No-Shit Sherlocks, Faux Problems, and the Art of Not Preaching

Let's Fix It

Why are certain writers so popular, even though they "regurgitate" ancient truths?

I can think of several reasons (and if you think of any more, please let me know—this is only a preliminary list of suggestions).

Not everyone has the time or stamina to plough through The Dhammapada or Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations.

Some people do, and they have a knack for filtering these into bite-sized, emotionally resonant messages that people can understand immediately. Perfect for social media. As I have referred to in my previous post, to me it usually works reductionist, stating the bleeding obvious, and it leads to the No-Shit-Sherlock syndrome. Accessibility should not come at the cost of actual wisdom.

The whole world and its mother is in turmoil. Modern readers, many of whom are facing anxiety, burnout, and existential confusion, find comfort and guidance in simple, affirming messages. They seek out what is soothing and speaks directly to emotional wounds, without being too challenging.

It’s the time we live in, I guess. If we are no longer capable of reading and understanding, then the huge cultural hunger for healing, authenticity, and self-awareness is now as insatiable as the content machine. Keep them coming… those platitudes and pleasing, placating, palatable neo-wisdom tidbits. In the social media economy, one-liners that “hit hard” are much more likely to go viral than long philosophical treatises. Especially in an era of loneliness, polarisation, and post-pandemic instability, many people crave emotional clarity, and we want it delivered in a non-threatening, digestible way.

There are a few authentic voices out there, blending ancient wisdom with personal experience, which seems to come from a place of humility and openness. They are not saying much that's "new" in a historical sense. But how ideas are communicated matters as much as what is being communicated. I am wondering, though, now so many college and university professors are saying how students are functionally illiterate: is this non-thought-provoking bite-sized wisdom in any way helpful?

I find it alarming to learn that students today—even at prestigious institutions—often struggle with basic reading comprehension, critical thinking, and writing. They can decode words, but they often can’t engage with complex ideas, nuance, or longer arguments. Attention spans have shortened; deep reading habits have declined.

For some people, short, digestible wisdom is a "gateway drug" to deeper study. It might inspire someone to pick up a book on Buddhism, Stoicism, or therapy (I said, woefully optimistic). Can people be “helped” with their emotional regulation? For many students and young adults struggling with mental health, accessible emotional content can provide a lifeline that stabilises them enough to attempt deeper learning later. But does it facilitate any meaningful change in us?

Not everyone (at least not anyone I know personally) has been raised or taught how to effectively communicate about or address their well-being. Wisdom in simple little snippets, layman’s terms, gives people at least some basic language to talk about things like boundaries, trauma, and emotional healing, which were taboo or inaccessible before.

The flip side is where it gets harder for me to put things into perspective.

The combination of surface-level thinking and confirmation bias risks reinforcing shallow engagement, making us think this is enough. People may confuse feeling seen with understanding themselves. A tweet or short poem can feel profound without leading to any deeper inquiry.

Misappropriation lurks, as does misapplication. Ancient philosophies were complex, rigorous systems of thought. Reducing them to inspirational slogans can strip away the hard-earned wisdom of nuance, paradox, and intellectual struggle. We like truths that sound simple, believing they offer solutions to challenging life events and their impact, without ever getting to the root of our human experiences.

A sense of false mastery has led to a self-help and wellness army of false prophets. If we are exposed only to this kind of content, we may believe we "know" Buddhism, Stoicism, or psychology after reading a few posts, without ever grappling with their difficulty. The same way some people still think that watching Fox News is going to give them clear insights into global politics. Nah.

I have been accused of “intellectual superiority” so I have to tread carefully (which obviously when push comes to shove I won’t and I will just trample like a hippo). I know it's not "intellectual superiority" to notice when something complex is being overly simplified. It's a real personal concern, especially because I value, and crave, deep thinking and want others to experience the richness of real intellectual engagement. So, I am not going to pretend it doesn't matter.

My perceived intellectual superiority, I was told, I used to avoid intimacy. That is the last thing I want. I don’t want to be preachy or snarky, for the sake of “look at me being clever,” or to be right. I don’t want anyone to feel judged. I want people to be invited into deeper thought. I don’t want to alienate anyone; I actually want to connect on a more meaningful level.

