This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jul/21/brexit-moral-superiority-brits-america
The article has changed 3 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
| Version 0 | Version 1 |
|---|---|
| Thanks, Brexit, for pushing us expats off our high horse | Thanks, Brexit, for pushing us expats off our high horse |
| (35 minutes later) | |
| For Brits in America, one unexpected side-effect of Brexit is how use of the word itself has, in some contexts, strayed pointedly from its original meaning. In the weeks since the referendum, more than one American friend has found it hilarious to say to me, at the end of a meeting, “Shall we Brexit?” Or, during a conversation in which I express doubts about my wi-fi provider or whether to hang in for another season of The Good Wife, “Maybe you should Brexit?” And so on. | |
| Related: Thanks, Obama: Nigel Farage says US president helped make Brexit a reality | Related: Thanks, Obama: Nigel Farage says US president helped make Brexit a reality |
| That this doesn’t make me laugh has nothing to do with its relative humour. Nor can it entirely be put down to my ongoing dread about Britain leaving the EU. | That this doesn’t make me laugh has nothing to do with its relative humour. Nor can it entirely be put down to my ongoing dread about Britain leaving the EU. |
| Instead, it has to do with the odd phenomenon of removing the register in which I usually talk about Britain. It has long been the assumption of Brits in America that we are a less racist, less isolationist and altogether less fanatical country, where no one ever thinks to picket an abortion clinic or set up a doomsday cult. As a result, the standard marker of British superiority abroad has been to talk down the country – the weather sucks; the transport infrastructure is appalling; we are an awkward, dishevelled people – safe in the knowledge that nothing can shake us. | Instead, it has to do with the odd phenomenon of removing the register in which I usually talk about Britain. It has long been the assumption of Brits in America that we are a less racist, less isolationist and altogether less fanatical country, where no one ever thinks to picket an abortion clinic or set up a doomsday cult. As a result, the standard marker of British superiority abroad has been to talk down the country – the weather sucks; the transport infrastructure is appalling; we are an awkward, dishevelled people – safe in the knowledge that nothing can shake us. |
| But it’s hard to be self-deprecating when everyone agrees with your dismal assessment. Now, when an American refers sardonically to “Brexit”, or mentions Britain with a condescension we once considered our sole preserve, it is hard to know how to respond. | But it’s hard to be self-deprecating when everyone agrees with your dismal assessment. Now, when an American refers sardonically to “Brexit”, or mentions Britain with a condescension we once considered our sole preserve, it is hard to know how to respond. |
| Clearly a new attitude is called for. In light of what got us here, American-style patriotism isn’t appealing. Icy continental hauteur is a possibility, although given the brittle state so many of us are in, it will be hard to pull off. Until things look up, then, the only option seems to be sheepishness – or to burst into tears. | Clearly a new attitude is called for. In light of what got us here, American-style patriotism isn’t appealing. Icy continental hauteur is a possibility, although given the brittle state so many of us are in, it will be hard to pull off. Until things look up, then, the only option seems to be sheepishness – or to burst into tears. |
| A drama with social anxiety | A drama with social anxiety |
| To avoid the news, I have been bingeing on drama, specifically UnReal, the Lifetime series set behind the scenes of a reality TV show. Unlike every other behind-the-scenes show, including Aaron Sorkin’s The Newsroom, it feels remarkably convincing. | To avoid the news, I have been bingeing on drama, specifically UnReal, the Lifetime series set behind the scenes of a reality TV show. Unlike every other behind-the-scenes show, including Aaron Sorkin’s The Newsroom, it feels remarkably convincing. |
| Related: Do nothing at all – and just wait for the brainwave | Emma Brockes | |
| The exception to this is when a character makes mention of social media. Just as when, in TV shows 10 years ago, a camera would peer over someone’s shoulder as they typed out an email on no operating system known to man, when UnReal’s fictional producer talks about a contestant “exploding on Twitter”, or says “her social media buzz is off the charts”, or that a picture of her in a bikini “got 3,000 likes on Instagram” it breaks the fourth wall. | The exception to this is when a character makes mention of social media. Just as when, in TV shows 10 years ago, a camera would peer over someone’s shoulder as they typed out an email on no operating system known to man, when UnReal’s fictional producer talks about a contestant “exploding on Twitter”, or says “her social media buzz is off the charts”, or that a picture of her in a bikini “got 3,000 likes on Instagram” it breaks the fourth wall. |
| I can’t figure out why this is. Perhaps it’s because phrases like “social media buzz” sound like a directive from the marketing department. Or maybe it’s because any mention of social media on a show that, along with everyone else, is straining to court its approval, communicates an anxiety too large for the fiction to hold. | |
| Subterranean blues | Subterranean blues |
| On the subway the other day, the countdown clock informed me that the next F train was 11 minutes away – a pause in service that, over the course of several minutes, caused multiple waves of passengers to have nervous breakdowns. One after another they glanced at the clock and said, “What? That’s ridiculous,” as it ticked down minute by minute. I can now say with authority that the amount of time beyond which New Yorkers judge a wait to be “insane” is four minutes. Brits might have slipped in every other category, but I suspect we still lead the world in enduring minor inconveniences. | On the subway the other day, the countdown clock informed me that the next F train was 11 minutes away – a pause in service that, over the course of several minutes, caused multiple waves of passengers to have nervous breakdowns. One after another they glanced at the clock and said, “What? That’s ridiculous,” as it ticked down minute by minute. I can now say with authority that the amount of time beyond which New Yorkers judge a wait to be “insane” is four minutes. Brits might have slipped in every other category, but I suspect we still lead the world in enduring minor inconveniences. |