It's usually true that putting your phone down and walking away to touch grass is an effective way to weather an internet shitstorm. Unfortunately for Tallulah, it's also true that if you're even quasi-famous in Los Angeles, it's never quite that simple. Paulena's scathing TikTok about Tallulah being a fugly slut thief is an earthquake that shakes Tallulah and Maia to their cores; "Girl's Girl" traces the ripple effect of the aftershocks. For Maia, this is a make-or-break professional crisis.
The beauty writer Jessica DeFino refers often to the "mirror world" inside our phone, the uncanny, glistening selfieverse that's also become more real for many of its devotees than the lumpy, blotchy meatspace where the rest of us live. I thought about the mirror world while watching All's Fair, Ryan Murphy's new creative product-I can't call it a television show, because it isn't one.
Amy Griffin is the founder of G9 Ventures, an investment firm that has backed a slew of cool, woman-centric brands and startups including Goop, Spanx, and Bumble. She's a mother of four; the devoted wife of a strapping blond billionaire ex-hedgefunder; and a fixture in the Instagram tributes of the rich and famous ( Reese, Gwyneth, Mariska: they all sing Griffin's praises).
Alan Carr's days on The Celebrity Traitors looked perilous from the start. Just 32 minutes into the first episode, after the comedian had been selected as a "traitor", his body started to betray him. Beads of sweat began forming on his forehead, making his face shiny. "I thought I wanted to be a traitor but I have a sweating problem," he admitted to cameras. "And I can't keep a secret."
You know how I have much more swag than you? You do? Oh, come on. My half of the conversation is long and elegant and stylish and funny, but yours is always gruff and short and lazy. Hmm. See? What we have is a swag gap. I'm the cool one, and you aren't. It's an ill fit, and frankly I think we're doomed.
As well as being agreeable, I'm very authentic! Look at this body! All made to measure. Almond-shaped eyes: 80,000 pesetas[$566 or 480]. Nose: 200,000 [$1418 or 1200]. A waste of money. Another beating the following year left it looking like this. It gives me character, but if I'd known I wouldn't have touched it. She continues: Tits two, because I'm no monster 70,000 [$495 or 420] each. But I've more than earned that back.
The internet is frothing. This time, over Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce's engagement, a spectacle reminding us how celebrities function as wish machines. Us normies ride shotgun, living vicariously through the highest peaks and, at times, the lowest valleys, making up for our own grayscale lives. But, while Taylor and Travis are about as mainstream as you can get, in the 1990s there was a celebrity couple who catered for the eccentrics, misfits, and outsiders.
There is nothing more obvious than Ryan Boyajian - "entrepreneur," friend of money launderers, terrible jacket enthusiast, and connoisseur of "tits on a stick" (according to Tamra) - owning a Cybertruck. Of course, this man owns a Cybertruck. Of course. You can tell just by looking at him, just like you can tell by looking at Heather Dubrow, that she would probably order an ugly, logo-emblazoned Fendi bucket hat to wear to Coachella,
DeGeneres shared her experience of moving to rural Oxfordshire with her wife, Reveling in the decision made just before the election, despite the emotional fallout of peers back in the US.
"I asked some friends why they don't dance in public and some said because of the fear of being filmed. I thought damn, a natural form of expression and a certain connection they have with music is now a ghost."
The show knows that's why we love them. You can feel it straining against its moral imperative to educate us as to why these beasts are mostly harmless, necessary and misunderstood.