Tuesday, April 05, 2016

And Who's to Care If I Grow My Hair to the Sky

You may have seen mention this past week of the SanFran State incident where an angry black woman accosted and lectured a campus hippie for wearing dreadlocks, which constitutes cultural appropriation, a capital crime under the regime of the new left-wing racial separatists. Ho-hum, old hat, to be expected, you say. I agree. And yet, even I managed to feel a bit stunned by the chutzpah of the resulting commentary, in which the perp's insistence that "his" hair is subject to the tyranny of "his" aesthetic choices reveals the grasping, selfish, petit-bourgeois nature of his ideological worldview, in which something as reactionary as aesthetics can be said to trump politics, or, worse yet, offended feelings. Has this privileged colonialist piglet seriously not heard of Sartre's "eyes of the least favored" theory? Break out the intersectionality abacus. If someone more oppressed than you tells you that your hairstyle is problematic, you'd better double-time march to the barber's and get the standard-issue white-man buzzcut, buddy.

(As a side note, it's fascinating to note how quickly a market for virtue-signaling opens up, allowing savvy entrepreneurs like this guy to step in and make a killing.)

Anyway, I almost fell for this story. But this guy's name? Goldstein. I mean, come on, what's his middle name? Snowball? Whatever AI is writing this script is starting to become a bit heavy-handed in its symbolism. Yes, yes, we get it, it's creeping totalitarianism, all right already. It makes it hard to suspend our disbelief long enough to get absorbed in the story. If I'm going to be hooked up to the Matrix, I demand a more immersive plot to entertain me.