A Discourse on Idiots

It’s no great shock to discover that Russell Brand is a narcissistic bore with an undergrad’s line in sub-Lenon-esque vacuity, but who could have predicted that, just by occasionally dropping the word “revolution” into the faux-cockney gibber of his conversation, he’d have swathes of would-be serious types on the far-left behaving like 14 year-old girls? I mean – Russell Brand. In the future, if anyone has the misfortune of looking back on this sorry episode, they’re going to be doing a lot of cringing.

Take, for example, Laurie Penny and Richard “Lenin” Seymour’s toe-curling, squirm-inducing, “A Discourse on Brocialism“:

Featuring such insights as:

“Brand is precisely the sort of swaggering manarchist I usually fancy. His rousing rhetoric, his narcissism, his history of drug abuse and his habit of speaking to and about women as vapid, ‘beautiful’ afterthoughts in a future utopian scenario remind me of every lovely, troubled student demagogue whose casual sexism I ever ignored because I liked their hair.”

(Save it for your psychoanalyst, please.)

As well as High Theory from Herr Professor Doktor Seymour:

“To an extent, he genderfucks, he queers masculinity.”

(To an extent he genderfucks! There are degrees, you understand, of genderfucking. Brand might genderfuck to an extent, and that’s all very laudable, but let’s try to retain a modicum of perspective here; we’re nowhere near any effective genderfucking maxima. Although, – of course! – he does have “beautiful bird’s nest” hair. And did I mention his cheekbones?)

“Brocialism”. “Genderfuck”. “Swaggering manarchist.” The article is a mess of infantile neologisms, embarrassing hagiography and tedious clichés from two writers evidently unafraid to sacrifice their dignity for the greater glories of the total-proletarian state, – or at any rate, a half-nod from a minor celebrity and the gratitude of whoever writes the cheques at The New Statesman. I would like to say that it’s hard to believe that this tosh could get published, but given that it’s featured in the very same magazine that saw fit to rope in the author of My Booky Wook as a guest editor, unfortunately, that’s far from true. Clearly, ol’ Staggers is desperate and insensible. Won’t somebody please call a taxi and send it home, before it makes an even bigger damn fool of itself?

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