The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
4 — Wednesday, October 5, 2022
“ur review was great, maybe if
you had gotten ur eyes off my tits
you could’ve watched the movie!”
Three
lines,
19
words.
Poetry, in arguably its finest
21st-century
form:
Instagram
DM. Amandla Stenberg could’ve
written Hamlet, but Shakespeare
certainly could not have written
this. Just a syllable or two short of
a haiku, but with clear intention
embedded within the distinct
stanzas — the innocent opening;
the shocking, abrupt twist in line
two; the closing sentiment that
kills me every time. As a film
critic, maybe if she had in fact
“watched the movie,” none of
this would’ve happened. The real
kicker is that she knew exactly
how this would play out — she
just didn’t know it would backfire
quite so gloriously.
Said film critic is Lena Wilson,
a writer for the highly esteemed
New York Times, maybe you’ve
heard of it? Well, prior to a month
ago, you definitely had not heard
of her. After a scathing review
of A24’s comedy-horror flick
“Bodies Bodies Bodies,” Wilson
took to Twitter in a now deleted
post to release this infamous
private message from actress
Amandla Stenberg, who stars
in the film. Shock! Outrage!
Inevitable controversy ensued!
But let’s get some more context.
On its own, Stenberg’s puzzling
message doesn’t make much
sense, reading like an out-of-the-
blue, overly-offended response
to a critic just trying to do their
job — something that Wilson
evidently capitalized on. If you
didn’t read her pay-walled review,
then you might be unaware of
the specific line Stenberg had
clearly taken issue with and was
directly alluding to: the line in
which Wilson called the film
“a 95-minute advertisement for
cleavage and Charli XCX’s latest
single.” Not a good look, to say
the least (and to say the most,
Charli XCX’s single “Hot Girl” is
a bop and she responded to the
drama in about the best possible
way).
Here’s where things start to
get messy. Wilson tweeted that
screenshot with the assumption
that out of context, the internet
would blindly sympathize with
her. Wilson, who is gay, framed
the DM as a homophobic, petty
retaliation from a privileged
actress unhappy with a less-
than-stellar review. She acted
as if the reason she posted a
private message to an extremely
public forum was that Stenberg
had “more social power” than
her, and that it was simply not
okay for them to do something
like this. The fault in Wilson’s
strategy here is that, contrary to
how the online public may try
to appear, no one is an absolute
empath, especially not when it
comes to petty celebrity disputes
and the lives of the elite. They
may seem easily manipulated and
often blindly misled, but Wilson
had no substantial credibility or
established camaraderie with the
Twitter masses to inspire them
to act on her behalf.
‘Bodies Bodies Bodies,’
internet gossip and
pseudo-intellectual arts
criticism
SERENA IRANI
Daily Arts Writer
Outrage! Scandal! It feels like a
part of our nature to be drawn to
these emotions, and I have often
wondered how guilty I ought to
feel for being so enraptured by
other people’s business. There’s an
argument to be made for the virtues
of gossip; sharing information with
others makes me feel closer to them,
like we’re both a part of something.
The content of gossip allures
me as well, like my conversation
partner and I are momentary
anthropologists, parsing through
the evidence, analyzing what the
information may suggest about
the subjects. Both in its exchange
between myself and another and
our inevitable discussion of others,
gossip makes me feel less lonely and
more human.
But then of course there are the
drawbacks, particularly when we
broaden our scale. Gossip fuels the
mob mentality that makes us leave
critical thought at the door for a quick
emotional high at another’s expense.
It leads us to putting celebrities on
pedestals only to ruthlessly tear
them off again (ahem, #FreeBritney).
There’s an inevitable tie between
art and gossip, something that the
writers here on the Arts section are
intimately familiar with. As they
open their books, enter theaters and
attend concerts, they are well aware
of the mutable, often reactive culture
surrounding the art they consume.
I challenged the Arts writers
to reflect on how art interprets
gossip and how gossip shapes our
interpretation of art. The result? A
scandalous, titillating exploration
of all the art-related things that
makes our jaws drop and eyebrows
raise — along with answers to the
pressing question of why we do it.
