This morning, I was reading last month’s issue of Psychology Today (affectionately known as the US Weekly of Social Science), when I stumbled across a short article that suggested that there may be a correlation between androgyny and creativity, as researchers believe that androgyny requires flexibility, self-reliance, and a disregard for social norms—traits typically identified with creative individuals.

And while this is certainly a fascinating topic unto itself, I was actually compelled to write this entry when I first stopped to consider the opening paragraphs of the article. The piece begins with a short Who’s Who of visual and recording artists who have exhibited androgynous leanings, including Andy Warhol, Prince, Marilyn Manson, and Michael Jackson. But what I found most astonishing was this sentence in particular:

“Think Annie Lennox from the hit ’80s glam rock band the Eurythmics, or ‘Ziggy Stardust,’ David Bowie’s androgynous alter ego.”

I couldn’t help but wonder: Wait. Does the author actually presume that most of the readers of Psychology Today won’t know who Annie Lennox is, or worse, will miss the Stardust reference?

Which led me to think a little bit about the phenomenon of Citing Obscure References, the less socially-ambitious cousin of Name-Dropping. Citing References is a method we frequently draw upon as sentient and social beings, as conversationalists. It provides us with a short-hand, an efficient way to build on what we presume our audience already knows, a way to connect with the stranger across the table—whether we’re talking about the last few adrenalizing moments between Butler and Duke, the West Virginia coal miners, or this week’s episode of Survivor. Citing Obscure References, however, suddenly flips the equation. It’s the difference between Simply Living in the 21st Century or being a Weirdo Enthusiast; a Resourceful Friend or a Smug Asshole; Knowing Your Audience or Boring Them to Tears. A number of years ago at a party, I introduced a couple of friends to one another, thinking they’d enjoy each other’s company—both were thoughtful, sensitive individuals who worked in creative fields. When I later asked N. what he had thought of M., he confessed, “Nice. Pretty. I just couldn’t deal with all the name-dropping.” Needless to say, I was taken aback—I had never considered M. a name-dropper in the least, but a friend with whom I could converse at length about our mutual interest in a small crop of emerging NY-based artists producing exciting work using old-school traditional media in new and experimental ways. In other words, it takes two Weirdo Enthusiasts to tango.

But where exactly do we draw the line, when the line is ever-moving? Is it better to presume that your audience is with you, or that you need to be mindful (and risk patronizing someone) by inserting an explanatory phrase book-ended by commas, as in the case of Psychology Today’s reference to Ziggy Stardust? Who’s the authority on our collective mindshare; how do we best determine whether to consider a reference Dangerously Obscure or Safely Mainstream?