devil you know- celeb gossip as justice
xoxo
This essay is part three of Digitally Altar-ed, a four-part series dissecting the elements of art, social media, and collective consciousness that we choose to worship in the all-consuming digital realm. Each essay can be read independently, but together they capture a growing, dangerously misplaced idolatry driven by our engagement with the internet. You can read parts one and two here, and subscribe to read the rest of the series as it’s released.
My bedroom is lit pink by a salt lamp on the nightstand. It’s a Wednesday, and though the darkness is arriving earlier and earlier these days, the ink that creeps in through the open window is that of around midnight, most likely after. My boyfriend sits cross legged at the other side of my room, breathing deeply, slowly, rhythmically. A slight breeze freshens the air he’s focused on taking in, then out. He’s meditating, the way he does every morning and every night. The guidance playing out of his phone tells him not to worry about thoughts crossing the path of his wandering mind, but instead to lightly acknowledge them, and let them pass. In, slowly, then out. He’s here to feel the weight of the day release him, to be pulled into the earth by the gravity that envelops him.
The meditation tells him to open his eyes. I look up at him from the corner of the bed, like a small, feral animal caught in the headlights of a car, just as surprised by my discovery as he is. I am fervently scrolling on the Reddit ‘LA influencer snark’ thread, holding down every post of even the vaguest interest to me and hitting ‘open in new tab’, amassing an anthology of fifteen, twenty threads, then rapidly switching between them like I’m eating my first meal in days. At the bottom of each page, I might just find myself another few links to other threads that are tenuously related. They’re like hydras in this way, the gossip trails. Each time I think I’ve defeated one, satisfied the hunger, five more doors are opened, beckoning me in. My jaw is locked to the side, and I know I’m scrunching my eyebrows the way I do when I lose myself in focus. Toothpaste is drying in the corner of my mouth, but I was too absorbed to lick it off. I blink at him. He smiles back, peacefully. He has his meditation, I have mine.
Do you want to know who’s dating who? Who’s broken up, who’s pregnant? Who’s definitely going to collaborate on a song in 2-3 months, who’s going to announce a tour soon, who has a famous dad that you didn’t know about? Maybe, like most people, you don’t particularly care. Fair enough. How about something stronger? Do you want to know who’s secretly in an open relationship? Who has mere weeks until allegations come out, whose assistant is finding them a third, who’s cheating on who? Who ******** *** **** in the bathroom of the ************? You came to the right place. But neither of us are going to be happy after I tell you. Not because it’s shocking, or upsetting. Because it’s so empty.
There are levels to how much you know and how in-deep you can find yourself. You might only see the biggest headlines, the ones that are significant enough to make it to general news sites, or to be discussed by everyone around you. You might know about the topics that make it round Twitter/X, or whatever your chosen alternative is now that’s gone to shit- maybe it’s Substack. In this sense, the things you read will likely be specific to your interests. The algorithm will pick up on things you like, or could like, given half a chance, based on your demographic information and typical activity. You’ll be let into certain information, most of which probably relates to the production and release of music, movies, TV shows, but sometimes is about the lives of those behind them, by proxy. You might see conversations that analyse which behaviour we champion, what kinds of people we idolise, the forms that celebrity takes. This can be interesting and important, that we’re aware of the patterns behind our media engagement, which in many ways reflect who we are as a society. But what happens when that’s not enough to satiate?
The level of knowledge about a star’s personal life deemed ‘normal’ to have is ever-growing, even regarding those whose material you don’t engage with. This brain space-sapping monoculture means we all know the same things. Why am I discussing the foibles of the Jonas brothers at work? Why is my Mum talking to me about the Eras Tour? Since the advent of film and recorded music, there have always been big names known to all. Before that even, even in the 18th century, sheet music could be obtained so that one could play or listen to Mozart’s compositions hundreds of miles from Austria. I’ve written before about the substitution of personal fulfilment and enjoyment for consumption aspirational content. Of course, these things can exist together, but art and media should be able to integrate into your lives, rather than replacing them. And when it comes to whatever debauchery the stars of these forms of media get up to in their own lives, it’s unclear whether reading about it is a way to live vicariously, or to remind ourselves that we’re probably better off in our normal lives than in their tangled messes.
The rise of accounts like PopCrave- increasingly recognised as having the same power to turn toxic as the rest of the stereotypical expose exposé crowd, after their recent hyper-focus on Chappell Roan- has brought the behind-the-scenes back to the forefront. Stan Twitter is seemingly less of an underground culture and more a movement to keep up-to-date with. Not to mention their dissemination of political news, like updates on the 2024 US election (fall of democracy stuns in new photo). The number of people half-joking about learning Biden had conceded his leadership to Harris via PopCrave seemed to be a turning point, and there’s an growing outcry that, though the news as a body is undoubtedly biased, we can’t complain about ‘why is no one talking about X topic’ if we’re using social media as our reference.
