The impermanence of culture has been on my mind a lot lately, due mostly to contemplating impermanence as it relates to a television series I’m producing. I’ve been thinking a lot about how the more intense a fad or style or devotion to a film or television project is – and the more everyone who invests in that fad or style is certain that “this is it” – the more likely this fashion or project will look incomprehensible in retrospect.
For example, try looking at Clash of the Titans (the 1981 version) and consider that this was an enormously successful state-of-the-art film that was blowing people’s minds. Or try watching The Hunger without knowing Andy Warhol was bobbling around New York City somewhere with Deneuve and Bowie. But both of these were “of the moment” films, capturing an essence of something permeable and insubstantial as best as their creators could. Try listening to Lady Bug without planning on doing a pile of cocaine. Or just contemplate parachute pants.
Work those parachutes...
Everything is impermanence. Not impermanent, impermanence. The idea of parachute pants, the pants themselves, the mania of everyone under the age of 20 in 1988 to wear the parachute pants. All impermanent.
To say that something is impermanent implies that it could be some other way, but it cannot. Everything changes, everything dies, everything reinvents. Every person you’ve ever known, every thought you’ve ever had, everything you’ve ever owned, and every place you’ve ever been is just a manifestation of impermanence. Though this sounds like it could be nihilistic or terrifying (and it can be both), it is also incredibly liberating in releasing you from attachment to things that are going to go away of their own accord anyways. It also clues you in to how precious each moment and experience really is.
We don’t look at pop stars and think they will be dead in 70 years and forgotten long before that. That would add a certain melancholy to the hypernaturated obsession that drives this thing we euphemistically call culture. In fact, death and impermanence are raked out of the conversation like a PETA protestor at a meat fair – relegated to the back room, a fenced off place, so as not to ruin everyone’s fun.
Today’s lady Gaga is yesterday’s Judy Garland. A focal point for our dreams but not much more that. In thirty years there will likely be no one on the planet who was around when Garland was alive – and fifty years after that most anyone who gave a shit about Gaga will be dead and buried. On some deep level, understanding this gives you an opportunity to both enjoy the performance called “stardom” and also have a deep and abiding compassion for everyone involved.
Stars, culture, fads, fashion – here’s what they are: distractions from the reality of impermanence. And impermanence is guaran-fucking-teed to come crashing down on your head at some point, and the more acquainted you are with the opportunities that come with being a friend (rather than afraid) of impermanence, the less it’s going to hurt when impermanence smacks you hard right on the face.
You don’t know anything about any star you think you know something about; you just know their public image, crafted by them, the media, and the filter of your own perception. You admire this character they create, their public persona that is based loosely on who they really are. You care for and cultivate this character in your own mind, with your friends, in conversation and dreams.
You don’t draw the distinction between the player, the character, and your perception of them. Which is no small measure true for yourself and how you both present and perceive yourself in the world. You build up what always feels, right now, like exactly who you are but (like what you think is true about a pop star) you’re never exactly that which you think you are.
Are you responding from truth, or from some mish-mash of cultural conditioning, upbringing, the choices you’ve made, chemical influences, your hunger level, how hard you “think” you should or should not be working – and how attached are you to this personality you’ve created called “you”? It’s impermanent too, a construct. But underneath, just waiting to be revealed, there already is an expansive sense of belonging and connection and “okay-right-now-ness” that creates the space for you to make choices from what feels right, rather than from what feels safe. Having some sort of daily practice to quiet the mind so you can hear what’s really going on is immeasurably helpful in this regard.