Tag: Andy Warhol

Reciprocation Bias

“There are slavish souls who carry their appreciation for favors done
them so far that they strangle themselves with the rope of gratitude.”

—Friedrich Nietzsche

***

If you are like me, whenever receiving a favor, you too feel an immense need, almost an obligation, to pay it back in kind.

If a friend invites you over for dinner, you are almost sure to invite them over to your place for dinner as well. It almost seems as if we were meant to do each other favors and, more important, return them.

Have you ever wondered why?

A large part of the reason is that this behavior seems to have strong evolutionary benefits. It’s so pervasive in human culture, it’s believed that there is no society that does not feel reciprocation’s pull. The archaeologist Richard Leakey believes reciprocation is the foundation on which we have evolved: “We are human because our ancestors learned to share their food and their skills in an honored network of obligation.”

The web of indebtedness created by reciprocation allows for the division of tasks, eases the exchange of goods and services, and helps create interdependencies that bind us into units that are more productive than each of us is on our own. Reciprocation allows one person to give something to another with the expectation that the favor will be returned and the giver will not be taken advantage of.

Throughout human history, reciprocation lowered the cost of transactions, as almost everything begins with one person trusting another. Land could be farmed with one person lending seeds to another. Gifts could be given. Currency could be lent. Aid could be given to the weak. Moreover, reciprocation is not a human concept — it exists in the physical world. Newton's third law is that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. You might push on a wall, but the wall pushes back on you.

There is such an advantage to be gained from reciprocation that it’s become imprinted onto our subconscious. For example, we teach our kids to invite others they may not like to their birthday parties because our kids were invited to those kids’ parties. Deeper still, we negatively label people who violate the rule: untrustworthy, moocher, welsher. Because social sanctions can be tough on those who fail to cooperate, the rule of reciprocity often evokes guilt.

As with most things, however, reciprocation has a darker side. Just as we tend to reciprocate good behavior, sometimes we also pay back bad deeds. One of the most effective game-theory strategies is tit for tat.

“Pay every debt, as if God wrote the bill.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

Hate

The reciprocation of bad behavior is best evidenced in wars. Brutality escalates as each side feels obliged to return the violence it experienced from its counterpart. This spiral can lead to more mindlessly destructive behavior, including torture and mass deaths. There are plenty of examples of this negative reciprocation; consider World War II, the Crusades, and the Mongolian invasions led by Genghis Khan.

It might seem that we humans have exclusively caused much suffering in the world in a relatively short period of time. However, the reciprocation rule is overarching — the human species is not the only one capable of extreme cruelty. Charlie Munger believes that reciprocal aggression appears to be more of a rule rather than an exception among other species, too:

One interesting mental exercise is to compare Genghis Khan, who exercised extreme, lethal hostility toward other men, with ants that display extreme, lethal hostility toward members of their own species that are not part of their breeding colony. Genghis looks sweetly lovable when compared to the ants. The ants are more disposed to fight and fight with more extreme cruelty.

If the reciprocation rule is so overpowering, the natural question here would be, is there a way we can still control our response to it?

Munger advises us to train our patience.

The standard antidote to one’s overactive hostility is to train oneself to defer reaction. As my smart friend Tom Murphy so frequently says, “You can always tell the man off tomorrow if it is such a good idea.”

There’s also another way. Because the reciprocation tendency is so extreme, we can reverse the course of events by doing good rather than harm to the other party.

Particularly in WWI, the fighting sometimes paused after a positive feedback loop of less severe damage occurred. Here is how a British staff officer described his surprise about the degree of trust between the British and German soldiers:

[I was] astonished to observe German soldiers walking about within rifle range behind their own line. Our men appeared to take no notice. I privately made up my mind to do away with that sort of thing when we took over; such things should not be allowed. These people evidently did not know there was a war on. Both sides apparently believed in the policy of “live and let live.” (Dugdale 1932, p. 94)

Such behavior was not restricted to this one case, but was rather common in trench warfare during the later stages of the war.

