Recently, this post popped into my feed: “Normalize not bringing up a relatable story about yourself when someone is telling you something about themselves, and just listen.”
I didn’t think much about it, to be honest. It seemed reasonable to me. Sometimes, folks want to be heard, and—sometimes—feeling heard requires the listener to focus on the speaker’s experience (as opposed to their own).
But then I read some of the comments.
There is much to unpack in these comments, including a few logical fallacies and some arguably misguided assertions about neurodiversity. But what surprised me was the widespread indignation of the commenters. The spirit of the comments is valid: vocalizing shared experience can be a way to empathize and deepen conversations. And, yes, active listening does not require silence on the part of the listener. But those elements were not the focus of the original post. The original post simply asked would-be listeners to spend time focusing on the speaker’s experience before pivoting to their own.
And some commenters couldn’t handle that.
The “Share a Similar Story method,” as one commenter described it, is a feature of empathy, not necessarily active listening, and it can feel dismissive to the speaker. Consider the snow globe analogy from Mae Martin’s stand-up special:
Okay, this is a little abstract, but don’t you think, in a way, our brains and our minds are like our rooms, and we furnish our minds with experiences that we collect to then build what we think of as our identity and selves? And that’s all we’re doing. We’re little experience hunters, collecting these to put them on our brain shelves and be like, “I’m me.” And I always visualize every experience that we collect is like a little novelty snow globe. We’re just going around, being like, “One time I saw Antonio Banderas at the airport. Yes, I did. I’m myself. And no one else is me.” And then all human interaction is . . . just basically taking turns showing each other our snow globes. And being like, “I…” And just pathetically taking turns. And, like, someone will be showing you their snow globe, you know, and you’re trying to be a good listener. It’s a story about a party they went to five years ago. And you’re like, “Yes, and you are you as well.” Like, “Yes, exactly, yes.” “How wonderful to be yourself as well.” But the whole time, your eyes are darting to your own shelf. A hundred percent, the whole time… You’re like, “Mmm, yes. Well, no. Yes.” Waiting for your moment to be like, “And me as well. I have one…”
Sometimes, effective listening requires sacrifice. Sometimes, to truly hear and appreciate the experiences of another person, a listener must abandon the temptation to match those experiences with their own—at least for a little while. While listening to another person, instead of searching your head for your own experience (AKA your snow globe), you could actively listen to (and comment on) the experience presented by the speaker.
For many people, effective listening is not the status quo. In fact, I argue that most people are bad listeners—a reality perpetuated by casual egotism and a widespread tendency to instinctively personalize the stories of others. In a video essay about Noah Baumbach’s 2017 film The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected), YouTuber Nerdwriter uses the film to examine the reality of day-to-day conversations. At one point, Nerdwriter dissects a scene between Matt (played by Ben Stiller) and his father Harold (played by Dustin Hoffman):
. . . What makes this exchange so heartbreaking and true to life, at least for me, is that they really are communicating with each other—just not explicitly. Matt brings up a major life change and expresses some of the hopes and fears he has about it, and his father immediately brings up his own major life event and some of the hopes and fears he has about that. Implicitly, Matt is asking for approval, he’s asking for reassurance, and he’s asking for consolation. Harold, on the other hand, is denying approval because he can’t his son being more successful than he is, while asking for reassurance of his own hopes and consolation for his own fears. It’s like the two men are firing a volley of missiles at each other: some are hitting, some are missing, and some are crashing into each other midair. I think Baumbach understands a key dynamic in conversations, especially conversations with family: When we speak to others, we’re often speaking to ourselves, attempting to frame dialogue so that the person we’re talking to will reflect back the things that we want to believe about us. . . . And the result is often conflict or a conversation that just goes nowhere.
Ultimately, much of this issue comes down to the nuances of specific conversations. If, for example, I quickly mention the fact that I have experienced depression as a way to establish a connection with someone who has just shared a story of their experiences with a recent depressive episode, I am showing empathy. If, however, I respond to my friend’s story about their depressive episode with an unsolicited story about my mental health, I am no longer just showing empathy—I am hijacking their moment to highlight my own experience.
The line between empathizing and commandeering is sometimes tricky to see, especially for those with notably solipsistic tendencies. Listeners must quickly consider a number of contextual variables: level of familiarity, the emotional disposition of the speaker, power dynamics, physical location, and more. If “reading the room” was easy, miscommunications and hurt feelings would never occur. But they do occur. Frequently, in fact. Which means that some of us are not as good at listening as we assume we are.
So let’s look at examples of obviously ineffective listening and fine-tune our approach from there. When arguments occur, we often demand understanding through tone and volume. During an argument, the struggle to feel heard often manifests as vocalized frustration: we shout to keep the other person from overlooking our perspective. Consider the flawed styles of communication in movies like Sam Mendes’s Revolutionary Road, Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story, and Justine Triet’s Anatomy of a Fall.
In all three cases, the characters shout their feelings and experiences at each other, and they do so without earnest attempts to appreciate perspectives beyond their own. Most individuals, I imagine, would agree that these cinematic conversations exemplify a failure of effective communication. In these scenes, much is communicated, but little is understood. It’s easy to look at arguments and see the dangers of selfish exchanges. But self-centeredness is not limited to heated arguments: the clearly ineffective elements of hostile communication—the chaotic drive to be heard and the self-focused tendency to personalize the experiences of others—can also exist in casual, non-hostile conversations. They’re just more subtle.
My contention is that when attempts at empathetic “listening” are driven primarily by a desire to verbalize relatable experiences, those attempts often suffer from the same pitfalls as the arguments in Anatomy of a Fall—just maybe to a lesser degree. In both situations, understanding is overshadowed by verbalized personal experience. In the mind of the speaker, it is not clear if the listener has truly internalized what was said.
Let’s use Fences, the 2016 film adaptation of August Wilson’s play, as a case study. Troy Maxson (played by Denzel Washington) is a toxically masculine father who cheats on his wife Rose Maxson (played by Viola Davis). Like Willy Loman from Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, Troy is a problematic communicator: he has a notably tunnel-visioned view of the world that informs everything he says. Every comment or reply is filtered through a limited lens of baseball references and unyielding personal philosophies.
At the beginning of a pivotal scene, Troy tells Rose that he has fathered a baby with another woman, and this admission sparks a conversation about their marriage. Rose is understandably frustrated, and she explains that Troy should have “held her tight,” regardless of any emotional distance between them. Then Troy’s language shifts: he tries to explain his perspective through a series of baseball metaphors (“I bunted” and “I wasn’t gonna get that last strike” and “I wanted to steal second” and “I stood on first base for eighteen years”). Troy makes little attempt to empathize with Rose; instead, he insists on framing the conversation in a way that makes sense to him. He insists on language that reinforces his experience, not hers. (And, intriguingly, Troy actually accuses Rose of “not listening.” Sometimes, the most thunderous among us are the quickest to feel unheard.)
Finally, Rose yells, “We’re not talking about baseball! We’re talking about you going off to lay in bed with another woman—and then bring it home to me. That’s what we’re talking about. We’re not talking about no baseball.”
Now imagine that Troy is one of Rose’s friends, not her husband. Imagine that Rose is talking to a friend about her interactions with her adulterous husband, and Rose’s well-intentioned friend responds with a litany of baseball analogies. Would you describe that friend as an effective listener?
Now replace those baseball analogies with the “Share a Similar Story method.” Imagine that Rose is sharing her experiences, and her well-intentioned friend pivots to their own experience with an unfaithful partner. Would “effective listener” be an appropriate label for that friend?
Sometimes, effective listening requires sacrifice. Sometimes, as a listener, it’s not about you, and quickly pivoting to your experience—even if well-intentioned—feels self-serving. You may not mean to dominate or personalize the conversation, but impressions impact feelings more than intentions.
I believe that genuinely listening to another human being can change that person’s life. All human beings want to feel heard. All human beings crave the feeling of safety, sanity, and comfort that comes from knowing that another person truly heard, appreciated, and validated what they had to say. So when you have the opportunity to offer that to someone else, remind yourself that this is their life-changing moment, not yours.
Ben Boruff is a co-founder of Big B and Mo’ Money. Read more at BenBoruff.com.
Mike Birbiglia’s 2013 stand-up special My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend begins with a targeted critique of marriage:
So about five years ago, pretty much everyone who I know started to get married, and that was strange for me because I don’t really believe in the idea of marriage. And that would have been fine, except I have a problem where sometimes when I think that I am right about something, it can be a real source of tension between me and the person I’m arguing with. And the reason it’s a source of tension is that I’m right. And so I remember distinctly talking to my friend Dana, and she goes, “Well, you don’t believe in marriage for you, but, of course, you believe in it for other people.” And I was like, “No, I think it’s insane, you know, for anyone.” And she said, “Why?” And I said, “Well, first of all, it just seems doomed.” You know, 50% of marriages end in divorce. That’s just first marriages, by the way. Second marriages, 60% to 62% end in divorce. Third marriages, 70% to 75% end in divorce. That’s a learning curve.