But what about the real gossip, beyond public updates of what Sabrina Carpenter said at her show or what Andrew Garfield was wearing last night? Now we’re talking about submission-based platforms. DeuxMoi comes to mind immediately, relying on often false anonymous tip-offs for celebrity activity (X was spotted with a baby bump, Y was seen kissing Z in the VIP section of a concert). It’s all very Gossip Girl, and it’s not the most reliable source, but still, if there’s enough of a basis, these titbits will get posted to thousands of people. They become the truth, particularly if they’re invasive. We’re talking about Reddit threads or gossip sites where someone inevitably comes forward saying they went to school with so-and-so and can confirm she was actually a bitch, or that their friend went to a party with that TikToker and saw them drinking more than they could handle. On one hand, since no one seems to actually care about these threads, there’s little incentive to lie. Then again, just because the number of people posting and responding isn’t overwhelming, doesn’t mean the number of people reading isn’t.
Various influencers have confessed to reading their own snark threads (snark = negative gossip and opinions) and feeling, understandably, upset by them. Sometimes they accuse other posters of being the influencer in disguise, or of altering their behaviour based on their criticisms. “We know she reads this”. And there’s a strange theme of justice seeming to be perpetuated, wherein many of the criticism fall along the lines of being ‘progressive’. A thread is started because of an influencer’s cultural appropriation or historic homophobia, but it’s not uncommon for ‘she’s out of touch’ to turn into ‘her teeth are ugly’. A recent thread was titled: ‘Whose downfall r u waiting for?’ with replies listing those they don’t have a specific gripe with, but just don’t like the vibe of. Once someone becomes fair game to hate, it seems that the usual rules don’t apply.
A real gossip obsessive knows that blind items are the sparks from which flames of gossip begin. A blind item is a line of gossip submitted without recognisable details- film names changed to riddles, celebrities going by nicknames- with the blanks later filled in by other users. They’re the ugliest of ‘truths’ (or stories, at least), often seeming as though they could only come from a close friend or colleague of their subjects. If you were to believe them every one, you’d see a Hollywood-scape full of celebrities who are all either swinging, at death’s door, two days away from being arrested, or on Ozempic. Maybe some combination of the above. They’re outlandish and they don’t tend to fuel mainstream news publications.
Perhaps they’re planted to stir gossip or to defame a celebrity who’s on track for success, but Occam's razor strikes from time to time- sometimes, the explanation for why they’re there is that they’re true. Often, days, weeks, or months after a blind item is posted, the same news hits the headlines (or, at least, a sanitised version does). Sometimes they hit the gossip threads and are seemingly confirmed by others involved. In 2018, actor couple Keith Reniere and Allison Mack were arrested on sex trafficking charges. A blind item from 2012 matching the description of their activities was dug up on gossip site Crazy Days and Nights. Vindicating for one, anonymous person, perhaps, but hollow for everyone else.
The idea is that the most salacious gossip about the highest profile people, which would typically land you in a lawsuit, becomes sharable when it’s anonymous. In theory it’s a chance for everyone to see the truth about the most exploitative, abusive practices. In reality, it churns the gossip mill, with wrong guesses of who the ‘information’ refers to often being thrown out and sticking, and incredibly sensitive personal information about others being exposed.
Given how prominent social media is, the height of celebrity is lowering, whilst its power grows. When people regarded as A-listers dish the dirt on their everyday lives and relationships in podcasts and tell-all interviews, not to mention on their own Instagram feed, the mystique is gone. The first sign that Katy Perry’s comeback wasn’t going to be what her team intended (aside from her choice to work with Dr Luke), was her appearance on the Call Her Daddy podcast talking about what happens when husband Orlando Bloom does the dishes. A-list icon status crashes down to the level of influencers, who, though we obsess over them, anyone will tell you just doesn’t have the same charm. But it leaves us feeling gripped, and even entitled to their private lives. This isn’t to say that by revealing what they’re happy for us to know- or what’s often a specifically calculated reveal to garner more interest in their work- they deserve to have their privacy invaded. But the principle of being captivated by the behind-the-scenes as much as the product goes some way to explaining our awe.
It’s a little like being let in on a secret. There’s a prestige to fame, to Hollywood in its widening sense. And if we know what’s going on in those worlds, it’s the closest to being part of it that we’re going to get. It’s a little like a futile, depressing version of the plaque next to a piece of art that explains a painter’s inspiration or what part of the South of France they painted this field of wheat in. To the extent that some work is autobiographical- like songs and documentaries- knowing more about their private lives may appear to enhance the enjoyment of it. You can piece together their real experiences alongside puzzle pieces of lyrics and subtle music video references.
