Today I am walking into walls. Apparently I have lost the ability to manage a straight line. But why should this stop me from soliloquising about internet matters? No reason at all.
To that end:
I coincidentally came across two articles about when and how much to care about what other people think.
Dani Shapiro wrote “What do you do when the internet hates you?” for the May edition of Elle magazine (I read it originally in print where it had a different title, but I’m tired and I forget; forgive me). And then Emma Gray wrote “In praise of women who give all the fucks” for the Huffington Post. (She asterisked her title, but I can swear on my own blog if I want to.)
Says Dani: Care less. Says Emma: Care more. This would of course not be the first time that women receive contradictory advice on how to be properly feminine from the Professional Womanification Guild. Actually, if we got consistent advice, they’d probably go out of business. But anyway:
“I’d hear from my agent that they were going in a different direction. Someone taller. Or they wanted a redhead. Or whatever. All I ever heard, thrumming beneath the ostensible reasons, was that I wasn’t good enough, or talented enough—not even to smile fetchingly and hold up a can of soda. Look,they just didn’t find you appealing, my agent once told me. I lived in a debilitating state of chronic insecurity, which I dealt with by exercising more, starving myself further, and making myself blonder. I was operating under the dangerous delusion that if only I could burnish myself into some sort of perfection, I’d be chosen. Truth be told, I was a lousy actress. I was self-conscious, tongue-tied, prone to blushing and stammering in front of the camera. It would have been merciful for someone to take me by the hand and tell it to me straight, put me out of my misery. I was careening down the wrong path, trying with all my might to squeeze myself into somebody else’s life.
“…It may sound quaint now, but in those days you’d actually have to go to a newsstand to pick up a magazine or newspaper. I was living in New York City, and I would haunt the newsstand on the corner of 82nd Street and Broadway, because that vendor got his shipment first. There were lovely surprises, like opening up the new Vogue to see a glowing review of my book written by a heroine of mine. But the negative attention was swift and vicious. The word bimbo was used as a caption beneath my photo in the New York Observer. A male writer I admired wrote a highly personal character assassination of me in New York magazine—I’d quote it for you, but I didn’t keep a copy (and I can’t find it online, I swear). I cried for three days in my apartment. Once again I felt I was being judged not for what I wrote, but for who I was. My life, reviewed.
“Of course, you might say I asked for it. To be a writer—to do anything that involves putting oneself out there—is to invite criticism. And if you write about personal stuff, well, what do you expect?
“…It seems to me that when we inhabit ourselves— when we say, This is who I am in all my flawed humanity—we are taking a step toward being most real. And when we buy into the opinions of perfect strangers whose feelings about us may be based on random data ranging from something they read to what we’re wearing and even to their own projections, we are being assaulted and governed by the unreal. As I’ve written this essay, I haven’t once thought about how it will be received in the world. If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to write it—I’m revealing quite a lot about myself, some of it is quite painful and unflattering. But as I come to the end, now I can imagine some possible reactions: Humblebrag…Who the hell does she think she is?…How dare she dismiss all those online reviews just because she doesn’t like them? The ugly comments from the past may even be flung back at me. You are a spoiled, pretentious crybaby. But that’s okay. I’m no longer dancing for the shadows. I’m just a shot of whiskey—not for everybody.
“And so I close the door. I write these words. I don’t click over to Google to see what people think. In the silence—in the absence of all those voices—here is where I discover who I am.”
I’ve quoted a fair bit of Dani here, and my apologies for that. But she makes an interesting point and she makes it well, in my opinion. The public criticism is of course painful and she’d rather have praise. But ultimately she recognizes that these people are allowed to dislike her and allowed to say so. That said, she’s decided to carry on being herself and doing what she does anyway.
People don’t like you? Dani says, don’t give a fuck! Fuck them fuckers. They don’t know what the fuck they are talking about. Or even if they do, so the fuck what? You don’t have to be something they like.
(And flip side: they don’t have to like you. It’s allowed.)
Whereas Emma argues that we have reached, in a memorable phrase, “peak lack of fucks given,” perhaps to our detriment.
“But it also can be deeply exhausting pretending not to give a fuck about everything — and at times, it may prevent us from fully embracing the fucks we do need to give. The simple fact remains: to affect real change, and feel anything deeply, you probably need to give quite a few fucks.
“…We might be closer to embracing “strong women,” but we also want those “strong women” to have an uncanny ability to “let it go.” Express messy emotion? Probably don’t. Show just how hard you try? Ditto.
“…Since when did caring the least about everything — or at least convincingly pretending to — become the most attractive quality a woman could possess? The only way you’re going to be able to rise above and give fewer fucks about the bullshit is if you actually give a fuck about something else.”
I think the two of them managed to say the same thing after all:
Decide what you do give a fuck about, and then don’t give a fuck about anything else. Dani gives a fuck about finding out who she is, being real, being herself, and writing. As a result she doesn’t modify her writing to appease her critics, because that would interfere with the more important goals of self-discovery and authenticity. Emma valorizes Amy Schumer, who has similarly decided to be bravely and authentically herself in public, and not allow the voices of others to detract from her self-confidence.
I can attest to this method. It works.
It’s also relevant that both Dani and Emma and the women they discuss have editors. Their work is not immune to professional criticism. They have gatekeepers who criticize their work, who have standards, and who can at least somewhat impose those standards on the work. In that sense, they haven’t decided not to care about what anyone else thinks; they’ve just decided to care about what a limited number of people in certain contexts think. If they didn’t, it’s unlikely that they would have achieved the professional success that they have.