CHALLENGING MYSELF

I need to be challenged myself … because I need to engage more and not be preachy or scolding (I have done this before and luckily there was one person who said that my take on the social media wisdom “no shit Sherlock” shallowness success stories was delicious, so that let me off the hook). Being challenged, and being self-critical, the objective is not to suppress insight. I do want to channel it into forms that others can actually hear, wrestle with, and maybe even come to appreciate enough to engage. Talk back.

One way of bringing us closer, and open to exploration and debate, is by clarifying this:

My statements are not conclusions. I want to share my observations as genuine questions. Me ranting is not meant as a lecture directed at you. Think of it more as an inside joke we are sharing.

Even shallow content often comes from real needs (comfort, belonging, simplicity). It’s a good, healthy, human impulse. I get why people want quick emotional validation. We all need it sometimes. But I worry that when it's only bite-sized, it starves the deeper parts of us. I also have to accept, and not judge, that not everyone is ready (or willing) to be challenged at a deep level. That’s not a fault, or failure.

I have a preference for surgical critique wrapped in sharp (dark) humor. To me it is actually one of the highest forms of social commentary when done well. Like Oscar Wilde, Fran Lebowitz, or even George Carlin at his more philosophical moments. This is, in part, what I strive for in my writing. I want to crack things open, not claim I have the answer.

Wit creates intimacy. When we make someone laugh, especially in a sharp or clever way, it creates a secret little bridge between us. Real intimacy happens when critique feels like an invitation, not an indictment. And humor, especially the dry, cutting, kind, makes that possible without watering down our intelligence.

I want to point out the emperor’s new clothes for someone to say, yes I see it too.
Not screaming across the room: "YOU'RE ALL IDIOTS!"

A FEW OF MY LEAST FAVOURITE THINGS

The more I write the more I read and the more aware and (self) critical I become.

I don’t like:

1) “No shit, Sherlock” — stating the obvious.
If it boils down to “be yourself,” “life is a journey,” or “communication is important,” maybe rethink. I’m allergic to obviousness posing as profundity. Icky, yuck, cringe, itch.

2) Dumbing things down.
Simplifying is good. Condescending is not. I want to write clearly without assuming my readers need everything spoon-fed in baby talk. Dutch TV presenters have made a habit of this toddler level drivel and it drives me nuts.

3) Not giving credit and pretending you made it up.
It is a hard one to resists, but our writer’s integrity depends on it. When you stumble on a trendy idea, don’t serve it up like it’s a personal revelation. It is not finder’s keepers (looking at you, Mel Robbins and the “let them” trend), and it makes my skin crawl. Honour your sources, it’s part of the intellectual conversation.

4) Inventing problems just to offer solutions.
There’s an epidemic of problem-creation in the self-help and productivity world. If you tell people they’re broken, distracted, or stuck (when they may be actually fine) just so you can swoop in with a 10-step fix, then you’re not helping; you’re hustling.

Point 4 is not even just that. I recently read a post on certain “tools’ that are rapidly gaining traction in self-help. The author framed this as problematic and then obviously offered their “novel” insight to “correct” this.

It is a rhetorical manoeuver I am seeing more of (maybe I am more aware now, maybe it is being used more often; I do not know, but either way it bugs me). Not just “here’s a problem, here’s my solution”, but “I’m going to frame something neutral (or even positive) as a problem, so I can then ‘reveal’ my superior insight and position myself as the enlightened guide.”

It may appear well intentioned and well thought through, but it’s a manipulative trick. Position the field as confused or problematic (even when it’s not), cast yourself as the clear-eyed interpreter, offer a “new” insight that often repackages familiar wisdom in your own branding. It’s a kind of thought-leadership hustle where you manufacture an intellectual crisis so you can star in the rescue (now I think of it, this is borderline narcissism…).

These are performance patterns so prevalent in the influencer-thought-leader world, and the only purpose they serve to me, is to hold myself to higher standards. It encourages me to honestly reflect on what I write, and why I write it in the way that I do.

