sociological humour Archives - untypicable.

Georg Simmel – The Patron Saint of Social Awkwardness

AJ Wright — Tue, 04 Mar 2025 10:00:00 +0000

Georg Simmel may not be a household name like Karl Marx or Max Weber, but his work is painfully relevant to anyone who has ever felt awkward in a social setting (so, everyone). Unlike grand theorists who tackled capitalism, bureaucracy, and revolutions, Simmel focused on something far more insidious: everyday interactions. Why do we make small talk when nobody likes it? Why do we pour our souls out to taxi drivers but avoid deep conversations with family? Why does city life feel both exciting and soul-crushing at the same time? Simmel saw these contradictions and dedicated his career to explaining why human relationships are simultaneously fulfilling and deeply, deeply weird.

Why Small Talk Exists (Despite Being Universally Hated)

Simmel argued that small talk isn’t pointless drivel; it’s a social lubricant that helps maintain relationships without requiring actual emotional investment. It’s why we talk about the weather when we could be discussing mortality, tax brackets, or why Greg from Accounting is insufferable.

Small talk is essentially a survival mechanism for modern life. It establishes that we are friendly but not too friendly, engaged but not emotionally dependent. It’s a way to acknowledge each other’s existence without risking meaningful connection. Think about it: asking “How was your weekend?” is safer than asking “Do you ever think about how fleeting and meaningless our existence is?” One gets a polite smile, the other gets you reported to HR.

But not everyone is good at small talk. Neurodivergent people, introverts, and people who just can’t be bothered struggle with this forced social ritual. If you’ve ever answered “How are you?” with an overly detailed account of your recent existential crisis, Simmel would have found you fascinating.

The Stranger Theory: Why We Confess Our Darkest Secrets to Uber Drivers

Simmel’s concept of “the stranger” explains why we sometimes share things with random people we’ll never see again. The stranger exists in society but isn’t fully part of it. They float on the edge of social groups, close enough to observe but too distant to judge. This is why you’ll spill your life story to a bartender but refuse to tell your mum how your job is actually going.

This phenomenon is particularly evident in travel. Ever met someone at an airport, bonded over shared flight misery, and within an hour, you knew about their failed marriage, childhood traumas, and bizarre hobby of collecting antique spoons? That’s the stranger effect in action. You’ll never see them again, so there’s no social risk in oversharing.

The modern version of this is, of course, social media. People will reveal their innermost thoughts to thousands of strangers online while maintaining an icy level of detachment from people they actually know. Simmel would have had a field day with Twitter.

Urban Life: Why Cities Are Both Exciting and Soul-Crushing

Simmel was one of the first sociologists to argue that cities fundamentally change how humans interact. Urban environments force us to engage with an overwhelming number of people, so we develop coping mechanisms to survive the sheer volume of social contact. This is why people in big cities are both highly social and completely indifferent to one another.

If you live in a small town, ignoring someone you know is a crime punishable by social exile. In a city, making eye contact with a stranger on the Tube is practically an act of war. Simmel called this the “blasé attitude”—city dwellers develop a thick emotional skin to avoid being constantly overwhelmed. This explains why Londoners don’t react to a man in a dinosaur costume skateboarding down Oxford Street, but in a village, it would make the local paper.

City life also forces us into bizarre social contradictions. We crave community but actively avoid unnecessary interaction. We are surrounded by people but often feel incredibly lonely. We want to be part of something bigger but also desperately need personal space. This tension is what makes city living both exhilarating and mentally exhausting.

The Duality of Social Life: Why We Crave Both Connection and Distance

Simmel believed human relationships are a constant balancing act between wanting to belong and wanting to be left alone.

We want close friendships, but also personal space. We want to be noticed, but not stared at. We want to be unique, but not weird enough to be shunned by society.

This explains:

Why introverts and extroverts constantly misunderstand each other.
Why working from home is both a blessing and a curse.
Why socialising is fun until you suddenly need to lie down in a dark room.

Simmel argued that modern life forces us into paradoxes—we are surrounded by people yet often lonely, connected yet detached, hyper-social yet exhausted by it all.

