by: Ryder Reese ’27
Comedy is a timeless device which has been used throughout history and will be used as long as we can communicate with one another. It’s conceptually difficult to understand, yet most desired above all other forms of communication. It’s something that can be evoked through multiple means and situations, ranging from the generic to the inappropriate. We value a wide array of feelings, emotions, and experiences in our life, one of which being exterior validation.
Comedy is one of a few ways to get the addictive high of a genuine emotion evoked from someone else, and like every other construct of our society, it advances with us. The form of a chuckle, belly laugh, tummy giggle, tummy laugh, or belly chuckle has evolved over time, especially when caused by irony*. It’s my full belief that comedy, and the tool of irony, may not be entirely grasped by anyone, only partially explained; I say that just in case the following is interpreted as incoherent (in which case I apologize). There is the base layer of genuine sincerity, the easiest of concepts to be understood. If I don’t like to eat jelly sandwiches, I will announce, “I don’t like jelly sandwiches, they are not yummy.”
Sincerity is fine, but where it is lacking in the comedy department. There is nothing funny about it (at least not technically). If you wanted to add a layer of irony to the original statement in order to crack your dear old grandmother up, you might say, “I love jelly sandwiches, they are yummy”, with a particular emphasis on your passion towards them. Whereas sincerity might also be considered obsolete nowadays, the basic layer of irony is rare. Due to plain irony being very rare in the modern landscape of humor, the second layer of irony has gluttonously risen to all verbally ironic needs.
Post-irony is a form of re-affirming the original statement of sincerity with the guise of sarcasm. This is arguably the most difficult form of irony to grasp, yet the most foundational to our modern sense of humor – it’s the new sincerity. Taking the situational example from earlier, you now want to desperately make your friend laugh so you tell them, “I hate jelly sandwiches and think they taste horrible; I’ve definitely eaten them before!” Due to post-irony essentially acting as the new square-one, there is one final layer of confusing irony cake: meta irony.
Meta irony is when everything else is thrown out of the window and when the “comedian” (and more-so their intentions) become the punchline. Meta irony is Schrödinger’s douchebag of the satirical irony family, the ultimate self-serving sacrifice. It operates from the uncomfortable feeling that you don’t know the truth of the matter, and that maybe the joke teller is in the dark just as much as you are. To return to the jelly sandwiches one last time, an example of meta-irony at its finest would be to post on your social media page, “I really don’t like jelly sandwiches. I swear I really, really hate jelly sandwiches. Guys, believe me.” Now, even though I made it sound like the opposite, I wouldn’t consider meta irony to be a part of the earlier layers simply because it functions in relation to itself, unlike the earlier three who function off one another.
Verbal meta-irony only feeds off, and gives to, itself (the literal snake eating its tail, if you will). It needs at least one of two things to function: a lack of known background from the comedian and/or the ability to create an atmosphere so uncomfortable that the victim can’t decern how to react. A rise in meta-irony can be attributed to the rise of comedic “characters” who serve no purpose other than to comment on themselves. Verbal irony works well with satire in how its forms and conventions coincide with the absurdist lengths of traditional comic satire. In other words, when life gives you irony, you have no other choice than to make something absurd. Our very perception of comedy and the forms it takes will forever be adapting to new, extreme, and absurd heights. Long after we’ve ascended to our 67th layer of irony, we might just look back and realize it was, in a way, sarcastic all along. Verbal irony is such a particular thing to pin down and explain, that when you do try to do so, you end up sounding ironic. In trying to explain meta-irony, you come off meta-ironic.
I really love jelly sandwiches…
*When referring to “irony” I am referring to verbal irony; i.e. sarcasm. Situational/structural, poetic, and any other interpretation is each another can of worms (there is only one can opener and, unfortunately, it’s almost broken)
Leave a Reply