Again, it would be easy to note that we should just take whatever art we’re given at face value rather than insisting on seeing a person’s whole life as a performance piece, a story to learn from, but that simply appears to be outside of our abilities. Contrastingly, many celebrities’ private lives don’t have any relation to their output. The decline of an actor’s marriage or what they have for breakfast doesn’t enrich your enjoyment of their work. We feel as though we need celebrities to get through our day, and when they won’t give us enough personal information to build a parasocial relationship, we make celebrities out of ordinary people. It’s not just about overexposure: we have a distaste for their intention. When do they tip over from creating something viral to having chosen this life?
Plus, though it’s easier to understand why information about a musician or actor could impact how you see their work, that line of questioning falls apart when we consider that so much of this gossip is about influencers, not celebrities. The two are conflated, with Drake and Taylor Swift being discussed on r/LAinfluencersnark and Charli D’amelio and Alix Earle populating blind items (allegedly). Whether you think influencers’ output is meaningful or not, for the most part it isn’t art, so any argument that knowing about singer or actor’s personal situation adds to their work doesn’t apply. You don’t gain a deeper understanding of the world if you find out that person has a rumoured new fling before you watch their…lip sync to a trending audio? Review of a new mascara? Photo dump from a dinner?
Perhaps a generalisation, but: if celebrity gossip serves to scandalise and entertain (much like celebrities themselves), influencer gossip serves to influence- to make you feel like a better person for not being like them. If the influencer lifestyle is aspirational, but seeing it all the time makes us feel hollow and not enough, seeing the ways in which these people are in fact living an undesirable, immoral life could be comforting. In fact, in many ways, the network of influencers many of us know (or don’t) operate like a reality TV show with no walls. We see individuals’ content, the way the overlap with one another, the things they say about each other- piece to camera vs wider content- and then flock to the internet to see what others actually think. It’s a little like a huge Big Brother series that never ends, and that anyone who gets to the status where they’re posting #ads is automatically indoctrinated into. We even vote them out from time to time.
For a second it’s validating- strangers confirm that you’re right, they are out of touch, they do seem like a pick me, they were body checking. Then, site users feel affirmed and empowered in their hatred, and start criticising their outfit, their face, their body. I read replies criticising outfits and hairstyles with the vitriol of high school bullies in a coming of age film and I recoil. People become the thing they hate the most. Of course that’s fuelled in spaces like this, where strength comes from being so morally above everything. There’s only so much hatred you can produce under the guise of critiquing filler-blindness or Ozempic culture before you’re just getting off on criticising someone’s appearance. But doesn’t it mean they’re held accountable when it comes to actual wrongdoing? Not only has the word ‘accountability’ seemed to lose meaning after years of teary YouTube confessions and notes app apologies, it’s also not always useful to you. There’s a sense that sites like these allow us to keep tabs on who does and doesn’t deserve our attention, except that by perpetuating them, we continue giving them attention. Even if they are true, are they even interesting enough to compromise our own integrity?
Perez Hilton was dubbed “the original celebrity social media influencer” by BroadwayWorld after his 2000s rise to fame as a celebrity gossip monger. Much of his career hinged upon airing out the alleged private lives of teenage girls like Taylor Momsen and Miley Cyrus, and he’s been highly criticised for a lack of integrity, willing to publish any story no matter who the subject or what the cost. Hilton also outed several celebrities, but seemed to think of himself as doing a public service to increase the number of ‘openly’ gay people in the media. Though blogosphere moved in somewhat different ways twenty years ago, and though the meaning and place of ‘celebrity’ has changed immeasurably through the rise of social media, many of the criticisms levelled against Hilton at the time can easily map onto the way that forums and gossip sites still dissect celebrities today. In a 2006 LA Times article about the blogger, Hilton’s ‘no such thing as bad publicity theory’ was explored.
He has agents, a lawyer, a manager and a public that, despite its craving for the content he provides, can be vicious toward him in comments on his site. Which he loves. “Every time they leave a comment, it’s a page view,” [Hilton] said. “I’m laughing all the way to the bank.”
