A few months ago, I was hastily walking into Star Market to gather supplies for French Onion Soup – a dish I’d never made before – primarily to impress a certain girl. As I left my car, I was caught off guard by the sky over the parking lot. It was sprinkled with clouds, each fighting it’s own battle between the fading blue of the eastern sky and the growing fiery sunset to the West. It reminded me of some memes I’d seen joking about the beauty of the sky when you’re in an otherwise mundane grocery store parking lot, versus how dreary the sky is when you’re in an otherwise scenic location. So, I took a picture and threw it up on my Instagram story. I captioned it something in the nature of “parking lot sunsets undefeated” and resumed my buying of 8 onions and 3 packages of beef broth. When I checked later I had a mixed response. I got some heart reactions, and also some more creative responses. One friend said it looked like a 2014 tumblr post. Another said, and I quote, “super gay.” This took be a bit off guard – I mean, shit, it’s just a nice picture. I think it’s representative of a larger issue: We find ourselves trapped in an ironic age.

Gay Sunset

Any attempt of communicating earnestly risks being seen as embarrassing or manipulative. To make a post, you’re essentially required to lean into the irony of it. If you don’t bake in some self-aware sarcasm or joke, it will often illicit a negative response. I actually don’t totally dislike this. Being ironic, or post ironic, is fun to read. It’s fun to write. To be snarky, to make fun of the world, to show self awareness, I’m all for it. Most of my Instagram posts are deliberately low-effort for a similar reason – I think it’s enjoyable. But in cases like my sunset post, I worry we’re losing something.

An old friend of mine posted this week for the first time in a while about his return to his ancestral home in Taiwan. He listed all the ways he rediscovered his heritage, met old family members, learned about his culture, and so on. It was a heartfelt post, something really genuine and oasis of REAL on an app trying to be ironic (or just hot.) The top comment: “WHAT IS BLOOD YAPPING ABOUT?!” Look, I know it’s just his friend trying to be funny. I’m sure he’s actually very well supported in this. But, why is everywhere a place to make ironic jokes? It ‘s like we have some fundamental fear of just being straightforward. Like being ironic has gone from a fun method of communicating a self awareness to being a shield from honestly communicating feelings. As a result, we don’t know what anyone thinks much anymore. Are they being ironic? Serious? Post ironic? And worse: when I do just post something unironic (albeit a little corny) it gets real pushback. I love making jokes, I love being ironic, but sometimes I just want to show people something, or be excited for someone else’s happy moment.

The event-horizon of irony is a tricky one, partially because many people stumble over it haphazardly and partially because some people intentionally abuse it for deniability. The haphazard side can be annoying or endearing – either way I am guilty. Many a time I’ve made a sarcastic complement only to have to pretend I meant it seriously when it was interpreted that way. Suddenly, I’m pretending I really did like your cargo pants. There’s also some humor in the opposite error, which I’ve also experienced. You tell someone you like their hair and get a swift “fuck off..” Sort of it’s own tax for making too many ironic jokes in the past. The other side is the side of abuse – those who decide whether they were being ironic after they see the response they get.

You laugh? Great, I was being ironic.

You respond seriously? Well, maybe I was being serious.

You’re pissed off? I was being post-ironic (which has it’s own blurry line with earnestness.)

These people conversationally tap-dance around irony whenever it is convenient. As I’ve said, I’ve had to play off my own errors by doing some tapdancing myself, but the folks I’m talking about aren’t just avoiding some awkward social interaction, it’s a specific social strategy to expertly dodge blame. Sam Hyde comes to mind. Sam is a youtuber specializing in “pranks” and “jokes”, while weaponizing irony to build a very real base of support from those who would be ostracized elsewhere. In this, he can preach a despicable sermon in his videos, but also dodge critique by responding — “Oh..? You didn’t get the joke…?” Not only does this discourage critique, but also empowers the fans as they suddenly feel superior to those making valid critiques. After all, they just didn’t get the joke. Sam is the Muhammad Ali of avoiding accountability, and he’s a part of a much larger trend of this that more and more includes cultural influencers and politicians.

I say this all of this because I’m myself faced with a recent challenge to my ability to decipher irony. A friend who I know well and am quite comfortable making ironic jokes with made multiple comments about violence against others. This then led to him discussing quite casually how he did not like them and wanted to come up with some jokes about them. So – we have to take a step back here and consider that I’m taking this all away from context, which will immediately make any joke sound horrible. We had also been drinking, and he has a history of hit or miss edgy jokes. Still, it’s a bizarre thing to say in any circumstance, especially followed by genuine beliefs of his. So, ironic or no? Well, do I think he was making a genuine offer to go and commit that violence? No. If someone’s looking for a co-conspirator I would be a weak candidate due to my lack of forearm strength and general morality. That being said, was it totally ironic, a harmless joke meant to get a response through exaggeration? Well, I don’t know. “Let’s go be violent.” The reason someone might laugh at this is at least because they relate to an annoyance at the target. At worst, because they agree explicitly with the idea. it’s ambiguous, but revealing. It’s also interesting that he felt I’d enjoy it — a misread. But a misread based on what? What have I projected to him to make him think that? There isn’t a clear answer here, but I think some judgement is in order. Of him and of myself. Bad joke? Implicit assessment of me? Projection of the worst in him? Yes, yes, and yes. Northing ironic about that.

The French Onion soup date night was a success, and thankfully I didn’t fuck up the soup. That night is was raining – which is great for soup indulgence but terrible for sunsets. For a moment, even as the date progressed well, I missed the parking lot sunset. There will be more, fortunately.