And this makes me think that if such things could happen even during a war, there is little doubt that we could improve our relationships by doing a little undeserved good for the other person.

Love

Reciprocation is just as important in breeding love as it is in breeding hate.

Andy Warhol said, in The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again):

Love affairs get too involved, and they’re not really worth it. But if, for some reason, you feel that they are, you should put in exactly as much time and energy as the other person. In other words, “I’ll pay you if you pay me.”

This is the reciprocation tendency at its finest. Truth is, love and marriage would lose much of their allure if there were no reciprocation tendency among partners. By loving, we literally may become loved.

As lovers and spouses, we promise loyalty to our partners and we expect it to be returned. We are encouraged to practice the virtues of marriage in front of not only our partners, but also society. These effects reinforcing each other can be thought of as the fabric of many of today’s relationships.

Furthermore, reciprocation not only holds us together, but can also bring us together in the first place. Displaying generosity can be a powerful way to advance a relationship by setting up implicit expectations of compliance from the other person.

Women, in particular, often report on the pressure they feel after receiving expensive gifts or dinners. In Influence, professor of psychology Robert Cialdini quotes the words of one of his (female) students:

After learning the hard way, I no longer let a guy I meet in a club buy me a drink because I don't want either of us to feel that I am obligated sexually.

Perhaps the key to genuine relationships lies at least partially in each party being kind without expectations. Indeed, in communal relationships like marriage, friendship, and the parent-child relationship, the accounting is unnecessary, and if you think about it, you’ll see that it is hardly ever practiced.

What is exchanged reciprocally instead is the near-unconditional willingness to provide what the other side needs, when it is needed. Still, some symmetry seems to be best; even in close friendships, strong inequalities will eventually make themselves noticed.

Abusing Reciprocity

As with any human tendency, reciprocity holds a great potential for abuse. Charlie Munger recalls how the eccentric hedge-fund manager Victor Niederhoffer managed to get good grades with an impressive course load when he was an undergraduate student at Harvard.

Contrary to what one may expect, Niederhoffer was not a very hard-working student. Instead of studying, he liked spending his time playing world-class checkers, gambling in high-stakes card games, and playing amateur-level tennis and professional-level squash. So how did he manage to get those good grades?

Munger explains:

He thought he was up to outsmarting the Harvard Economics Department. And he was. He noticed that the graduate students did most of the boring work that would otherwise go to the professors, and he noticed that because it was so hard to get to be a graduate student at Harvard, they were all very brilliant and organized and hard working, as well as much needed by grateful professors.

And therefore, by custom, and as would be predicted from the psychological force called reciprocity tendency, in a really advanced graduate course, the professors always gave an A. So Victor Niederhoffer signed up for nothing but the most advanced graduate courses in the Harvard Economics Department, and of course, he got A, after A, after A, after A, and was hardly ever near a class. And for a while, some people at Harvard may have thought it had a new prodigy on its hands. That’s a ridiculous story, but the scheme will work still. And Niederhoffer is famous: they call his style “Niederhoffering the curriculum.”

There are cases that are less innocent than Niederhoffer’s gaming the system. For example, when a salesman offers us a cup of coffee with cookies, we are likely to be subconsciously tricked into compliance by even such a minor favor, which combines reciprocity and association. Buying can be just as much about the actual experience as it is about acquiring goods at an optimal price, and salesmen know this.

Your Costs Are My Benefits

In our personal expenses, we are the ones suffering from our follies, but an important problem arises when we buy on someone else’s behalf. Imagine that you are the purchasing agent for an employer. Now the extra costs that are paid in return for the minor favor you receive are incurred not by you but by your employer.

Gifts and favors tend to create perverse incentives on the purchaser’s part and allow the seller to maximize his advantage. Smart employers know this and therefore do not allow their purchasing personnel to accept gifts. Sam Walton is one notable example; he wouldn't let Walmart’s purchasing agents accept even a hot dog from a vendor.