And he doesn’t stop there. In his comedy special, This American Life and The Moth regular Mike Birbiglia reinforces his anti-marriage worldview with jokes about actively resisting the pending marriages of his friends:
I had one ally in all this, which is my friend Andy, and he’s a comedian as well. Not only did we decide we weren’t gonna get married, we actually tried to stop other people we knew from getting married. Yeah, we were pretty good at it. Like, we stopped or put on hold three or four marriages, you know. We were pretty good. I mean, we weren’t like the best in the world. I’m sure there are better in Europe. But we were solid, you know. Like, so, like, for example, at point my friend Alex was about to get engaged. And so we just took him to dinner. And during dessert, we gave him a long, hard stare. We said, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?” And then we went cold to give him the sense of what it would feel like when we weren’t friends anymore.
Throughout his special, Billionsand Orange Is the New Black guest star Mike Birbiglia critiques the gaudiness of marriage ceremonies (“I don’t buy into the flamboyant pageantry that goes into celebrating it”), the history of marriage (“marriage is an archaic institution invented in the middle ages based on exchanging property”), the legal mores of marriage (“why does it need to be written into a government contract?”), and marriage’s inherent connections to religion (“I’ve been to more weddings of my friends where the people on the altar don’t believe in the religion of the church they’ve invited us to!”).
Then, Cedar Rapids (2011) and Trainwreck(2015) actor Mike Birbiglia tells a personal story about the comically tragic aftermath of a car accident—a story he has told on This American Life and elsewhere—before transitioning back to his girlfriend Jenny: “The only person who would talk to me at this point was Jenny.”
Famoussleepwalker Mike Birbiglia ends his 2013 special with a heartwarming admission of his own stubbornness and a confession of his marriage to poet Jen “Jenny” Stein:
July 7, 2007, Jenny and I went to city hall and got married. I still didn’t believe in the idea of marriage, and I still don’t. But I believe in her, and I’ve given up on the idea of being right.
It’s sweet.
But I hate it. I hate it because it doesn’t stop there.
At the beginning of his 2019 comedy special The New One, casual Taylor Swift friend Mike Birbiglia acknowledges his dislike of children:
Maybe I have a low tolerance for children. I’ve lost a lot of great friends to kids. Because it really is like a disease in some ways. But it’s worse than a disease because they want you to have it too. [zombie voice] “You should have kids too.” I’m watching you do it, and I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna not do it. They’re like zombies, they’re like [zombie voice] “You should eat brains.” I’m watching you eat brains, and it seems like it ruined your life.
By his own admission, past Late Night with Conan O’Brien intern Mike Birbiglia’s desire for a childless life was unambiguous: “I was very clear when we got married that I never wanted to have a kid. . . . I was clear I would never change.”
And throughout The New One, he offers specific reasons for not wanting kids:
Number one, I’ve never felt like there should be more of me in the world. . . . I had cancer, life-threatening sleeping disorder, Lyme disease, diabetes. I’m not exactly handing off A-plus genes here. Number two. I love my marriage, and I feel…I really do, I feel so lucky to have found my wife. . . . And I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want that to change. I don’t want a third person showing up, like, “What about me?” I’m like, “We don’t even know you!” Number three. I don’t know anything and I’m not ready to teach the children. I mean, I’ve read hundreds of books. I’ve retained very little. . . . Number four, I have a cat. Number five. I have a job. . . . It took me a long time to figure out anything I was good at. I wasn’t good at video games, or archery, or whatever the hell kids do. And then, I figured this out. I don’t want to give that up. My brother’s like, “Mike, you can have a kid and a career.” And I said, “Yeah, Joe, but it’ll be worse.” If we’re being honest with ourselves kids hold us back. . . . Number six. I don’t think there should be children anymore. Nothing drastic. I think the current children can see through their term. I just think maybe we cut it off there, because, look, we were given the earth and we failed. . . . Number seven. People aren’t great. Not just Nazis. I mean, people in general are not great. And look, you guys seem fine. And the conventional wisdom is that people are generally good. But are they?
And Jimmy KimmelLive fill-in Mike Birbiglia allegedly told his wife all of that: “Why would you want to bring a child into this world with me? I’m a walking pre-existing condition, the earth is sinking into the ocean, we’re about to be living in the movie Waterworld, which did terribly at the box office. People are horrible, and I’m not great.”
His wife allegedly responded, “I know all of that. And I think you’d be a good dad.”
So they had a kid. Not just in the comedy special anecdote. Real-life married father Mike Birbiglia actually has a child now.
Mike Birbiglia betrayed us.
I want to be abundantly clear: The problem is not that Birbiglia is married and has a child. Unlike Birbiglia in his own stand-up special, I do not mind when others get married or have children. The problem is that Birbiglia publicly and enthusiastically advocated for single, childless lifestyles before getting married and having a child—and then uses his past advocacy as fodder for comedy.
Consider the current socio-political landscape as it applies to perceptions of marriage, parenting, and “traditional” families:
In 2015, Pope Francis said that couples who choose not to have children are “selfish.” Pope Francis reinforced that belief again in 2024, praising cultures with averages of three to five children per household: “Keep going like this. It is an example for all countries.”
In 2016, Bella DePaulo, Ph.D., explained the inherent psychological biases we have against single individuals: “Nearly every other person describing married people, approximately 49 percent, spontaneously suggested that married people are kind, caring, or giving. Only 2 percent of the participants describing single people came up with those same characteristics. Every third person describing married people, around 32 percent, said that they were loving. No one—not one person—described single people this way. Married people were also more often described as happy, secure, loyal, compromising, and reliable. Single people, though, were more often described as independent.”
In 2021, JD Vance criticized “childless cat ladies,” which according to to NPRis an insult with a long history designed to paint childless women as either frightening or pitiful. (Vance has since claimed that his comment was meant as a critique of the “anti-family and anti-child” Democratic Party.)
Also in 2021, JD Vance stated that the idea of childless educators having influence over children “disorients” and “really disturbs” him. (Again, Vance later reframed his comment as a critique of “left-wing indoctrination” in schools.)
Again in 2021, JD Vance wondered during an interview whether or not childlessness might make people “people more sociopathic and ultimately our whole country a little bit less mentally stable.” The full quote: “There’s just these basic cadences of life I think are really powerful and really valuable when you have kids in your life, and the fact that so many people, especially in America’s leadership class, just don’t have that in their lives, you know — I worry that it makes people more sociopathic and ultimately our whole country a little bit less mentally stable.”
In 2022, a survey showed that “52% of 1,000 single UK adults reported experiencing single shaming ‘since the start of the pandemic.'” According to BBC, “researchers asked about the common ‘shaming phrases’ single people have heard from others, and 35% said they were told ‘you’ll find someone soon’. Twenty-nine percent heard ‘you must be so lonely’, while 38% reported general pity over their relationship status.”
A 2024 study from the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, unveiled “four overlapping ‘archetypes’ [perceptions] of single women and men”, including “‘Heartless (‘selfish,’ ‘promiscuous’), and Loner (‘lonely,’ ‘antisocial’).”
So when folks like Mike Birbiglia softly belittle genuine concerns about marriage and procreating, they are perpetuating a longstanding and wholly damaging status quo of pro-marriage, pro-procreating propaganda. In his comedy specials, Birbiglia presents himself as an underdog who reluctantly succumbs to happiness, but he’s really just punching down. He creates a fun, quirky, freethinking single-life caricature of himself only so that he can later use self-deprecation as a means of discounting singleness and/or childlessness.
Mike Birbiglia is not the only one who does this. My least favorite scene in the entire run of Parks and Recreation is this one:
Like Birbiglia, April Ludgate had valid reservations about having a child. But then Andy, Ben, and Leslie effectively bully April into having children. And so she does. (Leslie tells April that she likes her “team” and would love to see more “team members,” whatever that means.)
In the episode, Ben’s assertion that April will inevitably “get there” and change her views about children is particularly heinous.
There are valid reasons to oppose marriage and/or a child-filled lifestyle. According to 2025 numbers from Forbes, 43% of first marriages end in divorce. Yes, that’s lower than the commonly spread divorce statistic of 50%, but a 57% success rate is still hardly worth celebrating. If a restaurant had a 57% satisfaction rate, would you make a reservation? If a university had a 57% job placement rate, would you pay tuition? The average wedding in 2023 cost $30,119, and the cost of raising one child is, on average, $21,681 per year, not including the cost of saving for college. (The cost of raising a child over 18 years is $237,482 “just for the basic necessities”). Plus, the idea of marriage as an act of love is relatively new. Marriage was “rarely a matter of free choice” until the late 20th century. For most of human history, “romantic love was not the primary motive for matrimony.”
