Political Theory & Ill-Fitting Suits

This week, I read Shattered Dreams, Infinite Hope, a book about political theory that asks what it would mean if our collective narrative about the civil rights movement were one of tragedy rather than romance. 

Shattered Dreams is somewhat technical, and I wouldn’t have persisted through the philosophical and historical analysis if not for the fact that its author, Harvard professor Brandon Terry, is a friend of mine. As soon as I started it, I texted Brandon, “I never feel as dumb as when I’m reading your work. On page 1, and I’m already looking up words!”

Of course, it’s not that I’m (that) dumb; rather, it’s that he’s spent the last 20 years becoming an expert and producing knowledge in a field that’s completely different from mine. Besides, I could never be smart in the way Brandon is smart because we have vastly different interests. Thus, it would never make sense for me to compare myself to him or try to accomplish what he has. I’m much better off doing things my way. 

Incidentally, that theme came up in completely different contexts in two other books I read last week. 

In her 1982 book Entertaining, Martha Stewart argues that there’s no objective standard for throwing a good party. Instead, “[t]here are as many good formulas as there are personalities. And invariably it is the evidence of a unique personality at work that makes an event special.”

In fact, there’s a risk, especially when using expert vendors, of creating a party that is “fashionable or smooth,” but is unmemorable because it “has nothing to do with [the host].” When I think of some of the catered, full-service dinner parties I’ve attended that were objectively “nice” but had no soul, Stewart’s point rings true.

The other book, A Pattern Language by University of California, Berkeley architecture professors Christopher Alexander, Sara Ishikawa, and Murray Silverstein, expresses a similar point about how home decor should reflect one's distinctive life and experiences. However, they write, “because people have begun to look outward, to others, and over their shoulders, at the people who are coming to visit them, and have replaced their natural instinctive decorations with the things which they believe will please and impress their visitors.” The result often meets the requirements of “good design,” but in a way that Alexander, Ishikawa, and Silverstein say is “totally bankrupt.”

Ironically, they argue, “the visitors who come into a room don’t want this nonsense any more than the people who live there. It is far more fascinating to come into a room which is the living expression of a person, or a group of people, so that you can see their lives, their histories, their inclinations, displayed in manifest form around the walls, in the furniture, on the shelves.” 

In all of those domains, genuine expression of our personalities trumps a polished imitation of whatever the general definition of “good” is. The interesting thing: When we’re working toward a generic standard rather than authenticity, we often have to work harder and still have less impact. 

For example, an extravagant dinner party that takes more time and money to prepare is usually no more enjoyable than one with a simple home-cooked meal. An expensive gift usually isn’t more valued than one that authentically reflects the relationship between giver and receiver. Heck, even the time spent putting on fancy clothes and doing our hair doesn’t make us look better if the clothes are ill-fitting or we feel uncomfortable. 

The most compelling things we create are the ones that carry our fingerprints, not someone else’s blueprint.