The exchange of favors at another’s expense is not restricted to purchasing on someone’s behalf.

Munger notes that the reciprocation tendency can also be held responsible for some wicked pay dynamics in the boardroom of public companies:

It’s incredible the reciprocity that happens when CEOs keep recommending that directors get paid more, and then the directors raise the CEO’s pay — it’s a big game of pitty pat. And then they hire compensation consultants to make sure no-one else is getting paid more. This is true even if the CEO is a klutz and a little dishonorable. I think the existing system is very bad and my system would work better, but it’s not going to happen.

In order to prevent these dynamics, he suggests that the board of directors does not get paid at all.

I think tons of eminent people would serve on boards of companies like Exxon without being paid. The lower courts in England are run by unpaid magistrates. And Harvard is run by boards of people who don’t get paid — in fact, they have to pay [in the form of donations to the school]. I think boards would be better if they were run like Berkshire Hathaway’s.

For these same reasons, Munger believes that the reciprocity tendency should be part of the compulsory law curriculum; otherwise, students may unknowingly steer away from representing their clients’ best interests. Ignorance of the reciprocation rule may explain why malpractice still occurs even among lawyers with the best intentions. The law schools simply don’t know, or care to teach, what Sam Walton knew so well.

The Concession

Besides the obvious doing of favors, there is a more subtle technique that may lure us into reciprocal and cooperative behavior. Rob Cialdini recalls an incident that made him aware of the technique:

I was walking down the street when I was approached by an 11- or 12-year-old boy. He introduced himself and said he was selling tickets to the annual Boy Scouts Circus to be held on the upcoming Saturday night. He asked if I wished to buy any tickets at $5 apiece. Since one of the last places I wanted to spend Saturday evening was with the Boy Scouts, I declined. “Well,” he said, “if you don't want to buy any tickets, how about buying some of our chocolate bars? They're only $1 each.”

Cialdini automatically bought two chocolates and immediately realized that something was wrong:

I knew that to be the case because (a) I do not like chocolate bars; (b) I do like dollars; (c) I was standing there with two of his chocolate bars; and (d) he was walking away with two of my dollars.

After meeting with his research assistants and conducting experiments with a similar setup on his students, Cialdini arrived at a rule that explains this behavior: The person who acts in a certain way toward us is entitled to a similar return action.

The person who acts in a certain way toward us is entitled to a similar return action.

This rule has two consequences:

  1. We feel obliged to repay favors we have received.
  2. We feel obliged to make a concession to someone who has made a concession to us.

As Cialdini and his research group reflected, they increasingly saw that the Boy Scout had brought him under the rule. The request to purchase the chocolates was introduced as a concession — a retreat from the request that Cialdini buy some $5 tickets.

If Cialdini was to live up to the dictates of the reciprocation rule, there had to be a concession on his part. And there was — after all, Cialdini moved from rejection to compliance after the boy had moved from a larger to a smaller request. The remarkable thing, and this is where bias comes in, was that Cialdini was not at all interested in either of the things the boy had offered.

Why would this rule be so important? Because it can lead to a lot of unnecessary trouble.

Both Cialdini and Munger believe that a subconscious reciprocation tendency was an important lever that allowed Watergate, one of the biggest political scandals in history, to occur.

Breaking into the Watergate offices of the Democratic party was a plan that was conceived by G. Gordon Liddy, an aggressive subordinate with a questionable reputation. Liddy pulled the same trick on his superiors that the twelve-year-old boy did on Cialdini. The $250,000 break-in plan was not the first that Liddy proposed — it was a significant concession from the previous two. The first of these plans, for $1 million, entailed a program that included a specially equipped “chase plane,” break-ins, kidnapping and mugging squads, and a yacht featuring “high-class call girls,” all meant to blackmail the Democratic politicians.

