The Veil of Irony: How to Hide in Public

Many years ago, before I was a Head, I had a very good conversation with some high-achieving students; we knew each other very well and had a very warm relationship with lots of laughter and friendly banter. They were worried they were not getting enough sleep due to a combination of work pressure (self-imposed or otherwise), social life, high-expectations, procrastination and so on. They were (half-heartedly) asking for less work and we were discussing what trade offs we were prepared to make. It was, in other words, a typical pastoral conversation with teens.

Later that week I received an email, apparently from a US University that I had not heard of, decrying the overwhelming workload on High School students.  It asked me to complete a survey on sleep. When I started the survey I recognised a typical prank from this group, and determined to outdo them, I replied.

Thank you for this request.  I could not agree more that sleep is a critical factor in education. I find the questions you ask are too conservative, and I would like to propose a bold solution. I would like to trial a year where we introduce a pedagogy of slumber into mathematics lessons. This will entail sleeping while the lessons are underway – adding several hours of sleep a week.  Multi-tasking in this way is enormously efficient and will require no extra resources to implement (students can bring their own pillows). I would welcome a conversation about the statistical analysis that might validate the impact of such a project.

Alas, subsequent correspondence and a close check on the researcher who had contacted me revealed that it was actually a legitimate contact, and I had to have an embarrassing conversation with him to explain. I have been more wary of irony ever since.

Most of my students thought this was hilarious when I told them, probably more because of my embarrassment than anything else. Two of them, though, felt I had answered a serious, legitimate request with a flippant lack of sincerity. On reflection, I can see their point. I have felt the same way at graduation, when amidst the vast majority of students who dress up for an important occasion, one comes along in ripped jeans and scruffy t-shirts. It seems to me to be a ‘too cool for school’ thing going on, and perhaps that same lack of seriousness about sleep was what sat badly with those two students. 

Journalist Christy Wampole talks about donning what she has called the veil of irony, where the cool thing to do is to distance oneself from commitment to meaningful ideas and events, from taking anything, or anybody – least of all oneself or one’s own institutions – too seriously. I have occasionally seen the same thing with academic work, with commitments to service, or in sports. To clown around in these (usually public) situations is a way to avoid being judged and found wanting. It stems from a fear of failure. By showing that we don’t much care, that we are somehow above these small things, we are pre-emptively foreshadowing and acknowledging our failure to accomplish anything meaningful. Wampole says, this is a defense mechanism because no attack can then be set against [us] as we have already conquered ourselves…. to live ironically is to hide in public.

We adults are probably largely to blame here, and I absolutely recognize in myself what Wampole describes so accurately:

… I find it difficult to give sincere gifts. Instead, I often give what in the past would have been accepted only at a White Elephant gift exchange: a kitschy painting from a thrift store, a coffee mug with flashy images of “Texas, the Lone Star State,” plastic Mexican wrestler figures. Good for a chuckle in the moment, but worth little in the long term. Something about the responsibility of choosing a personal, meaningful gift for a friend feels too intimate, too momentous. I somehow cannot bear the thought of a friend disliking a gift I’d chosen with sincerity. The simple act of noticing my self-defensive behavior has made me think deeply about how potentially toxic ironic posturing could be…  …it signals a deep aversion to risk. As a function of fear and pre-emptive shame, ironic living bespeaks cultural numbness, resignation and defeat. If life has become merely a clutter of kitsch objects, an endless series of sarcastic jokes and pop references, a competition to see who can care the least…, it seems we’ve made a collective misstep.

Perhaps then, the ironic stance is a symptom of a broader cultural malaise whereby we are never sufficiently comfortable in our own skins. It is, of course, the business of schools and families to provide psychological safety and an idealistic culture so that we avoid this problem; so that espousing aspirational values is to be admired and emulated; so that it’s cool to care. Some recent conversations with our primary students have given me pause for thought here – I have come to see their complete lack of irony, their directness, their authenticity of conviction, not as a lack of sophistication but as a sign of integrity, and of care. I think being a K-12 school helps us all remember what’s important; and it’s good to know we can look to our youngest when we need a reminder.

There is, though, a place for irony as a means of puncturing abuses of power. Scholar Leo Katz tells the story of Freud leaving Austria in 1938. Apparently he was required to sign a document confirming his good treatment by the Nazis. The text read:

I Prof. Freud, hereby confirm that after the Anschluss of Austria to the German Reich I have been treated by the German authorities and particularly the Gestapo with all the respect and consideration due to my scientific reputation, that I could live and work in full freedom, that I could continue to pursue my activities in every way I desired, that I found full support from all concerned in this respect, and that I have not the slightest reason for any complaint.

Apparently Freud had no hesitation signing, but asked and was told he could add one final line: I can heartily recommend the Gestapo to anyone. So with irony, as with so many things, the challenge is not just when to use the tool, but also how to wield its power with wisdom and restraint.