The internet is rife with young incels and boomers blathering on about woke James Bond, Chinese James Bond, woke Star Wars—and so on. Maybe I’d be the same if I were an afterthought. Oh, wait. I have been. My entire life.
Maybe it’s the passive-aggressive 7:55 PM Slack message from a colleague who thinks he’s more important than he ever will be.
Maybe it’s the local power outage delaying my sirloin.
Maybe it’s the impending doom of an overly busy Friday, culminating in a dreaded security call with the suits (financiers) to finalize the purchase of an investment property.
Or maybe it’s the comment section of The Bond Experience Instagram page. I adore David, just not his fans.
Whatever it is, I’m mad, and I have time.
Earlier today, while watching my two-year-old, I made the mistake of listening to the news. A fool’s errand. Nothing good ever comes of it. Another downed plane—two dead from this one. Another U.S. presidential appointee with neo-Nazi leanings and bad online behavior. How many racists must one surround oneself with before earning the title? Trick question. They’ll never call him one.
I then catch the news that Barbara Broccoli and Michael Wilson have had their fill of the back and forth with Amazon over James Bond. This deserves its own post, but the consensus reaction from the community was of course – “James Bond is ruined and is going woke for sure.” I’m almost positive that one less prominent YouTuber lamented Barbara for being too woke in her approach, but I guess that Amazon is now the problem? They may very well be a problem, but look no further than The Boys to find a streaming platform that is happy to be as abrasive as possible.
The Macallan x 007 50th Anniversary Release
Fed up of the lunacy, I turned to Star Wars news—surely a safe haven. Wrong. The Acolyte cast dared to breathe air somewhere near a Star Wars event, and that, it seems, is too woke for the true fans. Annoyed, I shut it all off and let the kid watch Mickey Mouse. That, at least, seemed safe.
Which is why I loved Disneyland Paris.
Nobody there wanted my opinion on Democratic Party strategy regarding trans athletes (more on that some other time). There was no 24/7 news cycle on the U.S. president’s latest middle finger to anyone not named himself—insert half-cocked joke about President Donald Duck.
At Disneyland, there were only happy kids, adults stuffing their faces with beignets, drinking anniversary house-champagne, and getting far too excited about childhood memories. I won’t lie—I was the most excitable child in the park this January. Joy seeped from my skin on those Star Wars rides. I saw the Mandalorian strolling through the park and, for a moment, I was nine years old again—waving like a fool at a man in costume. Suddenly, I was back in my Jar Jar Binks Halloween costume with no knowledge of any of this nonsense.
That’s why I get nostalgia. At least, childhood nostalgia.
But nostalgia for adult memories? That’s the thief of joy. Or was that comparison?
A good friend—more of a romantic than me—once said something over Camarena tequila that stuck. Paraphrased, it went: People spend too much time looking back at what was good and miss making the now good.
And that’s the point.
Men. Let’s be honest—this one’s aimed at you.
Nobody can ruin James Bond or Star Wars for you. No one has the power to change your relationship with existing media. Maybe future media, but not the past—that’s set in stone. Wokeness can’t alter something established in 1962. Some would argue the world would be better if it could—but I won’t. I don’t believe that, and I can wound your fragile ego more effectively.
Consider, for a moment, that the absence of woke—the lack of awareness of the other—might be why your beloved franchises no longer command a wider audience. Perhaps that’s why these franchises and their rights are stripped down for parts and sold to the highest bidder.
Diversity is big business.
White male dominance in media took its death blow, in my mind, the day I saw a small white child in Cardiff scream, “I am T’Challa!” and cross his arms in the Black Panther salute. He was loving life. And it had nothing to do with race. And yet—the fact that T’Challa, that movie’s direction, its soundtrack, its undeniable energy—clicked with everyone in a way Captain America’s derivative story never could? That had everything to do with race. And culture.
Another ego punch? White men are no longer the only demographic with cash to burn.
In America, you’re not the sole holders of wealth anymore, because you’re not the majority of people. Globally, you’re no longer dominating on test scores, university admissions, or earnings. Which means your disposable income doesn’t inspire awe like it once did. The pot is bigger now, and the same people the world once cleared the way for are seeing what it feels like to be absent from the minds of creatives.
And like you, I think that’s wrong.
No one should be erased.
The difference is, most of us notice your struggle—many of you make sure of that. But when the roles were reversed, your response was always, “Well, that’s just how it is.”
And now?
Now you’re taking the licks that men like me have taken forever. And it sucks.
But it’s sucked for everyone else since the beginning. Since we were given the roles of the supporting character, the dim-witted sidekick, the disposable minority who existed only through the lens of a white writer. I often think of the women depicted in movies, devoid of personality, existing merely as an object of desire with the dialogue to match.
And now, when you feel that same erasure—when people forget you, when the fantasy worlds of others are complete with out you—it hurts.
So how do I end this?
With the same language you’ve thrown at me every time I’ve pointed out an injustice.
Facts don’t care about your feelings. The nasty little elf man says this, and I take joy in flinging it back. You can’t force people to include you by being insufferable. You can’t whine your way into the hearts of creatives. You just have to be human, willing to be part of something rather than dominate it. You know, like how the rest of us had to do. You’re no longer the default. That’s a fact.
I was once asked, Why don’t black people go make their own James Bond?
It didn’t go over well.
Back then, I was a lesser fan. I gave the polite answer: James Bond is fictional. He can be anything, as long as he’s a Brit and the story is good. BTW – if we did, it’d likely make more money.
The same people who tell you affirmative action is evil, who rail against DEI because we should do things on merit—in a world where one group decides who gets to be meritorious—are the ones now throwing tantrums at the concept of multicultural Jedi or the mere idea of a James Bond that doesn’t fit their image for the first time since 1953.
And so, I leave you with the same advice that’s been handed down to every disenfranchised group since the dawn of time:
Pick yourself up by the bootstraps and make it happen.
Because if the world doesn’t want to include you, gentlemen, you now have a choice—sit in the corner whining about how things used to be, or stand up and do what men before you did when the world changed around them: adapt and build and love thy neighbour.
Bond will change. Star Wars will change. The world has changed.
The question isn’t if you can stop it.
The question is if you’re man enough to participate.