Finally, there’s nothing selfless about having children, unless you can somehow guarantee that your kid is going to cure cancer or be the first interstellar pioneer to colonize another solar system. Otherwise, you’re having a kid for you—because you want a child. This is perfectly fine, but let’s be honest about it.
Even if someone does not have “valid” reasons for being hesitant about (or outright opposing) marriage and procreation, you should still respect those views without comment or objection. The validity of the worldview is not the point: the hesitation itself is the point. Many in society—pastors, parents, purveyors of the patriarchy—proselytize endlessly about the importance of the bonds of marriage and the roles of parenthood. So shouldn’t folks think long and hard about whether or not they want to enter into those commitments? Shouldn’t that hesitation be celebrated, not belittled? But, instead, many treat having children like buying lottery tickets: lots of uninformed finger-crossing (with plenty of awkward scratching and dirty fingernails, I assume).
But I’ll leave you with one of my favorite portrayals of a confident, single, and childless character—which, incidentally, comes from Parks and Recreation. Not early-seasons April Ludgate or Leslie Knope. I’m talking about Jennifer Barkley.
Yes, I know that the character of Jennifer Barkley reinforces the “heartless” stereotype of the single, childless individual and is a less-than-perfect symbol of my argument. But I can’t resist the comparison: In a world utterly filled with Leslie Knopes and April Ludgates, be bold enough to be a Jennifer Barkley.
Ben Boruff is a co-founder of Big B and Mo’ Money. Read more at BenBoruff.com.
[Warning: Though no profanity has been written into this article, many of the songs discussed in this article feature lyrics that contain profanity. Listener discretion is advised.]
During my last semester as an undergrad at Indiana University, I took a course titled The Music of Bob Dylan taught by the great Glenn Gass. The class changed my life. As we moved through Dylan’s discography—from Bob Dylan (1962) to Modern Times (2006)—I gained a more nuanced understanding of the intersections of revolution, social progress, and art. Though Dylan’s relationship with protest music is complicated, his early albums nonetheless help set a standard for anti-establishment songwriting: protest songs can (and perhaps should) be profound, pointed, and unbending. Consider these lyrics from “With God on Our Side,” Dylan’s 1964 folk ballad about the dangers of religious justifications for militaristic action:
But now we got weapons Of the chemical dust If fire them we’re forced to Then fire them we must One push of the button And a shot the world wide And you never ask questions When God’s on your side
Protest music has evolved since Dylan released The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan (1963) and The Times They Are a-Changin’ (1964). Folk is no longer the standard-bearer for socially conscious music. (Arguably, hip hop and rap have taken up that mantle.)
But I want to offer a new subgenre of protest music for consideration:
the pop-adjacent anti-wealth anthem
And—though you may roll your eyes at it today—there is one song that perfectly epitomizes this genre: “Thrift Shop” by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis.
Before I explain the countercultural artistry of “Thrift Shop” and similar songs, I want to acknowledge the long history of poignant, socio-politically relevant protest music. What follows is a brief, non-comprehensive overview of protest music by decade and topic. I encourage you to explore these important songs. Then we’ll return to Macklemore and others.
But what Tripadviser likely won’t tell you is that Dubai is part of the “most unequal region in the world” in regard to income inequality. In Dubai, migrant workers are manipulated into working in arguably harrowing conditions for extremely low wages—and their behind-the-scenes work is allegedly used to keep Dubai’s public-facing reputation as one of glamour, luxury, and wealth. (Side note: There are undoubtedly many wonderfully compassionate and socially conscious individuals who live in Dubai. This commentary should not be used to villainize the people of Dubai. Dubai’s systemic inequality is the focus here.)
Dubai is an intriguing case study of a more widespread problem: fantasies of wealth that perpetuate systemic inequalities and social injustices. We see this everywhere. From Silicon Valley entrepreneurs embracing bro culture (the “Tech Bro“) to the dark side of glossy social media influencing. From the crypto-obsessed “bro-economy” (the “Finance Bro“) to the insidious “Prosperity Gospel” and all of its various forms. Or, if nothing else, just think of that guy you know who wears khaki shorts, a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, and a TAG Heuer watch—and who spends his time sending unsolicited messages to folks on Snapchat while listening to Joe Rogan and/or Andrew Tate. The common thread: socio-economic elitism bolstered by visions of financial grandeur.
Money is one of the most divisive topics today—a fact that is readily apparent in America’s divided reaction to the arrest of Luigi Mangione. According to a 2024 Pew Research Center survey, economic issues (inflation, healthcare affordability, and the federal budget) are at the top of the public consciousness.
As scores of young men and women hustle forward with hopes of wealth and luxury, income inequality and wealth disparity plague the nation. One important solution is to target the super-rich through policy and satire. But another partial solution is to convince the masses that a lifestyle of extreme wealth, glamour, and luxury is overrated. Often, the pursuit of visible displays of wealth occurs at the expense of socially conscious action, so changing the minds of wannabe Finance Bros and glamour-obsessed influencers could reinvigorate America’s push toward socio-economic justice.
Enter Macklemore.
Macklemore’s 2012 song “Thrift Shop” took thrifting to the top ten of the Billboard Hot 100. It also “topped the R&B/Hip-Hop Songs chart for fourteen consecutive weeks” and “set a record on that chart as the first song to reach two million streams in a single week.” And it contains lyrics like this:
Coppin’ it, washin’ it, ’bout to go and get some compliments Passin’ up on those moccasins someone else has been walkin’ in Bummy and grungy, **** it, man, I am stunting and flossin’ And saving my money and I’m hella happy, that’s a bargain, ***** I’ma take your grandpa’s style, I’ma take your grandpa’s style No, for real, ask your grandpa, can I have his hand-me-downs? (Thank you)
In an era of luxury-chasing consumers and extreme wealth disparity, this is a protest song. Macklemore glamorizes the non-glamorous, and he actively criticizes the type of superfluous consumerism and luxury that operate in contrast to a socially and environmentally conscious lifestyle. Intentionally or not, Macklemore is protesting the perceptions of wealth and luxury that perpetuate poverty and inequality. In a world of Finance Bros, Macklemore is a proud pop-music thrifting king, which is pretty damn countercultural. If you consider economic powers to be as potentially harmful as religious powers, then Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” is just as socially relevant as Dylan’s “With God on Our Side.”
And Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” isn’t the only song that challenges the status quo of extreme-wealth hustle-culture glamour. Below are additional songs that represent this new-ish era of anti-wealth protest music.
“Victoria’s Secret” by Jax (2022)
God, I wish somebody would have told me when I was younger That all bodies aren’t the same Photoshop itty bitty models on magazine covers Told me I was overweight I stopped eating, what a bummer Can’t have carbs and a hot girl summer If I could go back and tell myself when I was younger I’d say, “Psst!
Jax’s “Victoria’s Secret” is an upbeat condemnation of absurd beauty standards pushed by men in the fashion industry. The chorus points a finger directly at men who profit off of the insecurities of women: “I know Victoria’s secret / And, girl, you wouldn’t believe / She’s an old man who lives in Ohio / Making money off of girls like me.” Many artists and activists have criticized greedy fashion companies, but few of those critiques have featured as many catchy verses and memorable beats as Jax’s pro-women anthem. Les Wexner, the businessman who made Victoria’s Secret what it is today, is worth $7.9 billion. Jax’s song protests how Les Wexner made his wealth. And the song’s message apparently resonated with many: the song reached number 35 on the Billboard Hot 100.
“Royals” by Lorde (2013)
But every song’s like Gold teeth, Grey Goose, trippin’ in the bathroom Bloodstains, ball gowns, trashin’ the hotel room We don’t care, we’re driving Cadillacs in our dreams But everybody’s like Cristal, Maybach, diamonds on your timepiece Jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash We don’t care, we aren’t caught up in your love affair
“Royals” came out the same year as “Blurred Lines,” Robin Thicke’s horrifyingly sexist and dangerous song that dehumanizes women (“Tried to domesticate you / But you’re an animal”) and trivializes assault (“I hate these blurred lines / I know you want it”). The music video for “Blurred Lines”—which is just as stupid as the song itself—features Robin Thicke, T.I., and Pharrell Williams dressed in expensive clothes and standing/dancing awkwardly behind models in lingerie. In many ways, “Royals” is the antithesis of “Blurred Lines”: Lorde’s song is a pop-music critique of extravagant displays of wealth and status. Robin Thicke seems obsessed with looking powerful and elite, but that “kind of lux just ain’t for” Lorde and her listeners. (Plus, her music video is infinitely better than the rubbish Thicke’s crew made.)
