By all accounts, by which I mean the opinion of the two men I am close to, sulking is, in the woman, a mood that engenders fury in the man. I must admit, I am surprised at the extreme effect a sulk can have - but it does, apparently. So, if you ever want to enrage a man, just be sulky.
What is a sulk, in any case? Is there a philosophy of sulking? It lacks the grandiosity of other moods - anxiety, angst, despair. Can one sulk alone? Does one sulk before God? Perhaps, as a teenager, one sulks cosmically, staring into the void with a face that reads “it’s not fair!” even if there’s no one there to see it.
Sulking in general, though, seems an intensely relational mode of behaving - it requires an other in order to sulk in front of, to acknowledge-pretend-not-to-acknowledge The Sulk. A little double-game: are you sulking? What’s the matter with you? Are you upset about x or y? Sulking is, undoubtedly, regressive, which is to say, a bit childish. It is the mood of someone who has had a desire thwarted and can’t quite yet get back to being an adult. it is petulance as performance, an impotent will that wants to be recognised in its impotence. I am castrated. I am always castrated. I can’t do anything other than be in this mood, and you must unfortunately join me for the duration…oh, how long? Let’s say twenty minutes?
Is there anything dignified about sulking? To the sulkee, being in a sulk is twofold, or double-edged, perhaps. From a rational point of view, to be in a sulk is, admittedly stupid and petty. It is anti-noble. But a sulk will always pass: the adult aspect knows this. Why not just stop sulking already, if you know this. Why even bother being in a sulk in the first place? Suck it up! You’re too old for this kind of behaviour. It’s embarrassing, and, more to the point, you are ruining the other person’s day. And, besides, it’s a beautiful day! Every moment matters: why are you wasting it subjecting someone else, and yourself, to this fleeting idiocy?
On the other hand, a sulk is a (however misguided) existential pouch of righteousness. A micro-injustice. Even if you are in the wrong, and in fact being a bit of an idiot, the feeling of being denied something has its own very temporary charms. Who sulks to who? A child sulks in front of its parents when a desire is blocked. A lover pouts when her beau refuses her something, even if it’s for the best. Do men sulk, or do they just get angry? I am sure they do, but maybe more in the mode of glowering than pouting…
Of all the posters of the past little while, this is my absolute least favourite: what kind of society needs to tell its people to “be kind”?
Alain de Botton has written about sulking. Somehow, I could have guessed. What he says is quite nice: “it is a privilege to be the recipient of a sulk; it means the other person respects and trusts us enough to think we should understand their unspoken hurt. It is one of the odder gifts of love.” I think this perhaps dignifies the sulk somewhat, but I agree that one does not display “unspoken hurt” to just anyone, only to those very close to us. The sulk is not saying something loudly, with the assumption that the other person gets it, or should do, even if they feel a bit contemptuous towards the reasons why the sulkee is behaving that way. The sulkee perhaps makes small talk, but even in speaking is hinting at a deeper withholding of words. A silent speaking. Would it be better just to be honest? I must say I am a bit upset by x or y, even though I know it is silly. The mature approach. One stands outside oneself and observes a mood. But why should I! You should know why I am sulking because you know me so well! It’s an honour to witness my sulking!
A sulk might even serve a function, allowing the disgruntled person time to pull themselves together, even at the risk of seriously irritating the person who serves as the unwilling audience for the little strop. Perhaps having written this, I’ll never sulk again. And so reason proceeds…