I blame Oxford English Dictionary. They declared “goblin mode” as the ‘Word of the Year’. (“But that’s two words,” the pedant in me says, wagging a finger at OED.) Now everyone wants to adopt it, except most of us had no idea what it meant until the Guardians of the English Galaxy said it was “a type of behaviour which is unapologetically self-indulgent, lazy, slovenly, or greedy, typically in a way that rejects social norms or expectations.” BBC Language were altogether more puritanical about it, calling it “lazy, greedy, shameless behaviour.” The phrase went viral and predictably launched a thousand Instagram memes. But what really is it?
Who stole my hygge?
It sounds to me like the evil twin of “hygge” (pronounced hu-gah), for which the Cambridge Dictionary has: “a Danish word for a quality of cosiness (feeling warm, comfortable, and safe) that comes from doing simple things such as lighting candles, baking, or spending time at home with your family.” Goblins, to most of us, are those Middle Earth creatures born of Tolkien’s trippy imagination, not really associated with cute Christmassy blissing out. This is how they’re described on Wiki: “The Goblins, also called Orcs of the Misty Mountains, are a grotesque subspecies of Orcs living in the Misty Mountains, seen especially in The Hobbit. They are described as ugly and huge […]”
But the last week of the year is no time to look for nuance. “Goblin mode” was a Word of the Year picked on the basis of a popular vote. People dig it. The pandemic made us all hypersensitive to an invisible yet deadly virus, which, in turn, made us invisible, too. Huddled in our homes, we had privacy and spare time (unless you were one of those Zoom-afflicted souls), but the anxiety around Covid ruined any fun we might eke out of the situation.
We need new metaphors
{{/usCountry}}We need new metaphors
{{/usCountry}}And that’s where the goblins come in. We humans need animal metaphors to fully express our humanity, ironically. And so, we often call ourselves lone wolves, scaredy-cats or alpha dogs. The post-pandemic world needs new metaphors. And reality seems to be falling short. Goblins, imported from a dark fantasy realm, seem to reflect our collective need to turn the focus on our individuality. The OED voters picked a term associated with pleasure, often at odds with productivity. Hurrah on that count! Moreover, the idea of “rejecting social norms or expectations” in particular, applies to the last week of the year, when all bets are off.
New Year’s resolutions have been set, but it’s too early to apply them; who wants to be that person who did a good thing one whole week before it became mandatory? That leaves us in a twilight zone, ensconced between the past and the future, surrounded by fairy lights, artisanal gin and a conscience on—you guessed it—goblin mode. Oh, the destructive possibilities!
Feel-good climax
So, what is it exactly that gives the week between Christmas and New Year’s its mojo? Sure, there are parties and reunions, shopping sprees and drinking binges. But there’s something deep-rooted about our devil-may-care attitude around now. The end of the year is a feel-good climax scripted by a calendar that’s been reckless with our emotions throughout the year. We’ve been through Squid Game and Delhi Crime. It’s time for You’ve Got Mail and Love Actually. It’s when we’re most prone to falling into old patterns we know we must change, but it’s like we’re wearing an invisibility cloak as far as the moral police in our heads are concerned.
I must confess I’m more in touch with my goblin self than the average human. Which kind of steps on the toes of this week, whose manifesto is decadence. Reading an intensely literary novel on a weekday afternoon after an aloo-gosht lunch and before an extended nap are pleasures I allow myself easily. What’s more, I don’t see it as lazy, greedy or selfish behaviour. Not in any incriminating way, at least. Perhaps I could coach the guilt-prone in the goblin arts in the coming year. But that would be too productive. Merry Christmas! I wish you obscenely long naps, scandalous feasts and terrific digestion. And remember, save the “good” behaviour for next year.
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From HT Brunch, December 24, 2022
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