Toxic Positivity

As Americans we won't bother to solve any problems or injustices—but we'll certainly scapegoat the victims.

Despite the Madman Matt moniker, I’m not always crazy (or angry). I wear my heart on my sleeve. When I am happy, everyone around me knows it—and this remains true when I am stressed, disgruntled, disgusted, angry, sad, or even hungry. To quote Eve Ensler, I am an emotional creature.

While psychologists will often say it’s a good thing to express oneself openly and honestly—it certainly makes therapy more efficient—there are significant social consequences for doing so. Every adult knows this: You can’t call your boss an asshole or admit that you’re looking for another job, and it would be equally foolish to tell your date that you are exploring four other options simultaneously. Certain things are better left unsaid unless your goal is to burn a bridge. (For me, sometimes that is the goal. Because I generally hate bridges and like burning things.)

Yet, to deny that a major part of life is negative and put on a happy face all the time is juvenile and counterproductive. In its most extreme form, bullshit positivity becomes a tool to increase one’s social status at the expense of one’s self. (The Netflix show Black Mirror tackles this head-on in its season-three episode “Nosedive.”) I say: Fuck this tendency to paint a delightful (and boring) picture on social media. No one cares about your beautiful children and incident-free beach vacations. They don’t care about the work presentation you were forced to give that the audience was forced to applaud because they were forced to be there. (Get off LinkedIn and get a life.)

Americans have turned adulthood into school picture day, and we’ve replaced all substance with subservience. We hardly talk to each other anymore. When we ask, “how’s your day going?” we don’t want to hear the answer. We would expect even a dying person to just say “fine” and keep it moving. We have to remind people (outside of Florida) that not every day is a sunny one. I say: Embrace the darkness. Keep the smiles to yourself.

Smiles are fine when the cameras are rolling, but in the real world a frown is better than a phony smile. Consider a person who is in serious physical or psychological pain. If that person smiles all the time—pretending that everything is OK—how will anyone know that he or she needs help? I know from experience that the person who gets medical attention the quickest at the ER is the person who curses the loudest or complains the longest. A phony smile will not do any good in that context.

Also, consider anyone who has ever made a difference in this world. Were they glass-half-full Pollyannas? Unlikely. All revolutionaries see reality in a negative light. This is what motivates them to fight for change. Malcolm X often seemed angry—and understandably so. If a person can’t see any wrong, then why resist the status quo? Hell, why even bother to get up in the morning? Those of us who are men tend to identify as problem-solvers and take pride in fixing things. Some of us solve problems and fix things for a living. But if there are no problems to solve and nothing broken to fix, then what purpose do we serve? We might as well just park our useless asses in front of the television and drink ourselves to death.

Finally, according to at least one psychotherapist, it’s impossible to feel true bliss when one has never experienced its opposite. We may feel a lot more pain than a plant or an insect, but we also experience a lot more pleasure (and thank God for that). It’s easy to forget this sometimes, though, when the world insists on treating every problem like it’s an imbalance of “vibes” or “energy.” Maybe my uncle died young in a nursing home because he didn’t have the right attitude—maybe he should have meditated more (or at all). Perhaps, New Age chanting could have scared away his dementia. We’ll never know. He’s dead. But, of course, he’s in a “better place” now. We somehow know that.

If there is a heaven for these dumbass positivity people, I hope I end up in hell. At least the devil keeps it real.