Our Post-"Ironic" Culture

We live in a strange moment. It’s often hard to tell if anyone genuinely means what they say, if they’re being “ironic” or using “irony” to shield themselves from the consequences of saying what they believe. Online, in art, and everyday conversation, everything comes filtered through layers of irony, self-awareness, and detachment. Also, isn’t the term for this act technically sardonic?

Some cultural theorists call this the “post-ironic” condition: a state where we’re constantly hedging, performing, signaling that we’re in on the joke. It’s a way of staying emotionally safe. Sincerity feels dangerous. It makes you vulnerable. And we’ve trained ourselves to avoid that risk.

You can see it everywhere. People write, “This is so cringeworthy but…” before saying something heartfelt. We confess our real emotions through memes. We post Wojaks to say, “I feel empty”. Saying “I love you” feels too raw, so we send a shitpost instead.

And it’s not just how we speak. It’s how we make. Cultural production has shifted in the same direction. Instead of saying something earnest, people make content that mocks the idea of earnestness. TikToks that parody influencers. Songs that imitate emotional depth only to undercut it in the chorus. Brands pretending to be self-aware about capitalism while still selling you stuff. (Think Duolingo’s mascot roasting you online or Slim Jim’s ironic brand account “deep-frying” its own masculinity.)

What’s happening here isn’t just stylistic. It’s psychological. We’ve built a culture where detachment is a coping mechanism. It’s a way of dealing with uncertainty, moral complexity, and the fear of looking foolish or “cancellation”. We’re terrified of being earnest because we associate it with being naïve. So, we preemptively undercut ourselves.

Lately, I’ve been trying to practice sincerity. Even online. Saying what I mean, even when it’s awkward. Admitting that I care about something. Telling people I admire them or their work without couching it in “lol”… And it’s more complicated than it sounds. The reflex to self-censor is strong. But every time I resist it, I feel a little more human.

Maybe the most radical thing you can do right now is mean it. Not as subversion or a growth strategy. But as a genuine attempt to speak, feel deeply, and risk being seen.

Because without that, we’re just talking to ourselves in mirrors. Reflected endlessly through layers of cleverness, never quite reaching each other.