Why not being able to make sense of your own contradictions isn’t the end of the world
What’s the answer to all questions? “It’s just not that simple.” In this article, we reveal how we get through life despite a thousand contradictions.
“I’ve got a massive crush on my Tinder match, but I just can’t stop swiping.”
My match is funny, clever, thoughtful and, on top of that, absolutely lovely. Yet I find myself opening the app again and again to look at even more profiles. My crush gets left behind in the swiping frenzy.
On dating apps, we don’t just encounter our next great love, but also – and this is practically guaranteed – our own contradictions. Dating platforms are designed in such a way that – even if we mean well by ourselves and others – we very quickly start promoting ourselves and judging others as if they were commodities.
On Tinder and similar apps, we don’t just optimise our own profiles, but also those of our potential matches. Just like in a supermarket or a restaurant, we ask ourselves: could there be something even better out there? This is fuelled by algorithms, because companies benefit when we spend even more time on their platform in our search for true love.
In our minds, romantic feelings and relationships – personal, loving, social – actually represent the antithesis of capitalism. We want to be able to let ourselves fall into the arms of the other person(s) and find refuge from the horrors of the world.
Instead, dating apps capitalise on our longing for closeness. Many of the ideas about what romantic relationships look like and should be like have emerged alongside capitalism and/or are intertwined with it. The constant pressure to (self-)optimise, for example, to which we are subjected on dating apps, stands in stark contrast to what actually defines deep interpersonal relationships: being accepted for who one is.
However, these digital tools for seeking and finding love also point to an even deeper contradiction inherent in the very concept of romantic relationships. On the one hand, romantic relationships are an emotional haven; on the other, they are a place of oppression and suffering. Women, in particular, experience various forms of violence within romantic relationships.
Yet market logic also shapes those relationships that, at first glance, appear free from violence. Capitalism has crept so deeply into our everyday lives that we can no longer help but think within its constraints. Is your crush investing just as much in the relationship as you are?
Then why not just delete Tinder?! Yes, maybe. At least if you’re happier without it. But sometimes dating apps are good too: for combating loneliness, for example, and for queer people.
“I ordered some comfy slippers with a dachshund design for €3.89 on Temu.”
I find our consumerist, throwaway society absolutely creepy. And yet I still bought myself a “silly little treat”. Because I was feeling so sad at that moment and wanted something nice.
Of course, that’s a bit absurd. But we think it’s important to see such impulse buys not just as a personal weakness, but also as a reaction to the world we live in. Your latest ‘cheat’ purchase is an expression of the emptiness that capitalism creates within you, and at the same time an attempt to fill it, at least for a moment, with a cosy feeling of satisfaction. Under capitalism, companies rely on the constant expansion of our needs and do everything they can to ensure that we pin our hopes for a bit of happiness on ever-new products.
To cope with contradictions means accepting that two opposing things can be true at the same time. That the dachshund slippers aren’t quite right – but they aren’t entirely wrong either. We want to engage in politics, which means: changing the bigger picture and ensuring that corporations like Temu can no longer exist in their current form. Engaging in politics does not mean moralising and reprimanding individuals for their choice of slippers.
In any case, the 3.89 dachshund slippers from Temu are certainly no worse than your boss’s Gucci bag. And who ever chose to consider an iced matcha latte the highlight of their day?
“I don’t dress up for others, but only for myself – or at least I think so?”
I’m critical of traditional beauty ideals, yet I keep realising I dress and put on make-up exactly as society expects me to.
We’ve all grown up in a patriarchal society and have been taught certain patterns from a young age. That girls like to play with dolls and boys with racing cars, for example. Or that women, in particular, are supposed to look a certain way.
These beauty ideals are constantly changing – but from ‘Heroin Chic’ to ‘SkinnyTok’, the underlying message is usually that women’s bodies shouldn’t take up too much space. Pilates and ‘toning’ – yes, please, but not too much muscle. Curves are a necessity, but every gram of fat is met with insults. Any signs of ageing must be concealed with sufficient hair dye, skincare, make-up and (baby) Botox. The unconscious goal here is often to conform to the ‘male gaze’ – that is, the perspective and needs of men.
But societal expectations don’t stop at men either: They’re expected to have as much hair on their heads as possible, and to be tall and muscular (after all, someone’s got to protect the women from wild bears). Masculinity coaches not only sell raw cocoa but also the right ‘alpha mindset’.
After all, under capitalism, there’s always the right product for every occasion and every insecurity (and for every product, no matter how absurd, the right insecurity is invented). And it can’t just be any old product: clothes that don’t match the latest trends are out of fashion. Your old skinny jeans? Embarrassing – you might as well dump them straight away.
Even when we want to act in a feminist way, we find ourselves repeatedly failing to live up to this standard and slipping back into patriarchal patterns. These ideals are not only upheld and enforced through verbal abuse in the form of unsolicited comments, bullying and online hate campaigns when you’re supposedly ‘too fat’, ‘too thin’, ‘too masculine’ or ‘too feminine’, but also through compliments when you do conform to the norm. And of course – positive feedback feels good; after all, we all somehow want to fit in.
That doesn’t mean you should stop wearing make-up if you enjoy it, or give up your gym session and your smoothie if they’re good for you. But it does mean it’s complicated to distinguish what we actually do ‘for ourselves’ and what we do (also) to meet the expectations of others.
“At uni, I took a class on how best to market myself after graduation.”
