We laugh at Jonah because he is exhausting. We root for Jonah because he is us—or at least, the version of us that hasn’t given up yet. In the harsh glow of the big-box store, Jonah Simms turned out to be the best thing on the shelf.
On paper, he should have been unbearable. And often, he was. But Superstore pulled off a sleight of hand: it used Jonah as a Trojan horse for genuine working-class rage. Jonah’s defining characteristic is his inability to shut up. He is the guy who brings a copy of Das Kapital to a holiday party and tries to explain gentrification to a woman who just got evicted. He name-drops NPR and uses words like "problematic" unironically. The show’s true genius, however, was making us realize that Jonah’s cringe-worthy allyship eventually curdles into actual courage. jonah from superstore
Jonah from Superstore is the ultimate millennial archetype: the overeducated, underemployed, anxious mess who talks too much about systemic change but actually shows up to do the work. He is the guy who gets made fun of for caring too much, in a world that has become addicted to cynicism. We laugh at Jonah because he is exhausting
When Superstore premiered in 2015, Jonah (Ben Feldman) seemed like a walking cliché. He was the fast-talking, perpetually sweaty business school dropout who fled a failed career as a hedge fund trader after a panic attack. He arrived at the St. Louis Cloud 9 not because he needed the money, but because he needed to feel something. He mansplained socialism, mispronounced "bourgeoisie," and had a habit of turning huddles into TED Talks about unionization. On paper, he should have been unbearable