“Here” by Alessia Cara (2015)
Excuse me if I seem a little unimpressed with this An anti-social pessimist, but usually I don’t mess with this And I know you mean only the best And your intentions aren’t to bother me, but honestly, I’d rather be Somewhere with my people, we can kick it and just listen to Some music with a message, like we usually do And we’ll discuss our big dreams, how we plan to take over the planet
Alessia Cara’s “Here” does not challenge wealth in the way that “Thrift Shop” and “Royals” do, but it nonetheless operates as a commentary on the type of lifestyle that favors expensive thrill over connection. The song is not anti-party or anti-Type-A (though it certainly doesn’t celebrate those things); instead, it isan anthem that celebrates introspection (“we’ll discuss our big dreams”), genuine connection (“Not in this room with people who don’t even care about my well-being”), and independence (“I’m stand-offish”). Consider the non-speaker characters in Cara’s song: a boy “who’s hollerin’,” a girl “who’s always gossipin’ about her friends,” a boy “who’s throwin’ up / ‘Cause he can’t take what’s in his cup no more,” and a girl who is “talkin’ ’bout a hater” (despite the fact that she “ain’t got none”). Now imagine those characters in the wealthy sections of Dubai or in an episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, and you’ll understand why Alessia Cara’s “Here” is an anti-wealth protest song like “Royals.” The song’s speaker is a “little unimpressed” with glam-chasing lifestyles and “can’t wait ’til we can break up out of here.” Same, Alessia Cara. Same.
“Thicker Than Dust” by K.Flay (2014)
I’ve got a brand new passion, we found a whole new way to see Might spend a whole night smashing, wait for the blowback patiently World never seemed like a fair place, bad people got the nicest things Same s**t playing on the airwaves, naked girls, diamond rings All my life been a good kid, so what I got a broken car Moved my shit out of Brooklyn, laughed out loud, fell apart Money’s overrated, sex ain’t hard to find We’re not in love, since when is that a crime
“Thicker Than Dust” comes from K.Flay’s debut album Life as a Dog. Most songs on this album are brilliant, and many of them examine the nuances of camaraderie. But “Thicker Than Dust” provides are more biting commentary: this song directly criticizes traditional expectations of wealth and success. K.Flay doesn’t hold back: “F*** living life in an office” she sings before wondering about the nature of existence (“we look better with the stars out, waking up to go to sleep again”). The song expresses no interest in extreme glamour; in fact, K.Flay’s lyrics actively dismiss it. The song even takes some jabs at music that glorifies wealth: “Same sh*t playing on the airwaves, naked girls, diamond rings.” (Looking at you, Robin Thicke.)
Need for More
The pop-adjacent anti-wealth protest genre is still fairly small, but we need it now more than ever. For every K.Flay, there is a Finance Bro ready to talk about wealth on a podcast. It’s been over ten years since “Thift Shop” was released, and the world could benefit from another upbeat reminder that tunnel-visioned views of wealth, status, luxury, and glamour are overrated—and maybe dangerous.
Know of any other anti-wealth songs? Let us know!
Ben Boruff is a co-founder of Big B and Mo’ Money. Read more at BenBoruff.com.
Bonus Song
“Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” by Good Charlotte (2002)
Lifestyles of the rich and the famous They’re always complaining, always complaining If money is such a problem Well, they got mansions, think we should rob them
The Cable Guy is a 1996 dark comedy about an unstable cable installer played by Jim Carrey. As a kid, I didn’t think much of the movie. I felt claustrophobic watching it. Directed by Ben Stiller and produced by Judd Apatow, The Cable Guy showcases the psyche of a guy who refuses to respect his new friend’s personal space. It’s like What About Bob? (1991) with violence and a trip to Medieval Times. Or like Alfonso Cuarón’s Gravity (2013) if you replaced the deadly emptiness of space with uncountable copies of your most annoying friend.
But it’s also more than that. The Cable Guy is an examination of our relationships with media. Like Community‘s Abed Nadir, Gilmore Girls‘s Lorelai Gilmore, and The Big Bang Theory‘s Sheldon Cooper, the Cable Guy processes his world through the lens of visual storytelling—i.e. movies, television shows, and video games. Stories aren’t just stories. They’re a roadmap for interacting with others in real life.
At the film’s climactic moment, the Cable Guy holds his friend Steven’s girlfriend hostage at the top of a massive satellite dish. When Steven tries to intervene, the Cable Guy smiles and says, “This is a pretty cool place for an ending . . . It’s like that movie Goldeneye.”
Steven yells back, exasperated, “No, it’s not! It’s not ‘like’ anything! This isn’t a movie. This is reality. There’s a difference!”
Then, silhouetted by the bright lights of a police helicopter and standing at the edge of the multi-story satellite dish, the Cable Guy looks up and yells to the sky:
You were never there for me, were you mother? You expected Mike and Carol Brady to raise me! I’m the bastard son of Claire Huxtable! I am a lost Cunningham! I learned the facts of life from watching The Facts of Life! Oh, God!
Later, in an interview, Jim Carrey noted that The Cable Guy was one of his favorite films and expressed special fondness for the protagonist: “I love that character. That character is all of us: we were all raised by the TV.”
To be clear, none of us should scream about The Brady Bunch on the top of a satellite dish (unless that’s your thing). But there is something compelling about the story of a man who leaned a bit too far into his television-fueled fantasies. Because I think Jim Carrey was right, sort of. With the rise of streaming and the explosion of online content, The Cable Guy‘s message is more relevant now than it was in 1996. Parasocial relationships are common now, and several studies have revealed links between media consumption and perceptions of others. You may not actively think of film scenes when making moral decisions, but research shows that the films and media you watch impact skills like empathy and problem-solving.
I was reminded recently that there is no such thing as mindless scrolling or viewing. Our brains absorb everything we put in front of our eyes, even if it happens in ways we don’t comprehend. So it makes sense that we should analyze the types of media we experience. If the movies and shows I watch impact my perception of the world, I should examine which movies and shows I experience.
Below is an analysis of every movie, television show, video game, and feature-length YouTube video I experienced for the first time in 2024. The data is first, then an analysis, and then a comprehensive list of everything I experienced.
The Data
Of the films I watched for the first time in 2024:
3% are musicals
3% are Westerns
7% are romance films
9% are horror films
9% are animated films
15% are comedies
16% are international (primarily non-US) films
31% are action, thriller, or adventure films
33% are science fiction or fantasy films
33% are films that released in 2024
34% are documentaries
45% feature women protagonists and/or women-driven stories (though only 27% were directed by women)
Of the television show seasons I watched for the first time in 2024:
12% are historical dramas or comedies
16% are reality television shows
27% are animated shows
39% are comedies
40% are science fiction or fantasy shows
47% are dramas (not reality television)
65% feature women protagonists
Analysis
Documentary Film Explosion: In 2019, only 12% of the films I watched were documentaries. In 2018, only 6% were documentaries. In 2024, an impressive 34% of the films I watched for the first time were documentaries. I am not entirely sure why documentary films clicked with me in 2024. Perhaps the increase is the result of a newly fueled desire to remain emotionally and intellectually tethered to the very real and very chaotic happenings on this planet. Perhaps my rate of documentary consumption mirrored my increased interest in podcasts about real-life topics. (I recommend Devil in the Dorm, The Retrievals, The King Road Killings, and White Devil.) Perhaps Brian Cox’s speech from Adaptation (2002) finally sunk in. Whatever the reason, I’m proud of the increased number of documentary films. Surely, there is value in exploring real-life stories. Of all the documentaries I watched this year, these seven stand out: Ballerina (2016), The Waiting Room (2012), The Truth vs. Alex Jones (2024), The Greatest Night in Pop (2024), Bad Faith (2024), Skywalkers: A Love Story (2024), and Cirque du Soleil: Without a Net (2022).
Need for International Films and Non-Male Directors: Most years, my international film exposure plateaus at 15-20%, and 2024 was no exception. Additionally, only 27% of the films I watched were directed by women. Both pieces of data highlight areas of needed improvement. My 2024 movie-watching experience was primarily U.S.-centric and directed by men. Though my percentage of women-directed films (27%) is higher than some national trends—”women accounted for just 16% of directors working on the 250 highest-grossing domestic releases” in 2024, according to Variety—this is nonetheless a percentage that I aim to increase in the future. And I would love to break beyond 20% for international releases in 2025. The good news: according to Axios, “Americans are consuming more foreign content than ever.” I hope this trend continues.
