Popular Opinion: What the Hell, Sure.
Pop culture’s in a weird little era right now. It’s all a bit random, but maybe that’s the charm. Let’s catch up.
The last few weeks in the pop culture space — and online more broadly — have operated under a single unifying principle: What the hell, sure. None of it makes much sense, but that no longer seems to be a requirement.
Pete Davidson is undergoing the world’s most expensive personality cleanse. Over $200,000, reportedly, to erase the last decade of impulsive tattoo decisions. It’s oddly noble. Sad to see the Ariana tributes go — they were sort of a pop culture time capsule — but I respect the sheer determination. There’s something strangely elegant about a full-body rebrand via laser.
Lana Del Rey, meanwhile, has continued her reign as the least predictable person in music during Stagecoach. She name-dropped Morgan Wallen (what the hell sure) and was seen yarning with Mormon MomTok. Every time she appears in public, it feels like an unsupervised social experiment.
Elsewhere in television news that feels like a fever dream: Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo will appear as guest judges on RuPaul’s Drag Race. It’s a casting decision that sounds like a parody until you realise it’s real. There’s something deeply satisfying about watching two of the most technically gifted vocalists of our time evaluating queens lip-syncing to Kesha. Culture contains multitudes.
A brief note to the internet: not every fashion trend is a sign of economic collapse. The Glassons skims-dupe T-shirt is not “recessioncore”. Sometimes a T-shirt is just a T-shirt. Not everything is the downfall of civilisation — some things are just made of 12% elastane.
Speaking of civilisation, there are only two biopics I am willing to entertain: Britney Spears and Anthony Bourdain. That’s it. I don’t want to hear about the development of a third Beatles movie or a fourth Elvis retelling. The Bourdain casting — Dominic Sessa — is, surprisingly, a good call. And if Addison Rae ever finds herself playing Britney, I won’t complain. Stranger things have happened.
As for Katy Perry, she recently boarded a rocket, twirled a daisy, and smiled for the whole 11 minutes. Absolute shambles.
Finally, let’s talk about Lorde — or more accurately, the way Aucklanders listen to Lorde. There’s something deeply local about the way her music lands here. When she sings about catching the train and counting dollars, I picture Takapuna Grammar, a lovely Devonport villa and a box of cruisers. Americans simply won’t get it. That’s fine. It’s ours.
