The gist is conceit. Oh, who would’ve thought. Hubristic cliché reinforced ad nauseam. Abyssal vanity. Annoys me to no end. Take off the new logic: if I’m wanted, I’m rare.
When I have nothing interesting to say about a film or book I just say I can’t articulate my thoughts, it’s like a get-out-of-jail card from self-loathing my stupidity