The second plan was a little more modest, at half of the initial price and reductions in the program. After the two initial plans were rejected by his superiors, Liddy submitted the third, “bare bones” plan, which was a little less stupid and cost “a mere” quarter of the initial price.

Do you see what Liddy did there?

Unsurprisingly, his superiors gave in; eventually, the plan was approved and it started the snowball that caused Nixon to resign. As the Watergate example illustrates, an unwatched reciprocation tendency may subtly cause mindless behavior with many extreme or dangerous consequences.

***

One of the reasons reciprocation can be used so effectively as a device for gaining another's compliance is that it combines power and subtlety. Especially in its concessionary form, the reciprocation rule often produces a yes response to a request that otherwise would surely have been refused.

I hope that the next time you come across a situation where you feel the need to return a favor, you will think twice about the possible consequences of accepting it in the first place. You may think, for example, that someone offering you a free pen will not influence you at all, but there is an entire human history arguing otherwise. Perhaps Sam Walton’s policy, of not accepting favors at all in matters where impartiality is preferred, is best.

Yet there is some truth to saying that reciprocal behavior also represents the best part of human nature. There are times when successful trade, good friendships, and even romantic relationships develop out of the need to feel symmetrical in our relationships. Indeed, it could well be that the very best parts of our lives lie in relationships of affection in which both we and the other party want to please each other.

Andy Warhol: Don’t Make a Problem of your Problems, How a Person Gets Disciplined, and The Value of Time on Values

warhol e

In The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again), Warhol advises us not to make a problem of our problems.

Everybody has problems, but the thing is to not make a problem about your Problem. For example, if you have no money and you worry about it all the time, you'll get an ulcer and have a real problem and you still won't have any money because people sense when you're desperate and nobody wants anything to do with a desperate person. But if you don't care about having no money, then people will give you money because you don't care and they'll think it's nothing and give it away—make you take it. But if you have a problem about having no money and taking money and think you can't take it and get guilty and want to be “independent,” then it's a problem. Whereas if you just take the money and act spoiled and spend it like it's nothing, then it's not a problem and people keep wanting to give you more.

How does a person get disciplined? More importantly Warhol comments on why it takes a while sometimes to see that we have the wrong values.

The telephone rang.

B answered it. “Pronto.”

It was my art dealer in Torino, calling to invite us to lunch. I tried to motion to B that I wanted to go someplace where they'd have cherries.

When B got off the phone he said that we were meeting our dealer for lunch, and then he asked me, “How do you get disciplined?”

“How does a person get disciplined?”

Right. I want to know how you're supposed to pick up good habits. It's very easy to pick up bad ones. You always want to go after the bad habits. Say you eat ravioli one day and you like it so you eat it the next day and the next day and before you know it you have a ravioli habit or a pasta habit or a drug habit or a sex habit or a smoking habit or a cocaine habit . . .”

Was he trying to make me feel guilty about the cherries? “You're asking me how you get out of the bad habits?” I asked him. No, he said he didn't want to know how you get out of the bad ones—just how you get into the good ones.

Everybody has their good habits,” he said, “that they do automatically that maybe they learned when they were little—brushing your teeth, not talking with your mouth full, saying excuse me—but other good habits—like writing a chapter a day or jogging every morning—are harder to get into. That's what I mean by ‘discipline'—how do you get new, good habits? I'm asking you because you're so disciplined.”

“No, I'm not disciplined, really,” I said. “It just looks that way because I do what people tell me to do and I don't complain about it while it's happening.” That's a three-part rule of mine: (1) never complain about a situation while the situation is still going on; (2) if you can't believe it's happening, pretend it's a movie; and (3) after it's over, find somebody to pin the blame on and never let them forget it. If the person you pin the blame on is smart they'll turn it into a running joke so whenever you bring it up you can both laugh about it, and that way the horrible situation can turn out to be fun in retrospect. (But it all depends on how mercilessly you hound the person you're blaming, because they'll only make a joke out of it when they're desperate, and the more desperate you make them by hounding them, the better the joke they'll make out of it.)

