London Melancholia

Posted by: Dashaway on: January 17, 2009

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I looked like Sherlock Holmes the other day.  An unconscious reminder to myself of how much I miss London?  Perhaps. I have a feeling this will occur more and more frequently, so I figure I should define this phenomenon upfront.  It’s called London Melancholia.  It’s a term I’ve borrowed and adapted from Freud and Butler with their theorizations of gender melancholia and heterosexual melancholia, respectively.  Let me explain. I’ll use Butler as the example. From one of my final papers:

Through her engagement with psychoanalysis, Butler describes how Freud’s account of the Oedipal complex and bisexuality underpin what she comes to call the ‘primary taboo against homosexuality.’  It is argued that Freud’s account assumes for heterosexuality, therefore creating a heterosexual melancholy of sorts, wherein which the object of the loss of same-sex love becomes inscribed on the body.  Therefore, the most polarizing feminine or masculine subject, the most ‘adamantly’ heterosexual, becomes the most melancholic. As Butler notes, “Gender identification is a kind of melancholia in which the sex of the prohibited object is internalized as a prohibition.  This prohibition sanctions and regulates discrete gendered identity and the law of heterosexual desire.

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Angela McRobbie.  The Uses of Cultural Studies.  (London: Sage, 2005), 77

Ibid.

Judith Butler.  Gender Trouble.  (New York: Routledge, 2006), 85-86

So now London melancholia would occur when one inscribes the loss of London on one’s person through various speech acts, thoughts, emotions, clothing, etc.  I’d been contemplating this before I left and so I jotted down how my London melancholia might play out while I was on my last Ryan air flight back from Malaga. Here’s what I came up with: 

I might wear skirts and leggings (big might) with tall boots.  I may say “cheers” or “hey mate!”  I may wear long wool peacoats.  I might say ‘whilst’ just for the hell of it.  I may refer to my professors as ‘tutors’ and my semesters as ‘terms.’  I may randomly burst out with my rendition of ’4-3-6- to *pause* Paddington’ or nnnnew cross gate (I do believe only one other person will understand my love of this).  I may drink wine like crazy.  I may make fun of other Americans.  I may never wear a sweatshirt again (lie, I’m wearing one now).  I may sing (and dance) to the ryan air theme song upon any faint reminder of said airline.  I may wish for a slight drizzle or clouds in the sky.  I’ll get excited upon any mention of socialism.  I might start grafitting sexist adverts… I’ll say ‘advert.’  I’ll start using single quotes instead of double (as evidenced).  Cell phones will be mobiles.  ’To go’ will be ‘take away.’ I’ll still be confused when I use the words class, course, lecture, department, lesson, etc.  I’ll have the urge to swipe my oyster near any form of public transportation.  Strongbow will be my drink of choice.  I’ll rile up MUSG in an attempt to relive my Goldsmiths Student Assembly days–the most legislative power I’ve ever had.  

Having been back for almost a month, I have had strongbow a solid three times and have reverted to wearing a long wool coat. I’ve also just recently applied to become a safesite, and pass out 500 condoms (for free!) to my lovely Catholic institution that cannot discuss birth control methods and thus can’t even mention the STI prevention power of condoms.  

I miss London immensely, mostly because the Feminist Society at Goldsmiths is doing so many amazing, awesome things in the near future–a zine, self defense classes, Miss University protesting, feminist film festival (complete with feminist PORN!), and the list goes on. And my London friends, I miss them dearly. I cannot express how glad I was to find some amazing people to spend my time with there. Hopefully, one day, we’ll reunite. Until then, I’ll be wearing my British flag earrings, wool coat, and Sherlock Holmes hat. Yes, even in the summer.