NOT THERE YET

I think my “argument” still needs more. It needs to be sharper and it needs to imply myself too … I don’t want to preach. I want to catch myself out anytime I fall into these trappings too.

Writing my memoir makes me constantly question my added value. This is not some selfdeprecating, sensitive artist insecurity. I am genuinely wondering what it is I think I have to offer. Not for a publishing pitch, but for my personal perspective. What it adds to my life, honouring my experiences by spending time writing about it, is not the same as what a reader gets out of it. And your time is as valuable as mine. You need to get something out of it too. Something beyond the bitesize social media wisdoms.

MEANDERING

Here I am meandering a little, but bear with me. A friend suggested reading Susan Shumsky. I am familiar with the “I am” movement coming from new thought leaders. A few pages in (audiobook, so a few minutes in) I had to stop. What I was listening to was someone who had put Louise Hay and Florence Scovel Shinn into a blender and served it with a bit of Silva Method sprinkled on top (only one of whom Shumsky credited at the beginning of her book). I did not recognise just the concepts, she was repeating their key statements, verbatim.

Another observation: Wayne dyer and Brené Brown also state the obvious quite often and are not exactly modern day oracles full of novel insights… But with them it never bothers me .. so there is a layer too of how tone matters… maybe some universal truths that are helpful need to be regurgitated in various tones until everyone has really heard them.

Circling this paradox of wisdom communication, I get a little dizzy myself. What resonates, what doesn’t, and why? Sometimes restating old truths is necessary, because people need to hear them in different voices, at different times, in different moods. Not just the message, but messenger matters too. I have rebuffed certain “truths” only to embrace them later when offered by someone else.

But when “wisdom on repeat” slides into lazy, self-aggrandising pulp or shallow “insight performance art” I loose my appetite.

SHARING IS CARING BLEGH

Oh another one .. the pretend I care about you posts … of a bunch of flowers that says: in case you needed this today … or the combination of this with the no shit Sherlock … for who needs to hear this…if that is how you start anything, I am not your audience and I definitely did not need to hear it.

These posts do nothing but signal vague non committal compassion, avoid any real vulnerability or relationship, and wrap it all in the no-shit-Sherlock obviousness (“you are enough,” “keep going,” “you matter”). They’re basically emotional clickbait.

I see too much of this confessional + motivational + self-mythologizing genre that thrives now. It is not where I wish to position myself as a writer, it is not what I want my memoirs to be emblematic of. I write about cancer (but weirdly it is not about cancer, it is about life) and am actually working on a trilogy. Cancer, the body, mortality, survival, grief, resilience, all of it. That carries an immense gravity and vulnerability. And at the same time, I am keenly aware of the landscape I am publishing into. A world where confession, personal struggle, and motivational language easily tip over into performance, self-mythology, and audience capture. It’s dangerously easy to slip into the posture of “wounded guide” or “heroic survivor” and start feeding the same spectacle I am critiquing.

I am working on another post that is about the “archetype” of the Nobel Victim - how a certain type of victim behaviour is rewarded and the other punished. How we are supposed to carry our pain. Intuitively I think it links to the suffering artist. Pain is only valid if it is turned into wisdom or leads to creative genius. It touches something deep in how we culturally process pain, illness, trauma, and even artistic authority.

I write because I have to. I have no other way (apart from meditation) to make sense of things. I write because I seek connection. Yes, I would love to be able to live off my writing only. But I am not out to monetise misery. I don’t need you to pay me to pity me. I am also not your designated source of inspiration on how to suffer with dignity and grace.

There is no money in the world I would trade for my health. There’s no compensation that softens the longing for the body I had, or the body I thought I’d have. I would never have given up my uterus (used or not) for any material comfort. Nothing I write, sell, or publish will make the pain easier to bear.

But what I can do is write from wherever and whoever I am, in this moment, without pretending to be further along, wiser, or tidier than I am. And yes, I hope that someday writing is enough to sustain me and my pack. Not because it redeems the pain, but because it lets me stay honest, connected, awake. That’s not a fix, not a cure, not a transformation. It’s just what I have, and maybe, if I’m lucky, what I can give.

XXL