“It's not discipline, B,” I repeated. “It's knowing what you really want.” Anything a person really wants is okay with me.

“All right. But let's take champagne. All my life I wanted as much champagne as I could drink, but now that I'm getting all the champagne I ever wanted and more, look what I'm getting—a double chin!”

“You're also finding out that champagne isn't what you really want, since you don't want a double chin. You're finding out that champagne isn't what you want, it's beer you want.”

“Then I'd get a beer belly.” B laughed at the idea of a champagne chin and a beer belly.

“Then beer isn't what you want, either.”

“But that's not hard to figure out—nobody wants beer.”

“Yes they do,” I told him. “You're the one who told the joke about an Irish seven-course dinner being a boiled potato and a six-pack.”

“Yes, I suppose … But it's not the thing I want so much as the idea of the thing.”

“Then that's just advertising,” I reminded him.

“Right, but it works because the reason I want champagne, the reason most people want champagne, is they're impressed with the idea—Champagne!—like they're impressed with the idea of caviar. Champagne and caviar is status.”

That was not completely true. In some society shit is status. “Look,” I told him, “you realized when you ended up with a double chin that your values were misplaced. Right? It takes time to find out, but you're finding out. Even today you put your nose up in the air if you don't have dinner with the Afghanellis, the Cuchinellis, the Pickinellis, the Mount- bottoms, the Van Tissens—”

Andy Warhol on Beauty

AWARHOL

“I've never met a person I couldn't call a beauty,” Andy Warhol writes in The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again):

Every person has beauty at some point in their lifetime. Usually in different degrees. Sometimes they have the looks when they're a baby and they don't have it when they're grown up, but then they could get it back again when they're older. Or they might be fat but have a beautiful face. Or have bow-legs but a beautiful body. Or be the number one female beauty and have no tits. Or be the number one male beauty and have a small you-know-what.

Some people think it's easier for beauties, but actually it can work out a lot of different ways. If you're beautiful you might have a pea-brain. If you're not beautiful you might not have a pea-brain, so it depends on the pea-brain and the beauty. The size of the beauty. And the pea-brain.

Never try to keep up with the times – a beauty is always a beauty.

When a person is the beauty of their day, and their looks are really in style, and then the times change and tastes change, and ten years go by, if they keep exactly their same look and don't change anything and if they take care of themselves, they'll still be a beauty.

Schrafft's restaurants were the beauties of their day, and then they tried to keep up with the times and they modified and modified until they lost all their charm and were bought by a big company. But if they could just have kept their same look and style, and held on through the lean years when they weren't in style, today they'd be the best thing around. You have to hang on in periods when your style isn't popular, because if it's good, it'll come back, and you'll be a recognized beauty once again.

On the difficulty of looking like your photoshopped self.

Beauties in photographs are different from beauties in person. It must be hard to be a model, because you'd want to be like the photograph of you, and you can't ever look that way. And so you start to copy the photograph. Photographs usually bring in another half-dimension. (Movies bring in another whole dimension. That screen magnetism is something secret—if you could only figure out what it is and how to make it, you'd have a really good product to sell. But you can't even tell if someone has it until you actually see them up there on the screen. You have to give screen tests to find out.)

….

Someone once asked me to state once and for all the most beautiful person I'd ever met. Well, the only people I can ever pick out as unequivocal beauties are from the movies, and then when you meet them, they're not really beauties either, so your standards don't even really exist. In life, the movie stars can't even come up to the standards they set on film.

When you're interested in somebody, Warhol argues that you should point out all of your beauty problems right away, “rather than take a chance they won't notice them.”

