Every human era is an Age of Style. What people wear, how they wear it, what they think, and how they express. Even body shapes are subject to fashion. Why? Fashions, no matter how fleeting, are patterns, and patterns make us feel secure. If “this” is here, then “that” is there. Those who move among familiar patterns never feel lost. Of course, there are always competing patterns of life, and eras fade one into another, often through an evolution of style, but, yes, sometimes more abruptly after a rejection of an older style. For individuals, the patterns, once established, seem worth protecting, so much so that some take style to be more important than underlying and more enduring human qualities, that is, those qualities that persist.
On the run from cradle to grave each of us encounters challenges to who we are and what we stand for. There’s nothing new in noting that. Each of us makes the run uniquely, expressing a style of life that combines individuality and culture. At times we run the straight and true, passing markers of accomplishment, gaining skills by experience and practice, and avoiding or defeating the treacherous who, for whatever conscious or unconscious motives, stand in our way. At the end of the run others who knew us speak of achievements, but in the best of eulogies, mourners speak of personal style: “Yes, he/she did this or that, but we hold dear the WAY he/she approached every challenge and arrived at every goal. His/her style enhanced the considerable substance of that run toward immortality.” Go back to Greek and Roman eulogies, and you will read praises that differ little from those of our time. Substance and Style: They run parallel in lives of the praiseworthy.
In the nineteenth century a subtle shift occurred that elevated style a bit above substance. Edmond Rostand seems to have started the trend in 1897 when he wrote Cyrano de Bergerac. The word panache, the last word of the play, had appeared sparingly in print during the 1800s. But after Cyrano uttered it as his last word of the play, panache became more widely used. As evidenced by its appearance in print, panache underwent a seeming exponential increase in frequency of use by the 1950s. From the mid-twentieth century on the western world has been living in the Age of Panache.
Cyrano, great swordsman and articulate poet, utters at his death that no one can take away the one thing that defined him, his panache. Yes, he certainly had a flamboyant style and great confidence, but then, he had the skills to justify his panache.
Acquiring skills is a lifelong task that requires hard work and practice. But since 1897 we’ve seen burgeoning unjustifiable panache that elevates style in the absence of accomplishment. We live in an age of pseudo-Cyranos. Have you noticed how many people have self-justified panache without accompanying skills or accomplishments? Or have you noticed how some reality TV stars receive adulation from adoring fans simply because of style?
The twenty-first century emphasis on style seems, if not greater than, at least equal to that of the French royalty who paraded through the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles in the 17th century. Our mirrors are TV, the Web, and social media. Our highly modern technological mirrors reflect our general and overt emphasis on the Way more than on the What. Is our contemporary world defined by style over substance? Since all eras embrace style, how is ours different?
Our instantaneous and worldwide media have elevated style to a level our ancestors could not imagine. Small example from football: A football player runs toward the end zone avoiding would-be tacklers and divots in the field, the as-yet-un-scored touchdown playing in his mind. His brain already shifts to his public celebration, a dance he has choreographed and that will bring added attention to him after he scores. He’s almost at the end zone when he lifts the ball in anticipation of scoring. He loses his grip. The ball squirts from his hands before he crosses the line. It bounces through the end zone. Touch back, not a score. Embarrassment—because the style was more important than the score. Meaningless panache, but typical of our age.
We carry footballs rather than swords, so we can’t call ourselves swashbucklers, proving our worth by defending others, as well as ourselves. Cyrano used his sword to defend others and himself from unwarranted attacks. But we duel in other ways, particularly through various media. Seems that like Cyrano we, too, regardless of social or economic status, face the challenges of treachery, bias, and falsehood. These challenges are always a threat to substance, and they are particularly evident in the battles we see in our media.
