Rome wasn’t destroyed in a day, of course, but it was destroyed. That, at any rate, was the thought that occurred to me when, in a Parisian bookshop (patronized, as you would expect, by bourgeois bohemians), I came across a book with the title of Le Goût du moche (“The Taste for the Ugly”), by a fashion journalist called Alice Pfeiffer.
The word ugly does not quite capture the connotations of the word “moche“, which include those of bad taste. If I were to try to make a table, it would probably be ugly due to my incapacity as a woodworker, but not moche.
I must say that the publishers of the book (Fayard) have done the author proud. The shiny cover of the book is vivid purple at the top, descending by various shades of unpleasant colours to a bilious yellow at the bottom. The typeface is also in purple, and the pages the same shade of yellow where they are bound into the spine. It is, as an artifact, aesthetically appalling, as obviously it was meant to be.
If we lived in a normal world, the deliberate creation of something ugly would be regarded as reprehensible: but we do not live in such a world.
The author is an apologist for the ugly, seeing the search for beauty as a kind of totalitarian dictatorship against which the ugly is a justified or necessary revolt or uprising, a cry for individual freedom.
She is a Parisian bourgeoise who has been taught to decry and therefore to reject her own previous privilege. In her own estimate, she was unfortunate to have been so fortunate as to have been surrounded by beauty.
This highly ideological, dog-in-the-manger attitude to beauty is commonplace and has almost been made the basis of official policy — or if it has not, it might just as well have been.
Theodore Dalrymple, “Kitsch and Our Taste for the Ugly”, The Iconoclast, 2021-06-18.
October 10, 2021
QotD: The taste for ugliness
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