With my expectations significantly diminished after reading Killing Yourself to Live, I decided to give Chuck Klosterman another chance with his essay collection Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto. What can I say, I’m stupidly naïve and sometimes willing to dig beyond my first impression of a writer, no matter how negative my initial response.
In Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, Klosterman muses on various aspects of pop culture, the inane, the arcane and the absurd, all in his overtly self-aware style. This is a style that is annoyingly ironic, attributing meaning where there really probably isn’t any – and this is coming from an ex-cultural studies student. So many of these essays sound like conversations that have taken place in countless number of inner-city hipster bars. One essay, looking at the uncool music of Billy Joel and how he is actually, in Klosterman’s opinion, greatly underrated because of Joel’s lack of rock and roll persona; his songs somehow invite the listener to assume the narrator’s position. Klosterman is completely the opposite, instead aggressively inserting himself in every essay, making the reader all too aware of his presence, never just letting his arguments just exist.
For another example, an essay on people who have been in contact with serial killers had so much potential as an essay topic, but these experiences are filtered through Klosterman. It’s not the close encounters with sadistic killers that Klosterman wants to explore, it’s more specifically his proximity to these people. Only one essay, comparing The Empire Strikes Back with the malaise and hopes of Generation X, was mildly enjoyable, though at the same time slightly ridiculous. I skimmed over many of the sports related essays.
After an aside – each essay is punctuated by an interlude featuring, you’ll never guess, Klosterman’s opinion on things – on hating punk rock and some snide remarks about punk rock icons, I realized the essential difference between Chuck Klosterman and myself, the reason why I don’t connect with his writing and his thoughts. Now, I know punk has it’s own rules, hierachies and laws, but the most important aspect of punk rock, for me, is its sincerity. It seems that this is also precisely what Klosterman takes issue with, and anything vaguely resembling sincerity is something to be torn apart, made fun of, mercilessly mocked. Where I appreciate sincerity and earnestness, Klosterman champions an aloofly distant approach. His writing is a smug smirk intended to make you feel like you’re just not in on the joke. I hate to use the ubiquitous word “hipster”, but that’s precisely what this entire collection is. Klosterman aims for a postmodern hip style, but just comes across as infuriating and self-involved. Again. This time, I’m really done.
(For the shorthand, visual version of everything I’ve written above, this adapted book cover succinctly summarizes everything that I think about Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs and Chuck Klosterman’s writing in general.)
