1317: Never Gonna Dance Again

We went to a wedding today — that of our friends George and Mitu — and it was a pretty spectacular affair. Given their respective families’ diverse cultural and religious backgrounds (civil ceremony, followed by Islamic blessing, plus traditional Bengali and Ukrainian ceremonies, plus some Greek dancing somewhere along the way), there was a hell of a lot going on all day. I wouldn’t expect anything less from this particular couple; one of many complimentary things I can say about them is that they certainly don’t do things by halves.

As the evening session got underway, though, I found myself becoming contemplative, specifically with regard to the matter of dancing. I have never been a particularly good dancer, though when I first started university all it generally took to actually get me on the dance floor was a few vodka and Red Bulls. These days, though… I just can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to do it at all, and I find that fact a little distressing.

It’s not that I particularly want to dance, see — I think dancing is, on the whole, one of the more ridiculous things the human race has decided is a good way to spend its time — but it’s more the wider picture: over the last few years I’ve become very conscious of the fact that I find it very difficult to outwardly express joy in any form, whether that’s simply through saying something positive, “acting” excited or doing something typically associated with joyfulness like, say, dancing.

The precise reasons for this state of mind elude me somewhat, though I have more than a few suspicions that it’s something to do with either or both of the two related issues that are depression and self-esteem. Whenever I feel like I’m being “pressured” to act excited or joyful, I just clam up and feel horribly embarrassed; like if I do outwardly display some form of excitement or joy, people will immediately call it out for being “fake” or something. Perhaps “fake” isn’t the right word; it just doesn’t feel “right” to do or express these things. I can’t quite pin down if it’s a sense of feeling like I don’t “deserve” to feel these things — I don’t think it’s that — or whether it’s just a sense of embarrassment at being anything other than the stony-faced dude in the corner of the room.

I think it’s also something to do with social pressure. I have no problem with being excited when I’m by myself (ooer) and, as regular readers will note, I also have no problem with expressing excitement for something via the medium of the written word. But place me in a situation where I’m supposed to be acting excited? I can’t do it. I feel like people are judging me and will somehow not believe that I’m happy or excited if I don’t do it “enough” — ironically, though, this often makes me do some sort of half-hearted Fluttershy-style “yay” rather than genuinely act excited, which probably leads to the exact issue I’m afraid of.

(Incidentally, that whole “yay” scene with Fluttershy is absolutely, positively, 100% the reason why I love that show so much. I absolutely am her, in more ways than one.)

Sooooo. Yeah. If something cool happens to you, that’s great. I really am happy for you. If I don’t appear to be showing it on my face, however, it’s nothing personal. It’s just the way I am.

Yay.

#oneaday Day 799: Um, Fluttershy

A discussion with my friend Lynette earlier today (who, it has to be said, squeed rather enthusiastically at the news that I have been watching My Little Pony) saw us pondering, as so often happens with strong, character-led pieces of work, which My Little Pony was the most “us” — or at least the one we felt most able to relate to.

My answer — Fluttershy — is apparently one of the more popular ones, for a variety of reasons that I haven’t explored as yet and am mildly terrified to, given the deep, deep rabbithole that sites such as knowyourmeme and TVTropes can be.

I imagine, given her timid nature, that there’s at least an element of crossover between Fluttershy fans and Hanako fans — a category which, if you recall, I count myself firmly in. Her endearing meekness, anxiety and loyalty are character traits I can well and truly understand, and I know I have more than a few similar traits myself.

Take the fact that she has a clear case of social anxiety, and is nervous about showing off her talents except when absolutely necessary or in a situation where no-one can judge her. When taken along on a perilous journey to use her talent for “parenting” (for want of a better word) to convince an unruly, belligerent dragon to go and sleep somewhere else, she’s (understandably, I feel) too scared to go in there and do her thing, even in front of her friends. And only partly because she’s dealing with a fucking dragon.

I know too well how all that feels — of the difficulty and anxiety which surrounds using your talents and abilities in “public”, even in front of people you love and trust. (Not the “dragon” bit.) I know, for example, that I’m a decent writer and that people enjoy reading my stuff, but I hate hate hate anyone watching me write. I have absolutely no idea whatsoever why this is — whether it’s anxiety over people “backseat editing” or judging the things I’ve written before I’ve finished is anyone’s guess. I just know that I hate it — but I like showing it off when it’s finished, namely when I can hit “publish”, light the blue touch paper and just walk away. (At this point, my fear of negative, destructive feedback comes into play, but that’s a whole other matter.)

Same thing with music, really. Practicing is a necessary part of being able to play complex pieces of music, but I hate people listening to me practice. Performing? Fine. Playing the same bit over and over and over again until I get it right? Well, that’s something to do with headphones or when no-one’s in the house. Something of a combination of perfectionism (“if anyone’s going to hear this, I want it to be right“) and worrying about the judgement of others (“they won’t want to hear those three bars repeated over and over and over! They’ll tell me to shut up, or hurry up and get it right or something”), perhaps? I don’t know.

