^ If only Anthropology was like a campy '60s comic book. Picture taken from a brilliantly enlightening blog here
There are many problems with Anthropology. At the heart of it is a hugely fascinating discipline. Unfortunately, the surrounding body is a carcinogenic obese man, whose already vulnerable lifestyle is exacerbated by an unstable collection of lipids and white blood cells unrelentingly clogging the arteries to his heart and squeezing what little life remains out of it. Yeah. One of its key issues is that anthropologists, as a rule, can't write. In a 70 page ramble about the sociality behind collections, the author will only have one real point. This singular point will be alluded to multiple times throughout the diatribe, but it won't be until the final paragraph that they will just come out and say what they're actually thinking - in this specific case, that collections are a replacement for sexual satisfaction and are effectively masturbatory aids (yes, this is a genuine academic paper). Amidst the badly articulated verbal spews however are lengthy disseminations about how predictable and insignificant humanity is, showing that we - despite our own notions of having free will and extreme intelligence - can be ruthlessly dissected to the point where people become nothing more than objects bound and pushed about by a variety of almost nonsensical social constructs. Consequently, in studying Anthropology, you become acutely aware of how meaningless a human's general existence is - especially when that general existence is spent studying Anthropology.