Me Decade or Me Epoch?

Since the '70s, we have been trapped in a house of mirrors

A documentary about Tom Wolfe opened theatrically this weekend. Tom Wolfe has coined many expressions such as “radical chic” and “masters of the universe.”

He also labeled the ‘70s The “Me” Decade. As a child I remember being confused that the ‘70s were called the “Me” Decade because numerous news programs called the ‘80s the “Me" Decade.

Admittedly, the ‘90s seemed to be relatively free of such branding. If you believed the media, Gen Xers were pure nihilists who focused on blankness. Largely this is because of grunge, with its (relatively) anti-fashion rock stars who placed music before image. Fine, except Kurt Cobain committed suicide because he believed he had no more indie cred. This is a textbook definition of a narcissistic collapse. Cobain’s desire to be a star with integrity was a cruel goal that his punishing ego goaded him into. He saw REM and wanted what they had, but overshot the mark and got way bigger than they ever dreamed of. Instead of trying to adjust to his new reality, he was trapped by his desire to maintain the respect of his peers. This is to say nothing about the oversized egos of ‘90s rappers or the Y2K-era pop icons of the late ‘90s.

By the time the ‘00s rolled around, social media was born. But before that really got rolling, blogs like Last Night’s Party posted pictures of beautiful revelers at hipster nightclubs. Some of the ones that got caught repeatedly by the photographer became microcelebrities. But the ‘00s up until now have come under enough scrutiny for narcissism.

The ‘60s does not get the “Me” Decade appellation often. The focus back then was on social issues and consciousness expansion. Still, I would argue that the ‘60s, or at least the ‘70s interpretation of the ‘60s, led to our narcissistic neoliberal hell. The sexual revolution, which was initially about undermining ideas of property, (d)evolved into ego-gratifying meaningless sex at discos. The search for consciousness and peace was circumscribed in the ‘70s to become more of an inward journey. Besides these cultural reimaginings, there was also a steep decline in civic life and community values. The working class has been weak from the ‘70s till now. More than ever, the focus was on the individual more than the family. Feminism was hijacked to smuggle in propaganda about living for yourself instead of making a family or starting a community.

Much of this probably had to to do with the fact that the communities many women and gays grew up in were sexist and homophobic. Many hippies moved to communes to form their own societies for this reason. Those left behind opted out of society and followed their bliss.

The decline of the war hero also led us here. The myth of Vietnam vets being spit on may have been overblown, but their certainly wasn’t much hero worship for returning soldiers. War stories did not have the same luster in 1973 that they did after WWII and all the previous wars. Before the Vietnam war era, the average man’s hope for glory was to fight in a war and become a hero. After Vietnam, other paths to glory opened up to fill the vacuum. A common one for heterosexual men in the ‘70s: to have as many sexual conquests as possible. The conquests of battlefields were now being moved to discotheques. Other paths included rock star, movie star, TV star. And those who didn’t become stars would at least make damn sure they looked like stars.

Will it get better? Not if Big Tech has its way. AI clones have been created so people can talk to digital recreations of themselves. But a more likely and depressing scenario is semi-automated social media. A future is possible where you have an adoring social media audience almost completely comprised of real bots. No need to improve, no need to dig deeper, you have your virtual audience to coddle your sense of entitlement before you fly into narcissistic rage over being shadow banned.

I can’t tell you the way out for us, but I can tell you the way out for me. ¹ I frankly wasn’t aware how narcissistic I was — or how much society reinforced my narcissistic tendencies — until I read this life-altering post on Realism Confidence. Let me give you an amuse-bouche for now and let you feast on it yourself later:

Everyone’s got the ick.

What Christopher Lasch wrote about in The Culture of Narcissism (1979) has continued to worsen us into a pointedly neurotic, self-serving society, one that is increasingly incapable of love, community, or collaboration. One that seems convinced that pathological narcissism is self-protection, indicative of choice and freedom.

A quintessential Capitalist American delusion, the worst raison d’être.

No one is good enough for us. We must be paranoid of everyone else. Keep the circle tight and always watch for toxicity. Self-care at all costs. You are a star. A queen. A goddess. Self-care day. Treat yo’self. Wait, I’m alone in my apartment with my cat. And a kidney stone from all those personal pan pizzas with meatballs.

This rabbit went further down and found another great post:

There’s too much tv, too many movies, too many artists. This is a normal outcome when you consider the landscape of narcissism, self-importance, disassociation, and avoidance that we live in.

What is art’s role during the apocalypse? What do movies and tv specifically do for us besides provide yet another buffer for the outside world we refuse to reckon with?

This shook me to my core. Was this my motive for every creative endeavor I ever undertook? All those years showing up to comedy open mics and being unfunny offstage and on? ² All those narcissistic revenge fantasies of making it and showing them? This midlife crisis meltdown was one big snowball that led to other crushing realizations that led to my relapse on drugs after 12 years clean at the end of August. Now that I am living clean and working a program, I am less self centered. But again this not just a matter of vice and virtue. Our society reinforces narcissism and has since the ‘70s. Much like addiction, the first step is realizing there is a problem. Or we can remain lost in the house of mirrors until we find the perfect mirror selfie opportunity.

1. Finally, my favorite subject.

2. Weirdly I was funnier onstage than off.