Not like everybody else

We live in a world that’s at odds over the idea of originality.

In our lovely liberal democracies, originality is a political ideal as well as a personal aspiration. It is the apotheosis of freedom.

In Ireland, for example, our art, culture and folklore is filled with eccentrics, innovators and iconoclasts, people who were not controlled by the tides of their times, and cut against the currents of mainstream thought.

Meanwhile, in parts of the world ruled by more repressive and paranoid regimes, originality is something that is viewed not only with suspicion, but as a dangerous departure from the stable status quo.

When heads roll in (insert name of violently intolerant society), often it is because those who call the shots deemed the brains that lived inside those heads to be insufficiently well-scrubbed by their programmes of propaganda and indoctrination.

If the power of original thought were to be measured in gallons of spilled blood, you would need a quare big bucket to hold it.

Original outlook and opinion can be a powerful thing: Not only can it revolutionise the life of the individual, but it can also inspire change in others too.

Wow. So originality has no downsides?

Well, not exactly.

Because, while I am not about to align myself with some of the world’s most intolerant tyrants, I do think that a steadfast commitment to originality can lead you astray.

More specifically, I believe that striving above anything else to be original can make you look and sound… like a twat.

Evidence of people who have elevated originality to their highest ideal is not hard to find.

It can be seen in the pipe being packed by the 20-year-old cub in the corner of a crowded smoking area. It can be heard in the nauseating playlist of unknown songs he sticks on when you end up back at his house for a party.

And it can be felt in your palpitating heart as you are forced to defend every uncontroversial opinion you hold, all because this guy has decided to craft his identity by taking the opposing view to what most other people think on all matters, big and small.

Spending time with such a carefully self-shaped bohemian is tough going. I do not advise it.

But some painstakingly original people can be great sources of comedy.

My favourite thing they do is attempt to avoid cliches, and, in the act of doing so, end up arriving at completely ridiculous replacements.

I will give you an example.

A while ago, I was talking to a man about somebody who had just passed away, and instead of saying he ‘lit up the room’, he saw the cliche coming, tried to swerve it, and ended up saying this: “He was the kind of guy who, when he walked into a room… sort of became the room.”

He cringed at his own conspicuous linguistic flop, and I smirked a very subtle, knowing smirk.

Another good one was when a fella was describing to me the optimum point at which to do particular thing. The phrase he was heading towards was, ‘the sweet spot’.

However, realising that he was about to betray the fact that he was just like everybody else, he pulled out at the last second and instead opted for, ‘that sweet area’, adding a completely unintentional creepiness to what it was he was saying.

You might think I am being harsh pointing out these blunders, but I am not.

These people are making a mistake and it has to be corrected. They are confusing originality with authenticity.

Just because millions of other people have used a phrase before you, does not make it less true, heartfelt or appropriate when you use it, too.

In fact, in striving to say something original and unique, what you ironically end up doing is saying something that seems more artificial, contrived, and, in the most entertaining cases, nonsensical.

It is okay to say the same things as other people, dress like other people, and enjoy the same things as other people.

Because, the fact of the matter is, even if you tried your very best to be just like everyone else, you would not be able to.

Do not pledge an oath of originality. It is already written in your DNA.