Like other provincial jesters, Slavoj Zizek expresses a studied naïveté toward culture and society. That may be a good thing

It’s not quite right to think of Slavoj Žižek as a mere theorist; he is closer, in line with Parisian haute langue, to an "event." As well as the numerous books he’s written, there are dozens about him. There is a journal devoted to Žižek, a Žižek dictionary, Žižek conferences, even a Žižek nightclub and a Žižek fashion collection. And before long, given the scandalous pace of capital, there may well be Žižek soft drinks, action figures, and Žižekrypto.
A perfect symbol of our overdetermined age, the Slovenian philosopher is all sound and fury, signifying everything. Were a feature film to be made about him, the lead actor would undoubtedly be accused of overcooking it. Žižek is the Platonic ideal of the "mad professor" — distracted, manic, mannered. He is a political theorist without solutions, a Marxist who rejects teleology, a skeptic about revolution, an atheist who praises Paul, and a pessimist who admits to being filled with hope by catastrophe. And he is also something rarer still: a continental philosopher who can be understood.