Beauty in the World (Stop Outrage Culture)

I started this post in 2020 but left it hanging in the balance when I lost the purpose of this narrative.

Initially, I wanted to comment on cancel culture, asking, “Do we cancel out all art because it doesn’t reflect the oppressed? What do we do about nostalgia and romanticized images of the past? Do they no longer hold value because entire groups were oppressed or subjugated? Without context, how can we not continue to discuss certain works intelligently? How can these individuals not serve as lessons of evolving mores and ideologies? What does cancel culture do to those artists who helped realize a specific vision, particularly in the filmed arts?”

What prompted this post? I don’t even remember. I initially found inspiration from one of the final duets from War Paint, a 2017 musical with music by Scott Frankel and lyrics by Michael Korie. This ballad, sung by Tony-winning powerhouses Patti LuPone (as Helena Rubinstein) and Christine Ebersole (as Elizabeth Arden) as the legendary beauty complex magnates and fierce rivals, imagines a meeting between both women. The song “Beauty in the World” is a poignant lament on changing times as they see their life’s work and influence diminishing, perhaps even fading away. Following is a portion of the song’s lyrics:

Christine Ebersole as Elizabeth Arden (L) and Patti LuPone as Helena Rubinstein (R) in War Paint. Photo: Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

Helena
Back when there was beauty in the world
Women had such elegance and grace
Fashion came and fashion went
Inner style was permanent
At least
When there was beauty in the world

Elizabeth
Long before the circus came to town
Every woman’s drama was her face
Eyes that glittered like a gem
The lovers we bewitched with them
Back then
When there was beauty in the world

Helena
Taste and poise
Were universal

Elizabeth
Now it’s noise

Helena
A dress rehearsal

Both
Gone the past
The age of everlasting beauty in the world

Deciding to flex my synapses this rainy day in March, I began thinking about this shelved post as I walked around my neighborhood, ignoring the light, steady drizzle. Three years ago, we went into lockdown mode as the COVID pandemic took over our lives. Three years later, we can never ignore the tally of one million American deaths as a result of the virus, a figure that includes my uncle, my mother’s last surviving relative in the United States.

Since the pandemic, our collective outrage has grown exponentially on all platforms. In addition to a wildly polarized voting population, our collective rage gave birth to “outage content,” further muddying the waters with a steady, roiling atmospheric river of toxicity and negativity.

In 2019, NPR featured this report, “How Outrage is Hijacking Our Culture and Our Minds.” Host Steve Inskeep said, “Anger draws Internet clicks, which is to say that many people now have a motive or even a business model for getting you mad.” We’re beyond the brush of rage now- thick into the woods without an exit plan beyond monetizing our anger and fear. It’s beyond cynical and reproach.

Instead, I will find new ground to build something more substantial and calmer.

As for the beauty in the world, if you’re on the same path to restoring mental wellness as I am, it is essential to first find the beauty in yourself. Step away from the platforms trading on outrage and vanity, which continue to cloud your sense of stability. Romanticizing the past is not the answer, but its glow can be therapeutic. Pick the parts that apply to our present reality. But we need to cancel the constant stream of outrage. We’re out of dress rehearsal time – the curtain is up. Make it count.

Photo: Balenciaga: Shaping Fashion, V&A Museum, South Kensington, London, 2017

Why I write.

I choose to write because I can’t always keep all these thoughts running roughshod in my head in one place.

Words on a page, or in this case, words on a screen, make these feelings seem natural and harmless, even though I know they can hurt me if I let them roam too freely. But they make greater sense when they appear in front of me, written by hand or typed into existence. I can order and re-order these feelings with a swift keystroke, adding or subtracting their intensity with decisiveness. Sometimes, my editing can make these words lie for me, pushing away my motivations or lessening them, so I don’t worry the reader about my state of mind. Yet, truth is constantly pulsing underneath, waiting for its turn to be seen and heard.

I write because the world I live in isn’t always the one I want to see. You can build a better place with the right words and frame of mind. I can create a more beautiful self or a happier persona, obfuscating the grey truth as to why I’m not who I should be or want to be as a 55-year-old man. I can build a world that seems limitless, one with bolts of vivid color and endless horizons that feel like hope and longer stretches of time to fill with avoidance, procrastination, and festering guilt as to level this foundation of excuses as to why I can’t seem to change or make myself better.

I write because this defiant means of self-expression cures my often paralyzing loneliness, knowing that these words mean I exist with two people in the room where these thoughts materialize and become corporeal. I see the person taking shape before me, knowing it reflects who I am at that moment. I can be a Dr. Frankenstein, choosing the bits of me that make a whole person, all brought to life with an impulsive jolt of creativity and insight. I am not a monster, though, although sometimes I feel monstrous in my hunger to be noticed and validated.

