Wilson and Zorb

Wilson: Why is the gesture of being a trad wife a very different thing in today's context versus actually being a traditional wife in whatever age these right-wing pick-me’s are imitating? What is the difference?

Zorb: Tradwives… the whole idea is strange. Like, if you tried to fully live a Confucian way of life in 21st-century America, you’d only be able to do it the way someone lives as a tradwife now. The actual possibility of being a traditional wife has collapsed. That way of life was embedded in systems—education, economy, architecture, values—that just don’t exist anymore. You can’t be a traditional wife, at least not in most of the world.

Wilson: Yeah, and even historically, being a traditional wife was mostly something for the wealthy. Poor women have always had to work. Dual-income households aren’t some modern invention—they were the norm for working-class families.

Zorb: Totally. So now, the tradwife is just this fantastical romantic image.

Wilson: The billowy sundress.

Zorb: Exactly. It’s a pure image of the past—probably one that never even really existed. And people today don’t inhabit it the way someone historically might have. It’s a self-aware performance. Like an actor playing a role. It’s all surface, built on nostalgia.

Wilson: Dude, I feel like the tradwife thing is a heavily weaponized aesthetic meant to pull men further to the right. Like, it’s fascist bait. It’s super effective under someone like Trump.

Zorb: I think it’s really powerful.

Wilson: I do get the appeal, though. I don’t want to indulge it, because something about it feels wrong—manipulative. Like, I’m being pulled into believing something that isn’t real.

Zorb: Yeah, it’s that image of traditional life where everything had meaning, where you knew your purpose and what was virtuous. But did that ever really exist? I’m partially convinced it did, in some form...

Wilson: Have you ever seen Midnight in Paris?

Zorb: Mmm, maybe. Not sure.

Wilson: So Owen Wilson plays this writer who’s overly nostalgic. He ends up in 1920s Paris, hanging with Hemingway and Fitzgerald. It seems magical—smart, glamorous people everywhere. And you start to think, yeah, the past was more interesting. But then, even those characters long for an earlier era—the Renaissance. So Owen’s character travels further back, and then someone in the Renaissance is like, “Nah, antiquity was the real golden age.” Eventually, he realizes, “Wait, maybe I’m supposed to live in the present.” It's cool to love history, but you still have to live now.

Zorb: Yeah, that’s basically how I feel. There were beautiful, valuable things in the past that we’ve lost. But we’re here now.

Wilson: I do worry that the present has less meaning. I hate being in post-modernity. That’s what weirdos like Jordan Peterson latch onto—this sense that moral relativism has killed purpose. And when people complain that postmodernism has no meaning… they’re tapping into something real. Like, maybe we genuinely can’t live in an era as “cool” as the Roman Empire. Or whatever era those guys idolize.

Zorb: Yeah, but even they can’t go back. That’s the thing. They’re kind of blackpilled. But they haven’t let go of the fantasy yet.

Wilson: Right. So the tradwife thing is just a performance. Same with a lot of these reactionary attempts to revive old ideals. They’re not living it. They’re just mimicking it.

Zorb: Exactly.

Wilson: Here’s something I’ve been thinking about. At the end of Trump’s presidency, the U.S. Army introduced a new dress uniform. But it wasn’t new—it was just a slightly altered WWII uniform. They literally said, “We wanted to harken back to a time of victory.” Like, “We’re still that army.”

Zorb: Yeah, that’s heavy-handed.

Wilson: It’s the same vibe as the tradwife. Aesthetic historicism. No attempt to create something new—just recycling past imagery because you don’t believe things can get better. It’s weirdly Heideggerian. Not even trying to invent a new fashion trend. Just saying, “We peaked, and we’re going back.”

Zorb: And I get it. That’s why I think everything turns on one question: the value of freedom.

Wilson: Go on.

Zorb: At its most extreme, it’s the problem of the happy slave. You’ve heard of it?

Wilson: Yeah.

Zorb: So it’s the question: if a slave says they’re fulfilled, are they truly happy? A Kantian would say no—because there’s something essential about being human that requires freedom. A life without freedom is a contradiction of human nature. You can’t flourish like that. Humeans disagree. For them, human moral psychology just comes down to a contingent bag of beliefs and desires. Flourishing is satisfying those desires.

Wilson: That feels shallow.

Zorb: Maybe. But Humeans argue that all meaning is constructed anyway. You can still account for a lot through psychology. I don’t know where I land. Kant’s explanation feels kind of mysterious.

Wilson: And paternalistic.

Zorb: Maybe. But it is definitely true that not every culture has valued freedom the way we do. It's a very Western, maybe even very American idea.

Wilson: For sure. But still...

Zorb: Here's the argument: look around. There are so many ways to live. Cultures shape us by how we live, what we believe, what we do. So by living a certain way, you become a certain kind of person. Once you understand that, you realize humans are free. We've always been shaping our own lives, even when we didn’t know it. That’s the Kantian—or Hegelian—claim. We were always already free.

