October 16, 1993
Daniel J. Travanti
I am amused by another of the “lies we agree to live by.” Some people—many—speak of the variety being offered in the marketplace. They say that we are “faced with so many choices” that consumers are confused, but grateful for “diversity” that helps them avoid being bored with “the same old things” day in and day out.
These peculiarly blind observers mention food. They speak of the variety of burgers, cereals, salads, meats, and fish. The talk about the dozens of car models, choices in underwear styles, and colors.
I see that food comes in four categories only: saturated with fat or all fat, drenched in salt, sugared (true, the variety of sweeteners is impressive. There are sometimes three or four listed in the ingredients of many foods before the food itself—which you thought you were buying—is mentioned at all) or laced with chemicals. This list doesn’t seem varied to me. Sorry, there is actually a fifth category. Though it’s small, it can be found if one searches patiently. It’s food that is nutritious and untainted, un-fattened, unsalted, and un-sugared.
As for motor vehicles, there is still only the infernal internal combustion engine. You can’t buy a car that does not have in it a cigarette lighter and an ashtray. How much more determinedly regressive and unvaried can a detail be! The variety in automobiles is nothing but superficial detail. The vehicles are all the same, save for insignificant and mostly redundant novelties. To prove it, I say that almost no one can distinguish one car from another anymore. We used to have true variety. A ford was not a Buick, a pickup was not a van, and no one would ever have mistaken a Mercedes for a Lincoln Continental.
Hamburgers are, of course, all alike. With each new season, the “accomplishments” vary: lettuce, then none, tomato, salsa or not, mustard with onions, without, topped with mayonnaise or cheese, chicken this or chicken that. And the names serve in place of actual diversity, as the distinguishing and individual factors. We have Fat burgers, Chicken burgers, Chacha burgers, Thinwiches, Halfpounders, Doubledeckers, Surf and Turf, etc. The game is cute. It’s also insidious. The message is “Here are your many choices,” but the truth is “Hey, fools, we have only what we have: fat, salt, sugar, and chemicals; if you demand variety, we’ll go along, as long as you don’t probe too deeply and don’t ask too many questions once we’ve presented our packages.” Okay. But not with me.
Books are being published in greater numbers than ever before. Not because more good information is available and longs to be revealed; only because people will read anything. The choices are limited. The numbers are vast. We find Romance Novels, Self Help, How To, Lists, Picture Books, Historical Novels, Novels, Children’s Books. Not much to pick from. Most of it is not good writing.
Few restaurants offer true whole foods. Few bookstores offer fine literature. Clothes all over the world look the same. Sneakers, jeans, tee shirts, trench coats, baseball caps, polo shirts, heavy hiking boots, and moccasins are the only outerwear allowed in every country. People all over the world don’t want variety. They want many choices of the same few things, and packaging.
Yes; keep changing the bags, closures, and boxes. Fool me into thinking I don’t buy the same things over and over again. I don’t mind. Variety is not the spice of life. Variety is a substitute for many lives. When a person is satisfied and happy, variety is not a question. Diversity is not good if it is mediocre or bad. Only various good experiences can satisfy. Good food and enduring beauty are always satisfying. Good things are always good. Good work is gratifying. If one is engaged in bad work, one will be anxious. Anxiety leads to a search for variety, instead of a useful change. The change that could make a difference would be to do work that is good. Superficial, irrelevant variety will not take its place. It can’t.
Spice is the spice of life. Most people, I’d bet, certainly most people I’ve met, don’t use a variety of spices. They use salt and pepper, one clove of garlic, and a “pinch” of this or that: oregano or basil. The spice of life is life. Life is naturally varied. Human beings are constitutionally limited. They get into ruts, furnish them, and settle down. Down. When they want to be picked up, they take up some new dull habit, craze, fad, “hot” thing.
New cuisines make people think they’re getting something new. New sneakers with lights in the heels make people think they’re getting new footwear. New tie widths make them think they’re hip and new again. Each season a “new” color is introduced, a new fragrance, the new sport—every jerky activity that includes a ball, wad, or paddle and an opponent is automatically a sport, these days—the new video game (which is the same lights, sparks, and beeps show that you find in Planet Hollywood, The Hard Rock Café, and all other counterparts), the latest drink (which is exactly the same as all the old drinks that are harmful and sweet, not good and certainly not new), and a new magazine, newspaper, television channel, cable access, or shopping center and “theme park” are unveiled. Under the veil are the same razzle-dazzle versions of stupid pet tricks, only they’re stupid people tricks.
Distraction is the name of the game. Escapism used to be a reasonable pastime, but only if sought on an occasional basis, not as a way of life. If people spent as much time and passion on experiencing their real lives—fully tasting, feeling good human pleasures of the mind and senses, of family and friends and loving and arguing and really seeing and noting and learning—they would find themselves in a varied life. Variety would be the norm, because experience would be deep and satisfying. The body will crave real food if all it’s had for the day is white sugar. It will want real nourishment. But if it receives nutrition, it will not crave empty calories. The spirit works pretty much the same way, I’m sure.