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Bobos In Paradise

by David Brooks

“Maybe I did not live as I ought to have done,” it suddenly occurred to him. “But how could that be, when I did everything so properly?” he replied, and immediately dismissed from his mind this, the sole solution of all the riddles of life and death, as something quite impossible.” The Death of Ivan Ilych —Leo Tolstoy

I cannot think of anyone who has ever gone broke telling rich people what they want to hear. Nor can I think of anyone who has gone broke underestimating the lower rungs of academic culture or pop culture. David Brooks has done more to satisfy all three groups than most writers. History has ended and libertarian baby boomers won or perhaps hunky-dory ultra-conservatism won; it is hard to tell the difference. Brooks argues that the bohemian impulse has merged with the bourgeois impulse, producing a bunch of characters who are easy to ridicule, representative of a new power elite and capable of producing a new golden age. Apparently, this golden age will be inaugurated by will power and simplifying the tax code (read: tax cuts for the rich). Brooks does not envision much else. As for other impulses, come on. Let’s not get carried away with complexities. This work is best at taking a few mild pricks at Bobos, for example, Bobos believing they are wonderful for holding some socially correct belief such as esteeming tokenistic recycling activities, sending $20 to the Sierra Club or sending $20 to the Sahara Club.

Jackson Lears notes “the current conventional wisdom [read: Brook’s entertainment sociology] reduces bohemianism to a set of aesthetic gestures: living poor with style becomes merely living with style (retro, techno, pomo, whatever).” He adds: “However silly or self-righteous the countercultural stance could become, it at least recognized that pleasure must not be confused with high-level consumption.”

Brooks, however, claims that Bobos have become too “utilitarian”—meaning practical and safety conscious, not followers of J.S. Mill’s ideas. Brook’s vision is aesthetic. Apparently, we need more death, mayhem and celebrity crimes for entertainment, as long as someone else is the victim. Bored aesthetes need protection from “evil” safety utilitarians. (Help is on the way from the ideological merchants of murder and mayhem.)

Brooks argues that some nasty passions have been eliminated, yet along with them went some of the more noble passions. Brooks worries that humans may grow gentler, yet more base—”base” as in failing to be devoutly religious. He does not mean morally base. What ultra-conservative in his right mind would think that doing the right thing is more edifying or more important than religion?

Ultra-conservatives love to pretend that the only duties they have are ones that are spectacularly easy; that tax cuts for the rich are the most important issue in the world; that being hip, nice, busy and uninformed are pinnacles of virtue; that the only major threats and harms come from misguided liberal activists. Yep, that's Boboism, too.

Almost completely anecdotal, Bobos In Paradise opines that Bobos are shallow, yet this argument is more superficial than anyone I have recently met. Sure there are Bobos, but how many are there? One hundred thousand? One million? Five million? And how much power does this “elite” have? Many of the real elites—the super rich and super powerful—do not appear to be Bobos.

Brook’s sociology represents an availability bias. Bobos stand out—like someone saying in the 1980s, there sure are a lot of new wave rocker types around. You may see a sign that says 150 varieties of organic produce and think it part of a Bobo trend, but only after driving past thousands of signs that say the more ordinary—Whopper Combo, instant bail, employee of the month, 99 dollars down, spring clearance, public auction, free brake check, yard sale and so on. But then, I have not been to Burlington, Vermont in ages.

Brooks claims this new elite is more meritocratic. I think not. Forty percent of today’s Fortune 400 were born there. Most of the rest had enormous financial and other help from family members. Most elites worked hard in the past, albeit sometimes at dubious pursuits. The likes of Theodore Roosevelt and Henry Ford did not just sit around all day. Their pretensions were more visible and racist, but those wrongs alone do not make today’s elites more meritocratic.

Paul Krugman notes that in the past many huge companies would pay their lowest paid workers far more than the minimum wage, even though they could have paid them as little as legal. Paying as little as possible would have hurt morale, hurt the company and maybe even caused a little guilt. Can anyone imagine Bobo incarnate Phil Knight paying far more than he has to? Of course, it is easier to pay the lowest paid individuals less when they are eliminated from the company social picture while working at “subcontractors.” I think a great idea for a book would evaluate who is worse: Surly old plutocrats or nice guy manipulators like Phil Knight.

Plenty of ultra-conservative commentators have announced that the evil committed on September 11 spells the end of too much “irony” in our culture. Of course, they would never say that it spells the end of too much glib, smug ultra-conservatism, including the ironic varieties like this book. These are people whose idea of commitment to a war is buying themselves tax cuts and corporate welfare. Frankly, the author’s descriptions of Bobo ironies are not that funny—or biting, incisive or interesting. They are about as fascinating as Don DeLillo’s ironies. I’ll take Seinfeld and The Onion any day over these boring books. Call me crazy, but I’d rather read a fat book of statistics from the Department of Energy. I’m tempted to think Bobos stands for boring bohemians. There is not much about these bohemians that qualifies as bohemian. Actually, the people described by Brooks would be better described as Cobos, the cool bourgeois. The thing they loathe is being uncool. They would hate being some stock character from a show about the 1950s.

Among the many pathetic things happening now—albeit on a trivial level—is that the quality of right wing humor is in steep decline, yet right wing ideologues gain ever greater control of the mass media, which means that no matter bad and unfunny the works of David Brooks, James Lileks and others are, there are plenty of media moguls eager to plaster their works throughout the land. It is possible to mix humor with strong analysis. Unfortunately, Bobos fails at both. If you want right-wing humor, you are better off reading P.J O’Rourke’s humorous books from the 1980s. David Brook's works are only inadvertently funny. And his work flat out sucks at truth and moral goodness.

Like Bridges of Madison County (the novel), this may garner a place in history. Future generations will look back and wonder how so many people fell in love with such refuse. As I read this, it is as if I were reading about aliens on another planet.

Bobos look at things that do not instantly attract them with passive, corrosive, all-to-easy contempt and cynicism. There are prices to pay for indifference and willful ignorance. I can only hope that the price does no include Peter Pry’s nightmare. This is slothful ultra-conservatism that looks outside the bedroom window in the Hamptons and says “Everything looks fine to me. There’s that complex tax booklet on my desk, but other than that the rest of the world looks wonderful. Ultra-conservatism must have caused all these wonderful things.” Somehow I have a feeling the great Bobo slumber will be brutally awakened, at which point Bobos and and ultra-conservatives will blame all the usual scapegoats and never themselves.. Maybe someone should write a book called Boo-Boos in Paradise, about people preoccupied with cultural labels and who could care less about major dangers in the world. The best thing I can say about this book is that it gets me angry enough to be inspired.

—Book review article by J.T. Fournier

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