Reneé Rapp vs. Buddy the Bus Driver
Reneé Rapp vs. Buddy the Bus Driver
The Mean Girls press tour is so unserious.
Keep scrolling for the return of RushTok.
Reneé Rapp is going viral for her lack of media training
The internet is obsessed with Reneé Rapp— not just for her performance as Regina George in the new Mean Girls Musical movie but because of her unhinged comments during the film’s press tour.
Reneé has dropped a couple of iconic comments during the tour, like confessing she's "ageist" toward millennial women and openly expressing her wish to go on a date with the actress who originated her character, Rachel McAdams.
But what really caught the internet's attention is Reneé giving a piece of her mind to a man named Buddy who runs a bus company. While ranting, her co-star Christopher Briney (Aaron Samuels), is laughing along and trying to cover his face.
“He [Buddy] is such an asshole, he was so disrespectful to my friends Priscilla and Bella, who I work with… and to my mother,” Renee begins. “If you are watching this, I can’t stand you and I hope your business burns.”
With Reneé being so unserious, the ongoing joke is that she has had “no media training,” and says whatever is on her mind.
With Reneé embodying the chaotic Gen Z vibe, many internet users liken her to Jennifer Lawrence (often described as the epitome of millennial culture). While Jennifer was widely loved at first, many pop culture enthusiasts turned on her, claiming she tried too hard to be relatable.
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Coming of age at the dawn of the social internet
In an essay for The New Yorker, author Kyle Chayka reflects on his relationship and interactions in the digital world. As a millennial, he has witnessed profound changes in the internet over his life—and not all have been positive.
Chayka begins by reminiscing about his early days online. Using AOL Instant Messenger and Live Journal through his tween years, he remembers feeling a difference between his digital persona and the real world.
“I didn’t understand yet in middle school, but in the years that followed I began to think of my online presence as a shadow self,” he writes. “Those aware of it could see it, and I could see theirs—the reflection of their avatars and icons and away messages, the tone of their instant-message chats or L.J. posts.”
But what was once a realm of freedom, adventure, and self-expression has become increasingly “closed-off”, largely thanks to algorithmic feeds and recommendations.
While these algorithms aimed to "personalise" social media, the outcome was quite the opposite. According to Chayka, posts from friends and family are becoming harder to find, seemingly overshadowed by the endless stream of "advertisements, brands, and news stories."
“The so-called open Internet has consolidated today around a handful of platforms that serve users content according to the numbing logic of algorithmic recommendations and feeds…Instead of each forging our own idiosyncratic paths online, we are caught in the grooves that a few giant companies have carved for us all,” Chayka shares.
As the digital landscape became increasingly commodified, internet users followed suit. The once-clear distinction between an online identity and the physical world has blurred— the advent of influencers has turned the task of "cultivating one's shadow self" into a full-blown career.
With social media platforms “force-feeding” content and monetising attention, the current state of the internet has lost its "sense of creative possibility and even of self-definition."
Stepping back from social media, Chayka concludes, “I became increasingly aware that the Internet was no longer designed to function without algorithmic feeds…I’ve had the sense that the Internet is in a state of limbo, suspended between the remains of an aging, broken system and the nebulous beginnings of a new one.”
Read the full piece via The New Yorker.
Move over Bama Rush, SMU Rush is taking over
Speaking of algorithms, RushTok has made a comeback. But this time, it's not at the University of Alabama. Over the past week, TikTok users have followed along as Southern Methodist University (SMU) students document the sorority recruitment process.
Much like Bama Rush, the discourse has centered around exclusionary, racist and sexist ideologies that frame Greek life. But with SMU nicknamed "Southern Millionaires University," TikTok users seem to be primarily interested in the classism inherent to the system.
GRWM videos and OOTDs have become a mainstay in the RushTok universe. Naturally, SMU Rush enthusiasts started offering price breakdowns of the students' outfits, with many costing well into the thousands.
A few SMU students have gained a substantial following, with Alexandra (@queenalexandraaa) and Didi (@bobarista.shawty) emerging as RushTok’s main characters.
Alexandra has become a source of fashion inspo for many users, sharing simple but elevated outfits in her OOTDs. Many viewers love her dorm decor, with many commenting on the print of Queen Elizabeth II on her wall.
