ARRIVEDERCI ANHEDONIA! IN this age of, well, this age, the only sensible modus operandi is harmless hedonism. Seal clubbing? Out! Knitting or binge-watching ’80s cult films? In! There are lots of gloriously wholesome hedonistic pursuits in which we can all partake. Pearl clutchers have worried about secularism for centuries. It’s not that science is the new God – after all, Trump and RFK hate science – but more that arbitrary restrictions on pedestrian human behaviour feel somewhat unnecessary. Given that Rome is likely burning (and since Europe’s temperatures are rising at twice the global average, I mean that literally), benign pleasure-seeking is the only way to stay sane. Old notions about abstemiousness being a virtue are outmoded to say the least. Is it time for us to put down our purity rings and pick up our party hats? 

Finally, some good news then; pleasure is the new church. Unless you’re female in Afghanistan. Then it’s very much no business for you as usual. This begs an awkward ethical question: how egalitarian is the pursuit of pleasure? It’s a lot harder for some people to be hedonists than others. Gig tickets cost a bomb, car hire is a killer and gig-economy workers have crap annual leave. Cue someone tone-deaf (probably named Brenda) uttering, ‘fresh air is free’. Not if you live in the smog-addled urban centres of our burning world, Brenda. 

BACCHUS (THE PATRON saint of men behaving badly) was the ancient Roman god of wine, agriculture, fertility and celebration, and he might just have been onto something. The original Bacchanalia were exclusively for women and probably resembled a book club without pretending to have read the book. But once the boys were admitted, it didn’t take long for these festivals to become reputed as orgies. The Roman Senate banned them in 186 BCE – suggesting that fraternities were a problem then too.

Like the Bacchanalian revellers of old, many people today would be better advised to partake in a more harmless form of hedonism. TikTok is redolent of very shiny people inviting you to get ready with them at five o’clock in the shitting morning before walking you through their achingly dull 22-step beauty routine (the most conspicuous consumption capitalism ever did see). Other ‘fitfluencers’ teach you how to live on nothing but mushroom coffee and misery. These health and wellness advocates make the Puritans look like Christina Aguilera in her chaps era. 

Meanwhile, in the ‘real’ world one man’s pleasure is another man’s very serious crime. In recent months, a friendly neighbourhood surgeon was jailed for performing unnecessary amputations on himself. It was discovered that the surgeon, who had performed hundreds of amputations on others, belonged to an online community who derive sexual gratification from extreme mutilation. Fungi foraging should also call it a day – there’s always someone who spoils it for the rest of us. 

At least the arts and culture are there for us to benignly enjoy. That is, if only ALL OF THE ARTISTS weren’t involved in nefarious nonsense. It’s increasingly harder to separate the art from the really nasty shit the artist gets up to. This list is not exhaustive but here are just a few of the things I like(d) that I can no longer enjoy (at least in good conscience): Michael Jackson, the Harry Potter franchise, most films directed by men in the twentieth century – anything that might potentially be affiliated with someone who is dodgy. I guess I should be thankful that I have never, not even a little bit, liked R Kelly. Small mercies. 

How do fans today reckon with the morally reprehensible choices made by artists we love(d)? Claire Dederer asks this question in her book Monsters: what do we do with great art by bad people?. The short version is, as ever, it’s complicated. ‘The way you consume art doesn’t make you a bad person, or a good one,’ she says. ‘You’ll have to find some other way to accomplish that.’ I’m less into being held accountable for my own failings but it’s nice to have permission to find the opening bass line of ‘Billie Jean’ catchier than Covid. 

PEOPLE’S IDEAS OF harmless hedonism are varied beyond even the Instagram algorithm’s wildest dreams, and the internet has made a plethora of somewhat niche hobbies and interests accessible to the mainstream. I think it’s safe to say that the tradwives and ‘Let Him Lead’ supporters would be relegated to support groups were it not for their flower crowns and Instagram reels. Beyond ‘ye goode olde days’, there are countless esoteric pursuits with which to make yourself happy now – most of which are more sophisticated than getting pissed every night. I’m very much showing my age now, but it’s time to admit I’ve taken my drinking trousers off. Not because I’m trying to emulate these youngsters who barely drink but because I now get hangovers in the way that people used to get the bubonic plague – there’s only a 50 per cent chance I’m going to make it. I have never managed to keep up with boomer levels of boozing, and yet my hangovers now elicit religious levels of promised sobriety. I ‘never again’ hard, so getting pissed can’t float my fun boat. 

Ask (non-criminal, morally solvent) people what they’re quietly into and it’s really quite illuminating. A softly spoken acquaintance of mine admitted he enjoys laminating other people’s stuff: car keys, thongs and the like. Who am I to judge? Another great example is how excited people were about the recent solar eclipse. You could smell the enthusiasm as people risked scorched retinas just to watch it get a bit darker and then lighter again. I experience a similar kind of enthusiasm about the Olympics. Every four years, I’m suddenly (and fleetingly) very into sports I didn’t even know existed – marathon swimming and luge come to mind (but only once every four years). Thankfully, my fickle fandom leaves my retinas in good working order. 

Sport isn’t always a space for the harmless hedonism I’m promoting. The recent soccer World Cup demonstrated some nations’ ability to have a good time without spoiling things for everyone (‘No Scotland, No Party’ – Bacchanalian indeed). However, violence prevention organisation Our Watch reports that domestic assaults increase by up to 40 per cent in New South Wales on State of Origin nights. Also, in recent history, an English soccer fan was credited with inventing the ‘arse flare’. What? You don’t? Ah well, it’s when you’re so amped for your team’s potential victory that you stick a lit flare in your rectum to, you know, demonstrate entirely healthy levels of patriotism. Ouch.

Like many of us, my moral compass is not entirely trustworthy. Who then (given most of us are ill-qualified) should the arbiters of the cult of harmless hedonism be? I feel like a collection of grandmothers should form some sort of committee, the collective noun of which would be a ‘flustering’. Said flustering of grandmothers would act as society’s safe word. I’m not saying we all need to take up crochet instead of parkour, but perhaps we should adjust our expectations a little – aim for a lower dopamine hit. After all, who has the energy to be an adrenaline junkie and keep abreast of who’s starting a new war this week? As my beloved late grandmother Mona used to say, ‘a little of what you fancy does you good’. 

Times are hard, and for some people they are a great deal harder than anything my puny brain can fathom. As such, simple, gentle, harmless pleasures that sweeten any of the bitterness people have to endure can only be a good thing. Within reason, people should feel free and encouraged to enjoy what pleases them – on the important condition that it doesn’t harm others. Hedonism, much like medicine, must first of all do no harm. As long as we can reasonably tick that box and The Flustering (the Hitchcock movie we are all waiting for) approves, we are game on for fun times – whatever flavour takes your fancy. Bring your own laminators.