Wilson: Damn. I didn’t realize we could get that dialectical with it.

Zorb: It’s wild. I can’t always think like that, though.

Wilson: How hard do you think you’ve ever thought?

Zorb: Have I thought hard in life?

Wilson: Like top 10% of all thinking beings?

Zorb: Maybe.

Wilson: Top 50%?

Zorb: Definitely top 50% of people who’ve done some thinking.

Wilson: Do you think your taxi driver has profound thoughts and just can’t express them?

Zorb: I think a lot of people do. They might not have the language for arcane philosophical topics, but they’ve got deep thoughts about life, suffering, love. I love finding that in people. There’s a whole world inside everyone.

Wilson: I love that feeling—sonder. Knowing everyone else is having their own profound experiences.

Zorb: It’s beautiful. And terrifying.

Wilson: I think I just want to become one with the universe. Like, if I could get the full picture, the whole truth, I think I’d see reality as something good in itself.

Zorb: Maybe. But the universe, man. You ever just think about it?

Wilson: Yeah, when I’m high, it’s like my consciousness is a lure on a fishing rod, and I can cast it out farther—to those cosmic questions. But honestly… can I tell you something, bro? I don’t think aliens exist.

Zorb: Yeah?

Wilson: You're hip to the alien thing? Go on.

Zorb: I don't know, bro.

Wilson: I just... Come on, man. You're really gonna tell me you think aliens exist? I feel  I am more willing to accept the existence of some vaguely Judeo-Christian God than I am to accept that aliens are real.

Zorb: Really?

Wilson: I’m convinced. This is it. We’re alone. People argue, “But the universe is so big!” But until I see evidence, I’m not buying it. Maybe it’s my religious upbringing, or insecurity that aliens would be cooler than us. But it just doesn’t sit right.

Zorb: I think it’s insecurity, too. Like, what if the aliens are hotter, smarter, funnier?

Wilson: Right?! And then there’s theology. Wouldn’t their existence complicate all that? Why would God make us and them—with ten penises and sulfur lungs or something? Maybe I just want us to be His favorite.

Zorb: Fair enough.

Wilson: What about ghosts? Do you believe in ghosts?

Zorb: I think people experience ghosts. That’s different than believing in literal spirits.

Wilson: Yeah. Living in Mexico, I feel pressure to say I believe, but I don’t. I think it’s trauma manifesting as narrative. Like, intergenerational pain given shape. And I’ve told people that—and they get upset.

Zorb: You could say, “You experienced something.” That’s still valid.

Wilson: Yeah. But I can’t pretend it’s real in a literal sense. That feels dishonest.

Zorb: I think ghosts are as real as America. Cultures can be built around them, whole worlds. Practices, stories, holidays. Ways of understanding experience. They’re real in that way. Like atoms—if you’re not a concepts we organize the world around. Maybe not materially real, but experientially? For sure.

Wilson: I think ghosts are narratively so cool. They're a great way to make sense of trauma.

Zorb: Totally.

Wilson: Do you think if I asked ChatGPT to tell me an insanely funny joke it would rise to the occasion or flop.

Zorb: Flop.

Wilson: Okay. Why did the scarecrow win an award?

Because he was outstanding in his field.

Okay, okay—here’s a weirder one.

A horse walks into a bar. The bartender says, "Hey."

The horse says, "Sure."

….

You can really tell these were written by AI.

Zorb: That sucked.

Wilson: Mega. These jokes are only funny because they’re so antiquated—and honestly, not funny. But can I tell you a joke that used to kill when I was in second grade? And now, I have no idea how it ever did.

Zorb: Go ahead, bro.

Wilson: So, there are three dudes on a plane: an Iraqi, a Mexican, and an American.

I think what made it work back then was just the confidence I had in telling it.

Anyway—they’re flying over Mexico, and the Mexican says, "I love my country. I love Mexico." So he drops a coconut—because, you know.

Then they fly over the U.S., and the American says, "I love my country, I love America," and he drops a bunch of flowers.

Then they fly over Iraq. And the Iraqi guy drops a bomb on his own country. And the others are like, "What the fuck?"

He goes, "I hate my country."

Then the Mexican lands, and there's this little girl crying. He asks, "Why are you crying?"

And she says, "A coconut fell on my mom’s head and now she’s dead."

Then the American lands and sees this boy crying. "Why are you crying?"

The boy says, "My dad died. He was allergic to flowers, and they just fell out of the sky and killed him."

And finally, the Iraqi guy lands and sees another Iraqi just laughing hysterically in front of a city that’s been completely blown up.

He asks, "Why are you laughing? That whole city behind you is gone."

And the guy goes, "When I farted, the building blew up."