While Alexandra was accepted into The Society (heavily associated with SMU Kappa Alpha Theta), Didi was dropped from Rush. Didi went viral after sharing the news, with her tearful video amassing over 8 million views.
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TikTok users have rallied around Didi, using her situation as another way to raise awareness about the toxic nature of Greek Life and the culture fostered by sororities.
“The fact that she [Didi] was dropped from SMU Rush makes me so mad,” commentary creator @CoraBrei says in a TikTok. "Sororities are paying for your friends… There are a lot of well-connected people that a lot of people ride off because, optically, they don't fit in their sorority…We need to make Didi an influencer; I have a feeling if she had over one million followers, all those girls would suddenly want her."
Follow along with the discourse via Reddit and TikTok.
The creator economy is ready for a workers’ movement
Last year, social media watched as writers and actors went on strike, hoping for better treatment and pay in Hollywood. Now, Amanda Silberling for Tech Crunch wonders whether creators should do the same thing.
There is no denying that creators can make big money. But the problem is how creators sustain their livelihood.
The majority of influencers generate income through brand deals and partnerships. However, when they monetise their content on platforms like TikTok, YouTube, or Instagram, transparency is limited and financial returns are minimal.
“That reality is emblematic of the conundrum creators find themselves in: They’re propelling social platforms to new heights, but those same platforms can betray them at any second with one small algorithm change or unfounded suspension,” Silberling writes.
While brand deals are lucrative, the lack of regulations and oversight poses a significant challenge—making it especially difficult for smaller influencers to vouch for themselves and make a liveable wage.
“We definitely need a union, because we need standardized rates,” Hannah Williams, the founder of Salary Transparent Street, tells Silberling. “We need something that all the companies abide by. We need help. We need advocacy. We need people that stick up for us.”
Most influencers have a brand deal horror story, with many being underpaid for their work. This prompted Lindsey Lee Lugrin to build Fuck You Pay Me (FYPM), a database where creators share how much brands have paid for specific deliverables.
As for how creators plan to move forward, several influencers have floated the idea of forming a union.
“Longtime YouTuber Hank Green tried building the Internet Creators Guild, but the idea came perhaps too early; the project lacked the funding and momentum to keep it running, so it shut down in 2019,” Silberling explains. “Now, Ezra Cooperstein, a veteran in the industry, is working on a project called creators.org, which is a nonprofit aiming to act as a unified voice for creators. A similar group, the Creators Guild of America, launched in August.“
Read the piece via Tech Crunch.
How ‘living alone’ vlogs are impacting the housing market
In a new article for Fast Company, Steffi Cao examines the transition from the content house era to creators like Emma Chamberlain, who romanticise the everyday aspects of solo living. This shift, Cao claims, is influencing the lifestyle preferences of audiences.
The typical solo-living vlogger will share their everyday routines, covering activities like buying groceries, cleaning the house and cooking. Despite appearing mundane, this niche on the internet is growing, with the hashtag #livingalone garnering over 1.3 billion views on TikTok.
“Its effects have toppled outward,” Cao writes. “Searches for one-bedroom apartments have increased 15 percent from 2022 to 2023.”
This type of content is a far cry from the likes of Team10, the Vlog Squad, and the Hype House. As Gen Z has matured, they have become disenchanted with these influencer collectives—especially in the wake of the serious controversies that many of these groups found themselves in.
Gen Z also tends to gravitate towards relatable content rather than the highly produced content often associated with content houses.
“With the younger generation, there’s a really big sense of relatability [to living alone],” YouTuber, Julia Fei tells Cao. “Living in a content house is cool but evokes a different emotion, like jealousy, or negative emotions like that, whereas living alone evokes an emotion like empathy.”
Nevertheless, Gen Z’s preference to live alone cannot only be attributed to the shift to viral culture, Cao notes. However, the popularity of this content indicates an increasing desire for independence and personal space — something particularly prominent for young adults.
As Gen Z contends with the cost of living crisis, it's safe to say that these "living alone vloggers" offer a source of comfort and aspiration.
Read the story via Fast Company.