Planting Seeds of Horror, History, and the West: Though horror (9%) and Western (3%) films did not dominate my 2024 movie-viewing experiences, I did watch more than previous years. (I watched notably fewer animated films—just 9%—than previous years. In 2019, animated films were at 16%.) And 12% of my new television show experiences were from the historical fiction genre. This is a mild departure from my usually tunnel-visioned focus on science fiction and fantasy. In 2019, 40% of the films I watched for the first time were science fiction, fantasy, or apocalyptic movies. In 2018, that number was 45%. In 2024, only 33% of the films I watched for the first time were science fiction or fantasy films. Science fiction and fantasy remain my favorite genres, but I find myself branching out more recently, which is exciting. The fact that I watched more documentary films (34%) than science fiction and/or fantasy films (33%) for the first time in 2024 is notably bonkers. I don’t imagine I will ever become a true horror aficionado, but it’s nice to know that my interests are still evolving. And the Western films I watched—particularly Unforgiven(1992),The Quick and the Dead (1995), andThe Ballad of Lefty Brown (2017)—were some of my favorite new experiences. Plus, I absolutely loved the historical television dramas Black Sails and Victoria.
Complete Lists of All Media Experienced in 2024 Are Below
LIST OF FILMS WATCHED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 2024
The Platform (2019) dir. Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia The First Purge (2018) dir. Gerard McMurray Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom (2023) dir. James Wan Ted (2012) dir. Seth MacFarlane Ted 2 (2015) dir. Seth MacFarlane Wonka(2023) dir. Paul King John Wick: Chapter 2(2017) dir. Chad Stahelski John Wick: Chapter 3—Parabellum (2019) dir. Chad Stahelski John Wick: Chapter 4(2023) dir. Chad Stahelski The Lady Vanishes(1938) dir. Alfred Hitchcock The Bleeding Edge (2018) dir. Kirby Dick Crazy, Not Insane(2020) dir. Alex Gibney The Marvels (2023) dir. Nia DaCosta Mission: Impossible (1996) dir. Brian De Palma Mission: Impossible II (2000) dir. John Woo In the Shadow of the Moon (2019) dir. Jim Mickle Life (2017) dir. Daniel Espinosa Poisoned: The Dirty Truth About Your Food (2023) dir. Stephanie Soechtig Coded Bias (2020) dir. Shalini Kantayya Mister Organ (2022) dir. David Farrier Boys State (2020) dir Jesse Moss, Amanda McBaine Miller’s Girl(2024) dir. Jade Halley Bartlett Hellraiser(2022) dir. David Bruckner Spaceman (2024) dir. Johan Renck Next Goal Wins (2023) dir. Taika Waititi Last Knights (2015) dir. Kazuaki Kiriya Hellraiser(1987) dir. Clive Barker Dune: Part Two (2024) dir. Denis Villeneuve The Last Voyage of the Demeter(2023) dir. André Øvredal Ballerina (2016) dir. Douglas Watkin The Zone of Interest(2023) dir. Jonathan Glazer Queenpins(2021) dir. Aron Gaudet, Gita Pullapilly The Secret Life of the Cruise (2018) dir. Ben Ryder Nintendo Quest: The Most Unofficial and Unauthorized Nintendo Documentary Ever! (2015) dir. Rob McCallum Hell of a Cruise (2022) dir. by Nick Quested Solitary: Inside Red Onion State Prison(2016) dir. Kristi Jacobson The Anthrax Attacks: In the Shadow of 9/11(2022) dir. Dan Krauss The Waiting Room (2012) dir. Peter Nicks The Last Tourist(2021) dir. Tyson Sadler Pharma Bro(2021) dir. Brent Hodge Persona: The Dark Truth Behind Personality Tests (2021) dir. Tim Travers Hawkins WeWork: Or The Making and Breaking of a $47 Billion Unicorn (2021) dir. Jed Rothstein Brandy Hellville & the Cult of Fast Fashion(2024) dir. Eva Orner BS High(2023) dir. Travon Free, Martin Desmond Roe 15 Minutes of Shame (2021) dir. Max Joseph American Pain (2022) dir. Darren Foster The Truth vs. Alex Jones (2024) dir. Dan Reed Rebel Moon – Part Two: The Scargiver (2024) dir. Zack Snyder The Cold Blue(2018) dir. Erik Nelson Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths – Part One(2024) dir. Jeff Wamester God Forbid: The Sex Scandal That Brought Down a Dynasty (2022) dir. Billy Corben A Compassionate Spy (2022) dir. Steve James Enemies of the State(2020) dir. Sonia Kennebeck After Truth: Disinformation and the Cost of Fake News (2020) dir. Andrew Rossi Hans Zimmer: Hollywood Rebel(2022) dir. Francis Hanly Hellboy II: The Golden Army(2008) dir. Guillermo del Toro Triangle of Sadness (2022) dir. Ruben Östlund The Greatest Night in Pop (2024) dir. Bao Nguyen The Final: Attack on Wembley (2024) dir. Robert Miller, Kwabena Oppong What Jennifer Did (2024) dir. Jenny Popplewell Challengers (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino My Old School (2022) dir. Jono McLeod Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga(2024) dir. George Miller Butterfly in the Sky: The Story of Reading Rainbow(2022) dir. Bradford Thomason MoviePass, MovieCrash(2024) dir. Muta’Ali Theater Camp(2023) dir. Molly Gordon, Nick Lieberman Civil War (2024) dir. Alex Garland Love Lies Bleeding(2024) dir. Rose Glass Boy Kills World (2023) dir. Moritz Mohr Outstanding: A Comedy Revolution(2024) dir. Page Hurwitz Hate to Love: Nickelback(2023) dir. Leigh Brooks They Called Him Mostly Harmless (2024) dir. Patricia E. Gillespie The Croods (2013) dir. Chris Sanders, Kirk DeMicco Lilo & Stitch (2002) dir. Chris Sanders, Dean DeBlois Time Bomb Y2K(2023) dir. Marley McDonald, Brian Becker The Croods: A New Age (2020) dir. Joel Crawford Bad Faith (2024) dir. Stephen Ujlaki, Chris Jones IF(2024) dir. John Krasinski The Sunset Limited(2011) dir. Tommy Lee Jones Wish(2023) dir. Chris Buck, Fawn Veerasunthorn The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare(2024) dir. Guy Ritchie Inside Out 2 (2024) dir. Kelsey Mann Wild Wild Space (2024) dir. Ross Kauffman Skywalkers: A Love Story(2024) dir. Jeff Zimbalist, Maria Bukhonina Bones and All (2022) dir. Luca Guadagnino Molli and Max in the Future (2023) dir. Michael Lukk Litwak Cirque du Soleil: Without a Net(2022) dir. Dawn Porter A Quiet Place: Day One(2024) dir. Michael Sarnoski Sorry/Not Sorry(2023) dir. Cara Mones, Caroline Suh Deadpool & Wolverine (2024) dir. Shawn Levy Touch (2011) dir. Minh Duc Nguyen Trap (2024) dir. M. Night Shyamalan Fall (1997) dir. Eric Schaeffer BookendS (2016) dir. Delavega Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths – Part Two (2024) dir. Jeff Wamester Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths – Part Three(2024) dir. Jeff Wamester Solomon Kane (2009) dir. M.J. Bassett Borderlands (2024) dir. Eli Roth Suncoast (2024) dir. Laura Chinn Coup!(2023) dir. Austin Stark, Joseph Schuman Army of Darkness(1992) dir. Sam Raimi Gentlemen Broncos(2009) dir. Jared Hess Uprising (2024) dir. Kim Sang-man Lux Æterna(2019) dir. Gaspar Noé The Quick and the Dead(1995) dir. Sam Raimi Kung Fu Panda 4 (2024) dir. Mike Mitchell Sleep Call (2023) dir. Fajar Nugros Girls State (2024) dir. Amanda McBaine, Jesse Moss We’re All Going to the World’s Fair(2021) dir. Jane Schoenbrun It’s What’s Inside (2024) dir. Greg Jardin Fat Girl(2001) dir. Catherine Breillat Overlord(2018) dir. Julius Avery Land of Bad (2024) dir. William Eubank Attack the Block (2011) dir. Joe Cornish Despicable Me 4(2024) dir. Chris Renaud, Patrick Delage Abigail (2024) dir. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, Tyler Gillett Chris Brown: A History of Violence (2024) dir. Investigation Discovery Unforgiven(1992) dir. Clint Eastwood The Ballad of Lefty Brown(2017) dir. Jared Moshe 3:10 to Yuma(2007) dir. James Mangold Rumours (2024) dir. Guy Maddin, Evan Johnson, Galen Johnson Wicked (2024) dir. Jon M. Chu Conclave (2024) dir. Edward Berger Dream Scenario (2023) dir. Kristoffer Borgli Buy Now! The Shopping Conspiracy(2024) dir. Nic Stacey Joker: Folie à Deux (2024) dir. Todd Phillips Ice Age: Continental Drift(2012) dir. Steve Martino, Michael Thurmeier Anatomy of a Fall (2023) dir. Justine Triet Transformers One(2024) dir. Josh Cooley Child Star (2024) dir. Demi Lovato, Nicola Marsh Noelle (2019) dir. Marc Lawrence Nomadland(2020) dir. Chloé Zhao The Wheel(2021) dir. Steve Pink Stars at Noon(2022) dir. Claire Denis Carry-On(2024) dir. Jaume Collet-Serra Prey (2022) dir. Dan Trachtenberg Lou (2022) dir. Anna Foester
LIST OF TV SHOW SEASONS WATCHED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 2024
