Through this whole trip, I’ve been reading David Brooks’ nonfiction book Bobos in Paradise, which is a spot-on description of, basically, myself and everybody that I know. The book is about ‘bourgeois bohemianism,’ which Brooks describes as the attempt by the modern upper-middle-class to meld their bohemian ideals with their bourgeois lifestyles.
Nor do I live in a particularly outrageous manner. I don’t drink or smoke or engage in crazy sexual escapades. I eat right, wake up in the morning, try to get eight hours of sleep, and sit down at my computer every day to do work.
I think of myself as an outsider, but I’m really not. Everything I do is pretty culturally acceptable. For instance, there’s a feeling amongst writers that what we do is somehow not-very-respected by the outside world. But I don’t think that’s an accurate read on our social role. In fact, mostly people seem to quite awed and impressed when they learn that I’m a writer.
In order to be truly countercultural, a pursuit needs to be low-status. For instance, I’d say that writing fan-fiction is countercultural. Of course, the problem with rejecting mainstream culture is that it means you get ignored by it.