Gawker - Queer Instagram Narcissism Tuesday

A great idea waiting for a producer.

The B-52s, who formed in Athens, Georgia, in 1976, are known as “the world’s greatest party band.” While accurate, this distinction clouds the reality that they are one of the world’s greatest bands, period. Beyond the well-known genius of “Love Shack” and “Rock Lobster” is a full catalog of infectiously funky looney tunes and extraterrestrial harmonies; songs that make you feel like you’re on very good drugs or have at least exercised. Their sound is singular and defiant, and their sphere of influence, John Lennon and Nirvana included, is as wide as their pants are hot.

For whatever reason, though — maybe the fact that they radiate campy fun rather than annoying seriousness, like Bob Dylan or whatever — the B-52s have never quite gotten the recognition they deserve. They haven’t even been inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame. It makes me extremely angry but I’m trying to keep my tone neutral so neither of us feels uncomfortable. And luckily I have an idea that could rectify this error, at least somewhat. That idea is: a B-52s jukebox musical.

“Finally, Broadway is fun again!” would be a review. “A campy sci-fi musical with heart,” is what the Times would say. The musical, in the vein of Mamma Mia! or Movin’ Out, could be called Planet Claire. The main character would be an alien called Claire, and it would include such themes as: belonging and not belonging, finding community, and creating one’s own family. The logline could be some bullshit like this:

When an alien crash-lands in Athens, Georgia, she’s forced to make sense of a world she has never encountered before: rock lobsters, parties, oceans, friendship. After struggling to fit in, she finds her place among a group of people who are seemingly just like her. But is a shared love of funky grooves enough to make a roaming extraterrestrial finally feel at home, or do all beings need something more?

It really doesn’t matter too much what the plot is, honestly; the plot of Jagged Little Pill is just every modern societal issue strung together with unrelated Alanis Morissette songs. And that won two Tony Awards.

Getting a lot of likes on a specious infographic is a bad way to build a brand

I grow tired of “queer influencer activists.” You may or may not know the type. Their Instagram feeds are composed of infographics, screenshots of their own or (usually) other people’s tweets, sandwiched between selfies with long captions saying nothing at all. Their modus operandi is creating share-able or easily digestible content which a social media follower can repost because all of the thinking has already been done for them. This is designed to make the copious amounts of complex information circulating online less overwhelming, like a SparkNotes for someone who wants to be able to drop, “yes, and isn’t it ironic how conservatives refuse to wear masks but would wear them during the AIDS crisis to avoid catching it?” in a group chat or in affected conversation in a club smoking area.

Through a combination of self-assertion and a collective culture of low standards, these influencers have established themselves as thought leaders — particularly when it comes to finding the “queer angle” on whatever latest news item, whether serious or banal. If you spend any time observing queer social media, these people become inescapable. Maybe you side-eye when you see a follower mindlessly reshare a graphic from that same account again, or perhaps you yourself throw something a “like” while passively scrolling. It’s a great engagement strategy for the influencer — calls to “share,” “save,” and (my favorite) “boost this post” equate so-called “algorithm-defiance” (gaming Instagram’s system of prioritizing or hiding posts by using all engagement tools) with activism through digital communication. Resharing an infographic about “how to be a good ally during Pride month” or whatever is presented as akin to tweeting during the Arab Spring.

Beyond simply being annoying, the bigger problem is that the content and claims these influencers post are so often specious. Many of their posts, endlessly reshared, fall into a category of folk knowledge I call “things that sound true, and so must be true.” The verification system many followers use to vet the accuracy of these posts seems to be pure vibes. A sense that, because what is written feasibly aligns with a vague understanding of structural oppression, then it is undeniably true, and unquestionable.

One particularly irksome example of this recently came from the influencer activist and author Adam Eli, who has over 100,000 Instagram followers. In a tweet, which was copied to Instagram, Eli wrote in response to the Russian invasion of Ukraine, “In times of war, marginalized people are always hit first. This includes queer people, especially trans people. Below is a list of organizations that are helping queer people in the Ukraine.” This is incoherent, of course. The Russian invasion has launched an indiscriminate bombing campaign which endangers all Ukrainians, regardless of identity. But I nevertheless saw this claim shared across Instagram stories countless times.

Loser: Me, for watching all of it

Every adult’s favorite show about teenagers wrapped up its second season on Sunday night. The Euphoria finale saw more of Lexi’s play, a SWAT shootout, people deservedly getting the shit kicked out of them, lots of tears, and even more unanswered questions.

This season of Euphoria was all over the place, with some true highs (Eric Dane) and some stunning lows (whatever Cassie’s motivation was at any given moment). As such, there were winners and losers of this season.

WINNER: DIRECTING

Does anything that happens on Euphoria ever make a lick of sense? No. But damn if it doesn’t look gorgeous. This season was shot entirely on film, which makes the show look so beautiful that you can occasionally forgive the fact that what is actually happening in front of you can fall apart if you ask the right question. A common refrain is that Sam Levinson, the creative force behind the show, should just direct music videos, but I will grant him more grace than that. He is a talented, if not showy, director who has enough caché to get any script he wants made. They shouldn’t be his scripts, but if Levinson pivoted to directing flashy adult dramas it wouldn’t be the worst move for him. The Scorsese influence is all over Euphoria, and I could see Levinson directing something with the energy of After Hours — he should just remember that Marty didn’t write that himself.