I don’t know—there’s something about that joke that’s weirdly anti-karmic. It actually makes me wanna chuckle a bit, saying it all these years later. The people who meant to do something good ended up causing real damage. And the one guy who did something awful? He made this sick fuck laugh.

That’s probably why I liked that Smiling Friends episode I showed you—the one where the guy finds his purpose in life by killing vermin.

Zorba: Yeah.

Wilson: What if people have perverted reasons for living, you know?

Zorb: Totally, I think that's true. I think people do have perverted reasons for living.

Wilson: I don't. I feel  I'm... I have very pure reasons for just, I want to help other people, and I want to strive towards something, you know?

Zorb: So... Let's test your Kantian intuitions again.

Wilson: Yeah.

Zorb: Do you think people with truly perverse reasons for living are wrong?

Wilson: Yeah. Are they unable to flourish? Completely. They're missing out on so much of the human experience.

Zorb: But what if they're just built differently?

Wilson: Then I think that's a deficiency in the human form. I don’t know... you just hit me with some deep Andy-type shit. It’s sick to think about—like, the fact that Hitler probably had a pleasurable life at some point. He was winning, living in luxury, worshipped by people. That’s sickening.

Zorb: Do you really think so?

Wilson: There’s something unnatural about it. I’m trying to say I believe in good human nature. People are inherently good—not just neutral. Good.

Wilson: Anyway, do you remember any long-running jokes from second or third grade?

Zorb: I’m not sure. There's that one: Why did Zoey fall off the swing?

Wilson: No, I don’t know it. Wait—I think I’ve heard this. It’s dark. What is it?

Zorb: Because she had no arms. Knock, knock.

Wilson: Who’s there?

Zorb: Not Zoey.

Wilson: It’s so messed up. But I think those jokes were just a weird way of micro-dosing tragedy as kids. Same with dudes who’d be like, “Yo, check out this beheading video.”

Wilson: We used to play this game on Reddit called 50/50—click a link and it would either be something adorable like puppies, or something deeply horrifying and scarring. I saw an ISIS beheading video. That seriously messed me up. I was horrified. I had to stop playing after that.

Zorb: Yeah, it’s like a horror movie—but worse. We forget how much our media habits are learned skills. Kids don’t have that filter. They react so intensely. Their vocabularies are limited, so their shows reflect that: long, stable shots, minimal edits—nothing flashy.

Wilson: Why is that?

Zorb: Because infants can’t understand rapid edits or complex sequences. They haven’t learned how to follow narratives visually yet.

Wilson: So then what’s the impulse behind showing each other traumatizing videos?

Zorb: I think at that age, we’re just more affected by images. And we want to mess each other up.

Wilson: But why? That’s so dark.

Zorb: Because it’s hilarious when you’re young and trying to test limits.

Wilson: But what is so wrong with us that we wanted to see that? Why didn’t we listen to music or get into good art?

Zorb: Because we grew up on the internet. It shaped who we are.

Wilson: Dude. I don’t know, maybe this is a white guy thing, but I really feel past generations had more meaning than we do. Like, fighting in WWII—a morally clear conflict. You fight Nazis. There was purpose. Maybe I’m just nostalgic for economic prosperity and the hope of building things.

Zorb: In some ways, we are in a prosperous time.

Wilson: Really? You think, from a fascist historicist perspective, this is the “good times”?

Zorb: Economically speaking, yes.

Wilson: But are we really prospering?

Zorb: From a material perspective—access to food, technology—yes, more than ever before.

Wilson: I don’t know. I kind of doubt it. I feel weird saying that because it sounds privileged, but I think a lot of ancient societies were doing pretty well.

Zorb: I’m talking about sheer material abundance—like food, shelter, comfort.

Wilson: It’s wild that being poor is now more associated with obesity. Isn’t that such a bizarre problem?

Zorb: Totally bizarre.

Wilson: Here’s a big one. I know what Marxism says the telos of history is: a stateless, classless society. But what about conservatism, radical historicists, or fascists with their myths? What’s their end goal?

Zorb: There isn’t one.

Wilson: That’s terrifying. Do they really not believe in historical progress?

Zorb: No, they don’t. They think progress is a myth.

Wilson: That’s crazy. I don’t understand that ideology at all.

Zorb: They believe they’ve already figured it out. Why move forward when the ideal lies in the past? To them, the answer is to conserve—or even regress.

Wilson: But how can you hold that belief in the 1960s—see the moon landing or MLK’s ‘I Have a Dream’—and not believe things are getting better? Sure, we have regressions, but to want to go back? That’s the tradwife thing all over again. Seductive, but perverse.

Zorb: So seductive. Damn. All right, man, I might head to bed.

Wilson: All right, bro. Take care.

Zorb: You, too. Peace.

Wilson: Peace.