Peacemaker, S1 Survivor, S25, S26, S29, S36, S38, S39, S45, S47 Miracle Workers, S3, S4 Industry, S2, S3 Archer, S14 Hazbin Hotel, S1 Rick and Morty, S7 South Side, S2 Abbott Elementary, S2 Invincible, S2 Gary and His Demons, S1, S2 Bob’s Burgers, S13 Fallout, S1 Star Trek: Discovery, S5 Blood of Zeus, S2 Black Sails, S1, S2, S3, S4 Tires, S1 The Boys, S4 House of the Dragon, S2 Kite Man: Hell Yeah!, S1 The Decameron, S1 Angie Tribeca, S1 Victoria, S1 ER, S10, S11 Solar Opposites, S5 All of Us Are Dead, S1 Very Important People, S1 Boldly Going Nowhere, Unaired Pilot The Penguin, S1 Twilight of the Gods, S1 The Legend of Vox Machina, S3 The Franchise, S1 Arcane, S2 Dune: Prophecy, S1 Secret Level, S1
LIST OF VIDEO GAMES BEAT IN 2024
Super Mario Odyssey(Nintendo Switch) – beat Disco Elysium(Nintendo Switch) – beat: Sorry Cop; Recruit Detective Kim Kitsuragi Rust (Xbox) – “beat” i.e. defended medium solo base against multi-player rocket raid Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords (Nintendo Switch) – beat Far Cry 5 (Xbox) – beat Fallout: New Vegas (Xbox) – beat: Yes Man independent New Vegas ending Dragon’s Dogma: Dark Arisen (Nintendo Switch) – beat Fallout 3 (Xbox) – beat: good karma; Fawkes hero ending Slay the Princess (PC) – beat: “Through Conflict” and “There are no endings” ending The Coffin of Andy and Leyley (PC) – beat: ep. 1, 2 Skyrim (Xbox) – beat: Alduin and Stormcloak questlines The Quarry(Xbox) – beat: RIP Laura, Ryan, Jacob; (Kaitlyn survived, which was literally all I cared about) The Dark Pictures: Man of Medan(Xbox) – beat: everybody survived West of Loathing (Nintendo Switch) – beat Gears 5 (Xbox) – beat Borderlands (Xbox) – beat Far Cry Primal(Xbox) – beat Baldur’s Gate 3 (PC) – beat: Shadowheart left Shar; killed Raphael; freed Orpheus; Ceremorphosis; destroyed the Netherbrain; went to Avernus with Karlach to save her life; go-to team Lae’zel, Wyll, Gale Borderlands 2(Xbox) – beat The Outer Worlds (Xbox) – beat: Welles ending; Adelaide McDevitt replaced Reed Tobson; sided with Halcyon Helen; established peace; saved Phineas; became leader Cyberpunk 2077(Xbox) – beat: left Night City with the Aldecaldos
YOUTUBE VIDEOS (VIDEOS & VIDEO ESSAYS OVER 45 MINUTES AND/OR OF NOTABLE QUALITY) WATCHED IN 2024
Trigger warning: Some of the stories discussed contain sensitive content.
Years ago, per a recommendation, I read Earthlings by Sayaka Murata. I have not been able to get it out of my mind since.
I’ve seen reviews that call Earthlings “bizarre” and “off,” but those words do little to represent the novel’s startling content. Murata’s epic story of an unconventional girl-turned-woman who believes that she may be an alien from another planet contains [trigger warnings and mild spoilers] instances of child abuse, incest, and cannibalism, among other things. Any Stephen King novel could be described as a bit “bizarre”; Murata’s book is something else entirely. A Goodreads review by a user named Robin offers an effective explanation:
If I try to explain what happens in the plot, I will sound insane. And it is. The plot is outrageous and over the top – the oppression, the abuse, and then the equally shocking response to it. It’s wild, fearless, and what makes it even stranger is that it’s told in this completely simple, straightforward, conversational tone. It draws you in, with the ease of a YA novel. You almost think, hey, this is about 11 year old kids. I’m not that interested. But don’t be fooled… it’s about to get about as dark and twisted as your worst nightmare.
And Earthlings isn’t the only Murata-written tale to accomplish this: Sayaka Murata’s slightly less extreme novel Convenience Story Woman (which I read immediately after Earthlings) shares many themes. Wired‘s Thu-Huong Ha describes the plot of the story:
[Convenience Store Woman] is told from the perspective of Keiko, a 36-year-old woman who has never had sex or held a real job and has no particular interest in either. The romance between Keiko and her place of employment is oddly moving, as is her quiet bewilderment over purpose and personhood. Keiko is happy and content, but her family worries about her. To get them off her back, she starts a sham relationship with a misogynistic coworker with whom she shares a mutual loathing. Though the reality is horrible, the setup appears conventional. Her family is thrilled.
In both stories, antagonists are everywhere, but the accusatory fingers of the narratives are pointed primarily at society—or, more specifically, at the “machine of society,” as Keiko says. Keiko (the protagonist of Convenience Store Woman) and Natsuki (the protagonist of Earthlings) are both extreme outcasts, either actively resisting societal norms or consciously mimicking them to the point of unintentional parody in attempts to avoid confrontation. And let’s be clear, Keiko and Natsuki are not outcasts in the same way as your awkward friend or your cousin who wears only black: Keiko and Natsuki are fundamentally at odds with the acceptable systems of the world. In many scenes, Keiko and Natsuki can’t even see the Overton window of societal norms—it’s too far away. Keiko and Natsuki make Holden Caulfield look like Harry Potter.
That’s the point, in part. Sayaka Murata has described wanting “to write from the perspective of someone who defied conventional thinking, particularly in a conformist society where people are expected to fulfill preordained roles.” Like a less troublesome version of Flannery O’Connor, Murata forces her readers to look deep into the eyes of individuals who categorically do not have a place in traditionally organized society (or “The Factory,” as Natsuki calls it). She holds the strange and the uncomfortable in front of our face, and she dares us to find something to appreciate.
Sayaka Nurata’s anti-society, anti-othering messages are crucial today. Luckily for us, Nurata is not the only artist who is making this commentary.
Bones and All, a romantic horror film from Luca Guadagnino (director of Suspiria and Challengers), echoes the anti-orthodox themes of Earthlings. Even on the surface, the similarities are apparent: both stories contain child abuse, cannibalism, and more. But deeper into the narrative is where the value lies. The protagonist of the film is Maren Yearly, a cannibalistic teenager who finds herself alone in the world. After Maren’s unnatural proclivities cause her father to leave, she finds herself drawn to a young man and fellow cannibal named Lee.
In Bones and All, cannibals are portrayed as a marginalized group, similar to how vampires are portrayed in popular media like Twilight and Baldur’s Gate 3: some are bad and some are good—but all are misunderstood. The cannibals’ need to feed is not quite like TV’s Dexter and his “dark passenger” that makes him kill criminals: Dexter’s desires are singular, focused, and able to be manipulated for good, unlike the cannibalistic nature of Maren and Lee. The cannibalism of Bones and All cannot be used for good: it can only be managed and understood. It is more of an identity than a temptation. In the film, all cannibals seem to be social outcasts, and most of them are aggressively cynical about society. But their cynicism is nuanced. Director Luca Guadagnino and writer David Kajganich refuse to clearly articulate the cause-and-effect relationship. Is the cynicism a result of their ostracization due to cannibalism? Or do they have other reasons for distrusting society?
And in the face of that muddy, bloody mess exists a remarkably sensitive and compelling romance—a notable M&M of positivity among the raisin-filled trail mix of death and systemic marginalization. Many viewers will find their attention drifting toward the romance and away from the horror. In other words, the film humanizes the teenage cannibals.
Robin, the Goodreads user from before, has more to say about the horrific whimsy of Earthlings‘ Natsuki, and this excerpt explains the positivity that can arise after placing wholly uncomfortable situations in front of the faces of audience members:
It’s freaky because as crazy as the main characters’ actions seem, I supported them. Why? Because living in “The Factory” – society – isn’t easy. Don’t you ever feel like an alien? I sure as hell do. Don’t you ever feel like you’d rather die than conform to what is expected of you? Or if you do, doesn’t it feel like a slow death? “The Factory” is often propagated most by those closest to us. I lived this way, so you need to, too. This is what you do now, and this is what you do next, and there’s no room for you if you don’t. There’s no room in the factory for individuality. For those healing from scars or trauma. For those who have a unique-to-them path. Murata’s characters make room. This story is told vastly outside the box. And I love it because of that.
