This month, we wanted to widen the scope of the newsletter by reflecting on an article that’s been making the rounds in our own chats and Twitter feeds — and right now, everyone is talking about goblins. Specifically, something dubbed “goblin mode.”
“The term embraces the comforts of depravity,” writes the author of the viral article published in The Guardian earlier this month, “Slobbing Out and Giving Up: Why Are So Many People Going ‘Goblin Mode’?”; “[It refers to] spending the day in bed watching 90 Day Fiancé on mute while scrolling endlessly through social media, pouring the end of a bag of chips in your mouth; downing Eggo toaster oven waffles with hot sauce over the sink because you can’t be bothered to put them on a plate.”
On the surface, this shit is right up my alley. I love goblins, dragons, and birthdays spent at Medieval Times in New Jersey. I wrote about how goblincore subcultures blossomed in the second year of the pandemic as people craved both more nature, and less of a commitment to a polished, Glossier-esque social media presence. But goblin mode hits different; it’s a little less faecore, and way more slobcore, and I wanted to pick my friends’ brains on the social implications of the article. So, Amanda and Alice: What do you think about “going goblin”? MFK
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Mary Frances asks: What do you think about “going goblin”?
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In the words of...
Amanda
I am writing this on April 2. Notably, a day after April 1 — the date which I considered to be a personal invitation to get my act together again after a chaotic few weeks. New day, new month, new slate. These are the markers we look for like signposts on a highway, pointing us towards some better version of ourselves when we’ve lost direction.
The definition of the word “better” here should be subjective, though this is not easy when we’ve been conditioned to equate productivity and efficiency with self worth. Still, for me, it means structure and routine, so “going goblin” is precisely what I don’t need right now because it’s a departure from the place of feeling good and grounded that I’m trying to get back to — though that’s not to say I’m ruling out the occasional morning trip to the bodega for a Diet Coke to kick off the day.
In a recent podcast interview about self connection, author and social researcher Brené Brown points out the fine line between structure and control: “I do think that ritual and structure and discipline will set you free, I think that’s 100%,” she says, before hastening to add: “then that’s a slippery slope for me.” I’d imagine at the bottom of that slope one might find an ocean of celery juice in which wellness warriors of the Gwenyth Patlrow variety have nothing but jade eggs to cling onto for dear life. Goblin mode, however, isn’t an answer to this extreme. It’s just the opposite, and thus equally off-balance.
If I’m being really honest, though, what this goblin mode talk represents to me is another, more troubling kind of extreme: the internet’s endless and frenetic avalanche of random information, soundbites, hot takes, and headlines that only add to the chaos of simply being human. According to the article in The Guardian that set this whole conversation in motion, the term itself started trending recently because it was misattributed to Julia Fox. My favorite thing about Mary France’s musings on all things goblin for Vice is how this subculture defies modern gender norms, making it “a welcoming habitat for those living beyond the binary.” But that expressive, creative aesthetic appears to have been flattened into a fleeting trend, an internet buzzword without context, stripped of its beauty. Therein lies the real issue in my opinion, regardless of what unseemly morning caffeine source people are seeking out these days. AR
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In the words of...
Alice
I like the sound of goblin mode. It calls to mind the Goblin King as portrayed in The Hobbit: a bon vivant who glugs grog with carefree abandon, loves a good sing-song, feels cool and confident in whatever amorphous form the gods have bestowed upon him; the embodiment of Middle Earth insouciance. But the deeper I delve into TikTok’s reading of goblin mode, the more I want to run for the misty mountains.
I get it: Goblin mode is a rejection of the polished alternative being pushed under the annoyingly binary “That Girl” brand. We — specifically women — have been subjected to the oppression of perfection for too long. But goblin mode takes it too far in the opposite direction, celebrating a kind of slobbery I cannot abide. Each to their own and all that, but I have no more desire to nap at 4 p.m. in a bed full of mystery crumbs than I do a desire to wake up at 4 a.m. to drink a fart smoothie. Both feel pretty toxic to me.
Can’t people just quietly enjoy their own guilty/not-guilty pleasures without building an entire identity around them? On one hand, it’s fun and validating to know there are like-minded people who drink straight from the tap. On the other, is this really enough of a foundation on which to build a community? The hosts of The Polyester Podcast make the compelling point that “going goblin” can refer to a broad spectrum of behaviors, from a single scuzzy action to a whole raison d’être. So is it really worth getting so worked up over this concept that, to most people, lies somewhere between a joke and a byword for uninhibited lounging — whatever form that may take?
For the record, I have had my dalliances with varying degrees of goblin mode. When I first went freelance, I indulged a little too much in working from bed and/or in my pajamas. Wanna know the outcome of essentially only getting changed in the evening in order to put on different pajamas? My self confidence plummeted and I felt frumpy, gross, and sad all the time.
I believe that messy, chaotic spaces and routines directly affect your emotional wellbeing (there’s probably a study to support this somewhere). My home isn’t exactly a Marie Kondo vision of sparkling minimalism, but I make my bed every morning and I fold my clothes away every night. It doesn’t mean I don’t still binge-watch Netflix while feasting on a sharing-size bag of Doritos. I just clean up the crumbs when I’m done. AB
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