assure you they are highly annoying. They’re like someone stabbing you in the eye with a very tiny tomato. And if you don’t believe me, well too damn bad, because we’ve already established the concept of subjectivity and what a bummer for you, you’ve wound up in a world of mine.

Let people like things. Keeping this within the world of movies, books, and music, I don’t actually have a problem with the statement as it is. It reeks of pretense, sure, but other than that it’s not aggressive in any particular way. There’s no use of profanity, no slurs, no discernible malice. But what there is, is an avalanche of implication. What is that implication? Well, suffice it to say that if we are talking about a movie and one person says to the other that they don’t like a movie, and the other’s reaction is to say “Let people like things!”, that is a problem. It’s a dialectic problem. It’s a communication problem. And it’s really fucking annoying.

Because it insinuates 1. That talking about art and personal preference is only societally acceptable if you are in agreement; which, for the record, takes all the fun out of talking about art. And 2. That the very expression of a negative opinion in regards to said art could somehow strip away the enjoyment of it that might’ve been felt by others. The first point should be viscerally appalling to anyone who’s ever had an independent thought in their life. And the second point should be annoying to anyone who doesn’t find their opinions on the things they enjoy to be so manifestly fragile that the very notion of someone saying their artistically-subjective viewpoint is wrong could strip away the enjoyment they claim to have experienced.

It is at this point I will add an addendum. A notation. NOTATION ADDENDUM: As someone who was once an insecure child, then an insecure teenager, then, at times, an insecure adult, I understand that it can be frustrating to find out that the thing you like is not enjoyed by everyone else. Indeed, the thing you like might be genuinely hated. It can be a bummer to feel like that thing you thought you and another might bond over will now most definitely not be bonded over. I want you to know that this is okay. But the simple fact of the matter is, since everyone is bringing their own selves to the artistic experience, no one is seeing the same movie, or hearing the same song, or reading the same book that you are. They’re experiencing their version of it, just as you’ve experienced yours, and those two versions of the same thing will often fail to align. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

So yes. People will, inevitably, like what they like. They only become annoying when either they insist you like it too or demand your silence, lest it lessen or poison their enjoyment.

In a social sense, this is stupid as it cripples the chance for a good conversation about what we like and what we don’t. In a character sense, it’s juvenile as it says quite loudly that your likes and dislikes are still mired in the high schoolerian concept of “I must be validated or else I’m sad.” And in an artistic sense, it’s infantile. There’s nothing more petulant, more insipid, than living in a world in which whether or not someone else enjoys your artistic quirk validates or invalidates it. It would be much easier, and save everyone else a lot of time, if you were to simply hold up a sign or banner that read “Please don’t express opinions. I’m not equipped to handle them.”

Now at this point, a caveat, an aside! ASIDE CAVEAT: I understand that, sometimes, people just like to say they like things without the potential of someone else saying their thing is stupid. I get that. I think it’s far more fun to find out who someone is by listening to them talk about the things they love, but I understand why there are more than a few people in the world for whom the conversation generally ends at “Well. I liked it.”…and that’s about it. There’s nothing wrong with that, “Less is more!” as they say, but it is a bit boring and you still need to be prepared for someone to say “Well I didn’t.” (While trying to decide how to handle this crushing realization). So this caveat is all to say that the only way you’ll ever truly avoid anyone’s dissenting opinions is to not openly state any of your own. And honestly, what fucking fun is there in that?

I mean this with all the sincerity I can muster, despite the sarcastic and pedantic nature of this dialogue: I’ve learned more about people from our long and rambling conversations (and arguments) about art than I have about almost anything else. Because, spoiler alert, most people find that it’s hard to talk about themselves, unless of course they’re the sort of insufferable idiot who thinks they’re endlessly fascinating. But if you ask what people like, they’ll tell you and they’ll often tell you why. And if you ask what people hate, they’ll do the very same thing (probably with a bit more gusto). It doesn’t have to be adversarial, although those conversations are fun; it can simply be a conversation in which you chat with someone over an artistic opinion that you’re both in stark disagreement over. You’ll learn a lot about strangers. And you’ll learn a lot about friends.

If you ask someone what they like or dislike, they’ll tell you who they are. More than anything, they’ll tell you if they’re interesting and have something of value to say. I’ve listened to a friend defend Marvel movies (a cinematic endeavor I truly have no time for) and come away with a far deeper appreciation for that friend, not because of the movie they’re describing but the person they wound up telling me they were. By the same token, I’ve listened to a person talk about the very same Marvelous topic (and opinion) with such self-importance, such fragility and genuine emptiness, that I never really wanted to listen to them again. (Sidenote: I caved and gave them another chance, and they were even worse in a myriad of holier-than-thou ways).

And who would I be if I didn’t mention the time I found out I was in a car with an anti-Semite, due to their thoughts on Schindler’s List? The social utility is without end!

People will always tell you who they are if you listen, and you’ll never be able to listen to anything if no one is speaking. Talking about what you love helps spur that conversation onward. Talking what you hate propels the conversational boat just as well. And the truth is? With the right company, either one is just as much fun as the other. So then let’s try to end this on a positive note, why don’t we? On the topic of Art, people will always like and dislike things. They might do so with deep thought and deeper understanding or it might be more of a knee-jerk reflection of who they are, but it will be there because it’s them. And it is far more fulfilling and far less limiting to talk about both rather than begging for the societal silence of half of who a person happens to be.

If you want to exist in a world where people are comfortable talking about what they like, you have to be comfortable existing in one in which they talk about all that they don’t. Because, I hate to break it to you, people dislike a lot of things and life is far too short for pretense. So like things! Hate things! Feel absolutely fucking ambivalent! Just be prepared to tell people why, if they happen to ask. Because the why is so much more interesting than the what, and it always will be. And you wouldn’t believe the friends you might make if you have the confidence to be yourself and talk about all the things that shaped you and everything that (thankfully) did not.

And if you don’t want that space for disagreement to exist, that big old world outside of yourself? Well. Then you’re not looking for individual complexity. You’re not looking for depth. You’re living your life yearning for either the high school clique you wish you’d never left or the one you were never able to join. Good luck with real life, fellow human. Your spine and opinions have the load-bearing strength of a stick man, and you haven’t even been drawn on one of the heavier pieces of paper.

Let me know how it all works out for you. Although I’m sure you won’t want to hear my thoughts on the matter.