Of Snark and Smarm

Ten years ago, Gawker published Tom Scocca’s “On Smarm.” Gawker died but “On Smarm” lives. For an essay whose material was negligible even at the time of publication—tone and manner in New York media circles in the early 2000s—its relevance has been out of all proportion to its subject. “On Smarm” has been, with the possible exception of Between the World and Me, the most influential essay of its period, and certainly among writers. Many careers, whole online networks, have been directly inspired by it. And its penumbral influence has been even wider.

“On Smarm” is the kind of piece that hovers in the background, framing debates, determining styles, fixing approaches and assumptions even in readers who reject its premises or have never read it. Every critic, every cultural commentator, pro or con, highbrow or lowbrow, fancy or scuzzy, has been shaped by the debates over snark and smarm that came to a head in Scocca’s piece a decade ago.

In a sense, “On Smarm” matters more now than it did when it was published. 2013 was an anomalous moment. Media and literary institutions were feeling the death grip of social media but hadn’t yet been swallowed. The scars from the 2008 crash were forming but the wound hadn’t yet healed. The Boomers, given the greatest institutions the world has ever known, had squandered them out of obliviousness and greed. The Obama years, its walls plastered with posters of hope, had revealed that there was no going back. And in the immediate aftermath of the Obama-Romney election, it was possible, just possible, to imagine that American political discourse was too civil.

2016 changed the valence of snark and smarm. Much has been written about media failures during the Trump years, mostly from those who stress the virtuous social functions of journalism. If only the press had visited more diners in the American heartland or stopped visiting diners in the American heartland, if only they’d taken Trump more seriously or ignored him altogether, if they’d used the right words or not used the wrong words, if they’d taken sides earlier or never taken sides, then the whole Trump fiasco could have been avoided. People blame the press when they don’t have the guts to blame the people. (...)

While the historical context behind “On Smarm” has shifted unrecognizably in a decade, the question it faced with admirable clarity—the relationship between power and style—remains unresolved. The question of tone still rules. Look at the current mess on Twitter, look at any op-ed page struggling with wokeness and anti-wokeness, look at stand-up comedy, look at political advertising, look at the Oscars.

We are still trying to decide how nasty to be, or how nice, on whose terms and by what methods and under what justifications. We are still trying to figure out what nastiness and niceness mean, what their ultimate effects are, who benefits, who loses.

The current state of public discourse, if it’s even worthy of that name, is a strange fusion where smarm and snark wrestle and embrace one another in vicious shadowy vacuums. It is less clear than ever which side is winning.

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The contemporary debate over the use of the word snark began in 2003, so “On Smarm” was itself responding to an essay that was ten years old at the time of publication. In the inaugural issue of The Believer, Heidi Julavits defined snark as “a scornful, knowing tone frequently employed to mask an actual lack of information.” At the time, I knew just what she was talking about. (...)

“On Smarm” is one of the great essays describing the new mode of self-curation born out of the internet and social media, and the consequent rise of celebrity, personal branding, and toxic narcissism. The fake-it-till-you-make-it spirit was already in full force in literary circles before then...  The new technologies would exacerbate and expand those fraudulent tendencies beyond recognition. Scocca could see it coming...

Lying offended Scocca less than posing, which led to the second core argument of “On Smarm”:

2. “Smarm is a kind of performance—an assumption of the forms of seriousness, of virtue, of constructiveness, without the substance.”

The tone of virtue is the heart of smarm: “It is a civilization that says ‘Don’t Be Evil,’ rather than making sure it does not do evil.”

by Stephen Marche, Literary Hub |  Read more:

Image: via "On Smarm"/Gawker