It’s easy to be kind to outcasts when the “outcasts” you talk to are fairly ordinary. If your “outcast” sounds like Mean Girls‘ Janis, Superbad‘s Fogell, or James Dean from Rebel Without a Cause, are you really even talking to an outcast? All of those characters, while regrettably marginalized or shunned to a degree, still function effectively within the traditional structures of society. Writer Sayaka Murata and director Luca Guadagnino challenge us to look even further into the dark corners of society. Don’t just look for the person who is sitting alone in the room—look for the person who’s not even in the building. And then see if your supposedly welcoming and open-minded mentality still holds up.
Can you look into the eyes of those who reject everything about your societal norms and comforts? And can you do so without blinking?
Can you look at Keiko and Natsuki and Maren and Lee and see a human being worthy of love and acceptance?
There is a line, of course. Not all behaviors are acceptable. (It should go without saying: cannibalism is bad.) As John Oliver said, “The answer to ‘where you draw the line’ is literally always ‘somewhere.’ You draw it somewhere.” And then if you learn new information and need to redraw your line, you redraw your line.
The value of anti-othering art like Earthlings and Bones and All—the type of art that forces you to look at the strangest of society—is that it challenges us to evaluate where we have drawn our lines. Neither Murata nor Guadagnino wants you to appreciate cannibalism. But they do want you to consider why you might be shunning real-life individuals as if they were cannibals.
P.S. There’s so much more to say about these types of anti-othering stories. A (capital “R”) Romantic reading of Earthlings and Convenience Store Woman, for example, would note Murata’s use of mechanical imagery when describing the operations of society. Romantic-era thinkers celebrated individualism, natural beauty, and imagination over the “experience” of the industrialized world. Also, John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men could contribute to some of these ideas. Earthlings, Bones and All, and Of Mice and Men all feature aggressively marginalized characters—and all three stories qualify as tragedies. That is certainly worth dissecting.
Ben Boruff is a co-founder of Big B and Mo’ Money. Read more at BenBoruff.com.
2023’s Wish is an unfocused, poorly crafted film, but it contains one of Disney’s most important messages.
A line from Ethan Hawke’s The Hottest State summarizes a nearly universal struggle: “. . . when you’re a kid, everyone, all the world, encourages you to follow your dreams. But when you’re older, somehow they act offended if you even try.” We all know this to be true. Think back to your elementary school experience. Remember the kids who wanted to explore astronomy and self-expression and art. The kids who wanted to change the world. Remember the parents and teachers and inspirational speakers who told you to shoot for the stars. They told you that you could be anything you wanted to be. They told you to dream big. The you-can-do-anything rhetoric was everywhere. It was inescapable.
Now, try to pinpoint the moment when people stopped telling you to dream big. For many of us, it was in high school around the time we started applying for colleges and jobs. Our well-intentioned guardians and counselors began to steer us toward practicality. They didn’t condemn our dreams at first; no, they suggested small adjustments to account for their perceptions of possibility. “Put it off for just a year.” “You can do that just as a hobby for now.” “At least have a backup plan.” “Try this first.” So we began to make concessions—small at first, perhaps, but the concessions grew. In size and number. We slowly chipped away at our once big, star-focused dreams until they became bite-sized—until they became something our mentors could digest comfortably.
This is a common story. But why? Are parents and teachers lying to elementary students about their potential? Are big dreams simply fables we tell kids—like Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy—to add a bit of fabricated excitement into their young lives? Or do guardians genuinely believe in lofty ambitions but second-guess themselves as their children grow up—so they instinctively fall back to the Alamo of digestible mediocrity?
Wish offers an answer: Big dreams are difficult and complicated. Life is simpler—and perhaps even happier at times—without them.
This is the initial motivation of Magnifico, Wish‘s villain. Magnifico’s characterization gets muddied as the film progresses—his intentions become less nuanced after the film’s first act—but his opening scenes offer a fascinating take on the reality of ambition. During his first interactions with Asha, the film’s young and admirably wide-eyed protagonist, Magnifico explains that people move to his city because they “can’t make their own dreams come true: the journey’s too hard, it is too unfair.” When Asha wonders if the citizens could try controlling their own destinies, Magnifico dismisses her supposed naivete: “Well, you’re young. You don’t know anything, really.”
Some background: King Magnifico is a sorcerer who created the kingdom of Rosas on an island in the Mediterranean Sea and promised happiness and prosperity to his citizens as long as each new citizen gave their wish (dream) to him. Citizens do not remember their abandoned wishes. Once a month, Magnifico grants the wish of a citizen. This monthly ceremony is widely celebrated until Asha learns that Magnifico has no desire to grant certain wishes.
Hidden within that plot is Magnifico’s genuine desire to help his citizens: “You’ve completely missed the point. . . . They give their wishes to me, willingly, and I make it so they forget their worries.” In the scene following that line, two new arrivals willingly give their wishes to Magnifico. “It’s a real weight off, isn’t it?” Magnifico says. And in the early stages of the film, Asha’s own grandfather echo’s Magnifico’s sentiments, growing angry when Asha tries to give him back a dream that he knows will likely not come true.
When Magnifico sings his part of “At All Costs,” then, he is not attempting to deceive Asha: he sincerely believes that he is protecting the dreams (and, by extension, the dreamers) from the harshness of reality. When he sings, “I will protect you at all costs / Keep you safe here in my arms,” he is expressing a desire to shelter his citizens from their own ambitions. Their dreams are beautiful, but their dreams are also dangerous. So, according to Magnifico, it’s better if the wishes are locked away and forgotten.
Ignore the last half of the film for a moment and consider how much this perception of Magnifico resembles the guardians, teachers, counselors, and friends who suggested that you change, alter, adapt, or delay your dreams. They wanted what is best for you, but they defined “best” in the context of predictability and practicality. Your dreams were beautiful, but they were also difficult and complicated. So they nudged you consistently toward a more simplistically blissful existence.
“It’s a real weight off, isn’t it?” they may have said when you passively took their advice.
But remember: Magnifico is the villain.
Wish argues (somewhat incoherently) that all individuals deserve the opportunity to follow their dreams—no matter how difficult, complicated, impractical, or unpredictable they may be. Wish asserts that robbing someone of that opportunity is an act of villainy. (Side note: This topic is complex: many individuals have obligations and circumstances that necessitate adaptation. And many guardians, teachers, and others are attempting to compassionately steer loved ones away from likely heartache. Caring for someone else is not easy. But when that love keeps someone from exploring their passions, it becomes problematic.)
The importance of this message cannot be overstated. We exist amid an epidemic of dreamlessness fueled by misguided pragmatism, and it will not get better until we face some hard truths. Well-intentioned or not, persuading someone to abandon or castrate their dream is regrettable. Consider this poem from Langston Hughes:
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.
Lofty ambitions are essential to life. Without them, we are not us. Without them, we have lost something that helps define who we are (i.e. a flightless bird or a barren field). Despite its thematic inconsistencies, Wish does a wonderful job of depicting this loss.
So what do we do? We push back. Following your dreams is not as simple as making a choice: it requires daily attention and energy. It’s like swimming upstream against a raging river—forever. Magnifico was right: dreams are a troublesome business. It’s much easier to forget them. So if you want to follow yours, you have to fight consciously and actively to keep them.
In Wish, the spirit of this fight is embodied by the song “Knowing What I Know Now.” As they sing, Asha and her friends prepare to challenge Magnifico and retrieve their dreams. The lyrics acknowledge the possibility of failure (“And who, who knows if we’ll succeed?”) while reinforcing the drive to try (“But we / Won’t stop and we won’t retreat or turn ’round”). In this way, “Knowing What I Know Now” operates as a Disney version of Dylan Thomas’s “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night“: it reminds us that dreams should not be given up easily.
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Ben Boruff is a co-founder of Big B and Mo’ Money. Read more at BenBoruff.com.
Don Delillo’s Cosmopolis is a vexingly slow-paced and pedantic critique of capitalism told from the perspective of a 28-year-old multi-billionaire as he rides in his high-tech limousine through downtown Manhattan to get a haircut. The protagonist’s journey is peppered with visits from business associates and high-level employees, including his “chief of theory” Vija Kinski.
