At reunion I got involved in a very interesting conversation about language, but it covered topics—how to approach people who say "that's so gay" whether to use a word that has roots in offensive beliefs but has since lost the connection like "gypped"—that I have talked about a lot. It's pretty standard in the life of a writing teacher. But then the conversation moved to a topic I've been fascinated by and haven't had a chance to explore—irony.

Jim (42) said he could not use the word "bitch." Ben (26) said that's what he called his girlfriend. And she, a feminist, called him "man whore." They were being ironic, and they both understood the rules of the game.

I'm not saying Ben and his girlfriend are wrong to use irony in their relationship. Hey, it works for them. But I'm actually very disturbed and saddened by irony. It feels like the opposite of authentic. I feel like irony prevents people from feeling unadulterated joy. It is often mean spirited, and it destroys community. It holds everything at a distance.

A few years ago, John and I went a party with people in their early thirties. We were playing a game, and every time they did well, they cheered or got excited but in an ironic, undercutting way. They couldn't fully commit to showing their enthusiasm. They had to make fun of themselves and hold back. This is a pattern I've seen with people 10-15 years younger than I am.

So, I asked Ben about it. He said it was ok to be unironic about nature, classical music, love, caring for a sad or sick friend, but one had to be ironic about liking Justin Timberlake. And, in fact, pretty much anything other than the excepted cases.

He had a fascinating rationale—we know too many of the complex political and moral facets to be simplistically happy about anything. If you know your cool new shirt was made in a sweatshop in China by children, you have to make fun of yourself for loving it so much, otherwise, you are an uncaring cad. Same with your car that pollutes the environment or the delicious French fries that are going to clog your arteries.

That doesn't really explain why Justin Timberlake is on the list. It was always embarrassing to like bad pop music. But do we have to look chagrinned or can we just go for it?

My cousin Christie had another fascinating explanation for the prevalence of irony in this generation—the fall of the Soviet Union. Here's her explanation: Before the Soviet Union fell, intellectuals had one true thing they believed in, Marxism. Marxism, filtering through Europe to American universities, was a belief system that made sense, a lens through which they could analyze history, literature, etc. Then it collapsed. She said it is no accident that deconstructionism rose in concert with the deconstruction of the Soviet Union and that theory is deeply disaffected. You can't commit because there is nothing to commit to, ergo irony.

Of course, I am speaking about a subset of the population. The current evangelical movements, for instance, are certainly not imbued with irony.

I'm interested, though, how many of you are regularly ironic, in what contexts, and why?