Don’t tell me to chill out

[lead]An argument against chill culture [/lead]

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been hearing some variation of the phrase “chill out” from my peers. In elementary school I was no stranger to the term “spaz,” and while my first encounters with it struck me as cruel and unfair, I quickly learned that actively mitigating my emotional responses to things was the easiest way to hold onto a friend group. By the time I reached high school, I was an expert at pretending not to care about things that upset me. I came to be known as the quiet, agreeable friend who usually didn’t object to being teased or dismissed, I began to disregard the validity of my emotions under the assumption that I was thin-skinned and cared about things too much. It seemed like a logical conclusion at the time—if people were annoyed or angry when I was upset about something, it was obviously unreasonable to be upset about it.

It wasn’t until fairly recently that I began to question this assumption, when more involved and complex social interactions with people in university helped me distinguish between situations where asserting my emotions is helpful and situations where it isn’t. Over the years I’ve become more self-assured and better equipped to deal with the social anxiety that tries to tell me one wrong move will make everyone hate me forever. Consequently, I’ve realized that my emotions are  as valid as anyone else’s, and that it’s not wrong for me to express distaste or discomfort when something upsets me. I still have trouble acknowledging and self-validating them, however, because of something I call “chill culture.”

Chill culture is pervasive and applies especially to interpersonal interactions. It dictates that whoever cares less wins, and that becoming emotional about things is generally annoying, funny, or wrong. You can see it everywhere: the romantic comedy trope of “uptight woman who cares too much about her career meets laidback guy who teaches her how to relax and have fun” (see The Proposal, The Wedding Planner, pretty much every rom-com Katherine Heigl has been in). The public’s less than favourable responses to celebrities who express distaste over anything (see Demi Lovato’s response to the “Poot Lovato” meme and the consequent backlash, Nicki Minaj’s perceived “Twitter fight” with Taylor Swift after Minaj’s criticism of the VMAs). The Internet phrase “butthurt,” which is popularly used to rebut any individual who is perceived to be getting “too emotional” about something.

In a sense, I understand where the mentality behind chill culture comes from. For example, if you don’t care about another person as much as they care about you, it’s more difficult for you to be hurt in the relationship. If you care less about the subject of an argument, it’s easier to walk away. It certainly would be easier to go through life never getting angry or being offended by anything; after all, emotions are a lot of work. In my experience, however, chill culture seems to be more about a pervasive desire not to have to deal with other people’s emotions than it does with an interest in self-preservation.

The thing is, the ability to “be chill” is a privilege. The fewer challenges you encounter in life, the easier it is to avoid caring about things. As you can see in the examples I listed above, the negative aspects of chill culture disproportionately affect groups that have been historically oppressed. Women and people of colour are far more likely to be branded as “overemotional” or “irrational” when expressing unhappiness, anger, or distaste. Just look at how the media turned Nicki Minaj’s reasonable criticism of the VMA award nominees and Taylor Swift’s self-centred, totally-missing-the-point reply, into a “Twitter war,” where Minaj was framed as a sore loser trying to stir up drama. Personally, I can’t count the number of times I’ve bristled at a sexist joke or ignorant remark, only to be told to “chill out” and stop ruining the fun by the person (usually white, male) who made it. Naturally, the more oppression you experience, the more there is to be offended, angry, and sad about; the less oppressed you are, the easier and less emotionally taxing it is for you to brush off the concerns of others as unreasonable or overwrought.

Further, aside from the obvious implications of enabling casual racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, and transphobia, one of the things that disturbs me most about chill culture is that it entirely disregards the value of emotional responses. To presume that logical responses are automatically more valid than emotional ones, or even that the two are mutually exclusive, is reductive and dangerous. What’s more, telling someone who is clearly upset about something to “chill out” is incredibly self-centred and, I will go so far to say, lazy. Presuming that people who easily become emotional are doing so unnecessarily is presuming that emotional responses are somehow voluntary—which, I’m sure, most people will agree they are not. In defense of kindness, isn’t it better to accept the emotions of others and attempt to address them?