Rihanna finger

I just earned my first troll in my new Twitter account, the founder of Adult magazine. It was fun.

In fairness, I did a little trolling myself and by all means take the snap in good spirits. There are a few notions implied in the exchange that could be worth addressing, not to keep arguing with Prickett, but to point at people’s—me included—unwillingness to communicate.

Following Michael Moynihan’s explanation of the marketing value of outrage, one shouldn’t be surprised about pop-culture figurines like the one Prickett likes so much—or any other male or female celebrity—seizing the chances offered by a scandal. As fake as most of the scandals we buy are, there’s not always matter for a new one, which is why the industry produces and consumes gossip. Gossip keeps the dormant beast of scandal alive. It thrives in an amusing fallacy, too—or rather a masterful illusion: that one gossips about a person. Let the cruelty of that last sentence rest there for a second. These celebrities are persons, of course, but they are presented to us as products. A solid reason to disregard celebrity gossip is because it blurs the boundaries between the product and the person, often causing a damage of sorts. But “defending” a given celebrity from a label that feeds her/him as a product—”a bitch”, in this case—seems a dubious favor, and perpetuates—instead of canceling— the gossip. No one in show business needs such defense, even less a youth idol, for the “bitchier” the idol gets the better for its audience.

Still, I must admit that my knowledge on pop music does pale before Prickett’s, which makes me wonder in all my naiveté what’s actually to know about pop music. This matters—to this soliloquy only—because it shows the reason I trolled in the first place. I appreciate people’s interest in triviality, as long as their take is not trivial itself. If an editor/writer wants to talk about celebrities, fine, but hopefully the result will be something other than repeating the thoughtless masses. Otherwise—as I first asked—who cares? I’m feeling a bit morbid now: “the thoughtless masses” seems an insulting phrase—all those “millions of people”! No, the masses cannot be but thoughtless, precisely because they only exists in an echo. They might very well be composed by brilliant individuals—“improbably bookish young women”, even—but in its blobby existence it will never fulfill the expectations raised by the writer/editor label. I understand that unapologetic triviality to be cool, though. The new adulthood.

Finally, I don’t get the accusation of not knowing anything about women—which might confirm that very accusation. About women and about men, I’ll take it.

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