LOSER: AUTEURISM

Levinson’s insistence on writing and directing every episode of this season is to the show’s detriment. Levinson is a director who wants to write, not a writer who wants to direct (see: Aaron Sorkin). I cannot think of a show that needs a writers room more than this one. A diversity of voices — even if they are just asking, “Is there a better way to do exposition outside of omniscient narration?” or, “Why would she say that?” or, “How old is this tender-eyed drug dealer supposed to be again?” — would be a big boon to the show. It’s never going to happen, but a girl can dream.

WINNER: THE GIRLS’ BATHROOM

The show finds itself at its most rat-a-tat in the pink-tiled school restroom, and if any part of Euphoria can be called “fun” it’s the scenes where all the girls are together. Remember the whole Oklahoma! bit? Let’s have some more of that.

LOSER: BEING A GOOD FRIEND

Did it ever make sense that Cassie is “in love” with Nate? Not really, no. Even if they had chemistry (they don’t) or a shared interest that might bring them together (they don’t), Nate is Maddy’s ex-boyfriend. Not only is it a bad move to date your best friend’s ex, it is an irredeemable move to date your best friend’s ex when you know that he was an abusive asshole. I would want to smack her too. Speaking of which…

And I saw Dane Cook in 2007

Over the past six years, the GOP has styled itself as the party with a sense of humor — the party that dispenses with pieties or performative acts of solidarity in favor of memes and the occasional slapstick gag; the party that dunks and trolls while the country roils with dysfunction. This tradition was weakly carried out at this year’s Conservative Political Action Conference last weekend in Orlando.

On paper, the conference offered a lot to laugh at. Papa John, a guy whose sole qualification entails losing his pizza business for saying the N-word on a conference call, was not only invited as a speaker, but dressed in a chef's jacket that said “Papa John” and exclusively referred to as “Papa John.” Also on the invite list: a barely-legal Bitcoin millionaire best known for selling a right-wing knockoff smartphone called the “Freedom Phone;” Rep. Matt Gaetz, who spent last year doing his best Chris Crocker impersonation while getting investigated for alleged sex trafficking; Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, the CrossFit-instructing ex-blogger who thinks space lasers start wildfires; Devin “sued a Twitter account pretending to be his cow” Nunes; as well as Dr. Oz and J.D. Vance — two millionaire Ivy grads who peddle folksy remedies, of different varieties, while lambasting the elites they probably did shots with in college. It didn’t help that an official merch graphic looked like a tsunami of menstrual blood (caption: “Ride the red wave”). Or that, at the live auction, someone paid $12,500 for an “original painting” of Donald Trump that looks like this.

The Republican Party only scored their arch reputation by virtue of Trump, with his instinct for withering nicknames, liberal use of caps lock, and ready grasp of memes. That mentality has infected his acolytes, even the most spineless ones (“Our left,” Sen. Ted Cruz said in his speech, are “the least funny people on planet Earth”). The GOP is now full of mini Trumps — Gaetz, DeSantis, Rep. Madison Cawthorn, Candace Owens, Gov. Kristi Noem, would-be Gov. Kari Lake — and at CPAC, they were aping his material. “The CDC, they wanted the powers of the CIA and ended up with the credibility of CNN!” Gaetz cracked. Next year, Cruz promised, Nancy Pelosi would have to “get on her broom — no, that’s not fair. She’s going to get on her private jet, called the U.S.S. Broom.” Glenn Beck even went full prop comic, wheeling out a full chalkboard covered in ostensibly silly doodles during his Reagan dinner keynote.

Her family hasn't seen her since January 2021

A very popular TikTokker named Melanie Wilking is alleging that her sister and former collaborator Miranda Wilking Derrick has been held hostage by a cult/entertainment management firm since January 2021.

The Michigan-born Wilking sisters started their careers on a shared Youtube account but really blew up on their TikTok in 2020, amassing over 3 million followers together with their sister-centric dances and giggly, bubbly demeanors (they open their vlog-style content with “Hey Wilkings and queens!”)

But now, it seems that a cult has possibly come between them. As Melanie and her parents alleged in a tearful Instagram Live on Friday, an organization called 7M Films, an offshoot of a Penetecostal sect that believes in something called the Seven Mountain Mandate, is holding Miranda hostage.

According to a March 2020 Outline story, the Seven Mountain Mandate is based in a selective reading of Bible verse Isaiah 2:2, from which “a group of self-proclaimed ‘apostles’ have a plan rooted in biblical prophecy to ‘invade’ every sphere of life as we know it.” According to followers of 7M, the key facets of life are education, religion, family, business, government, entertainment, and media; it is their job to rid those institutions of demons and witchcraft.

The Apostles already made it to the White House — Trump’s “spiritual advisor” Paula White was a 7M devotee — and now, apparently, they’ve set their sights on TikTok.

A day later on TikTok, Melanie shared a video of her estranged sister Miranda dancing in a field to Billy Joel’s “My Life,” annotated with a dire plea that her sister is in this shadowy and secluded LA-based cult with no control over her social media.