Fake It, Baby

I’m a big fan of pop-culture wisdom. I’ll probably lose intelligentsia points for saying this, but anything you’ve ever gained from philosophy has been restated somewhere in song, film, or easy-read literature — only better.

Terry Pratchett’s Disc World novels, for instance, are a fountain of knowledge compared with, say, Michel Foucault or Wittgenstein. And the TV comedy It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia captures the spirit of our times better than anything else does. Just don’t quote it among Milan Kundera acolytes or the remaining James Joyce obsessives — some portholes simply aren’t worth trying. In any case, songs provide the best one-liners.

“Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose” (Kristofferson and Joplin) is a cherished favourite of mine. As is Dolly Parton singing, “It’s a rich man’s game, no matter what they call it”. When you can combine poetry with a musical hook, you gain a linguistic superpower that’s unmatched in other mediums. I currently have the earworm “Fake it, baby, they won’t even know” (Rogue Traders) on a kind of background loop in my head. And it’s sound advice, if you ask me.

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