These articles highlight something else that’s interesting and, to me, overlooked:
“Not giving a fuck” doesn’t mean “not disliking.” It’s an active, mental decision not to engage with something rather than a passive lack of emotion about whatever has gone on.
Dani is quite honest about disliking those negative reviews. Amy, in Emma’s piece, was very open about the dark place that criticism used to take her. Both of them are actively choosing not to engage rather than just not feeling any discomfort or unhappiness about the criticism. This also rings true for me: it’s not that I enjoy being disliked or criticized (or when a few hundred people at a public event start shouting that I should be fired, for instance). It’s not that I’m emotionally neutral on it, either. It’s that I’ve made an active choice about what I’m going to prioritize, and if something isn’t on that list, then whether or not I like it is irrelevant and I’m going to keep going.
Seen that way, “I don’t give a fuck” isn’t a statement about feelings but about values. And it is–I think this is overlooked too–a statement that contains with in it an implicit valuation of what other people want us to feel and care about. One doesn’t say, out of nowhere, “I don’t give a fuck about air mattresses,” for example, and if one ever did, it would immediately invite speculation about who exactly does give a fuck about air mattresses, and why. Whereas if I were to say “I don’t give a fuck about public transit” (a statement which I hasten to add is not true), it immediately brings to mind an entire debate about whether or not public transit is important, to whom, why, and possible positions.
Not Giving a Fuck is what happens when you’ve decided what you DO Give a Fuck about, when someone disapproves of your choices, makes you aware of that disapproval, and when you–regardless of how you feel about that disapproval–decided to carry on in the face of that disapproval.
So to sum up, here’s How Not to Give a Fuck about Things That Are Not Worth Giving a Fuck About:
- Decide what it is you are going to give a fuck about. You can’t get around this step. What do you love, what do you care about, what are you willing to go to the mat for?
- When disapproval surfaces of something you have said, done, or made (or conversely, not said, not done, not made), re-evaluate: is there something going on here that should have been part of your Give A Fuck List? If yes, add it, care, and behave that way. If no:
- Keeping saying/not saying, doing/not doing, making/not making, what you were before. Go ahead and feel all the messy and uncomfortable feelings that come along with disapproval. One day they may lessen or go away, and maybe not. This is called “courage.” One does not get to the pinnacle of No Fucks to Give without quite a lot of it.
In the meantime, you have your work to do. You know what it is. Do it.
5 thoughts on “Not too tired to pontificate, thank god”
Oh dear. I spend a lot of time extolling the virtues of self-interrogation, but often wonder whether or not the criticism of fucks given is specifically female. Notice that few or no men talk about how few fucks they give. (Or, at least not in my experience.) It’s a given. When Emma talks about feeling your feelings and tells us to give. a. fuck. Welllllll, power comes from the balance of the two in each respective situation, and not from the absence of one or the other. This is the way I think of it, instead of rationing of fucks. Every situation has a mean (I’m cribbing Aristotle), and the goal is to hit that mean.
Also, I should mention that my most uttered phrase in my head lately is, “I don’t care about your opinion” and/or “I couldn’t care less what you think.” What actually comes out is, “Thanks for your opinion, but I think I’m going to stick to it.” I think this sort of thing needs to be said aloud, rather than just acted upon, because otherwise people think they’re being helpful when they’re just imposing. I think this is the origin of no fucks given: the unconstructive input or opinions of others, which is more commonly doled out to women than to men, because it takes a village? Women are less capable? I say this as a feedback addict, who’s trying to separate the wheat from the chaff.
I totally agree with you on the gendered thing. What to Care About and How Much is pretty well exclusively a feminine obsession, IMO. And men aren’t policed about it in the same way.
As to why, that’s a great question. It may very well be that women are assumed to be less capable. I mean, of course they are. I think there may also be an element of women existing to serve other people, rather than themselves. If you’re doing femininity right, culturally speaking, you’ll put the feelings of the people who are telling you that you’re doing it wrong ahead of your own feelings that you’re doing it fine.
I’m not sure if I agree with you on the mean, though. Different people will naturally care about different things to a different extent. (This is one way that GOMI often irritates me; so many posters there seem convinced that there is only way correct amount to care about each thing and anyone who cares about these things differently is a WRONG PERSON WHO IS LIVING LIFE WRONG.) I have to think that there are many obscure economic concepts which you will give way more of a fuck about than I ever will, and I somehow doubt that the MNR’s internal procedures on processing renewable energy studies rates high on your day-to-day Fuck list.
So the rationing strikes me as inevitable. The longer you live, the more roles and obligations and relationships you accrue, the more things and people and institutions will be demanding CARE and ATTENTION and a RESPONSE AT THIS VERY MOMENT, not one second later. And eventually, one does run out. Biologically, neurologically, our poor brains run out of Fuck-calories at a certain point and just start staring blankly back at the people and institutions who insist that we need to care more about what they think. (Kind of like willpower, which also turns out to be a neurologically finite resource that depletes actual calories, just like going on a run.)
Basically, in the long term, speaking from exhaustive (pun intended) personal experience, in order to guarantee one’s own mental health and survival as an autonomous human being, one needs to figure out what one cares about and what one doesn’t care about, and stick to it. It is essentially impossible to function as a single mother of a child with 14 doctors and a couple of chronic medical conditions myself and still give any weight whatsoever to, for example, the dictates of the Interior Decorating Experts, or community norms regarding lawn height.
Love this piece (and love Dani Shapiro!) I give a fuck far too much about unimportant things, which takes away from the mental energy to give a fuck about things that matter. I’m going to be more mindful of that from now on. Thank for writing this.
Thanks, Jen. 🙂 You’ve never struck me as someone who gets her energy invested into a lot of extraneous stuff, though.