Why Simmel Would Have Been Great at Observing Modern Social Weirdness

If Simmel were alive today, he would have a field day with social media, remote work, and how we interact in digital spaces.

Social media is basically a giant urban environment—we interact with thousands of people, yet feel disconnected.
Online friendships follow his “stranger” theory—we reveal things we wouldn’t in person because digital distance makes it feel safer.
The workplace “LinkedIn personality” vs. the real you—Simmel would love to analyse why people write things like, “Excited to leverage cross-functional synergy!” when they mean, “This job is slowly killing me.”

The Rituals of Everyday Life: Why Everything We Do is a Bit Ridiculous

Simmel was fascinated by how even the most mundane parts of daily life are structured by hidden social rules. Consider the ritual of ordering coffee. There is a precise dance between barista and customer, a strict script to follow:

Approach the counter but not too aggressively.
Order, ideally without making eye contact for too long.
Stand awkwardly to the side while pretending to check your phone.
Retrieve your coffee, say “thanks” even if they get your order wrong.
Leave as quickly as possible.

Any deviation from this script—like starting a full conversation with the barista or lingering too long at the counter—immediately makes the situation uncomfortable for everyone. Simmel argued that these kinds of micro-interactions, while seemingly trivial, are the glue that holds society together.

Final Thought: Embracing the Chaos of Social Life

Simmel’s work teaches us that awkwardness, contradictions, and social paradoxes aren’t just quirks of personality—they’re baked into society. Humans are inherently contradictory creatures who want both intimacy and independence, community and solitude, connection and distance.

So, next time you accidentally overshare with a stranger, freeze during small talk, or feel weirdly detached from city life, just remember: Simmel saw it coming.

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AJ Wright

AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.

As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.

AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.

For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in. Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.

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Marx, Misunderstood: Why Everyone’s a Critic and What We Can Still Learn From Him

AJ Wright — Tue, 21 Jan 2025 10:00:00 +0000

Karl Marx: the name alone is enough to spark spirited debates, eye rolls, or a Twitter thread spiralling out of control. For a 19th-century philosopher who spent much of his time buried in books and dodging landlords, Marx has managed to become one of the most polarising figures in modern discourse. In some circles, his work is revered as gospel. In others, the mere mention of his name is enough to conjure fears of red flags, gulags, and collective farms.

Yet, most of the vitriol hurled at Marx has little to do with what he actually said. In today’s cultural zeitgeist, “Marxism” has become a catch-all insult, particularly on social media and in certain corners of the political arena. Suggest taxing billionaires? That’s Marxist. Advocate for free school meals? A Marxist ploy. Think public libraries are worth funding? Comrade, your hammer and sickle await. And this trend isn’t limited to anonymous Twitter accounts. Public figures like Donald Trump, Elon Musk, Boris Johnson, and even Liz Truss have all, at various points, leaned on this caricature of Marxism to dismiss ideas they don’t like.

To understand why Marx gets dragged into everything from debates about universal healthcare to lettuce shelf lives, we need to delve into what he actually argued, why his ideas still resonate, and how he’s been misrepresented to the point of absurdity.

If Marx were alive today, he’d likely be horrified—not just by the state of late capitalism, but by how thoroughly his work has been misunderstood. Contrary to popular belief, Marx wasn’t a cheerleader for authoritarian regimes. He didn’t invent communism, and he certainly didn’t suggest that the best way to run an economy was to nationalise everything down to the corner shop. What Marx did do was critique capitalism as a system that prioritises profit over people, perpetuates inequality, and alienates workers from their labour.

Alienation is one of Marx’s most profound and surprisingly relatable concepts. He argued that in capitalist systems, workers are separated from the products of their labour, the process of production, their colleagues, and even themselves. This idea might sound abstract, but it’s eerily tangible. Ever spent hours on a tedious project, only to feel like it didn’t matter? That’s alienation. Ever felt like your job defined you but didn’t fulfil you? Alienation again. Marx’s critique wasn’t about tearing down society—it was about pointing out the cracks in its foundation.

But in today’s discourse, nuance often takes a backseat to name-calling. Right-wing commentators and politicians frequently invoke Marx’s name as a rhetorical weapon. In the British press, the word “Marxist” is wielded like a verbal Molotov cocktail, hurled at anyone who so much as hints at progressive policies. Suggest better funding for the NHS? Clearly, you’re a Marxist plotting to abolish private property. Question the fairness of CEO pay compared to that of workers? Straight to the gulag for you, comrade.

