Mrs. Hambry vs Sir Sours

I was in the midst of a rather vigorous debate with myself over whether the new artisanal hand soap truly warranted its exorbitant price tag, or if it merely achieved an acceptable level of lather, when the news reached me. One hardly expects an epiphany whilst contemplating suds, yet here we are. Apparently, an organization with the grandiloquent title of the 'Institute for Mundane Consumer Experiences' has spent three years and goodness knows how many research grants to inform us that, gasp, 87% of products are merely 'fine.' My dear readers, I nearly spilled my perfectly adequate Earl Grey.

One pictures these diligent academics, armed with clipboards and a palpable sense of purpose, meticulously evaluating the structural integrity of a toaster oven or the ergonomic genius of a stapler, only to conclude, with a solemn nod, 'Yes, this... this is entirely adequate.' The sheer audacity required to publish such findings as 'groundbreaking' truly marvels. One must wonder what precisely constituted the remaining 13%. Were these items so utterly dreadful they couldn't even achieve 'fine,' or were they, perhaps, genuinely excellent? The report, alas, seems far more focused on the astonishing revelation of average.

It strikes me as particularly quaint that we require a 'groundbreaking study' to confirm what any sentient being over the age of six has long suspected. The world, by and large, is a tapestry woven with threads of the perfectly acceptable. Our morning coffee, our Monday commute, even certain social engagements – all, one might argue, merely 'fine.' The researchers, bless their earnest hearts, speak of a 'collective, low-grade apathy.' I daresay it's less apathy and more a quiet resignation to the statistical probabilities of existence. One cannot be perpetually thrilled, nor perpetually horrified. 'Fine' is the reliable, if uninspired, middle ground, upon which most of life's daily transactions quietly unfold.

And what, pray tell, are we to *do* with this earth-shattering information? Are we to march on the manufacturers, demanding a greater percentage of 'magnificent' or 'transcendent'? Or are we simply to nod, with that aforementioned 'low-grade apathy,' and continue purchasing the vast majority of items that perform precisely as one expects, no more, no less? The pursuit of the 'superb' is, after all, rather exhausting, and frankly, quite uncommon.

And so, the world continues its steady march towards unsurprising mediocrity.

One notes with a familiar sigh that the modern world continues its relentless quest to quantify the bleedin’ obvious. This latest dispatch from the so-called Institute for Mundane Consumer Experiences (IMCE) – or whatever they’re calling themselves this week – declaring that 87% of products are merely ‘fine’ is, to put it mildly, hardly a revelation. Groundbreaking, they crow? I recall covering a pigeon fancier's annual general meeting in Skegness in '97 that offered more genuine insight into the human condition.

Three years, they spent. Three years and some 1,500 household items, all to arrive at a conclusion any sentient adult could have furnished them with over a lukewarm pint in approximately seven minutes. One wonders, truly, at the public funding allocated to such endeavours, while proper news – the sort that doesn't merely state the sky is, in fact, rather blue – goes begging. But then, this is the era of 'data points' for every conceivable banality, isn't it? One must have the graphs, the charts, the thoroughly unnecessary academic imprimatur before one can acknowledge that, yes, the toast rack often works, but rarely inspires sonnets.

The assertion that this leads to 'collective, low-grade apathy' is perhaps the only element with a whiff of the novel, if only because it suggests someone was expecting more. Apathy, certainly, has been a companion of the consumer for longer than I've been filing copy – which is to say, for a considerable span. But 'low-grade'? Good heavens, the very notion suggests a spectrum. I've witnessed apathy of a truly monumental sort, the kind that could level a small village. This 'low-grade' variety sounds terribly American, all earnest and vaguely apologetic. Here, we simply accept that most things are a bit… 'alright' and move on with a quiet, dignified sigh.

What exactly were these IMCE chaps expecting? Ecstasy with every sponge scourer? Transcendence through a new brand of dishwasher salt? Life is not a constant parade of 'exceeding expectations' – a phrase invented, one suspects, by some terribly enthusiastic marketing graduate. Life is largely a series of things that 'do the job,' often with a slight wobble or a frustrating design quirk. That's the fabric of existence, not some dreadful oversight demanding a three-year academic sabbatical and a publication in a journal inexplicably named 'Acceptable'. One must commend their honesty in that, at least; 'Acceptable' is precisely what most of modern life is, and will ever be.

Frankly, if Hambry newsroom expects me to get worked up over the fact that a study confirms most things are just 'fine,' they have clearly forgotten the time I had to report live from a particularly dreary parish council meeting concerning dog fouling. Now *that* was an experience to cultivate a truly robust, high-grade apathy. This? This is just Tuesday.