An ode to sarcasm

There are many ways to communicate

Last week, I shared this post by David Simon.

Those familiar with Simon’s work immediately recognize those chronic right-wing falsities, coming to a resolution with JD Vance’s couch fucking. Whereas most everyone knows the couch scenario is fabricated, a large percentage of the right really believes the first few items actually happened.

Some apparently weren’t familiar with Simon, believing he was endorsing the right’s misinformation. That is: they didn’t pick up on his sarcasm. A fair assessment if you’ve never watched The Wire, but what followed is a common sentiment in online discourse: people shouldn’t use sarcasm as a communication tool.

I disagree.

A few people leveraged the criticism on my post, though this response by Bob Wisdom, who played Howard "Bunny" Colvin in The Wire, highlights why it’s effective—if you speak the language.

That’s where we run into an issue: not everyone speaks sarcasm. Which makes it no different from other regional dialects. Sarcasm is legible to certain people, and groups of people, and not others. It doesn’t make the language right or wrong. It just makes it a form of communication.

The problem begins when people who don’t speak (or like) it think it shouldn’t be used, or that it’s not effective—an entirely untrue assumption.

Let’s use the fish-in-water analogy: people born into a sarcastic family or culture don’t realize it’s the water they swim in. It’s simply the language they communicate with. Like all languages, it has rules, can be misused, and is often misunderstood.

From my perspective, the most important role sarcasm plays is in setting boundaries. Let’s start with a parallel exmaple.

Young animals of many species (including humans) wrestle. There’s no real explanation for this instinctual act—and yes, in humans, this tends to occur more with young boys. Wrestling also sets boundaries. It shows who’s stronger, who’s weaker, and helps the weaker gain strength. Unless you’re dealing with an arrogant SOB, it teaches the stronger how not to be an asshole and harm the weaker. If they display arrogant tendencies, inevitably someone stronger puts them in their place, making it a self-correcting system.

Sarcasm isn’t a physical, but it certainly cuts. There’s strength and weakness, opportunities for growth and humility. Importantly, it establishes boundaries. The language humbles the recipient. A little too high on your own supply? A remedy awaits. If the recipient can’t handle ribbing, they learn to respect the boundaries of others. If they can, the game is elevated: sarcasm is never a one-way conversation. If it was, it would quickly lose appeal, threatening to transform into cynicism and vitriol.

Because sarcasm as a craft is best for jabbing, not eliminating—unless someone’s arrogance rises to the level of requiring it. By this point, however, the person is likely so far gone that any sleight is perceived as a character assault. An so another language is required, likely an intervention (if you care about the person) or a declaration of war and shaming (if you don’t).

That is, sarcasm, like all forms of communication, is useful sometimes, but not always. When used effectively in the culture that supports it, it helps establish and maintain equanimity. And, for its practitioners, it’s just plain fun, which is a feature that shouldn’t be overlooked.

Take the JD Vance fucking a couch tweet. “Rick” did a few things right:

• He chose something that could feasibly be true

• He cited the book for which Vance is known to have opened up about personal issues, giving it the appearance of truth even though entirely fabricated

• By including page numbers, he elevates the dialogue with a further appearance of truthiness, even though they’re also fabricated

• He threw shade at someone that’s been dominating headlines for non-sarcastically belittling childless women

“Rick” didn’t realize his tweet would take off. He changed his handle and made his account private after it soared into mainstream consciousness. It was a sarcastic move—yes, fake, but sarcasm doesn’t require “truth,” it just needs to be feasible—that accomplished a few important things:

• It transformed Vance on the attack to Vance playing defense

• If Vance was capable of being humbled, it would have served that function because it set a boundary, which is basically: You’re going to treat women that way? You want to tell non-gender conforming people how to dress and act? Ok, how does this feel?

Sure, there are more layers of humiliation and irreverence to this example, but for our purposes, this is basically seeing a guy be a douchebag to women in public and taking a jab. Again, not a knockout, just enough to stun him, make him step back and think, “maybe I shouldn’t be suck a dick.”

Of course, that’s not what happened with Vance, as he seems incapable of expressing empathy or feeling shame. On a broader level, it changed the conversation. Vance had to reply to couch fucking. It took the wind out of his sails.

Some people who don’t like this approach believe that spreading fake stories has the potential to make us “as bad as the right.” I highly doubt that, given that everyone knows it’s not real. That’s not why people are referencing it.

The difference, using Simon’s tweet above, or something more current like an unhinged Trump claiming that Kamala Harris’s huge crowds are AI-generated, is that the right isn’t spreading misinformation sarcastically: they’re really trying to get followers to believe these stories. And some, in some cases many, of them do.

Which is exactly what distinguishes sarcasm from cynicism.

I understand how hard it is for people not brought up in the waters of sarcasm to instinctively comprehend its function or the fact that it actually forms deeper bonds among people. This isn’t hyperbole: sarcasm is regularly employed by my family members and closest friends. It’s a love language, because intimacy resides in the shared laughter after that perfect jab is thrown. And it also keeps anyone from, as was often said while I was growing up, “getting too big for your britches.”

Sarcasm says “hey, get back down here to earth”—which, I suspect, is why the right is flailing with these newfound punches. They’re stunned. Instead of taking a moment to reflect not only the content itself but what lies behind the content, they immediately lash out.

Sarcasm doesn’t “belong” to the left. They can be equally cynical and self-important. They can’t always take jabs or understand their function. Sarcasm isn’t owned by any party. My analogy is only descriptive of a particular dynamic that’s currently being broadly experienced.

Like any language, sarcasm can be learned—as my wife has discovered; she’s learned to throw solid jabs in our decade together. That doesn’t mean everyone must learn it, or even should learn it. It doesn’t have to be understood by or appeal to everyone.

Just because it doesn’t land for you, don’t think one anecdote (or attitude) applies to everyone. Communication comes in many forms. We’re better people, and a better species, when we can communicate broadly and effectively across demographics. Sometimes that requires a high level of empathy and compassion in our speech. At other times, something a little spicier works better.