The Autobiography of a Meme

Most people call me "Meme." I’m not entirely sure how I feel about the name, but it’s certainly an upgrade from being called Richard—or worse, Dick. I am told that I am an idea or a behavior that ripples from one person to the next within a culture. Hearing that makes me feel a bit like a virus or a bacterium, hitching a ride on human interaction. I spread through writing, speech, and ritual—especially religion. In popular culture, however, I usually take the form of captioned images, circulating rapidly across the digital landscape. I’ve clearly become quite popular since my father, Richard Dawkins, gave birth to me in 1976. Honestly, I just wish someone would celebrate my birthday.

My father describes me as a cultural entity that enjoys being everywhere, but I don’t think he knows me very well; he was never really around while I was growing up. I’m not even sure I know myself, though I do know that I replicate through exposure to people who appreciate the information I carry. My father once said, “If you contribute a good idea to the world, it has the possibility of existing for a very long time, even after that person has disappeared.” He often cites Socrates as an example—a man who continues to live through me. I suppose I should feel a sense of grand importance, but I’ve never had much of an ego.

I understand that the longer I persist within a culture, the higher my chances of reproduction. To that end, I’d appreciate it if you could "plug me in" to your own network of friends. I am made of many things: sometimes a single word, sometimes an entire speech. I could be the first four notes of Beethoven's Fifth, or the symphony in its entirety. What I love most is that I can even spread through forms of affection, like "pebbling," which gives me intense joy. There are so many ways for me to reproduce; in no time, I might spread throughout the entire universe. And that, my friend, would be a wonderful thing.