My Elitism Problem

I lost my cynicism a few years back. I even support the adolescent ardor for Justin Bieber, who seems to earn all manner of derision and ridicule from those people who forget what it is like to be young and evolving. I loved Shawn Cassidy and David Hasselhoff’s Knight Rider; go ahead and laugh at me.

How I’ve grown. Here is a list of shows I have never seen, except, say, when I’ve caught them over someone’s shoulder: American Idol, Survivor, Lost, The Bachelor, 2.5 Men, Desperate Housewives, Family Guy, and Sex and the City. And this is the short list. My personal time is limited, and I try and use it wisely. I read high-falutin’ magazines like The New Yorker, The Atlantic, and The Sun, or I read books and poetry. I also like to do the New York Times crossword puzzles, although I’m not smart enough for the Friday or Saturday puzzles. This is not to say that I don’t enjoy television, but I choose a show that I’d like to watch, like Glee—it’s campy, catchy and you can dance to it— and then I order it through Netflix. This prevents me from getting sucked into the brain-numbing black hole of popular programming.

However, before you label me as a cultural elitist, consider that one must disdain those who love easy entertainment to earn this moniker. On the contrary, aside from programs that reinforce gender stereotypes (such as Sex and the City), it is perfectly reasonable to watch any of the shows listed above. I support the urge to shut down one’s higher faculties and wallow in network muck. We all have to do it. However, all things in moderation, take the road less traveled, and whatever other aphorism expresses that if you let yourself off too easily, you’re going to end up with a flabby intellect. We do not begrudge the donut eater their one donut, but we’re appalled when the donut eater polishes off the entire dozen. Shouldn’t we be equally appalled when the viewer gorges constantly on the empty calories of pop culture and leaves no room for the fiber of brainier pursuits?

Often, the urge to label someone a nerd comes from the lurking suspicion that you’re not trying hard enough, and rather than change a personal behavior, it’s easier, and more self-affirming, to point the finger and say elitist, nerd, egghead, whatever. It’s the same drive that labels a slender woman as “anorexic” and a confident man as “cocky.” Because we’re unwilling to do the work to attain the same levels of commitment and success that the target of our disgust has worked for.

My interest in this whole topic is a personal one, and the point I’m trying to get to is this: It offends me that I have friends who couldn’t be bothered to pick up a book of poetry, because a rejection of poetry is a rejection of me. The labels that they might apply to poetry are “dated,” “flowery,” “boring,” “irrelevant” or some other derogatory term intended to let them off the hook since poetry often requires work. It can be difficult, not just because it’s cask-strength language, but it can also be emotionally vexing. So for some who resist poetry, it’s because they can’t be bothered to comprehend it, and for others, it’s because they can’t be bothered to feel difficult feelings. I can sympathize to a certain extent with those who resist for the second reason; I often avoid entertainment that pushes me to face despair. I still haven’t seen Schindler’s List. I never finished reading Sophie's Choice. However, blaming poetry for one’s intellectual laziness is a shame, and I wish more people would add it to their daily consumption of media.