Maybe, say, you have a permanent beauty problem you can't change, such as too- short legs. Just say it. “My legs, as you've probably noticed, are much too short in proportion to the rest of my body.” Why give the other person the satisfaction of discovering it for themselves? Once it's out in the open, at least you know it will never become an issue later on in the relationship, and if it does, you can always say, “Well I told you that in the beginning.”

On the other hand, say you have a purely temporary beauty problem—a new pimple, lackluster hair, no-sleep eyes, five extra pounds around the middle. Still, whatever it is, you should point it out. If you don't point it out and say, “My hair is really dull this time of the month, I'm probably getting my friend,” or “I put on five pounds eating Russell Stover chocolates over Christmas, but I'm taking it off right away”—if you don't point out these things they might think that your temporary beauty problem is a permanent beauty problem. Why should they think otherwise if you've just met them? Remember, they've never seen you before in their life. So it's up to you to set them straight and get them to use their imagination about what your hair must look like when it's shiny, and what your body must look like when it's not overweight, and what your dress would look like without the grease spot on it. Even explain that you have much better clothes hanging in your closet than the ones you're wearing. If they really do like you for yourself, they'll be willing to use their imagination to think of what you must look like without your temporary beauty problem.

The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again) is worth reading.

Andy Warhol on Love and Sex

Warhol

“People should fall in love with their eyes closed.
Just close your eyes. Don't look.”

***

Pop art luminary Andy Warhol had a lot to say about love and sex.

As found in the wonderful pseudo memoir The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again).

Love affairs get too involved, and they're not really worth it. But if, for some reason, you feel that they are, you should put in exactly as much time and energy as the other person. In other words, “I'll pay you if you pay me.”

People have so many problems with love, always looking for someone to be their Via Veneto, their souffle that can't fall. There should be a course in the first grade on love. There should be courses on beauty and love and sex. With love as the biggest course. And they should show the kids, I always think, how to make love and tell and show them once and for all how nothing it is. But they won't do that, because love and sex are business.

But then I think, maybe it works out just as well that nobody takes you out of the dark about it, because if you really knew the whole story, you wouldn't have anything to think about or fantasize about for the rest of your life, and you might go crazy, having nothing to think about, since life is getting longer, anyway, leaving so much time after puberty to have sex in.

Warhol didn't see Snow White until he was 45.

It was probably a good thing that I waited, because I can't imagine how it could ever be more exciting than it was then. Which gave me the idea that instead of telling kids very early about the mechanics and nothingness of sex, maybe it would be better to suddenly and very excitingly reveal the details to them when they're forty. You could be walking down the street with a friend who's just turned forty, spill the birds-and-the-bees beans, wait for the initial shock of learning what-goes-where to die down, and then patiently explain the rest. Then suddenly at forty their life would have new meaning. We should really stay babies for much longer than we do, now that we're living so much longer.

It's the long life-spans that are throwing all the old values and their applications out of whack. When people used to learn about sex at fifteen and die at thirty-five, they obviously were going to have fewer problems than people today who learn about sex at eight or so, I guess, and live to be eighty. That's a long time to play around with the same concept. The same boring concept.

Parents who really love their kids and want them to be bored and discontented for as small a percentage of their lifetimes as possible maybe should go back to not letting them date until as late as possible so they have something to look forward to for a longer time.

Sex is more exciting on the screen and between the pages than between the sheets anyway. Let the kids read about it and look forward to it, and then right before they're going to get the reality, break the news to them that they've already had the most exciting part, that it's behind them already.

Fantasy love is much better than reality love. The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet.

Later, he writes that the biggest price we pay for love is giving up our solitude.

The biggest price you pay for love is that you have to have somebody around, you can't be on your own, which is always so much better. The biggest disadvantage, of course, is no room in bed. Even a pet cuts into your bed room.

Love does not mean sex.

Love and sex can go together and sex and unlove can go together and love and unsex can go together. But personal love and personal sex is bad.

You can be just as faithful to a place or a thing as you can to a person. A place can really make your heart skip a
beat, especially if you have to take a plane to get there.

