Raven Smith on coping through the pandemic with humour
Raven Smith knows a thing or two about the lighter side of life. His book, Raven Smith’s Trivial Pursuits, is a hilarious reflection on the importance we place on the least important things, and our frivolous attempts to accomplish and attain them. Once referred to as “Instagram's answer to David Sedaris”, Smith, whose professional background includes the role of Commissioning Director at NOWNESS, is a weekly columnist for Vogue, writing about everything from Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck’s recoupling to online harassment and transphobia.
Here, he muses about the pandemic, and finds humour in the dark days of lockdown, which was also tapped into by brands and advertisers looking to share some light relief. From a slogan that suddenly took on a whole new unfortunate meaning, to forgetting trousers on a work video call, this year’s D&AD award-winning and shortlisted work sought to find the humanity – and hilarity – in the bleak circumstances of 2020.
How was your day? How was your week? How was your year? How was the 18-month Covid-induced panic attack? How severe were the palpitations, the fist of anxiety round your heart? And how many times between depressive press conferences, panicked trolley dashes, and back-breaking news alerts did you find yourself laughing to the point of delusion, your sides split, your pants wet? Me neither.
As the pandemic ravaged our lives, those of us who didn’t get sick, those of us who managed to get Ocado delivery slots and get doubly vaxxed, suffered too. It wasn’t the same for us as it was for the ill, there’s no equating the sorrow, the grief, the brutality of the pandemic from person to person. But quality of life suffered for us all. It’s not news to you that entertainment and reverie aren’t top priorities when the planet’s in survival mode. The rollercoaster of the national psyche dipped as we struggled to find joy, in some respects it has yet to climb. Such is the human spirit, we tried to find cracks of hope.
“Such is the human spirit, we tried to find cracks of hope”
In those naive early days of lockdown, before the futility set in, there was talk of self-improvement, of baking, of writing King Lear, of learning conversational Spanish for when the borders were reopened and paella reheated.
There was talk of reconnecting with your family, of really listening to their needs, of truly understanding our familial bonds. There was talk of reconnecting with yourself, your partner, of shagging into the night and causing a new baby boom. Many of us sent nudes – and Kraft Heinz encouraged the sending of “Noods” in a spot by Mischief @ No Fixed Address.
Creature Discomforts: Life in Lockdown, ENGINE
Some projected the re-centring of the simplest things, of opening the curtains before midday, of remembering to just breathe. But as time itself became static, most of us found ourselves sat at home, bingeing The Crown and plucking our eyebrows as our stale banana bread piled up on the counter. We quickly got tired of sniffing out areas of personal growth in this pandemic, of rethinking our approach to captivity. We embraced our zoological captivity, Creature Discomforts – ENGINE’s ad for Born Free Foundation channeling our lockdown experiences via wild animals feeling strangely apt.
Meanwhile KFC reminded us that licking fingers was discouraged, now that their slogan read as awkwardly inappropriate in a new era of hand-sanitising gel, in Mother London’s 'The World's Least Appropriate Slogan' ad.
I haven’t quite turned to religion in lockdown, but I’ve been thinking about Jesus a lot. In his time on earth Jesus, son of God, did a lot of good things – walking on water without a Tui jet ski, somehow healing the lepers, and any decent caterer will tell you feeding five thousand is no small feat – but if you really think about it Jesus was probably a bit… much? A bit pious? Like people who keep telling you everything is problematic on Twitter or like to shame you for not recycling while billionaires literally shoot themselves into space for fun.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about Jesus because of the water into wine-ing. Water and wine-ing is a pretty good party trick (Jesus would’ve come in especially handy on the train home from a festival). And this year, with its limitless faults, has been watered down, the flavour barely discernible. Our social lives, our liberty, our joy, all diluted. Our happiness dehydrated like astronaut food. 2020’s bleak midsummer made way for a winter of dis(digital)content, Christmas evaporated, followed by a new year of dry resolutions.
We’d had our fill of banana bread, and gave up on aspirations of learning to cook a Michelin-starred meal. Instead, Postmates encouraged us to just order the take-out with the Don’t Cookbook by Mother LA.
“And as we dared to dream about emerging from our locked down lives, blinking into the daylight, we were a little rusty on social conventions”
The novelty of working from home had truly worn off, captured by Apple’s The Whole Working From Home Thing – where parents, children and pets alike drive us to distraction, and days of the week have lost all meaning.
And as we dared to dream about emerging from our locked down lives, blinking into the daylight, we were a little rusty on social conventions. BBDO New York’s First Visitors commercial for Snickers depicts a word where we’ve forgotten trousers are required again.
Postmates | Don't Cookbook, Mother LA
Never before has the world needed – what we all still need – the quenching energy of a good laugh and giggles. Laughter is a catalyst for mood, your spirits lifting, your shoulders broadening, your mood ring changing hues. Your temper increasing in tempo. And is laughter not a religion in itself? Are we not a congregation, a hive mind searching, now more than ever, for relief from the monotony? There is the community of a good laugh, the camaraderie of shared lols, the borderlessness of what tickles each of us. Human emotion isn’t as neatly binary as happy vs sad, but this year has a darn sight less happy. We were all hungry caterpillaring through the sour grapes of surviving the pandemic, but the wine of comedy, of light relief is coming, stockpiled in cellars and ready to be served. With each little laugh, each witty reprieve, we’re able to, in some miniscule way, ease the multiple tragedies of Covid with joy. Drink up.