I write to stave off the noise of a world that feels hellbent on keeping boxed and labeled as unworthy.

I write because it is what makes sense in the nonsense that threatens to overwhelm me to the point of pushing me into a space that looks like oblivion, but I know it is so much worse.

I write because words matter, and I know I matter just as much.

I write because it feels so fucking good to let these feelings out.

I write because I fear I will cease to exist if I don’t.

I write because I know I’m not the only one who does this for all the same reasons.

“I would rather be a soul than a body. I would rather be fluid than frozen. This is why I share when I’m hurting. Because I am alive. And it is terrifying and brilliant. It is the most profound argument for love I have ever known.”

@Alokvmenon

Brains, heart, and courage.

Being short-tempered with total strangers must be symptomatic of our pandemic reality. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Throwing a strop because I didn’t notice PreChek was not part of my boarding pass is no one’s fault but my own for not stopping to notice it was missing, assuming my entitled traveler’s privilege was blissfully intact. It wasn’t, choosing smug indignation instead of calm acceptance with the TSA agents when they pointed it out.

Walking away, I started to think. “Fuck, bitch. You are being an asshole. Stop for a moment. Breathe. Be aware of how you’re responding to the outside world. They aren’t to blame for your being sloppy and careless.”

To be honest, everything sets me off. I’ve done more eye-rolling this week than I care to admit, practically a ballet in terms of its poetic flow and technique. Being reactive and not proactive will not serve anyone for the better.

I’ve been hearing people constantly calling out others for their bad behavior, of having the last word to stake the moral high ground. Will anyone take indignation and a finger-wagging, “Don’t do this to me or anyone else ever again!” to heart? Can it make us feel better spelling out such emotions in an era of selfishness and arrogance? If everyone is only out for themselves, is it cowardice to want to just let the shit go, opting to focus on your own peace of mind and wellness?

I’ve been hearing people constantly calling out others for their bad behavior, of having the last word to stake the moral high ground. Will anyone take indignation and a finger-wagging, “Don’t do this to me or anyone else ever again!” to heart? Can it make us feel better spelling out such emotions in an era of selfishness and arrogance? If everyone is only out for themselves, is it cowardice to want to just let the shit go, opting to focus on your own peace of mind and wellness?

How do we reach the point of keeping calm and carrying on without losing our integrity or mental stability? These are the questions I’m looking to answer for myself. Until then, I must remind myself to take a beat before reacting. My point of detonation has nothing to do with the situation; it’s a reaction to my frustration of knowing it is time to find a new path away from past mistakes and erasing my false selves holding me back from becoming a better, healthier person.

Two things come to mind that might work well within the themes of this post. First up, reading Rutanya Alda’s diary on the making of the infamous Joan Crawford biopic Mommie Dearest makes for an entertaining way to spend a flight. Within the juicy diary entries, Alda compiled into “The Mommie Dearest Diary: Carol Ann Tells All,” I found this gem of a quote about her estimation of Faye Dunaway, who submarined her career playing Crawford. Alda, featured in the infamous film as Carol Ann, Joan’s loyal secretary, secretly kept a vigilant eye and ear on the proceedings involving the production of the film. Towards the end of the book, it is clear Alda felt no real love for Dunaway, who distanced herself from the film upon its release and its eventual rise as a camp classic. Alda wrote this section in reaction to La Dunaway’s abusive treatment of the cast and crew during the making of the film:

“A perfectionist ought to be someone who sees perfection and finds perfection around them,” Alda stated. “It’s the imperfectionists like Faye and Barbra (Streisand) who keep looking for the imperfection until they find it, for what we focus on, we will find. Why demand perfection if you can’t offer it?”

Given my current state of mind, Alda’s quote resonated strongly. It became part of a double whammy thanks to watching The Wizard of Oz on the flight, my first viewing in several years. The Cowardly Lion says at one point he’s a “victim of disorganized thinking.”  Oh, that hit home, hard and fast. I am aware of my faults and know they’ve been the biggest obstacles in my journey to straighten up and fly right. But I refuse to allow my sentimentality and desire to “keep the peace” to be viewed as either or a crime or a sign of weakness.  The world is fighting for bragging rights, last words, and the power of being “right.” Fuck that jazz. I want to live.

As I put these final words down, my playlist du jour is bringing Taylor Swift’s “Anti-Hero” to my ears. I agree with her, too  It is exhausting rooting for the antihero, especially when you recognize the problem is yourself. Shut out the noise of people telling you what’s wrong and what you should do to fix yourself. I know it comes from caring, but only you know what it will take to be aware and “healed.” Until then, I offer this bolt of positivity: “You got this, kid.” Don’t lose sight of the prize, which is self-control and contentment on your terms. Engage your brains, heart, and courage. Until then, stop punishing yourself and the people in your orbit. They have their own journeys to reconcile.