Why We Complain

In a recent post for Psychology Today, play scholar Scott Eberle describes some of the dangers that confront those who overconsume cable newscasts. Focusing on older Americans, he describes a pattern of cultural disorientation in which media declarations of public threat are succeeded by modest forms of emotional release and then by new doses of menace. That doom cycle erodes confidence in viewers, particularly those who lack other sources of information and social connection. For people so contained, it is easy to feel “thwarted, helpless, exposed, victimized, and isolated.”

Some of those seniors seemingly embrace that dour view of the world. They see dread where they should find joy, and experience shock instead of surprise. Those “geezers,” as Eberle identifies them, may become chronic cranks and complainers, who believe the world is going to some nether region in a handbasket. He calls their displays of disaffection and incapacity “geezing.” His antidote for those malcontents is to start playing, or otherwise to take active control of one’s life.

To be sure, all of us complain from time to time. We may even find ourselves moving down the track of the committed complainer, who wheezes, gasps, and otherwise declares their current circumstances an impossible place to live.

This post focuses on the reasons people complain. I’ll argue that although a few of us may be compulsive, damn-the-consequences curmudgeons, most of us are quite strategic about our expressions of grievance. Let’s consider some issues.

What do we complain about?

Commonly, we complain about circumstances we feel powerless to control and don’t really expect to change. Think of rising prices, the weather, public manners, and other people’s driving habits. Add to the list unfortunate encounters, perhaps the way our kids behaved yesterday or the rude treatment we received at the doctor’s office. Include also bodily and mental perturbations, and our various “aches and pains.” Typically, we vent about these matters rather than addressing them directly. To do the latter would mean moving from complaining to criticizing or even correcting. Complaining is the safer, less consequential, strategy.

Who complains, and to whom?

Complaining is prominent among people who feel they have low status in situations or who feel their status slipping. Think of children trapped in the car’s back seat on a family vacation or senior citizens discussing pallid meals at the retirement center. As a longtime professor, I know that faculty like to complain about administrators. Clerical workers carp about the “suits” or “big bosses.”

This does not mean that those disempowered souls make comments directly to their tormentors. Quite the opposite. People usually complain to persons of similar status. Even then there is danger that those listeners may “rat them out” or “tell.” Because of that, audiences—like receivers of crude jokes and malicious gossip—are chosen carefully.

I’ll admit that high-status people also complain. Parents gripe about their kids, bosses, or their workers. Still, having high status means that one should be able to secure compliance from underlings. So, complaining to subordinates may be an open admission of weakness or, at least, an acknowledgment one can’t change the behaviors in question. Best to save such remarks or share them only with trusted colleagues.

When people complain to those in charge, usually they do so indirectly. Child travelers ask incessantly, “Are we there yet?” instead of pointedly questioning their parents’ decision-making ability. Residents of institutions make oblique jokes about the quality of their living arrangements. Ideally, this is done in settings where other lower-status people can witness their rebellion and, presumably, support it. Woe to those who take on the authority figure in private.

When and where do we complain?

Typically, complaints occur either before or after disagreeable encounters. (This is different from present-time altercations that follow the rules of disagreements or confrontations.) In that light, we complain about the hard day at work we just had; we whine about an upcoming party where we “won’t know anyone.” For the most part, we expect our grousing to receive active encouragement from our listener or, failing that, passive consolation (“I know!”).

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Historically, complaining—like gossiping—has occurred in verbal, face-to-face contexts. The modern era features new written (and thus more permanent) styles. Anonymous questionnaires and suggestion boxes are examples. These possibilities expand dramatically in our Internet Age, when we find it entirely appropriate to “rate” our experiences at motels, restaurants, stores, and professional offices. Everyone, or so it seems, is a critic. Comments may be scathing.

To that extent, we live today in a “culture of complaint,” where people feel freer expressing negative comments than positive ones. In a time of social gigantism and media-managed events, we feel powerless to control the practices of our society. In that sense, grumblings are small acts of protest: “Government is immoral and incompetent.” “Corporations are soulless and greedy.” “Most people care only about themselves.”

One can argue that this lambasting is a kind of emotional venting, and thus useful in its way. But the effects of this, as Eberle stresses, are modest and short-lived. Almost immediately, one returns to gloom and doom.

With that said, let’s consider four specific reasons people complain. I‘ll argue that although complaints seem like simple emotional outbursts—exclamations about an undelivered newspaper or ill-considered government policy—they are equally a form of social interaction, in which we let others know our standards. Consider four functions of complaining—as ritual, play, work, and communion.

Complaining as ritual: “I’m still here”

Many of our complaints aren’t exceptional or even sporadic affairs; they are ongoing protests. Like broken records, we can be counted on to discredit a relative we don’t like, a politician we oppose, or some nagging bodily discomfort. Commonly, our audience thinks, “There you go again.” Getting little or no response, we restate our concerns.

One might imagine that we would give up griping, since it seems not to have the desired effect. However, complaining of this sort—like other forms of ritual—has the purpose of reaffirming who we are and what we stand for. Sadly, perhaps, these statements are essentially denunciations of worldly occurrences and relationships rather than commitments to new ways of living. Nevertheless, by denouncing the failings of others, we somehow feel strengthened. Resistance, as we see it, is better than capitulation. Tomorrow, we will say the same things, to the same people—and to ourselves.

Complaining as play: “Let’s stir things up”

Sometimes, complaining takes the form of bantering and gentle conflict. Another play studies colleague told me her parents would occasionally say to each other, “It’s time for a really good fight.” They would mutually air grievances; the battle would escalate; there would be laughter and mutual acceptance by the end.

More commonly, complaining—about some event or situation—takes the form of pointed jokes, jibes, and exaggerations. So inspired, listeners join in offering their own stories and improvisations. Authority figures appear foolish; situations absurd; official policies ridiculous.

Play of this sort is much more than a gripe session. It is a gathering of collective energy. And the leaders gain status before their colleagues.

Complaining as work: “Let’s change something”

We typically think of complaining as a largely unproductive activity, like dropping comments in the suggestion box. People have their say; they feel better for having done so; and the world moves on as before.

However, many complaints are quite purposive. Spouses, for example, nag one another because they really want (and expect) behavioral change. The furnace needs repair; one spouse spends too much time at work, spending habits are out of control. Just because these are often long-standing concerns, the complaining continues. Making a “honey do” list is one thing; checking items off that list is another.

Nagging is—and is intended to be—unpleasant to hear. It can cause resentments. But it is also a motivation for action.

Complaining as communion: “We’re in this together”

Frequently, what the listener considers complaining, the speaker does not. Talking about one’s minor physical and psychological concerns or situational stresses may (to the speaker) be a way of sharing feelings or “being open” in the relationship. Ideally, that sharing leads to similar openness from the receiver.

Different, though similarly motivated, is complaining that focuses on one’s own failures and shortcomings. That self-discounting may appear to be a request for support. It is more accurately a way of intentionally lowering one’s status before the other. Someone beginning a conversation may say “I’m tired” or “I’m out of it today.”

The appropriate response of the listener is not to tell them how to fix this condition. It is to listen supportively and, perhaps, offer self-discrediting comments of their own. Pointedly, the goal is to create a situation characterized by mutual acceptance, openness, and the absence of pretension.

So understood, our ways of complaining are much more than statements of disaffection. They are attempts to build relationships with the people around us.