Enjoy yourself, and don’t forget to
tell a friend.
XOXO
SARAH RAHMAN
Senior Arts Editor
Design by Abby Schreck
Inconsequential,
potentially
made-up gossip from strangers is
my preferred entertainment.
In the two days after I discovered
the “Normal Gossip” podcast, I
listened to 18 episodes (all that was
available at the time). I listened
while
driving.
I
downloaded
episodes to listen to at work. It
even replaced my running music.
It remains the only podcast for
which I have paid a subscription.
I needed the bonus episodes that
subscribers — called “friends” or
“friends of friends” — have access
to.
In each episode of “Normal
Gossip,” host Kelsey McKinney
tells a true gossip story, sent in by
a listener, to a guest who has not
heard it before. McKinney turns
away from dark, ill-humored gossip
in favor of light-hearted stories:
knitting group gossip, kindergarten
soccer parent gossip, coffee shop
coworker gossip. The mundanity
of the subjects is eradicated by
McKinney’s talent for gossipy
storytelling, consistent twists and
grudges that, while often petty, are
deeply identifiable — if you found
out that the snobbish rich lady in
your knitting group who went viral
for selling “male tears” coasters on
Instagram was secretly making
them out of the acrylic yarn she
looked down on you for using, you
would start plotting revenge too.
Through this podcast, the listener
can experience these moments
with the stories’ protagonists.
While waiting for a new episode
to release, I did wonder what
made this podcast different from a
fiction podcast. Narrative podcasts
have
arguably
better
stories.
“Normal Gossip” has the “this
really happened” element, but the
stories are heavily anonymized
to avoid legal concerns. While
McKinney claims an ability to
tell when stories are fake, she has
admitted on Instagram that even if
they do end up with fake gossip, a
story is a story.
What
even
makes
gossip
compelling at all? It’s something
many of us are taught to look down
on and avoid. It’s also something
undeniably enjoyable. It’s exciting
to know things about people, to
be trusted with information. In
many situations, knowing gossip is
a sign of inclusion within a group.
It creates a connection between
the teller and the receiver. Even if
the connection is impersonal, they
share classified knowledge. They
are in on a secret that others aren’t.
A sense of community can not only
result from gossip — it is part of
what makes it valuable in the first
place.
As
untraceable
and
inconsequential as the stories
on “Normal Gossip” are to the
average listener, listening invites
them into a group. The stories
come from other listeners — other
members
of
that
community.
Listeners who subscribe can see
the podcast’s “close friends” stories
on Instagram, where they can send
in mini gossip stories in weekly
“question box” games and guess
what the next episode’s gossip will
involve. The stories McKinney
and her team choose to tell on
the podcast often take place in a
niche community themselves. The
feeling of secrecy increases. This
is something a narrative podcast
can’t so easily achieve.
Around when I became a
“Normal
Gossip”
listener,
I
stopped watching drama videos on
YouTube. I had once enjoyed half-
hour- to hour-long explanations
and rants about what other content
creators and celebrities were doing
wrong. I frequented channels
like Smokey Glow. Other times, I
clicked on long videos from and
about people I didn’t know or care
about, guided by titles about people
breaking the law, killing their
pets and exploiting their children.
These videos would function as
podcasts or background noise
while I cleaned my room or folded
laundry.
If the video’s creator was a good
storyteller, I enjoyed listening
for a while, at least enough not to
click on something else. Listening
to several of these videos in a
row, however, left me feeling
strange. The stories themselves
had little emotional impact. I
had no connection to them, and
they had become commonplace.
Besides, as terrible as anything
was that I heard, I was listening
under the guise of entertainment.
These types of stories weren’t
shocking anymore, and the reason
I clicked in the first place was to be
entertained.
