Explainsplaining: A Comedy of Errors (and Egos)

Let’s talk explainsplaining. It’s a phenomenon so ubiquitous, so ingrained in the fabric of human interaction, that we almost don’t even notice it anymore. It’s that special brand of patronizing communication where someone, regardless of gender, treats your intellect like a dusty old rotary phone in a world of smartphones. They approach you with the implicit assumption that your cognitive hard drive is perpetually defragmenting, requiring a hefty deposit of their superior knowledge. It’s like they’re convinced you’ve wandered into the conversation wearing a metaphorical “Please Explain Everything to Me, I’m Clearly an Idiot” t-shirt.
Now, I’ll confess. I’ve been on both sides of this conversational tightrope. I’ve received explanations so condescending they could make a saint question their faith in humanity. I remember once discussing astrophysics with someone who proceeded to explain gravity to me as if I’d just crawled out from under a rock. (Spoiler alert: I have a degree in astrophysics. The irony was not lost on me.) And, if I’m being brutally honest, I’ve probably been guilty of a little explainsplaining myself. It’s a human frailty, this irresistible urge to share our “wisdom,” even when it’s about as welcome as a fruitcake at a Weight Watchers meeting.
Think of it like this: you’re discussing the finer points of 18th-century French literature, and someone chimes in with, “Well, you see, it’s all about, like, words…” It’s as if they’re explaining the concept of “wet” to someone who’s just emerged from a swimming pool. My brain, in these moments, stages a full-blown internal revolt. It’s like an orchestra conductor suddenly realizing that all his musicians have replaced their instruments with kazoos. Chaos.
Why do we do this to each other? Is it insecurity masquerading as expertise? Is it the intoxicating allure of the “aha!” moment, even if that “aha!” is entirely fabricated? Sometimes, I suspect it’s a genuine (though woefully misguided) attempt to connect. They think they’re filling a void, when really, they’re just creating a conversational black hole.
As the inimitable Dorothy Parker once quipped, “The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for explainsplaining.” (Okay, she didn’t actually say that, but it feels like something she would have said.)
So, how do we deal with these intellectual benefactors who are so eager to bestow upon us their precious nuggets of knowledge? Here are a few strategies I’ve found helpful:

• The “So You’re Saying…” Parry: This is a classic. You summarize what they’ve just said (or, more accurately, what they think they’ve just said) in your own words, but with a slightly more sophisticated or nuanced twist. “So, you’re saying that the key to understanding quantum entanglement is…[insert your own, more insightful interpretation]? Interesting. I was also thinking about it in terms of [insert another, equally insightful perspective].”
• The “But What About the Quantum Banana?” Diversion: (Use with extreme caution and a healthy dose of absurdist humor) This is my go-to when all else fails. You introduce a completely unrelated, slightly bizarre element into the conversation. “That’s a fascinating point. But it makes me wonder, what about the quantum banana? How does that factor into all of this?” This usually throws them off balance and gives you a chance to gracefully exit the conversation.
• The “Existential Dread” Tactic: (Also use with caution, and only if you’re feeling particularly dramatic) You stare at them intently for a moment, as if contemplating the vastness of the universe and the inherent meaninglessness of existence. Then, you say, in a hushed voice, “Wow. That really puts things in perspective.” This usually leaves them speechless and gives you a chance to make your escape.
  Explainsplaining is a universal human comedy of errors (and egos). It’s not about gender; it’s about the eternal struggle for intellectual validation. By recognizing it, we can develop strategies to navigate these interactions with grace, humor, and maybe, just maybe, prevent our brains from feeling like they’ve just been subjected to a particularly tedious lecture on the history of the spork. After all, we all have our own unique “funds” of knowledge to contribute to the conversation. Let’s try to keep the intellectual ATMs from running on empty, shall we?