The cosmic cycle of smug

A New Age of Gnostic enlightenment and spiritual well-being is upon us. Here’s how to avoid it.

Religious extremism is on the rise, and Istanbul is no exception. In the last few years we’ve looked on grimly as moralising bigots have tried to ram their conceptions of metaphysical truth down our throats at every opportunity. You know of course who I’m talking about: New Age Gnostic Spiritualists – or NAGS. They’re everywhere – solariums, country clubs, yoga classes, improvisational dance workshops, high-end gyms, even the organic produce section of your local supermarket. So how do we avoid being smothered by their demented smugness?

First you have to spot the NAGS. Gimmicky accessories that look like too much thought and time has been put into them is a good start: dreadlocks, hair beads and esoteric or tribal tattoos are an instant giveaway, because unless a person is a teenager or a Jamaican, dreadlocks means ‘prat’, and unless a person is a hardened criminal, tattoos mean ‘wanker’, and thus anyone with either – or both – stands a good chance of being susceptible to NAGS-ness. Another good indication is facial expressions. Look out especially for a self-satisfied smirk and eye-squint that indicates a level of karmic knowledge only available to the illumined few who are in aural harmony with the universe and better than poor profane you. That’s the quintessential NAGS look. Another one is the pitying look of faux-sympathetic condescension that says ‘I’m so much wiser than you in my all-encompassing empathy’ when you tell them something candid or unflattering about yourself. Of course, the sure-fire way of picking out NAGS is to actually listen to what they say. This is risky, because it means you have to get into a conversation with a potential NAG, and nobody likes being subjected to Carlos Castaneda quotes and irenic pseudo-intellectual John Lennon-esque hippie babble interspersed with words like ‘chakra’ and ‘synchronicity’. So to avoid being violently jerked out of your comfortable state of blithe indifference to all things meaningful, try not to talk to them. Keep in mind that religious fanatics have no sense of humour, and will instantly bore the living mercy out of you.

I’m speaking from recent experience, because I happened to come across a NAG at a house party who had all of the above characteristics. Naturally my inebriated mind and blunted senses did nothing to warn me of the impending doom, so that other me – drunk me – decided to not only strike up a slur-spattered conversation, but went one step worse: drunk-me got into a philosophical argument with a NAG. This is not recommended, because you will not win. That’s because New Age Gnostic Spiritualism has a singular advantage shared by all metaphysical beliefs: their spurious truisms are impossible to disprove. Prove that the universe doesn’t reside in the belly of a giant unicorn? You can’t. Furthermore, speaking against ideas of universal love and eternal peace will just make you sound like a nazi jackass. So avoid this and just walk away before the ‘This-swami-changed-my-life’ proselytising and astrological bible-bashing begins.

So why do seemingly sane people opt to spend ridiculous amounts of money and intellectual real estate on glorified breathing and stretching exercises (a.k.a. yoga), books like ‘The Celestine Alchemist Who Drove a Ferrari into a Monk’, and country club workshops with celebrity gurus from California? Why not just turn to conventional religion? Two reasons: a) too many rules, and b) too communitarian. Rules are okay as long as you’re not threatened with hellfire all the time, and egalitarianism is great as an ideal, but not so great when you have to actually mix with the average religious hoi polloi. Thus syncretistic NAGS belief is instead customized to suit the needs of the individuated bourgeois citizen-subject by propounding an idealistic spiritual interconnection rather than a practical gregarious day-to-day one, so that NAGS can still keep within their insular and sterile little social circles, thereby avoiding contact with less glamorous riff-raff from inferior social strata. Then there’s the added convenience that NAGS belief is centred on the idea that material possessions and pecuniary interests are unimportant in comparison to having a rich ‘inner’ spiritual life. This is the perfect loophole for NAGS, because it means that if such things are unimportant, then possessing them is just as unimportant as not possessing them, and therefore nothing to be either proud of OR (and it’s a big OR) ashamed of, as long as they believe that the spiritual aspect of life is the most important thing of all (which they believe they do). That means they can go on enjoying their wealth and comfort with a clear conscience, regularly declaring that they would be just as happy without the two-storey townhouse, gym membership, SUV, summer dacha, etc., as they are with it, thereby attaining that blissful acme of bourgeois existence: Convenience (a.k.a ‘Enlightenment’ in NAGS terminology).

The obvious question then arises: how do we deal with these affected fanatics who accost us at cocktail parties and rub their illumined smarmy smiles spattered with pretentious quotes from Tibetan shamans into our unenlightened faces with a caustic air of moral superiority and Prozac-augmented happiness? Simple. Don’t try to fight them, because people who claim to be all about unity and harmony with the universe actually thrive on antagonistically differentiating themselves from sceptics who aren’t as deranged as them. So here’s what you do: tell them you just bought a really expensive car and got promoted at work, but that somehow you’re still not happy, following it up with a pensive sigh. Then just kick back, listen, and enjoy. I guarantee you’ll hear some of the funniest shit you’ve ever heard in your life.

Nişantaşı 90210

Move over Beverly Hills, it’s time to meet the nişantaşette!

