Some Golden Globes Hard Truths
What is there left to say after this? A lot.
I’m going to start with the hardest truth ….Barry Keoghan.
Barry is in his “it boy” era and I hope he enjoys it while it lasts, because something tells me that we’re not going to see him again. It Boyness is the fear of every man actor, the reason why Harry Styles keeps his fandom as far away from his personal life as he can. It’s a curse. It’ll turn you into a Colin Farrell, into an Andrew Garfield, into a Robert Pattinson, and force you to pivot your career into artful indies and psychological thriller flops, hoping someone else pops up on the It Boy conveyor belt for the masses to chase. Finally, three to six years later, you can re-emerge as the furrowed brow serious actor you’ve always wanted to be, where men walk up and shake your hand and girlie stans no longer stalk you in public.
It doesn’t help that he’s marinated in the costume for it and seasoned perfectly for Gen Z tastebuds. The spiked hair, bronzer, quirky clothes, bronzer, the strange pants, and the profound level of queer baiting only a straight man whose only ever been linked to straight women can deliver. He is now the one they call “baby girl,” and I know somewhere Pedro Pascal is using his good arm to high five his publicist and his bad arm to caress his agent.
This is, like, not really on topic, and I don’t know if it’s because COVID numbers are ticking north, but why do I feel like I’ve seen Pedro Pascal kiss a dozen people this week?
We all saw Willem Defoe, but wasn’t there a Mark Ruffalo in there, too?
The vibe is mono. The vibe is sickly. 2023 me would’ve never said this, but I don’t think Pedro is a kiss I would risk my body’s PH for at this point in my growth journey.
Just Skip It
Strategically, though, let’s all applaud Jacob Elordi’s absence. My tall prince just gets it. I don’t know if he’s filming anything. I don’t know if he just took a sick day, but him not being there was one of the best moves for the night.
Does he need to schmooze? No. Was he dying to get his photo taken? Hope not. Was even nominated? No clue. Deciding not to be a media prop or a guarantee for a Twitter trend or an awkward face in the background of a viral video about [insert whatever celebrity’s] awkward face makes me proud. I treat him like he’s a player in my fantasy league.
Jennifer Lopez…………?
I saw a video of Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Award Winner Jennifer Lopez rushing past fans without a wave or smile. Even Leo waved. I’m not deep in my hater era, but just always surprised at the access and invites she maintains, and the tier the industry allows her to stay at. All despite low-to-no real contributions to the art. Like, spending $100,000*1 on hair and make up and stylists and publicists and #teams and you’re not nominated, but just there being famous? Dragging her actual award-winning husband along even though it always looks like he’d rather be buried alive than be anywhere. Also, her wearing bubblegum pink in the year of Barbie? You will not do to Margot Robbie what you did to Ashanti, et al.
Hollywood’s Change or Die Era Is Here
My most ulcer-inducing gripe with celebrity lately is their persistent pretending that their role, or their dress, or the multi-million dollar earrings borrowed from [whatever jeweler] are doing the world some sort of service. Pretending that being at a party, talking to E! brings us some sort of joy, comfort, or necessary escapism is the delusion of a post-October 7th Hollywood. Of an industry who signed their letters of genocide support, who are too spineless to publicly change their minds, and who surely regret those 360-degree deals that now require them to be ever-present lifestyle brands and not the mysterious, reclusive figures who could simply and silently disappear to Idaho between films and crisis.
Now they’re stuck posting their recipes and dogs and their glam squads and their likeable little lives peppered with jet stops between their little (very big) homes to keep the money coming in. To promote the skincare lines they created while rich and bored, and the products they now have to sell. Their red carpet and party schedules remain in tact even if actual film projects don’t, and it all happens in a tiny glass bubble that we’re all just waiting to crack. Just me, you, and they’re freshly blacklisted peers sitting with us here on the outside.
Viral Desperation & White Priority
The amount of effort put into digital appeal climbed to a suffocating level of cringe. The obvious producers and cameramen rushing to find any clip, any soundbite, any moment under 60 seconds they can throw up on the internet and go viral with. Staging cameras directly in front of their white favorites, “the sure bets,” as to not miss a moment. Pre-pairing a library of TikTok sounds for each clip and helping Twitter along with fake drama to make the off-camera aspects seem just as exciting as the bore on air. Where moments and speeches from actual nominees and actual winners played almost secondary roles.
I just, like, don’t care about Selena Gomez no matter how many bridges of opportunity Taylor Swift secures for her, and I don’t care what face Taylor is making at any given moment.
Which brings me to my last point: stop treating black winners like afterthoughts.
It’s both fan accounts and entertainment publishers hashtagging Jeremy Allen White’s name first on a video of just Ayo Edebiri (aka my TikTok friend) and her speech.
It’s unserious reporters throwing that man’s panty campaign in on the girl’s moment.
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It’s feeds that look like this for three days before publishers finally get around to making content about the rest of us, then, of course, franticly posting clips of Ayo after realizing she’s trending.
That might only just cover Chris Appleton’s day rate.
"Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Award Winner, Jennifer Lopez..." ☠️
Spot on .... as always