This is a column against niceness. Chuck out the nice cup of tea, bin off your biscuits, tell your neighbour exactly what you think of their drive, the project has failed… Hear me out. There were two things this week that got me reconsidering the concept, even as I screamed upstairs telling the children to share their toys. Even as I smiled at strangers and clicked the button to donate to charity and performed all the small domestic kindnesses that make up the winter fat of my life. The first thing was James Corden.
James Corden, whose documented rudeness to a waiter has surfed the news cycle like a plastic bottle, washing up again and again on our shores. For those of you who have managed to avoid the scandal, here is what happened: his wife’s “egg yolk omelette” arrived with some egg white in it. When they replaced the order, it came, not with the requested salad but instead, chips. “You can’t do your job!” Corden told their waiter. And, “Get us another round of drinks this second.” The owner of the restaurant banned him, the internet threw rocks at him, the story took on water, bobbing in and out of the headlines, and last week on his talkshow he apologised. “It was an unnecessary comment,” he admitted. “It was ungracious.” It was over. But it was not over.
Because – the problem had never really been that this celebrity was rude to a waiter; the problem had been, this celebrity had found fame by appearing to be nice. Cheeky, cheery, normal, nice. Like the infamous “wife guys” before him – men whose brands pivoted on the idea that they loved their wives and who were, therefore, universally shamed when found cheating on said wives – Corden’s crime (apart from the obvious lack of general decency) had been inauthenticity, presenting himself as one thing when the cameras were on, but acting very differently when they were off. He was exposed. Unfortunately, as our learned celebrity friends have realised, today the cameras are never off.
The second thing that made me review the benefits of being nice was the reaction to the Just Stop Oil protests. The police (and government’s) attitude towards protest in the UK became starkly clear when the Queen died and protesters were arrested for questioning the monarchy. It’s chilling, actually, the new restrictions that mean potential prison sentences for people believed to be planning to “lock-on” with bike locks or glue, new stop-and-search powers for police, and the possibility that anybody who’s been involved in protests over the past five years can be fitted with an electronic tag to monitor their movements.
Less chilling, perhaps, but just as notable has been the general public’s attitude towards recent protests by Just Stop Oil, where they chucked soup and mashed potato at paintings, sprayed paint on buildings (including 55 Tufton Street in London, home to fossil fuel lobby groups) and blocked roads. The argument against these “stunts” (Daily Mail, sneering) has hinged on the idea that they’re alienating the public from the cause itself. Videos of the protests show passersby screaming at them to get a job – these young women are destined for years of hate and disapproval, not to mention criminal records. But through being quite “annoying” (Bob Geldof, admiringly) they’ve got Just Stop Oil’s demand for a moratorium on new fossil fuel projects heard. Gentler protests, “nicer” protests, polite letters or jolly banners, have had far less impact – . By suggesting something as radical as the destruction of valuable art, they shocked people into sitting with the concept, for a minute at least, of the destruction of civilisation itself. If this was how it felt to mourn a painting, how might it feel to mourn a population?
And so I say: down with nice. Sure, compliment a haircut, say hi to a dog. There’s no need to rinse our lives completely clean of the stuff. Niceness has its place, as a lubricant, or a moisturiser, or a starting point from which to chip deeper into a conversation or relationship. But everybody’s an arsehole sometimes. Everyone’s annoying. Everybody gets angry, often multiple times a day, sometimes at such a thing as a fly or idiot shoe, sometimes at not being listened to, or acts of ignorance and evil. Issues arise when we try to suppress those unlikable parts of ourselves, or deny them, or conceal them. The fallout from marketing oneself as a nice guy, only to be revealed as actually a bit of a dick, is far more damaging than if a person acknowledges they are flawed, vulnerable and sometimes also mean.
Niceness is flimsy, a tiny part of the whole. And nobody should be expected to perform that niceness when they are horrified and angry and risking their freedom for a crisis so huge it’s almost impossible to conceive of. We need to stop expecting nice in situations where nice does not belong. We should keep it for best.
Email Eva at e.wiseman@observer.co.uk or follow her on Twitter @EvaWiseman
