Fuck Your Lists

Last week, Tami Dixon wrote a raw, emotionally honest appraisal of what it feels like (and, socio-politically, what it means) to be left off someone’s “Best Of…” list.  As a counterpoint, I’d like to offer why none of that shit matters.

In Tami’s case, she’s one half of the creative muscle behind Pittsburgh’s Bricolage Production Company, one of the city’s newer, riskier, “outsider” live theatre groups.  (You and I have also previously offered her some social media advice right here on this blog.)  And because of that “outsider” status, the established powers-that-be in Pittsburgh’s theatre community seem obliged to keep Bricolage in its place.

Last year, Bricolage produced a relatively new work by Jennifer Haley called “Requisition 3: Neighborhood of Doom.”  The play itself is actually a video game (or is it?) about teens playing a networked computer game that may or may not be altering their own increasingly isolated realities.  Despite (or perhaps because of) the play’s unconventional subject matter and presentation, the theater was continually packed, the reviews were effusive and the public’s awareness and appreciation of Bricolage was obviously on the rise.

Or so it seemed.

As Tami later learned, despite all of its accolades and its well-attended run, the play failed to make even one mainstream Pittsburgh critic’s year-end Top 10 list.  And in a field where public (and peer) perception so directly drives the financial success of those employed therein, Tami took this not-so-subtle rejection personally.

All of this, I’ll argue, is the best thing that could have happened to Tami — and it’s the best thing that could happen to you, too.  Here’s why.

Lists Are for People Who Need Hugs

No one does anything exclusively for their own benefit.  Whether you’re an author or a heart surgeon, everyone craves validation.  The question is, who are you allowing to determine your self-worth — and why?

Writers, musicians and artists of all fields solicit feedback from their audience, criticism from their peers and patronage from those who can afford to support them.  They want to matter aesthetically, influentially, socially and financially.  And as such, they’re required to seek this validation from multiple sources, each of which applies their own criteria (and their own backroom politics) to their decisions about whom they choose to validate.

“Best Of” lists are just one mechanism sustained by this culture of validity, but for some reason they seem to carry more psychological weight in the minds of the included (and the excluded) than they’re worth.  Perhaps this is because the comparison of contenders and the bestowing of praise happens so publicly.  Those mentioned or omitted from these lists naturally presume that everyone who reads them is as interested in what that particular critic thinks of their work as they themselves are.  (Call that a fault of hubris, but no one would commit their private work to public consumption without a slightly inflated ego, even if that inflation doesn’t double for insulation.)

I know I can’t negate your urges to feel validated, and I know I can’t tell you you’re wrong for wanting to feel loved.  (Besides, Woody Allen said it better than I would.)  But at least I can offer 4 Reasons Why Lists Don’t Matter:

1.  Everyone has their own motives. Maybe a listmaker has a vendetta against a certain type of art / product.  Or they owe someone a favor.  Or they have an unwritten set of criteria about whom and what they consider “worthy” of their consideration, and aspects like popularity, market success, influence and aesthetic quality may or may not be part of their formula.  If you tweaked any one element of your own work, you might have made the cut — but then you wouldn’t have produced the work (and learned the lessons) you did, would you?

2.  No one else has your frame of reference. Your painting / essay / blueprint / prized pig is the product of your own endeavor, balanced against what you consider to be “good” and “bad” (or whatever value system you consult when making your own choices).  But no one else is you, and everyone else is looking for their own version of perfection.  Maybe that film you’ve produced is something cineastes would drool over, but if you’re looking for high fives from your school’s A/V club, you may be expecting validation from people who are empirically unable to provide it.

3.  If you can please everyone, you’re doing it wrong. The world is diverse, and people develop emotional reactions to stimuli that affect them personally.  That’s why people create personal works — they polarize their audience and help us understand ourselves.

That’s also why no one likes pop radio.  It isn’t because it’s all bad; it’s because it’s all mediocre.  If you produce something so unremarkable as to be accepted unblinkingly by everyone who encounters it, you haven’t created a life-affirming work of art; you’ve created a napkin.  And unless you’re in the napkin business, you’ve failed at your larger goal of exploring yourself.

4.  Accolades make you complacent. Being told you’re wonderful is an excuse to stop growing and a warning to start protecting what you’ve already done, for fear that someone else will chip away at your perceived excellence.  Like all things, success is best enjoyed in moderation.  And as I’ve said before, prior to attaining your career-defining success, I sincerely hope you fail.

5.  Stop slapping your loved ones in the face. Complaining about who doesn’t appreciate you is insulting to those who do.  Rejection and legitimate criticism can spur you to improve, and by so doing, you may garner new fans down the road.  But the ones who love you now are the ones who love you for what you’ve already done.  To ignore them is to admit that their appreciation isn’t as important as the appreciation of someone you respect more, and audiences don’t react well to being told they’re temporary stepping stones on your road to the people who do matter.

Tami’s right to be aggravated by Bricolage’s lack of industry support.  But instead of getting frustrated, I hope she gets motivated — to produce more work that packs the house, keeps her employed and grows her fanbase naturally, rather than clamoring for the withheld affections of the people who couldn’t care less.

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Tags: art, audience, expert, perception, Pittsburgh, Sociology, theatre