The place for acknowledgement of one’s accomplishments and style is, as it is for a football player, in the end zone of life. On the way there, like some unassuming halfback dedicated to scoring a goal for his team and fans, we need to carry the ball securely, get the job done by protecting what is ethically worth protecting, and like a modern Cyrano, fend off the players that keep us from scoring. In a lifelong struggle against Falsehood, Prejudice, and Treachery reaching goals with style will be praiseworthy, but only after we enter the end zone.
On the run from cradle to grave each of us encounters challenges to who we are and what we stand for. There’s nothing new in noting that. Each of us makes the run uniquely, expressing a style of life that combines individuality and culture. At times we run the straight and true, passing markers of accomplishment, gaining skills by experience and practice, and avoiding or defeating the treacherous who, for whatever conscious or unconscious motives, stand in our way. At the end of the run others who knew us speak of achievements, but in the best of eulogies, mourners speak of personal style: “Yes, he/she did this or that, but we hold dear the WAY he/she approached every challenge and arrived at every goal. His/her style enhanced the considerable substance of that run toward immortality.” Go back to Greek and Roman eulogies, and you will read praises that differ little from those of our time. Substance and Style: They run parallel in lives of the praiseworthy.
In the nineteenth century a subtle shift occurred that elevated style a bit above substance. Edmond Rostand seems to have started the trend in 1897 when he wrote Cyrano de Bergerac. The word panache, the last word of the play, had appeared sparingly in print during the 1800s. But after Cyrano uttered it as his last word of the play, panache became more widely used. As evidenced by its appearance in print, panache underwent a seeming exponential increase in frequency of use by the 1950s. From the mid-twentieth century on the western world has been living in the Age of Panache.
Cyrano, great swordsman and articulate poet, utters at his death that no one can take away the one thing that defined him, his panache. Yes, he certainly had a flamboyant style and great confidence, but then, he had the skills to justify his panache.
Acquiring skills is a lifelong task that requires hard work and practice. But since 1897 we’ve seen burgeoning unjustifiable panache that elevates style in the absence of accomplishment. We live in an age of pseudo-Cyranos. Have you noticed how many people have self-justified panache without accompanying skills or accomplishments? Or have you noticed how some reality TV stars receive adulation from adoring fans simply because of style?
The twenty-first century emphasis on style seems, if not greater than, at least equal to that of the French royalty who paraded through the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles in the 17th century. Our mirrors are TV, the Web, and social media. Our highly modern technological mirrors reflect our general and overt emphasis on the Way more than on the What. Is our contemporary world defined by style over substance? Since all eras embrace style, how is ours different?
Our instantaneous and worldwide media have elevated style to a level our ancestors could not imagine. Small example from football: A football player runs toward the end zone avoiding would-be tacklers and divots in the field, the as-yet-un-scored touchdown playing in his mind. His brain already shifts to his public celebration, a dance he has choreographed and that will bring added attention to him after he scores. He’s almost at the end zone when he lifts the ball in anticipation of scoring. He loses his grip. The ball squirts from his hands before he crosses the line. It bounces through the end zone. Touch back, not a score. Embarrassment—because the style was more important than the score. Meaningless panache, but typical of our age.
We carry footballs rather than swords, so we can’t call ourselves swashbucklers, proving our worth by defending others, as well as ourselves. Cyrano used his sword to defend others and himself from unwarranted attacks. But we duel in other ways, particularly through various media. Seems that like Cyrano we, too, regardless of social or economic status, face the challenges of treachery, bias, and falsehood. These challenges are always a threat to substance, and they are particularly evident in the battles we see in our media.
The place for acknowledgement of one’s accomplishments and style is, as it is for a football player, in the end zone of life. On the way there, like some unassuming halfback dedicated to scoring a goal for his team and fans, we need to carry the ball securely, get the job done by protecting what is ethically worth protecting, and like a modern Cyrano, fend off the players that keep us from scoring. In a lifelong struggle against Falsehood, Prejudice, and Treachery reaching goals with style will be praiseworthy, but only after we enter the end zone.
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