I was born at a time when men still earned money as authors, as journalists. I lived long enough to see that whole economic sphere collapse, to be replaced by the internet: a place where advertising and journalism no longer occupy separate pages, but became one form of flattery.
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The internet, in this sense, is predatory: it will tell people what they want to hear, it will let them feel what they want to feel. And the most foolish are victims of it, feeling no shame at their own wanting that comes before the swindle. An artfully distorted mirror.
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The people who actually are beautiful don't want to be told that they're beautiful.
The people who actually are brilliant don't want to be told they're intelligent.
The tragedy of flattery is precisely in its social function: it preys upon the weak. On them that want to hear.
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Delusory optimism is as much an evolved organ as the hair on your head. Tangentially related to survival.
What you do with it, your hairstyle, is another matter.
And yeah, as for myself, I'd rather do without. I have no delusions about myself. I'd enjoy life more if I did.
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I don't act like a snob.
I am a snob.
I don't play hard to get.
I'm just genuinely hard to get.
And I'm not lonely.
I am alone.
