Is it still cool to be Irish? Are we still fawned over just for being smooth-talking Paddies? Kevin Courtneyfears our image is slipping
Remember before it was cool to be Irish? A dark, unenlightened age when Irishness wasn't celebrated in music, film, fashion or literature but was only a passport to disdain, discrimination and dire accents in American movies? Of course you don't. Nobody's memory is that good.
We've been hip and happening for so long that we can't recall the prehistoric era before Cúl Hibernia, and we certainly can't imagine a time when we weren't feted and fawned over by the rest of the world, patted on the back just for being cute, charming, smooth-talking Paddies.
It's hard to pinpoint exactly when Irishness came in from the cold. U2 at Live Aid? Riverdance at Eurovision? Dylan Moran in Edinburgh? Mary Robinson in the Áras? Roddy Doyle's Barrytown trilogy on the bookshelf? But it's even harder to work out when we stopped being cool. Was it when we went from being permanently broke to nouveau riche, turned from tenants into landlords, or changed from charming, shy, softly spoken mascots into shrill, smug, self-confident players?
Our massive cultural renaissance coincided with boom times, but, with rumblings of a slowdown in the economy, could there be a parallel slowdown in our international standing? Is our stock in danger of falling? If we continue trading on our Irishness, will the market crash and burn?
Luckily, we no longer have to play the Irish card to score internationally, and we no longer have to depend on just one celebrity - usually Bono - to fly the flag for us abroad. The U2 singer embarrassed us (again) recently when he addressed the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People with a ridiculous speech about growing up in "sectarian" Dublin, "parched for the vision that came out of the pulpits of black America".
Snow Patrol, the Northern Irish band, have been enjoying U2 levels of success abroad without the need for Gary Lightbody, their singer, to constantly bang on about growing up in war-torn Bangor. But, says Lightbody, being Irish is still a plus when the tour bus pulls into yet another nameless US city. "Having spent much of the last four years touring in the United States, I can safely say that Irishness certainly hasn't lost its ability to charm. I think we Irish are seen as cute and cuddly rather than cool in the States. When we meet American fans after shows they're never done saying how cute our accents are, and the women seem to want to mother us simply because of the way we talk. Stewards ask us if we know Colin Farrell. But cool? Cachet? I don't think us Irish were ever really seen as being cool, were we? Did I miss a meeting? Much more valuable than that, we're seen as being welcoming to the point of insanity, friendly and fun-loving. Who wants to be cool, anyway? All that time wasted doing your hair."
Being Irish may not have the same cachet any more, but nationalities always fall in and out of fashion - remember when Iceland was to die for? When tastes move on, a nation has to learn to adapt to the changes or get left behind in the stream of global cultural evolution.
"A new form of Irishness is emerging," says David McWilliams, the economist who wrote that spot-on treatise on the new Ireland, The Pope's Children. "The Irish tribal identity seems to have given way to something more interesting. Irishness is more a character trait, a certain personality type. It used to be tribal identity bolstered by a victim culture, but once you stop being a victim it's hard to be anything else. Prof Declan Kiberd said the Irish are the postmodern people, and, if you look at the globalisation of modern culture, the Irish are well placed to take advantage of that. We have an ability to deal with people on all social levels, from the rich to the poor, that many of our American or British counterparts still lack. We've developed an à la carte identity and a chameleon-like ability to fit in with other cultures. We're certainly not cool any more. But cool is the worst thing you can possibly be. It's the badge of insecurity."
John Carney is the director of the low-budget Irish film Once, which won the Audience Award at this year's Sundance festival. The world still gets warm and fuzzy about the Irish, he says, but the feeling is more earthy and sincere. "Every American I meet still goes, 'Oh, I'm half-Irish,' even if they've only got a great-great-grandfather from Scotland, or, 'Do you know Jim Sheridan?' But the response I get when they hear I'm Irish is still authentic.
"As for that early 1990s cool thing, The Commitments and Riverdance, I think we've moved on from that. But we still get by on a certain charm, although there's more of a realism about it. Being Irish can still get you a foot in the door in the industry, and I think that's thanks to people such as Jim Sheridan and Neil Jordan, who made these little films, My Left Foot and Angel, against all odds, and are recognised for that."
Once, starring the Frames singer Glen Hansard as a busker who develops a relationship with an eastern European immigrant, will strike a chord with anyone who's lived in Dublin before the boom; it is also a reminder that modern Dublin is not all about SUVs and investing in property abroad.
"There are probably some people who'd go, 'Oh, we liked you better when you were poor and needed us,' but I think the bubble has to burst a bit. I'd like to see an artistic backlash to all this bingeing, blowing money and living on credit. But I think history will outlast the Celtic Tiger. The Irish will continue to be cool - as long as Bono keeps his mouth shut."