Mom always said not to worry about love, but just to be sure to get married. But I always knew that I would never get married, because I don't want any children, I don't want them to have the same problems that I have. I don't think anybody deserves it.

I think a lot about the people who are supposed to not have any problems, who get married and live and die and it's all been wonderful. I don't know anybody like that. They always have some problem, even if it's only that the toilet doesn't flush.

On trying to learn about love, Warhol turned to the movies.

I tried and tried when I was younger to learn something about love, and since it wasn't taught in school I turned to the movies for some clues about what love is and what to do about it. In those days you did learn something about some kind of love from the movies, but it was nothing you could apply with any reasonable results. I mean, the other night I was watching on TV the 1961 version of Back Street with John Gavin and Susan Hayward and I was stunned the whole time because all they kept saying was how wonderful every precious moment they had together was, and so every precious moment was a testimonial to every precious moment.

But I always thought that movies could show you so much more about how it really is between people and therefore help all the people who don't understand to know what to do, what some of their options are.

What I was actually trying to do in my early movies was show how people can meet other people and what they can do and what they can say to each other. That was the whole idea: two people getting acquainted. And then when you saw it and you saw the sheer simplicity of it, you learned what it was all about. Those movies showed you how some people act and react with other people. They were like actual sociological “For instance”s. They were like documentaries, and if you thought it could apply to you, it was an example, and if it didn't apply to you, at least it was a documentary, it could apply to somebody you knew and it could clear up some questions you had about them.

On the best love

The best love is not-to-think-about-it love. Some people can have sex and really let their minds go blank and fill up with the sex; other people can never let their minds go blank and fill up with the sex, so while they're having the sex they're thinking, “Can this really be me? Am I really doing this? This is very strange. Five minutes ago I wasn't doing this. In a little while I won't be doing it. What would Mom say? How did people ever think of doing this?” So the first type of person— the type that can let their minds go blank and fill up with sex and not-think-about-it—is better off. The other type has to find something else to relax with and get lost in. For me that something else is humor.

Funny people are the only people I ever get really interested in, because as soon as somebody isn't funny, they bore me. But if the big attraction for you is having somebody be funny, you run into a problem, because being funny is not being sexy, so in the end, near the moment of truth, you're not really attracted, you can't really “do it.”

But I'd rather laugh in bed than do it. Get under the covers and crack jokes, I guess, is the best way. “How am I doing?” “Fine, that was very funny.” “Wow, you were really funny tonight.”

If I went to a lady of the night, I'd probably pay her to tell me jokes.

The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again) is full of Warhol's interesting insights.

Andy Warhol on Loneliness

In his pseudo-memoir, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again), which is more a collection of his thoughts on various subjects, Andy Warhol writes about the paradox of getting what you don't want.

I had an incredible number of roommates. To this day almost every night I go out in New York I run into somebody I used to room with who invariably explains to my date, “I used to live with Andy.” I always turn white—I mean whiter. After the same scene happens a few times, my date can’t figure out how I could have lived with so many people, especially since they only know me as the loner I am today. Now, people who imagine me as the 60s media partygoer who traditionally arrived at parties with a minimum six-person “retinue” may wonder how I dare to call myself a “loner,” so let me explain how I really mean that and why it’s true. At the time in my life when I was feeling the most gregarious and looking for bosom friendships, I couldn’t find any takers, so that exactly when I was alone was when I felt the most like not being alone. The moment I decided I’d rather be alone and not have anyone telling me their problems, everybody I’d never even seen before in my life started running after me to tell me things I’d just decided I didn’t think it was a good idea to hear about. As soon as I became a loner in my own mind, that’s when I got what you might call a “following.”

“As soon as you stop wanting something you get it. I’ve found that to be absolutely axiomatic.”

— Andy Warhol

The Philosophy of Andy Warhol is an examination of things important to him—love, beauty, art, fame, and business