Same with doing anything vaguely creative, in fact. I hate being watched doing something like that. Perhaps it’s because doing something creative puts you in a vulnerable position where your “soul” (or whatever) is on display, and anyone could quite easily strike it for massive damage with an unkind word or an ill-timed snigger. It’s something I could really do with Getting The Hell Over, but it’s also one of those things that has indelibly stamped itself onto my personality over the years.

Whatever the reasons for it all… Um, Fluttershy? I feel your pain, girl.

#oneaday Day 798: My Little Pony, Skinny and Bony, Made out of Plastic, Looks Like a Sp–

I’m just going to confess this up-front right now as I’m not really ashamed of it, but I can see how some people might be embarrassed to admit such a thing in a forum as public as their personal blog viewed by literally tens of people. Not me, though. I am unashamed, as you can clearly see from the amount of filler in this first paragraph, coupled with the fact that I have not yet introduced the topic of this entry, which is obviously visible in the post title.

All right. No more inane babbling. (Hah.) One… Two…

IwatchedthreeepisodesofMyLittlePonyearlierandenjoyedthem.

Whew. That sure feels good to get off my chest. See you tomorrow.

Wait, you want a little explanation? Well, all right. I guess you can’t just drop a bomb like “I Watched My Little Pony Today” (hey, it does get easier once you’ve said it once) and just walk away. You probably want to know if I’m feeling all right, whether there’s anything you can do to help me and if the authorities should be notified.

There is nothing to be concerned about. My interest in the new My Little Pony series (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, to give it its full title) was initially sparked by online discussion and the phenomenon of “bronies” — male fans of the show aged between 14 and 35-ish. The rise of the curious and unexpected fanbase for the show is, according to Wikipedia, originally attributed to discussion on renowned Internet dark corner 4chan. The memes which came from the Friendship is Magic show spread outwards from 4chan, as memes are wont to do, and the “brony” was born.

This sort of situation was unthinkable back when I was a kid, which is incidentally the last time I was even the slightest bit aware of the existence of My Little Pony. As a boy at primary school, the absolute worst possible insult that could be hurled at you (not counting “your mum” jokes, since those technically aren’t insulting you) was to be accused of liking girly things. My Little Pony was, at the time, the very pinnacle of girliness, and to be branded as a boy who liked the sparkly equines? Well, that would be the end of your social life, since, as we know, kids can be bigoted little shits at times. (Unless you were friends with girls. But what self-respecting primary school kid in the 1980s was friends with icky girls? Bleeeeurgh.) (Full disclosure: despite being bullied as a kid, I fortunately, to the best of my recollection, escaped the dreadful fate of being branded a girlyboy. Further disclosure: I always thought the Ponies’ hair looked nice. Additional notes: GIRLS.)

Anyway, back to the present, and Friendship is Magic. I watched the initial self-titled two-part episode with some curiosity, having no idea what to expect save for the art style that I had seen scattered around a few Twitter avatars in recent weeks. The distinctive, big-eyed aesthetic for the Ponies was one that appealed to me, so I knew that I was at least going to like the look of the show — it was the content that I knew next to nothing about.

What I found was actually rather entertaining. While the show is obviously somewhat “girly” in many of its themes and characters (you can count the number of speaking male characters on the fingers of two fingers in the three episodes I’ve watched so far, and one of them is voiced by a woman) it features that kind of multi-layered humour that sets truly great kids’ TV shows apart from the disposable fluff. While on the surface the episodes each contain a commendable message about friendship, trust and cooperation, there are several other layers on which the show can be appreciated.

Firstly, there’s the characters, who are all well-defined but nuanced, and many of whom contribute to the show’s often exhausting, manic pace — it reminds me of shows like Powerpuff Girls at times, at least partly due to prolific voice actress Tara Strong’s involvement. Secondly, there’s the wide variety of humour types which are presented — everything from slapstick to surrealism, with some musical comedy usually thrown in for good measure whenever Pinkie Pie is around. Thirdly, there’s a ton of cultural references tossed in there — in just the three episodes I’ve watched to date, the show has referenced The Brady Bunch, The Benny Hill Show, The Wizard of Oz and doubtless a bunch of other things that I’ve missed.

Perhaps the most striking thing that I like about it, though, is its almost unrelenting cheerfulness and positivity. In fact — and this will sound like a strange comparison, but bear with me — it reminds me of the reason that I enjoy Japanese role-playing games. The colour. The strong, exaggerated characters. The way in which said characters tackle their “issues”. Hell, the first two episodes even culminate in a very JRPG-style “boss fight” featuring the Ponies unleashing the power of the six Elements of Harmony in order to teach temporary antagonist Nightmare Moon a lesson she won’t forget in a hurry.

It’s silly, enjoyable nonsense, in other words, though with a commendable underlying message. It’s fun, undemanding but rewarding, and just the thing with which to unwind if you can’t deal with too much angst, tension or people trying to be too clever. In short, it is what it is, and you should feel absolutely no shame whatsoever in enjoying it if you find it happens to tickle you in your happy places.

I guess all of the above makes me a Brony by default, then. You know what? I’m cool with that.