On Frivolity

The Baroque Gardens of Het Loo

I started to write about frivolity. I thought it would be a suitable topic for my first post-birthday monologue. How to cling to frivolity and superficiality as crutches of normalcy. It is normal not to be ”on” the whole time, focused, intense. It is normal to be slightly light-headed, picturing the next pair of shoes you might buy next (replace shoes with anything you might consider your guilty pleasure. By the way, don’t you dislike this? The idea of pleasure being criminal? Very Catholic. Pleasure should no breed regret…).

I started to write about frivolity. About Derrida and his archeology of the frivolous. About the resistance to the societal norms that levity allows for. But in the end, I guess I just failed at being frivolous myself. See, I tell you about Derrida when I should make a list of the top ten trends in shoes this year. But I have no idea about shoes, except I enjoy them tremendously. I know, like Jon Snow, that I know nothing. This week I even found out I don’t know how to light a candle. Did you know there is a proper way to light a candle? You didn’t?! You savages! :P

I started to write about frivolity, and then I realized you cannot write about it. This, in itself, defies the purpose. Is a frivolous action devoid of its essence just because it is genuine? I was pondering whether this blog is such an action. A mere pretense of life. A “life” style. Or better yet, a “life” “style.” Virtual shadows of life and of style, purely subjective and thus, not replicable.

I started to write about frivolity and failed. Because it is in the eye of the beholder. Is Baroque frivolous? Is simplicity the antidote to it? Can we solely live in minimal spaces, black and white ghosts, wandering around in streamlined, utilitarian uniforms?

I started to write about frivolity and realized life itself is frivolous. Do tulips really really really need all those colors? Do we really really really need to sing out loud in the car when a favorite ear-worm appears? Do we really really really need to shake that booty when Ricky Martin belts out a long-forgotten dance tune? You betcha!

What would life be without those tiny frivolous moments?