When in Rome: Are we all just living in our own Roman Empires?
Obsessions, fixations, and other preoccupations to keep from being a productive member of society.
In 2012 NBC executives must have seen the runaway success of GLEE, its fervent fanbase, its concert film, its Wii tie-in karaoke games, and thought, “Gimme one of them shows for the Theater virgins.” Thus Smash was born. An at times baffling display of spectacle, Smash follows the impetuous creation of an imaginary Marilyn Monroe musical. Helmed by famed lyricist and composer, Marc Shaiman, the show was musical theater crack for anyone afflicted with McPhever. Though more than a decade has passed since its finale, this show and all its foibles is my Roman Empire.
The pithy thought exercise, of asking others what their Roman Empire is, started as a viral online meme like all great things before it including: Ice Spice as Princess Diana, the proliferation of Kevin James promotional stills, and that one gay guy who tried boba tea for the first time. The belief is that all men, at least on some level, are constantly thinking about the Roman Empire. Every man is secretly waiting to fly into a tangent on Emperor Nero, or the creation of the aqueduct, or the exchange of “male energies” between mentor and mentee. (Alright that last one was just gay guys, but you get the point.) The joke is that many men are preoccupied by something as innocuous as a lesson from tenth-grade World History, something that many of us have never given a second thought.
As someone who has been known to occasionally hyper-fixate on the minutiae of the human experience, (see this Substack) I am intimately familiar with this idea. But this term has evolved in our current lexicon. Now when someone says something is their Roman Empire, it can be understood to mean any particular obsession that is not necessarily commonly held. The term is evocative of this experience but now refers to a wider range of interests and fixations. This is how though the world has kept turning, and still I can’t help thinking about Eileen Rand’s truly despicable bob.
We all have that one thing. That one relationship we can seemingly never get over. That one character in an animated film who we connected a little too closely to or thought was simply misunderstood. There are songs that feel like a catch breath and taco shops that feel like falling on ice. Our lives are colored by the things we obsess over. So much of who we are is defined by the things we love, or in my case— the things that have gotten stuck.
There is an argument to be made that having one’s own Roman Empire is actually a good thing and that this shared knowledge has allowed more freedom of expression. I think of this as the Funko-Popification of interests. The things that seemed strange or nerdy or embarrassing are now being celebrated in public and that is a good thing. Right? Or is this hyperinflation of niche interests going to have the same outcome as those vinyl statuettes that will one day outnumber us all and more plentiful than the stars in the night sky. Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’ve been wading through that Funko Pop landfill, I feel like I am waist-deep in the stuff, and I want out.
Maybe this is a natural product of aging or a result of the way we as a society are quickly shifting away from monoculture. But it seems like each new Roman Empire I hear about is yet another reminder of our own continuously isolating experiences. Of course, there is the odd confession of one’s interest that serves as a curated recommendation. Recently a friend of mine put me on to the show Ugly Betty, which I had never engaged with growing up, and have now understood as a deeply rich text with its own queer, racial, and gendered readings. But more often than not, when someone shares their Roman Empire we are reminded of the sheer quantity of content and how so little of it actually makes an impact.
This is seen in music, with radio struggling to find songs to play for an increasingly siloed music listenership. How did Morgan Wallen have the Number 1 song in the country and yet I swear to Björk I never heard it even once. It is seen in film, especially those pushed out through streamers. Ask your parents what movie they watched on Netflix last night. I guarantee you their answer will come back with a fever dream Willy Wonka boat-scene-ass plotline that will leave you utterly dumbfounded. How did that film get made? Is that even legal? There are celebrities and micro-influencers whose names sound more like crossword clues that you will never come across because your algorithm is tailormade to your own Roman Emperors. (The husky-voiced and bangyanged mortician on YouTube may be your personal hero, but for many her entire identity sounds more like keywords and SEO.)
And isn’t this just what art and creativity under capitalism look like? We create these categories of interest for consumption that are so hyper-focused that they can only ever hope to truly relate to a handful of people. And yet those 5-6 people are devoted consumers, gobbling up each new episode unaware of the echo chambers they exist in. That’s how a piece of culture can be your entire world, and nothing at all to someone else. Not even a blip on their radar, because they too have their own Roman Empire that they feed on— one that you have never heard of. So I have to ask, have we reached peak niche?
Isn’t that just what interests are, I hear you ask. And that sounds an awful lot like you are arguing against diversely representative media. And to that, I say, hey this is my essay, and Ariana what are you doing here?
Obviously, the fact that media and culture have become more reflective of one’s individual experience is a good thing, I would never argue against having ciphers for our own selves through the art and culture we engage with. What I do find frightening is the ways in which these touchstones of culture seemingly further insulate us from the rest of the world. It is exactly echo chambers like these that create your QAnon uncle who is no longer invited to Thanksgiving or that one friend from high school who thinks vaccines made you gay. (Which I guess I can’t entirely prove wrong because I’ve been feeling extra fruity after my last Covid booster.)
This is why I think the term Roman Empire is so apt. At the time, Rome was an invasive superpower the likes of which we had never seen. It purported to have the best art, culture, and way of life. And yet, even as it expanded across the world through parts of Africa, Spain, and what is now Britain, its sphere of influence was comparatively small. To those living in it, it must have felt like Rome was the whole world, but to live like that would be to ignore the many important developments and discoveries happening simultaneously in every far-flung region across the globe. When we stay in our own comfortable and easily understood Roman Empires, we rob ourselves of a more challenging yet fulfilling experience.
I guess all this is to say, maybe skip your next rewatch of Friends and try something new. Challenge yourself to break out of the same silos and circles you move around in or you’ll always be stuck in 625 BC.