Thomas Meyer: “We often act against our own best interests”

Thomas Meyer begins with a sentence that sounds like it’s about the holidays and which already reveals a lot about him. When I meet him in the Old Botanical Garden shortly before the Zurich summer holidays, he is often asked whether he’s going away. His reply: “I’m not going to ruin my holidays by travelling.”

He is looking forward to spending time with his child, his partner and his hobbies. Of course, he also has to prepare for the new school year. But he finds five weeks’ holiday in one go “absolutely reasonable”. The fact that many people in a normal job can hardly imagine this interests him less than the question of why we don’t allow ourselves to entertain such ideas.

“We often act against our own best interests”, says Meyer. This applies in politics, in our private lives, in relationships and in how we use our mobile phones. Almost everyone wants more time, more freedom, more peace and quiet. And yet we vote against it, stay too long, keep scrolling.

Thomas Meyer first came to prominence through his writing. Many know him for *Wolkenbruch*, *Trennt euch!* or his self-help pieces. But even before that, with the ‘Aktion für ein kluges Zürich’ (Campaign for a Smart Zurich), he was already active in the literary sphere, sticking questions up around the city. Later, the ‘Amt für Ironie’ (Office for Irony) was added.

Meyer does not describe the process of observations turning into texts, actions or books as anything out of the ordinary: ‘The ideas are always there.’ He believes that everyone is born with this form of creativity. Children draw, make things and invent. Later on, much of this is drilled out of them. School aims for peak mental performance.

Would he classify his work as political? Meyer initially evades the question, thinks aloud, and then says: “Art can guide us in how we live together. However, I wouldn’t describe my own work as political; I’d find that presumptuous.”

Meyer also talks about how he continues to learn as an adult. Not as a pleasant realisation, but as an imposition. For example, when his 18-year-old goddaughter was reading *Wolkenbruch* for her A-levels. She arrived with Post-it notes in two colours and picked out two problematic portrayals of women from the book.

Meyer found this flattering at first, then uncomfortable. That is precisely the point: ‘It’s supposed to be uncomfortable for me. I have to feel that way in order to understand.’

His partner has been raising his awareness for years. So has his son. “What are you supposed to do when someone’s right?” Thomas Meyer wants to give in. Out of self-interest, as he says, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to learn anything.

It’s more difficult when he himself insists on something. Take the issue of anti-Semitism, for example. He is still speaking calmly, but his tone becomes more assertive. If someone makes an anti-Semitic remark and he, as a Jewish person, responds that it is hurtful, it is not just a matter of knowledge, but of decency.

If someone then defends themselves, that person is prioritising their own ego over the other person’s feelings. Often, it is not just about the statement itself, but about what lies behind it: phrases one heard as a child. Authority figures who have ingrained certain beliefs. And the fear of suddenly coming across as wrong, stupid or anti-Semitic. It is precisely then that he sometimes becomes stubborn: “If someone is dogmatic, it may also be because their environment forces them to be so.”

Where does he get his strength from? Meyer replies quickly: from being on his own. Not online, not via an app. ‘A screen means not being on your own.’ Being on your own means going for a walk, reading, playing the piano, doing crafts, doing something for yourself. And: having hobbies. “I think everyone needs a hobby.”

As a teacher, he sees how difficult that has become. A few young people have football, many have TikTok and Snapchat. In one class, Meyer organised a TikTok challenge: whoever lasted the longest without the app would get some money. Four teenagers stuck it out for a month. One of them said afterwards that he’d had free time again, got better marks, been able to concentrate for longer and spent more time with others.

For Meyer, this is a major issue. He considers these apps dangerous because they are designed to be addictive. One video flashes by, the next one appears straight away. The app learns what works. The mobile phone becomes a slot machine that gets to know you better and better.

In the end, our conversation circles back to relationships. Those who are unhappy often know that something isn’t right. Those who spend too much time on their mobiles know it too. And yet they stay. Because the fear of change is greater than the bad feeling they have right now.

Has he got a tattoo to counter this fear? Meyer glances briefly at his arms. No. “But when I see how many tattoos I’ve got, I suppose there are some things I don’t take entirely seriously.”

Thomas Meyer, born in Zurich in 1974, is an author, screenwriter, columnist, performance artist, break-up coach and teacher. He rose to fame with *Wolkenbruch’s Whimsical Journey into the Arms of a Schickse*. His other books include “Trennt euch!”, “Was soll an meiner Nase bitte jüdisch sein?” and “Auf Mut kannst du lange warten”. He lives in Zurich and is the father of a son.