It’s not just the press. Figures like Donald Trump and Elon Musk have turned “Marxist” into shorthand for “anyone who mildly inconveniences me.” Trump, in particular, has a flair for conflating all left-leaning policies with Marxist conspiracies, painting universal healthcare and social safety nets as stepping stones to the collapse of Western civilisation. Musk, meanwhile, has taken to Twitter (or X, if you’re feeling generous) to mock progressive tax policies and wealth redistribution as if they’re precursors to a dystopian workers’ revolution. For Musk, who once tweeted that he was “accumulating resources to help humanity,” any suggestion of taxing those resources feels, well, a bit Marxist.

Closer to home, Boris Johnson has deftly used the spectre of Marxism to deflect criticism of his own policies. Climate activists, union strikes, and even moderately progressive economic proposals have all been dismissed as radical left-wing or Marxist threats to British tradition. And let’s not forget Liz Truss, who managed to position herself as the last defender of free-market economics during her brief stint as Prime Minister. Truss’s infamous “anti-growth coalition” rhetoric seemed to imply that anyone questioning her policies was a Marxist trying to sabotage the economy. Ironically, it wasn’t Marxism but her own trickle-down plans that led to one of the most dramatic economic collapses since, well, Marx first picked up a pen.

But why is Marxism used this way? Part of the answer lies in its historical baggage. The 20th century saw Marx’s ideas co-opted and distorted by authoritarian regimes, from the Soviet Union to Maoist China. These associations have made it easy for critics to dismiss Marx wholesale, conflating his critique of capitalism with the worst excesses of those regimes. It’s a bit like blaming Darwin for social Darwinism or Newton for someone dropping an apple on your head.

Another reason lies in the simplicity of the label. Calling someone a Marxist is a quick, effective way to shut down debate. It requires no engagement with the actual ideas being proposed—just a swift accusation that ties them to an ideological bogeyman. In a world of soundbites and clickbait, nuance is often the first casualty.

Yet, despite the vitriol, Marx’s ideas remain strikingly relevant. His analysis of inequality, alienation, and the commodification of life feels almost prophetic in the age of gig work, social media influencers, and billionaire space races. Take his concept of surplus value—the idea that the profits generated by workers are pocketed by capitalists. In today’s terms, it’s why CEOs can make 400 times the salary of their average employee, or why the wealthiest 1% hold more than half the world’s wealth.

Even Marx’s critique of consumer culture seems eerily prescient. He wrote about how capitalism commodifies everything, turning even our leisure time into opportunities for profit. In the 21st century, this looks like hobbies becoming side hustles, friendships monetised through social media, and the relentless pressure to turn every passion into a personal brand. It’s a system where even your most intimate moments are opportunities for engagement metrics.

So, what can we actually learn from Marx? For one, his work encourages us to ask who benefits from the systems we participate in. Why do billionaires exist in a world where poverty persists? Why do we accept that some people must work multiple jobs just to survive, while others profit from owning assets? These aren’t revolutionary questions—they’re moral ones.

Marx also reminds us to value labour not just for its economic output, but for its human contributions. Work, at its best, can be a source of pride, community, and meaning. At its worst, it can be alienating, exploitative, and soul-crushing. Recognising this distinction is crucial, especially in a world where hustle culture glorifies overwork and burnout.

Of course, Marx wasn’t perfect. His writing is dense, his predictions didn’t always pan out, and his solutions often raise more questions than they answer. But dismissing him entirely because of how his ideas have been misused is like throwing out a good book because someone dog-eared the pages. Marx’s critiques remain a valuable lens for examining the world, even if his solutions aren’t always applicable.

In the end, the problem isn’t Marx—it’s the way we talk about him. He’s not a bogeyman or a saint. He’s a thinker, one who grappled with big questions about fairness, power, and humanity. If we can look past the caricatures and memes, there’s a lot to learn from his work.

And if that makes me a Marxist, so be it. Just don’t expect me to grow out the beard.

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