If you thought that Jane Austen’s idyllic Regency-era wonderland of courting aristocrats, ballroom dancing and how-do-you-do’s was over, you’re mistaken. It still lives on in the poshest of Istanbul’s suburbs, Nişantaşı. Well, sort of. Although the countryside walks have been replaced with visits to the country club, horse-drawn carriages traded for SUVs, ballroom dancing for pilates, and tea parties for solariums, that ridiculous world where women stay at home till they marry, make themselves pretty, and have no cares other than to find the perfect husband for themselves (or their daughters) is more valid than ever in 21st century Istanbul.

The nişantaşette’s life basically involves being places. It means being at her private university’s American Literature course lecture at 9am; the university café from 11am to 1pm, where she debates with her girlfriends whether Ataberk loves her or not; her Yoga class at 3pm for the best spiritual peace and perfection money can buy; her friendly neighborhood solarium at 4:30pm to maintain that caramelized faux-Latina radioactive orangey skin; a brasserie/cafe at 6pm, and a discussion with her other girlfriends (the ones from her summer holiday cooperative village) about whether Ataberk is her soulmate or not; dinner at 7pm served by her maid; watching whatever’s on CNBC for an hour (Angel or Buffy); a 3-hour telephone monologue with her best friend about why Ataberk was sort of cold to her in the university cafeteria when he was with his friends (and that slut who was totally hitting on him and dresses like a whore); then finally cuddling with her over-sized stuffed panda as she goes beddy-byes by 11pm accompanied to her favorite nostalgic “Look how pretty I look dancing!” song from last summer in Bodrum.

But don’t let the veneer fool you, because our nişantaşette has problems too, just like real people. Between the beauty salons, the tennis lessons, the laser electrolysis treatment, and finding parking space for daddy’s 4-cylinder high-school graduation present, our nişantaşette is aching with real-world dilemmas. For example, should she get a new nose or not? Do people like her nose the way it is, or should it be a little smaller, a little more pucked up? And what about that cellulite on her ass? Liposuction or rhinoplasty? Lipo or rhino, lipo or rhino… which one does she want for her birthday? Maybe she should just get a dog? She would look so cute with a little Russian terrier, and she could wear that hot little training outfit, oversized sunglasses and a baseball cap to go with the dog, with a leash and cell phone in one hand and a Venti Soy Cafe Latte in the other. Which brings her to another question: what to wear? She’s so bored with her clothes and she needs something for tonight, not to mention summer being just around the corner. Maybe she should get the lipo, now that she’s thinking of bikinis. Why is life so difficult? Why couldn’t she have been born a princess without a care in the world?

The nişantaşette also needs to worry about keeping up appearances. There are certain requisites for membership in the nişantaşette “club”: namely, an annoying nasal voice that sounds like a duck whistle every time she calls a waiter; some sort of eating disorder, preferably anorexia, but bulimia if she's really cool; pointy shoes, tight blue bell-bottom jeans and a pair of designer sunglasses perched atop her head at all times – all from DKNY or Mango; a boyfriend with a car and an attitude; dyed blonde hair; and most importantly, an aloof aura of smug pretension, with friends to match. Oh, and rich parents to pay for gasoline, education and hair dressing. A big no-no for the nişantaşette is smiling or laughing openly and sincerely in public. She must always maintain her stratified social superiority by not deigning to stoop to loose antics, or “fun” as it’s also known. In fact it’s preferable to look bored a lot of the time, and to complain a lot, thereby letting others know that she is worthy of a better scene than the one she is in and that she actually has better places to be, and is thus better than you. In fact, the only time a nişantaşette considers it okay to break that phlegmatic look of dull indifference and actually laugh in public is if it’s at the expense of others while gossiping with her friends (i.e. dissing any pretty girl who is not part of her group).

But the nişantaşette must also cultivate both her spiritual and physical side when the world gets a little hectic. She keeps track of the latest dieting and fitness trends through her monthly staple of Cosmopolitan, the Atkins diet, her horoscope, and all the in-depth scientific research that has magically revealed that fruits, vegetables, water and exercise are good for her. She knows where her chakras are, and she knows that June will be a particularly tricky month when Saturn is aligned with Mars and Libras everywhere will have to deal with a lot of negative energy around them (which, by the way, always emanates from others, not her).

While cultivating a spiritual balance, the nişantaşette must also attract much-needed attention, which acts like fuel to her existential fire. Lots of accessories are a good start, colorful and distracting. Tattoos in the right places are also essential for that “Look at my sexy bits!” effect. The ankle, arms, breast, shoulder blade, hip, belly or just above the ass are all strategically ideal locations to draw peoples’ attention. And that little tattoo on her shoulder blade actually means “harmony” in Sanskrit or Chinese or something, in case you're wondering.

But huddle in close, because our little nişantaşette has a terrible secret: she and her parents used to live in Beşiktaş (before daddy’s import-export business landed a big contract – something to do with trading “miscellaneous” goods in Ukraine), and, god forgive her, most of her friends still do live in Beşiktaş. Hopefully nobody will ever find out.