In William Gibson’s new novel, Zero History, one chapter opens like this:

Hey, that’s where I live! Fitzroy represent!

When this unexpectedly appeared on the page, I felt that odd thrill of recognition. Because of our geographical isolation and limited media output, Australia is particularly susceptible to this. We don’t see our streets or landmarks or countryside on screen that often so there’s an excitement when we do. Somehow I doubt that, say, New Yorkers get the same buzz seeing their neighbourhood on Law & Order.

It got me thinking about the insidious pleasures of recognition. I’ve been there! I’ve read that book! I get that joke! It can be a powerful drug.

Sometimes the fun of recognition comes from encountering something that you feel is just for you. (Fitzroy! Woo!). Writing on her blog, Jane Espenson (Buffy, Battlestar Galactica) once explained the meaning of a “two-percenter”:

“A two-percenter, as I’m sure you’ve figured out, is a joke that the writers estimate will be understood and enjoyed by two percent of the audience. Sometimes the number cited varies, but the idea is the same, it means you’re dealing with a fairly obscure reference. As an audience member, when you’re part of the two percent that gets it, there’s nothing better than this kind of joke because it feels like the writer is reaching into your own personal brain. In a good way.”

Gibson’s mention of Fitzroy could be a non-funny example of this, as would every second brand name in the book. If the protagonist of his earlier Pattern Recognition was allergic to brands, Gibson is addicted to them. In his review of Zero History, Mark Feeney writes:

“The [brand] names aren’t simply showing off. Their role is structural, not merely cosmetic. They provide a kind of gazetteer of desire, an armature of possession. Products and companies fascinate and excite Gibson the way sin did Graham Greene and butterflies Nabokov.”

And while some of these brands are ubiquitous (Sony, KFC, iPhone) others are more unique. Two-percenters, if you like, for those familiar with them. One character’s outdated Neo phone is mysterious enough that this website, which tracks every object mentioned in Gibson’s most recent trilogy, had to guess at the Neo specs. If you recognised it? Imagine how special you’d feel.

Compare and contrast Gibson’s world, though with the movies of Jason Frieberg and Aaron Seltzer. Epic Movie, Meet The Spartans, Disaster Movie or Vampires Suck. These movies aren’t comedies; they’re barely even films. They’re more like secret psychological tests designed to make sure you’re absorbing an appropriate dose of popular culture. Recognition is their entire raison d’être.

When Meet The Spartans shows a bald, baby-crazy Britney Spears getting kicked into the pit from 300, it gives the same hit of pleasure. This time, though, it’s just a reward for knowing who Britney Spears is, and having heard the exact same Crazy Britney gags as everyone else.

Paris Hilton. Michael Jackson. Lindsay Lohan. It begins with jokes, but then the jokes fall away; audiences now laugh at the mention of their names. The jolt of easy recognition turns human beings into punchlines: ninety-eight-percenters.