The Bear and the Trope that Suffering makes us Excellent

The third season of The Bear premiers tonight, and I’m deep in my feelings because when the trailer dropped I felt so let down. In what looked like a flashback, we hear Carmy (Jeremy Allen White) telling his late brother, Mikey (Jon Bernthal), “This will be a different kind of restaurant” only for the 2 minute 10 second trailer to show us exactly the same kind of restaurant we’ve seen now for decades: one ran by a tormented and traumatized chef trying to make his mark on the restaurant world by pursuing a Michelin Star.

Cool story, bro.

My relationship with The Bear is complicated. On one hand, I very much recognize it as exceptional storytelling. That’s some good TV! There are so many aspects of this show that I love and enjoy, but they’re consistently overshadowed by the loud themes of unaddressed trauma and mental health struggles, toxic and abusive workplaces, exploitation, and tropes that suffering results in excellence. These themes are simultaneously glorified and somehow also ignored by the general population, with the public more likely to start saying “Yes chef” while they boil pasta in their kitchen than really interrogate to social implications of a show that’s catalyst is a violent suicide on Chicago’s State Street bridge and centers on a chef displaying symptoms of unmanaged C-PTSD.

Granted, I’m hyper-aware of these aspects because I’ve been working in mental health and well-being in the hospitality industry for the better part of a decade with one graduate degree in Community Counseling and currently writing my dissertation for another in Organizational Psychology. The phenomenon of The Bear has been fascinating to witness: on one hand, it welcomes the general population into an industry that is often dehumanized and made invisible, displaying the work, creativity, ingenuity, and dedication that goes into the dishes we enjoy and hospitality experiences that cradle and shape some of the most important moments of our lives.

I love that. I want this industry to be seen, appreciated, and carry the social status it deserves.

On the other hand, I’m not seeing public outrage or even much acknowledgement that this industry is so high risk that suicide and substance use issues are so easily plot points that can be dismissed and overshadowed by sexualizing a tormented anti-hero. I guess it makes sense, though, because Hell’s Kitchen is in its 22nd season and people sit in that dining room watching workplace abuse and psychological violence for entertainment as if they’re watching gladiators in an arena, but the physical violence is replaced with psychological violence framed as help and mentorship.

This line of thinking is clearly nothing new: it’s a trope we see over and over again in our stories, pop-culture, and workplaces.

It’s the belief that suffering is necessary to be excellent, that we must be forged in fire to reach our true potential—even if it kills us.

Before your brain starts to argue with me, I want to point out that if suffering was the magic sauce to be excellent, we would sure have a lot of excellence! But we don’t. It’s not causal, it’s in spite of.

This isn’t just a trope in hospitality; its existence is industry agnostic. And to be crystal clear, I’m not saying that growth isn’t accompanied by discomfort and inevitable challenging emotions (change is inherently uncomfortable—even painful at times), I’m talk about suffering: using abusive and harmful tactics to break someone down in order to weed out the “weak” and elevate those who endure. Experiencing adversity can help to build empathy, create meaning, and promote selflessness. We can experience adversity while cradled in systems of support and grow as a result, but it is not the same as intentionally inflicting suffering so someone will cook a better carrot.

Causing and promoting suffering only serves to harm and dehumanize someone—making them agreeable and easier to manipulate and control. It’s the opposite of growth: it’s a hollowing. When workplace cultures and communities of practice reward individuals who can endure suffering, abuse, and dehumanization, that behavior and abuse tolerance become identity imbedded, a point of pride, and symbol of status. Imparting that suffering on others becomes something of a gift and even an act of love and care, however misguided. These patterns of suffering aren’t just limited to the micro-lineages of the workplace either. We see them in families, communities, and larger social systems as well.

?While this trope is nothing new, it’s worth highlighting because the workplace is changing. We’re seeing a heavier focus on well-being, pushes for compassionate and empathetic leadership, and a more human-centered systems overall. We know from the research data that organizations that adopt this human-centered approach are more innovative, profitable, and desirable for the modern workforce. Workers are pushing back against toxic workplaces, prioritizing their mental health and well-being, and condemning working environments that cultivate burnout, social exclusion, and (you guessed it) suffering.

So, I guess I should share why I’m so bummed about the trailer and increasingly nervous about this season. There are glimpses that highlight the importance of communication, collaboration, equity, and personal and professional development (largely spearheaded by Sydney, deliciously played by Ayo Edebiri). Love to see it. My disappointment is that this restaurant of Carmy’s is presented as something new and different, but what I’m seeing is the same tweezered dishes and emotionally dysregulated kitchen ran by a traumatized chef. It’s a lot of the same.

This comes at a time when restaurants still have the opportunity to reimagine how they operate. The pandemic highlighted that the current operating model restaurants generally adhere to doesn’t work. Even on The Bear, the risk of opening a restaurant is an extension of this suffering trope. Why do margins have to be so thin? Why do we have to see kitchens operate in a dehumanizing brigade? Why is it normal and ok to scream at colleagues?

Ultimately, I haven’t seen much change in restaurants, largely because change is hard, deeply uncomfortable, and often scary. There are some individuals and spaces that recognize that in order to be excellent and stay excellent, people need to be cared for and invested in. These individuals are reimagining how we lead, learn, and grow in a working context. They understand that we get the best of people well they’re well, have resources to cope and systems of support that help them to thrive.

So when I see this trailer for The Bear, all I see is the past—a past that advocates and professionals like me are desperately trying to leave behind. I see promotion of a suffering ideology that only causes harm. I see irrelevance. Workplaces like these are dragging us back into an era of work that doesn’t have a place in the future, and this show runs the risk of posturing as propaganda for a workplace culture that fuels abusive power for some and dehumanization and destruction of others.

I hope I’m proven wrong! I’d love to eat some humble pie when I tune in tonight. I hope the sentiments of Sydney’s character overpower the destructive paradigms we say in the trailer. But when an executive producer and celebrity chef stands in front of the world to declare the restaurant people “are all broken inside,” I question the self- and social awareness of the creative team to recognize how deeply harmful, tired, and socially irresponsible their chosen narrative is. But then again, the entertainment industry is another sector that glorifies the suffering of artists for the sake of perceived excellence, so no surprise that it goes unaddressed and even unnoticed.

No matter what, workplace is changing, and restaurants need to get on board because their relevance and access to talent depends on creating a better, stronger, more compassionate system.

?

The Bear is not that.

We don’t have room for workplaces like The Bear. Not anymore.