Here’s what the internet got so wrong about Elmo: An accidental expert’s analysis

To parent is to accumulate objects and ideas that rapidly lose value as soon as they’re acquired. It follows that when a rare opportunity arises to unburden oneself of an aging car-seat-stroller combination, for example, it must be seized.

My fast-depreciating contribution: a deep and nuanced understanding of Elmo.

The red, furry, generally good-natured monster is having one of those social media moments that’s as irrational as Elmo himself. Much of the sudden age-inappropriate enthusiasm for the “Sesame Street” character can be traced to a 35-second, 18-year-old clip posted on Twitter last week in which Elmo totally unloads on a fellow juvenile monster, Zoe, over the idea that the last oatmeal raisin cookie should be allocated to her pet rock, Rocco.

“How is Rocco going to eat that cookie, Zoe?” Elmo demands. “Rocco’s just a rock!”

To the uninitiated, it was an uncharacteristic outburst with which they happily identified amid a misinformation-fueled pandemic and political polarization. They were wrong.

Many of us know Elmo as one of the most irritating and inexplicable stars of “Sesame Street.” His voice occupies a register somewhere between eardrum-piercing and glass-shattering. He has none of the complex charm of more venerable “Sesame Street” standbys like Grover or Oscar the Grouch. And yet he has upstaged and out-merchandised them all through an instinctual connection with children.

It takes hours of unwilling exposure to Elmo to overcome the annoyance and perceive the brilliance. I obtained my advanced degree in Elmology through daily deployments of old “Sesame Street” episodes during the first year of the pandemic, which freed me to do a bit more work each weekday morning by occupying my daughter for a full hour.

Back before HBO ruined the show, especially for pandemic-era parents, by halving its run time, Elmo hosted an extended, not to say interminable, show-within-a-show at the end of every episode. In one of its regular features, Elmo asks real children to demonstrate some simple activity, like washing their hands or taking a picture. He concludes by announcing that he will ask a baby to perform the same task and, when the infant inevitably fails to respond appropriately, looks at the camera, laughs uproariously and coos over it. “Thank you, baby!” he cries.

The exchanges reminded me of the children at my daughter’s day care center who, having graduated from the baby room, would pause to gawk at its simple-minded occupants on their way to the toddler room and its more sophisticated activities and interactions. The baby-toddler divide is life’s first opportunity to experience a sense of advancement and superiority, and toddlers regard babies with a characteristic combination of affection and condescension.

This is the secret of Elmo’s success: He consistently and precisely embodies the mentality of a 3-year-old, accounting for his powerful appeal among real fellow toddlers. When I asked my daughter about Rocco, having no idea whether she would even recognize the name, she unhesitatingly replied with head-shaking, Elmo-esque derision, “He’s just a rock!” Like Elmo, she didn’t fully grasp that this was unkind to Zoe, empathy being a skill that toddlers — not to mention plenty of adults — are still developing.

Elmo’s viral outburst at Rocco turns out to be one of several in which he can barely contain his exasperation with Zoe’s imaginary companion — and one of many more in which Elmo solipsistically loses it over one thing or another, as toddlers often do. It’s part of a continuing lesson about self-possession and sympathy for Elmo’s biggest little fans, an example to learn from rather than emulate.

Uncritically cosigning Elmo’s tantrum doesn’t reflect the wisdom and restraint adults are supposed to have gained with maturity. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first evidence of a culture collectively regressing toward toddlerhood.

This story was originally published January 12, 2022 at 5:00 AM.