Real artists are jaded aesthetes, made cynical before their time by unrelenting debauchery and single-minded pursuit of their artistic vision. In such a scene, irony is the coin of the realm. And besides - what other social device lets you appear intellectually superior and world-weary, without having the slightest fucking clue about what you’re talking about? Consider irony a short-cut to character, without all the invariably unpleasant work entailed in building it. In Toronto, irony is an even easier and more convenient mode of expression, due to a huge surplus of sour hipsters who use it to construct a form of passive aggressive double-speak – sort of like a bastardized Gypsy’s cant for the High Fidelity set.
Irony isn’t just a matter of speech, either – it’s a whole mode of being. This is facilitated by the fact that early 21st century western culture has amassed a veritable shit-mountain of self-referential pop-culture sludge, the recycling of which is one of the primary roles of the “culture industry” to which you as an artist now belong.
Now, with irony, everything you say, wear, and create – hell, your very BEING - need be nothing more than a self-consciously tongue-in-cheek re-hash of horrendously cheesy ideas vomited up in 1978 by balding Cincinnati-based marketing men in polyester pants, with gold chains and hairy backs. Welcome one and all, to the end of history. Be careful where you step.
PS: "Mind you, being non-hetero is about to jump the shark big time, and those with an eye for the Next Big Thing might want to take a gander at asexuality."