The Importance of Being Ernest #1

It is difficult as sociologists to disentangle ourselves from the real world; we lose our sense of reality and become immersed in a constant state of abstract analysis. As a final year Sociology student I no longer sit and mindlessly watch catch up TV, I dissect it, I comment, I angrily shout at the screen. But never, however hard I try, am I able to dull the sociologist in my head.

His name is Ernest. I imagine him as a chaotic academic, the kind I sort of wish I was but will never be due to an obsession with stationary and plastic folders. He stacks books up on the floor, wears large, rounded, gold rimmed glasses and has tufty, windswept hair. He is in a constant state of disarray, my Ernest, and yet, like most brilliant academics, is a chaotic muddle of genius. He spends his days critiquing gender, posing questions and generally preventing me from being a mindless drone, which sometimes, such as when Sex and the City is on, I kind of want to be. It’s difficult to enjoy Sex and the City when the sociologist in your head is screaming about supposed female empowerment, sexual liberation and the politics of fashion.

I fear the only way Ernest can be tamed is to allow him some space in which to sound off, a point at which I can say:  ‘hey Ernest, remember earlier when you told me I shouldn’t have stepped across the road from that bloke because my preconceived ideas of him are socially constructed in gender, race and class and I am allowing myself to be shoved by the capitalistic, conservative hand towards stereotyping, yeah? Well now I am allowing you to actually tell me about it and il write it down, sound fair? I can have some me time and you can have some you time and just hopefully we can create some kind of a compromise…’

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