In one scene, Kinski offers the multi-billionaire some advice on the nature of wealth:
The concept of property is changing by the day, by the hour. The enormous expenditures that people make for land and houses and boats and planes. This has nothing to do with traditional self-assurances, okay. Property is no longer about power, personality and command. It’s not about vulgar display or tasteful display. Because it no longer has weight or shape. The only thing that matters is the price you pay. Yourself, Eric, think. What did you buy for your one hundred and four million dollars? Not dozens of rooms, incomparable views, private elevators. Not the rotating bedroom and computerized bed. Not the swimming pool or the shark. Was it air rights? The regulating sensors and software? Not the mirrors that tell you how you feel when you look at yourself in the morning. You paid the money for the number itself. One hundred and four million. This is what you bought. And it’s worth it. The number justifies itself.
For the super-rich, the value of wealth eventually transcends money. $20 billion. $50 billion. $100 billion. $5 quintillion. What does it matter? Because at some point, everything becomes accessible, so the act of acquiring feels less like a purchase and more like a gesture—a reminder of the fact that you can. A symbol of one’s transcendence from practical consumption to something else entirely.
Consider Chef Raffaele Ronca’s $5,000 cheesecake.
When I mention this dessert—which contains freshly imported vanilla beans and three shots of a 200-year-old cognac that costs $2,500 a bottle—to my high school students, they respond with understandable questions: Does it even taste good? Is it better than the Cheesecake Factory? Is it worth $5,000?
But those questions miss the point, right?
No cheesecake is worth $5,000. But the taste of the cheesecake is not the point. Even if the cheesecake tastes wildly better than its affordable counterparts, the taste of the cheesecake is still not the point. The exclusivity is the point. Chef Raffaele Ronca is not creating a culinary experience: he’s creating a conditional experience—and the condition is that you have $5,000 to casually spend on dessert one evening. And if you do have $5,000 to spend on a fairly small, one-time experience, then “spending” isn’t really the right word. It’s not a purchase in the same way that a family purchases a car or a student purchases pencils or a mother purchases baby clothes. If the cheesecake had a price tag of $10,000 or $20,000 or $100,000, some wealthy foodies would still buy it. Because it’s not about the taste or the ingredients. Because the act of acquiring the cheesecake is the victory. Because, as Vija Kinski says, “The number justifies itself.”
And this dynamic—the gap between extreme wealth and the rest of us—is part of my problem with Shark Tank.
An official ABC description of Shark Tank describes it as a “business-themed unscripted series that celebrates entrepreneurship in America.” Shark Tank is labelled as a “culturally defining series” that gives “people from all walks of life the chance to chase the American dream and potentially secure business deals that could make them millionaires.” And the producers promise radical change for individual entrepreneurs: “Whichever way the wheeling and dealing may go, many people’s lives will be better off – because they dared to enter the unpredictable waters of the Shark Tank.”
But Shark Tank is, ultimately, just a televised ode to capitalism and wealth disparity. Shark Tank is to American capitalism what the Hunger Games are to Panem’s violent social hierarchy.
Consider the basic premise of Shark Tank: a group of wealthy investors—Mark Cuban ($6.86 billion net worth in 2024), Kevin O’Leary ($400 million), Daymond John ($350 Million), Robert Herjavec ($300 million), Lori Grenier ($150 million), and Barbara Corcoran ($100 million)—hear pitches from entrepreneurs and decide in real time whether or not to invest. Shark Tank viewers are reminded every episode that the investors use their own money to make deals with entrepreneurs, meaning that the handshake deals made on the show presumably lead to legally binding contracts (at least some of the time) in which one or more multi-millionaires join the companies as stakeholders.
These deals lead to real money, and the investors benefit. In its first ten seasons, Shark Tank had “222 episodes, 895 pitches, 499 deals, $143.8m worth of invested capital, and nearly $1B in company valuations.” And as of 2023, the top eight successful products that received deals from Shark Tank investors earned a combined $1.2 billion in sales. The seven products that received deals during their episodes—Robert Herjavec invested in the Bouqs three years after the company appeared on Shark Tank—were offered an average of a $157,000 investment in exchange for an average stake of 18.9% in the company. (Not to mentioned that each Shark is paid approximately $50,000 per episode.)
The only individuals to consistently benefit from the show are the Sharks, so Shark Tank is really about rich folks getting richer. The Sharks undoubtedly profit off of their investments, and they do so while helping only a small handful of entrepreneurs with their businesses. A Forbes analysis of Shark Tank highlighted the frequency of deals dying after the credits roll: “. . . an analysis of 112 businesses offered deals on seasons 8 through 13 of the show reveals that roughly half those deals never close and another 15% end up with different terms once the cameras are turned off.” Here, the mirage of a good-natured show where “many people’s lives will be better off” begins to fade.
Shark Tank is a spectacle in which the wealthy profit off of the ideas of the non-wealthy, and the rich investors are portrayed as heroes for bothering to show up.
The show bottles capitalism in its most unregulated form—get money however and whenever possible—and sells it raw. “Ambition,” “power,” and “social mobility” in big letters on the package.
That’s the appeal.
Shark Tank is entertaining as hell because of its unapologetically glossy portrayal of American ambition and greed. It’s The Kardashians with investment portfolios. It’s Bling Empire with equity negotiations. It’s Billions without Paul Giamatti. Shark Tank is about the Sharks, not the entrepreneurs, because many middle-class Americans watch shows about wealthy Americans for some of the same reasons we watch documentaries about serial killers: we want to stare at the “other,” the person who is distinctly not us—but who, with a couple fantastical twists of fate, could be us. We are morbidly fascinated by the person for whom property “no longer has weight or shape” due to their extravagant wealth.
The Sharks, like the customers of Chef Raffaele Ronca, are playing a different game than the show presents. This is not a show of veteran entrepreneurs helping new entrepreneurs; no, Shark Tank is a show about the super-rich playing with the lives of non-rich individuals. For most of the guests who pitch their ideas, receiving $50,000 to $500,000 would be world-changing. For most of the Sharks, that money is nothing. It’s a number that yields a result. It has little practical value beyond the impact it has on the narrative of the episode, which is both the appeal and the problem of the show.
Shark Tank is troublesome because the show’s editing and advertising paint a picture of gallant investors who have agreed to bless normal folks with their advice, but the show is just a machine designed to benefit the rich judges—both financially and reputationally. American Idol has a similar gimmick, but American Idol is less problematic because 1) an American Idol judge’s personal wealth is not a fundamental element of the show and 2) American Idol has not made a spectacle of a weighty and often closed-door financial proposition. Singing competitions are inherently spectacular; data-oriented investment pitches are not.
Imagine a reality show in which cameras followed families as they applied for personal loans. We’d hear their stories, and we listen to the suit-and-tie bankers as they weighed the potential risk of approving loans for certain families. Sometimes, the banker would discover a flaw in the family’s application—unstable income or a wavering credit score due to medical debt—and the well-dressed banker would admonish the family for their sloppiness before stamping “DENIED” on their paper. I imagine the show would be called something simple and alliterative like Bank or Bust.
Shark Tank is more Bank or Bust than it is American Idol.
For the super-rich, the value of wealth eventually transcends money. So watching Kevin O’Leary mock a low-budget entrepreneur from Ohio feels icky. It’s punching down in its worst form. It’s the opposite of eating the rich: Shark Tank—as its name implies—is about the rich eating you.
It’s human nature, I suppose, to be intrigued by shark attacks. What’s weird is when we start rooting for the sharks.
Ben Boruff is a co-founder of Big B and Mo’ Money. Read more at BenBoruff.com.
A quick note from Ben Boruff, teacher and founder of this blog:
Author Neil Gaiman once said that the “joy of being an author is the joy of feeling I can do anything.” If writing is truly an act of limitlessness, as Gaiman describes, then it is a particularly valuable tool for those who feel limited. This is why, near the beginning of the coronavirus-related lockdown, I decided to host a friendly short story contest.
Shortly after the announcement of the Quarantine Short Story Contest, Chautauqua in the Dunes offered to partner with the event. We found some experienced educators to judge the event, and we invited all to participate.
Weeks later, we received many brilliant stories. All contestants should be proud of their submissions. And special congratulations to Kennedy Matchett, the winner of the Quarantine Short Story Competition. Thank you for sharing your impressive story with us!
The pilot episode of the Justice League television show—the seminal two-season animated show from the early 2000s—allows tension to build, slow and steady. The opening, pre-title scenes tease the enigmatic demise of a couple unsuspecting astronauts. After the theme song plays (and as our goosebumps of admiration slowly begin to subside), we see Batman. He moves in the shadows, stalking a few questionable scientists who are tinkering with unknown technology. More than five minutes into the first episode, Batman—equipped with Kevin Conroy’s stoic, limestone voice—says the Justice League’s first line: “I doubt that modification’s legal.” Thus begins a show about honor and justice.
Best Picture Parasite Honorable Mention: Jojo Rabbit
Best Actor Will win: Joaquin Phoenix, Joker
Should win: Adam Driver, Marriage Story
Should have been nominated: Adam Sandler, Uncut GemsContinue reading →
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