- Robin Abcarian on Paris Hilton, LA Times
To me, the conclusion follows a similar finding to a lot of dilemmas: the respect or lack thereof for celebrities’ boundaries matters in so much as it reflects us, and who we are. I haven’t taken much time to discuss the impact of scrutiny and gossip on the individual being discussed, because it seems intuitive, but what about the impact on the person doing the ‘snarking’? In a case like this, it doesn’t matter if the bad thing you’re doing to someone is deserved because they’re an internet sensation or Hollywood A-lister- if you’re doing it because you derive pleasure from harming or exposing someone, it says much more about you. In reality, a lot of online gossip behaviour and overzealous ‘fan’ behaviour does nothing to reduce the net worth that we’re angry at celebrities for having, that makes us feel entitled to comment on who they’re dating or what drugs they’re doing and why. It just humiliates them on a personal level and affects their relationships. What kind of person gets off on that? If we really cared so deeply about celebrity culture not getting the better of us, fuelling it by spotlighting information wouldn’t be the way to do it.
If you like, you can convince yourself it comes from genuine compassion for the person. You’re worried for their self-esteem, that they’re partying too hard, that their boyfriend is bad for them. No one else in their life seems to be addressing it, so you have to. You’re gathering information about the world, you’re a social scientist, you’re an anthropologist, you’re a cultural critic. Don’t you feel numb, though? Don’t you feel like the cold has set in? The more I focus on how out of touch these figures are with the real world, the more it becomes true of myself. And I’d always choose to place blame on the social factors that make us seek numbness, but that blame isn’t going to help put me back in the real world.
There’s one internet figure in particular who I’m captivated by. I check her TikTok on my browser because downloading the app will be the final nail in the coffin that turns my brain to mush. I look back through her old posts, monitor shifts in her style, erratic hair changes. Whose bathroom is she in? It’s not the same as the post from two days ago. I neither like nor dislike her. I’m just intrigued to the nth degree. I predict her relationship a year before it happens, I analyse the way she interacts with her fans. I slowly lose feeling in my body reading the theories about how she timed her cosmetic procedures or background information on how she treats the crew who work with her. What am I doing with all of this information? I’m churning it around in my brain. I’m storing it. So many beautiful things in this world I could be taking in and instead I’m reading a thread on whether she declared an ad or not in her last Instagram story. The gossip is sad, it’s embarrassing, and it’s a million miles from the glitz and glamour it supposedly circles.
“They don’t build statues of critics” but what happened to knowing your enemy? In my head I’m building a profile, I’m gaining intel, I’m becoming unswindleable. And I am, truly. I see through it all. There’s not a product or feeling or lifestyle they can sell me. Except that I’ve become the product. By seeking to understand the myths they brandish, I’m perpetuating them and their status, via a process which neither of us want. Not to mention the literal sense in which, even though I pride myself on being so much better than leaving a like or comment, every view means ad space on the sites becomes more lucrative. There’s no part of this machine that I can defend.
A social illness, maybe. It’s not that I’m trying to decry this as ‘low culture’ as is often the criticism of celebrity gossip. If anything, I’d argue it’s a completely understandable, culturally significant phenomenon, that operates via the veneration of certain figures- cyclically fuelled and produced by our need for consumption. It’s not that celebrity gossip particularly represents any presence or absence of intelligence or seriousness for me, it’s that I think it’s cruel and ugly. Gossips like Hilton wouldn’t have careers if it weren’t for our obsession with celebrity culture. Neither would invasive paparazzi, or violating publications like TMZ (owned by Fox, let’s not forget).
At the time of publishing this, I haven’t been on Twitter in eight weeks. I find myself noting to others that there’s not much entertainment news at the moment, but it’s a fallacy. The more gossip you pursue, the more you see. Outside in the real world, none of it matters. I don’t miss it. The ugly, vague feeling of dread from even watching others tear into people they don’t know, and will never know, is gone.
With many news items and social issues, it’s important to be aware of things that are going on when you’re not looking directly at them. When it comes to internet gossip, the opposite is true. If you don’t hear about it when you’re not looking for it, it’s unimportant. I don’t think there’s a world coming any time soon where we stop orbiting around celebrities, but we can choose, to an extent, what place they have in our lives. We get to be in control of how much we engage with the gossip mill and what we let it say about us, and we get to draw the line. We have to actively choose where we want our attention to go, rather than moving where the easiest stimulation might be, and we have to- I have to- know that there’s more to life than celebrity gossip.
thank you so much for reading <3 if you enjoyed this and want to support me to be able to keep writing, you can buy me a coffee here :)
If you enjoyed this essay, you might like my piece when the imaginary audience isn’t imaginary, on the constant presence of cameras via our social media obsession and what happens when we don’t get to choose whether we’re on camera or not.
opening story happened to me when i was going thru da justin bieber, selena gomez, and hailey baldwin dating timelines 😭
also i literally LOL at "You’re gathering information about the world, you’re a social scientist, you’re an anthropologist, you’re a cultural critic." it plagues us all....
veryyyyyyyyyyy real for me as i've been trying to break my reddit gossip thread habit these past couple of days. great piece!