I think competition in the job market is crappy. And yet I still took that class. For homework, we’re supposed to identify our ‘unique selling point’. My field is incredibly competitive, and I’ve got to make it through somehow.
Capitalism has produced people who see themselves as ‘entrepreneurs of themselves’. They market themselves like a product and invest in themselves. If you think that’s too self-centred, you can also invest in your own relationships – naturally, to get the best out of them for yourself.
It’s grotesque, but not surprising given that we’re constantly busy spending our limited time on our own survival. Relationships are subjected to a cost-benefit analysis. And the worst thing is: we no longer even know how things could be any different. We take it for granted that what we put into a relationship is what we want to get out of it. (And of course it’s important that you’re not the only one doing the dishes in your shared flat – but not every interpersonal interaction can be calculated on a strict exchange basis.) And when relationships do fail, they’re probably deemed toxic. But suffering is also a structural symptom, not just a result of individual failure. If a relationship doesn’t ‘work’, it’s not just down to poor personal choices, but also to societal contradictions that manifest themselves here. For example: not having any free time as you’re being forced to work overtime yet again.
Back to working life: network, market yourself, fulfil your potential. Under capitalism, whether you make something of yourself or not depends entirely on you. And not, for example, on whether you live in a wonderful community where everyone supports one another. At least, that’s the prevailing view – but isn’t it actually quite different?
Our lives are damaged, and as a result, so is our judgement. After all, our way of thinking has developed in a world full of contradictions and shaped by a focus on performance, self-optimisation and consumption. Even when we criticise economic inequality and social injustice, we remain entangled in their logic. And so we too harbour conflicting desires and ideas within ourselves.
The market co-opts everything, even authenticity. So even your unique selling point – not wanting to sell yourself – can still be sold very effectively.
“I’ve been scrolling through TikTok and Instagram all day instead of going to the protest against the far right party AfD.”
Standing up to the far right is really important to me, and I really ought to be doing more. Yet here I am, staying at home and just lying around.
Instead of blaming yourself, you should ask yourself: Why are you feeling so drained, and what’s stealing your energy to pull yourself together?
Most of us feel ashamed when we notice contradictory behaviour in ourselves. And we’re stressed because we feel we can’t do anything right. We feel powerless. A gap emerges between our expectations and reality, creating a dynamic that – precisely because we judge our own (in)action – prevents us from becoming active again. We then often try to cover up this gap – from ourselves (for example, by distracting ourselves for hours on end) and from others (by not talking about it).
Because we’re afraid of being judged for our contradictions. Perhaps we’re also afraid that the conservatives might actually be right: that left-wingers are hypocrites who talk a lot whilst sitting comfortably in the warmth. But the truth is: leftists are just people living in late capitalism. People who are trying their best. People who fall short of expectations – both societal ones and their own.
The inability to live up to ideals and norms gives rise to shame: for our behaviour, for our bodies, for ourselves as a whole. It feels relentless and paralysing. We are afraid of being judged negatively and condemned. And in our shame, we feel lonely because we think we are the only ones who feel this way. Yet the reasons for this suffering are not an individual problem at all, but socially constructed: Capitalism isolates and alienates us, making us vulnerable to shame. What is considered ‘normal’ and ideal is always a question of power, too.
The complicated thing about shame is: it’s a tool of domination, it’s also a feeling that can tell us something very important – such as that our boundaries have been violated, or that we ourselves have behaved inappropriately. Sometimes we also wish that other people would feel more shame rather than less: racists, antisemites and sexists, for example. Or when Gisèle Pelicot calls for shame to change sides.
So shame will always exist. But we can ensure that we no longer feel alone when it comes to certain forms of shame, such as embarrassment about body hair or feelings of inferiority. We can create spaces where we can show ourselves to be flawed and vulnerable. Spaces where we can be different without fear – including the fear of being shamed. And, at best, one day the whole world will fit into these spaces.
‘I’ve read this whole text and I still don’t know what to do.’
Even if it doesn’t necessarily make me feel embarrassed, I don’t want to float through the TikTok universe in fluffy dachshund slippers for ever and ever. So how do I get out of this?
Perhaps by facing painful contradictions head-on, rather than numbing them. To talk about contradictions rather than treating them as taboo. To take contradictions personally, not as something that is necessarily rooted within ourselves, but as something that is done to us. It is not our psyche that is to blame – a psyche that craves nothing but distraction – but a system that produces such a psyche.
And yet, of course, we do bear responsibility: for example, for not being an arsehole despite all this. And for being gentle with ourselves and with others.
By this we do not mean we should wrap the whole world and our minds in cotton candy. Contradictions cannot simply be resolved, neither by accepting them nor by ignoring them. We won’t be able to avoid feeling uneasy about these contradictions as long as we live in this world. On the contrary: given the state of affairs, that discomfort is more than justified.
In that sense, however, contradictions are also a promise. They awaken the desire for a life with fewer contradictions. One might even take comfort in every contradiction one discovers within oneself. The contradictions are there anyway, but noticing them means being able to recognise the contradiction. It means not yet being completely permeated by capitalist thinking.
What we can do in the meantime is to reflect on how we think. How we think about friendships and relationships. To become aware of the utopian potential inherent in them. To strengthen solidarity. No holding back on emotions. No letting capitalism take over everything. Feeling resistant! Joining forces, rather than turning inwards. Fighting for better material conditions. And for a completely different society.
For further reading:
Eva Illouz: The End of Love. A Sociology of Negative Relations. 2020. 17 €.
Laura Späth: about shame. 2021. 18 €.
