I’m Tired

I grew up watching naked, voluptuous women in latex bikinis in the Candy Shop video on MTV. Listening to Katy Perry on the car radio, AC on, dimmed traffic lights. Not planning, not thinking — unaware and feeling safe. Songs on a loop, grounding in a familiarity you’ll long for when you’re grown up.

FutureSex/LoveSounds was an album of New Year’s Eve and dancing with my aunt Izzy, teaching me — twelve-year-old me — how to move my hips to the sound of Justin’s voice. I was obsessed with Christina Aguilera’s burlesque image, demanded pearls and puffy hair. Around this time Paris Hilton was being driven to jail by her mother — Candyman playing in the background.

What Goes Around... Comes Around marked my teenage years, when I painted my nails black and watched Gossip Girl. Chunky sweaters, lace tights, Lita shoes, and The Kooks.

I dropped individualism for Good Girl — worn Victoria’s Secret sweatpants and jelly shots. Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus in the background. Kid Cudi.

I was following the news, reading magazines, excited to see the Oscars, the Met Gala. Waiting for the Victoria’s Secret yearly fashion show. My curiosity, love, anticipation slowly turned into apathetic scrolling through Jeff Bezos’ wedding coverage. It’s still the boobs and the asses like the Candy Shop video — but Kardashian edition. Less oil, more plastic. And it’s just so… boring?

I’m not excited about the Coachella lineup. I’m not watching the Oscars. This year’s Met Gala? I glanced through the photos once and I don’t even remember the theme.

The only thing I’m excited about is Rihanna’s pregnancy.
Tyler, the Creator’s new album — I really love it.
I’m thinking. Long pause. I’m thinking, oh, I really liked Tate McRae’s debut album.

And yes, I know Sabrina Carpenter is taking over summer no. 2, Charli XCX, Addison Rae. People are gloating over how “real” they feel, how they’re channeling early 2000s energy — but I dare to say: it’s all so mid.

Addison Rae rebrand — great job. I like her music, the videos are fun. But she is not Britney. And she’s not claiming to be, but people compare.

Charli XCX — it’s brat summer, sure. But with an iPhone, smudged photos, and a full report on Instagram. Comments gushing over how “free” and “rebellious” it feels. Indie sleaze is apparently making a comeback. I hate to sound like some bitter old AC/DC fan, but — bitch, you don’t know a good party.

And Sabrina? I don’t remember any of her songs. They all sound the same to me. And I listened to her albums on repeat while cleaning the house.

Artists now are a perfectly packed product. A little bit of ingredient one, a little bit of ingredient two, and voilà — a carefully designed recipe for success. Yes, nostalgia sells. But no, it’s not sex anymore — it’s nostalgia. Madonna was rebellion. Britney was controversy — a half-naked pop princess loved by the media, hated by 14-year-olds’ parents. The early 2000s were scandalous and it was real. A real reflection of the times.

So in a way, Charli, Sabrina, and Addison are a perfect reflection of today’s.

Now — Louis Vuitton Murakami re-edition.
Long pause.
I hate it.

I absolutely hate that they brought it back. Even Zendaya can’t sell it. Pieces from the 2000s are losing their worth. The spark. The cool factor. When Murakami was first introduced by Marc Jacobs, it was revolutionary. Now? It’s a pure money grab. Same goes for archival pieces on the red carpet.

You know there’s going to be at least one archival piece. One half-naked person. And you already know that a certain celebrity is working with a certain brand — so you basically know what they’re going to wear. When you had Chanel or Louis Vuitton on the red carpet, you basically knew that celebrity was fucked. They were going to look bad.

I’m tired of the Kardashians. I’m tired of nepo babies. I’m tired of influencers. I’m tired of—

Lately, all over the news, there was Jeff Bezos’ wedding and I’m like — why? Why is there coverage of this dude’s wedding as if it were the Olympics?

I think I’ve got the answer: because nothing else is happening.
Celebrities are all over social media, oversharing every moment of their life, so the mystery is gone. And people are tired.

Don’t even get me started on music festivals.
Frank Ocean at Coachella two years ago said he didn’t want to be there.
Bro, I feel you.

The Devil Wears Prada reboot? Of course. It’s more profitable to recycle a beloved movie than risk releasing something new that might flop. Reboot = views. People want well-written, iconic moments — not a refrigerated patty.

So I’ve decided I’m divorcing pop culture.

And my future children will be watching Britney Spears dance with a snake at the VMAs.