There's an interesting passage in David Frum's How We Got Here. Actually, there are scads of interesting passages, which is why I've frequently referred to it here. Not the least of which is the book's thesis, neatly encapsulated by its subtitle, "The 1970s: The Decade That Brought You Modern Life--For Better Or Worse".

The 1970s was noted for ushering in an era of florid emotionalism, which replaced the previous generation's cool, crisp "Man In The Gray Flannel Suit" get-the-job-done professionalism. This was quite a surprising development, as most who forecasted the future (Alvin Toffler being a notable exception) took the reserved emotionalism of the mid-20th century, mated it with early number-crunching computers, and believed that the trend would last indefinitely. The anonymous jumpsuited figures that inhabit George Orwell's 1984, or George Lucas's THX-1138 illustrate that belief perfectly. But our future is very different from theirs. Ours is a world of over-emotionalism. But perhaps it wouldn't be wise to plot that trend indefinitely into the future, either, as Frum explains.

(There's a lot of material below, which I scanned from my copy of Frum's book. I'm eschewing the usual block-texting so that it wouldn't all be in blue italics. And apologies in advance for any typos or missing words created by the OCR process.)

(Begin excerpt)

What an amazing turn of events. Only a generation before [the 1970s], the United States had been the homeland of efficiency and practicality, a country so uncongenial to dreamers, artists, and poets that they fled for Europe as soon as they could scrape together the boat-fare. And yet, if we cast our mind back only a little further, the turn of events might not seem so amazing after all. The “Oprah-ization” of public life is usually talked of as it were a brand-new thing. It is in reality the return of something antique. A hundred years ago, middle-class life in Britain and America was bathed in the gush of emotions. Reread the poetry of Swinburne or the orations of Daniel Webster, glance at the paintings of Frederick Leighton or old photographs of the obsequies of General Grant if you doubt it. The wry, laconic anti-emotionalism of a Jimmy Stewart or a Prince Philip is a last relic of the early-twentieth-century reaction against the overwrought romanticism of the Victorians. Bob Dole brought to his political speeches the same sensibility that Ernest Hemingway brought to his novels. Hemingway’s generation had learned in the fire and slaughter of the First World War to mistrust the man who put his hand on his heart while wiping a tear from his eye. Frederick Lewis Allen recalled the terse manners of his contemporaries: “During the whole three years and eight months that the United States fought [the Second World War], there was no antiwar faction, no organized pacifist element, no objection to huge appropriations, no noticeable opposition to the draft. Yet there was also a minimum of crusading spirit…They”--the men and women of the 1940s--“didn’t want to be victims of ‘hysteria.’ They felt uncomfortable about flag-waving. They preferred to be matter-of-fact about the job ahead. . . . These people were unstintedly loyal, and went to battle--or saw their brothers and sons go--without reservation; yet they remained emotionally on guard…disillusioned and deadpan…”

We think now of the dislike of emotional fuss and show as generically old-fashioned. It is probably truer to say that the laconic style we associate with the GI generation came into fashion in the 1920s and went out in the 1970s, to be replaced by a style reminiscent of the moist, voluptuous sentimentality of a hundred years ago, with the teary television interview replacing black crepe. This was the style of the two party conventions in 1996. It is the style of the most-talked-about mass movement of the 1990s, the evangelical Promise Keepers, who brought stadiums full of middle-aged husbands and fathers together to weep and hug. It is the style of contemporary American evangelicalism. And it is the style of the most successful politicians of the age--the Bill Clintons and the Tony Blairs--as they explain how this or that policy will “save the life of a child.” The gurus of the 1970s taught, and we today still seem to believe, that to delve honestly into one’s feelings requires one to shut down the analytical lobes of the mind. “People often talk about wanting to be spontaneous, to live out of their feelings,” reported the authors of How to Be Your Own Best Friend. “They have locked themselves into intellectual boxes, where they hardly know what they feel any more. They become desperate to experience plain, simple emotion. They think if they could throw away their minds, they would be free.”

(End of excerpt)

The emotionalism (and often angry over-emotionalism) of our current era is rapidly approaching its 40th anniversary. Are we due for a rebirth of the cool anytime soon?