I fear I have become desensitized
to the often horrific stories of abuse
and exploitation by celebrities that
I hear on YouTube. I no longer
watch those videos as much, less
out of consideration of my mental
health and more because I no
longer enjoy them. In contrast to
“Normal Gossip” episodes, these
videos made me feel distanced
from the YouTube community.
Hearing the inconceivable things
that some people have done broke
any sense of community.
Desensitization, entertainment and the role of
‘Normal Gossip’
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Design by Serena Shen
ERIN EVANS
Senior Arts Editor
The DeuxMoi Effect
Meet
DeuxMoi:
the
self-
proclaimed
“curators
of
pop
culture” and the tabloid magazine’s
replacement. If you haven’t heard
of it, DeuxMoi is an Instagram
account known for spilling all the
stars’ hottest tea. The account’s
owners are still anonymous yet
rumored to be fashion designer
Meggie Kempner and socialite
granddaughter Melissa Lovallo.
No matter their identity, they have
become a trustworthy source for
any and all celebrity gossip with
over one million followers.
The account began in 2013 to
promote a lifestyle and fashion
brand. Everything changed seven
years later during the beginning
of quarantine in March 2020
when DeuxMoi asked their 45k
followers for pop culture tea.
People were stuck inside and
bored, so gossip and drama were
the perfect antidotes. As a result,
the account blew up and now
has over 1.6 million followers, a
podcast, a book and even an HBO
series in the works.
DeuxMoi is known for its “blind
items” anonymously submitted by
its followers through Instagram
direct message or its online
submission form. Posted to the
account’s Instagram story as a
screenshot, the content includes,
but is not limited to, couple
rumors, stories about celebrity
behavior, new projects and even
the stars’ coffee orders. Most of
the blind items hide the person
in
question
through
a
code
name, while other less serious
accusations name the celebrity
directly. Being the gatekeeper
of such a high volume of gossip
is a risky position to occupy, but
DeuxMoi acknowledged it with
their Instagram bio which says,
“statements made on this account
have
not
been
independently
confirmed. this account does not
claim any information published is
based in fact.”
In addition to its hot gossip
items, DeuxMoi posts celebrity
sightings and the places to be seen
on its “Sunday Spotted” round-
ups. From doctors to hairstylists to
restaurants and hotels, DeuxMoi
knows the hottest destinations.
Whenever I wonder why, in 2022,
people still care so much about
celebrity culture, I remember the
phrase “DeuxMoi made me do
it.” It’s what followers write when
attributing a meal, beauty product
or fun night out to DeuxMoi and its
posts. While many of its featured
locations come with a hefty
price tag and impossible-to-get
reservations, DeuxMoi still lets its
followers dine, shop and explore
like the stars. DeuxMoi is the new
way to be in the know, enabling
everyone to feel like they’re
included in the celebrity scene.
At its core, DeuxMoi represents
a microcosm of internet culture.
Whether or not its followers care
about where the celebrities are
spotted or what the gossip is,
they do care about being a part
of a community. Nowhere is this
more evident than the account’s
new series of posting individuals
spotted in DeuxMoi merch —
“Deuxmerch”.
In
addition
to
submitting Leonardo DiCaprio’s
latest 20-year-old conquest, people
are snapping pictures of DeuxMoi
merch seen worn at the airport or
at Trader Joe’s. Once the poster,
DeuxMoi’s followers are now the
posted. It’s the way to say “Look
at me, I know what’s happening,
I have the inside scoop.” Sure,
it’s cool to be famous — but in the
world of DeuxMoi, it’s way cooler
to be in the know.
Thanks
to
DeuxMoi,
the
everyday person is now paparazzi
and every celebrity sighting is
a story to tell. Society no longer
needs to pay attention to the
tabloid magazine in the grocery
line to know what’s the hottest new
restaurant or the latest celebrity
couple. Anyone and everyone can
share stories, saturating the media
with gossip while also making
seemingly unreachable echelons
of society more accessible. For
better or worse, DeuxMoi has
democratized celebrity culture,
and it’s here to stay.
CARLY BRECHNER
Daily Arts Contributor
Design by Abby Schreck