Dadaism and Brain Rot : Why do we tend to respond to global crises with absurdity?

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In 1914, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand by a Serb nationalist from the anti-Austrian terrorist group the Black Hand set off a chain of events that would culminate in one of the deadliest conflicts in history. Through a collection of failed diplomacy attempts, aggressive nationalism, and Germany’s infamous “Blank Cheque” to Austria-Hungary, the world stumbled into a war that claimed the lives of nearly 40 million people. 

What followed was not just the reshaping of national borders or tackling extreme food rationing in the face of hyperinflation and agricultural shortage, but also a reconstruction of human perception itself, of truth, authority, and meaning.

Contrary to the assumption that destruction leads to a void in creativity, history suggests the opposite: in times of collapse, creativity often mutates, intensifies, and redefines itself.

Following the devastation of World War I, Germany became the epicenter of both physical and psychological ruin. The Treaty of Versailles, signed in 1919, placed the full blame for the war squarely on Germany’s shoulders, subjecting the country to crushing reparations, territorial losses, and military restrictions. Hyperinflation skyrocketed, wiping out the middle class; wheelbarrows of banknotes were exchanged for a single loaf of bread. Political instability reigned as left- and right-wing factions battled for control. The collective humiliation fostered a deep national trauma, a sense that reality itself had been discredited.

Yet amid the rubble, creativity surged in strange and unexpected ways. During the brief period of relative stability known as the "Golden Years" (roughly 1924 to 1929), Germany experienced a cultural renaissance. Berlin transformed into a buzzing hub of experimentation: theaters, cabarets, cinemas, and art galleries exploded with new ideas that challenged traditional forms and sensibilities. It was during this chaotic rebirth that Dadaism took hold, not as a celebration of modern life, but as an open mockery of it.

Dada was not an art movement in the traditional sense. It was an anti-art movement, a furious but playful rejection of logic, reason, and aesthetic norms. If the war had proven that rationalism led to mass slaughter, then rationalism itself deserved to be destroyed. Figures like Hugo Ball, Hannah Höch, and Marcel Duchamp threw meaning into question, constructing works that were as meaningless and disjointed as the world they found themselves inhabiting.

The Dadaists did not attempt to make sense of their shattered reality; they leaned into its absurdity. In doing so, they mirrored the collective disillusionment of a generation that had watched empires crumble and ideologies fail. Dadaism was, in a sense, a coping mechanism, a creative survival strategy in a world that no longer obeyed the old rules.

Ray, Man. Noire et Blanche. 1926. Obelisk Art History. Accessed April 27, 2025. https://www.obelisk.art.

When the familiar structures of meaning collapse, the human instinct is not necessarily to rebuild coherence, but to reflect the chaos, and to laugh at it, to distort it, to abandon sense entirely.

In 2024, “brain rot” was dubbed the Oxford Dictionary’s Word of the Year, defining it as “the supposed deterioration of a person’s mental or intellectual state, especially viewed as a result of overconsumption of materials (now particularly online content), considered to be trivial or unchallenging.” Skibidi and John Pork flooded the gates of the Internet, and jokes surrounding them were quickly labeled as “nonsensical,” “stupid,” and so mindless that they were said to cause “brain rot.” 

But just like Dadaism, brain rot did not appear out of nowhere. It emerged from a world rattled by crisis. The COVID-19 pandemic shattered the ordinary rhythms of life, with the isolation of individuals  and the erosion of trust in institutions and information. Political instability, environmental disasters, and the constant barrage of bad news compounded a sense of helplessness. In response, much of the younger generation abandoned sincerity altogether, leaning instead into absurdity, randomness, and humor so detached from reality that it became a form of self-defense. When the real world grows unbearable, it almost makes sense to embrace the meaningless.

It might seem reductive, or even idiotic, to draw a parallel between the highly established, critically acclaimed Dada movement and the silly jokes passed around on social media today. But that's exactly the point, and it highlights the absurdity at the heart of brain rot culture. Amidst the oil paintings and carved pottery of its time, Dadaism stuck out like a sore thumb, that was its intention: to disrupt, to refuse to blend in. Both Dadaism and brain rot thrive in the very environments they aim to criticise.

In the 19th and early 20th centuries, art was increasingly co-opted by governments as a propaganda tool to glorify war and nationalism. Dadaist artworks, with their chaotic, nonsensical nature, were showcased in exhibitions that drew massive audiences, precisely because they broke from the establishment's expectations. Brain rot, in a different form, operates similarly: tied to the endless churn of online content, it reflects the desensitisation of younger generations by exaggerating and celebrating the very stupidity they are overwhelmed by.

Of course, nearly a century separates the two, and the conditions that birthed them are vastly different. There was no social media in the early twentieth century, and while the feeling of destruction after World War I was universal, the limited reach of globalisation meant Dadaism remained largely rooted in Germany and its immediate cultural sphere. Brain rot, on the other hand, is a phenomenon without borders. It thrives in an interconnected world where absurdity can spread instantly, shaping a collective consciousness that mirrors the chaos it came from.

But the theme that underpins both is that somewhere deep in human nature, there seems to be a tendency to respond to global crises with absurdity. This instinct isn't new, nor is it exclusive to the twentieth or twenty-first centuries. When faced with forces too large to control or comprehend, people have always turned to chaotic, irrational expressions as a form of coping or reclaiming agency.

Even the earliest examples of human creativity—like the chaotic, exaggerated cave drawings in places like Lascaux—suggest a kind of absurd reaction to the dangers and uncertainties of prehistoric life. In medieval Europe, when the Black Death wiped out a third of the population, the art and theater of the time often became grotesque, darkly comedic, or obsessed with the macabre, as people wrestled with death through satire and bizarre imagery. During the French Revolution, a moment defined by political terror and bloodshed, the streets buzzed with songs, caricatures, and absurd rumours that mocked the powerful.

"Scene from one of the cave walls at Lascaux, France." Wellcome Collection. Accessed April 27, 2025. https://wellcomecollection.org.

Throughout history, whenever reality has grown too violent, too unpredictable, or too absurd to process logically, people have mirrored it back with absurdity of their own. Dadaism was one manifestation. Brain rot culture is another. 

Both reveal not a decline in humanity’s intelligence, but an enduring, almost instinctual urge to laugh, distort, and sabotage meaning itself when meaning seems to have abandoned us.

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