Give them bread and circuses and they will never revolt
I want for us so badly to divest from celebrity culture once and for all, but our media ecosystem refuses to let celebrity die. Here are some jumbled thoughts I’ve obsessed over the last 24 hours.
“Give them bread and circuses and they will never revolt,” a quote by the Roman poet Juvenal in his Satires, was the perfect phrase rehashed by many during the Super Bowl Massacre in Rafah last night. The phrase was coined in the first Century when Juvenal lamented the continuing slide of the Roman Republic into dictatorship. During this time, “bread and circuses” were used in Rome to pacify the underprivileged. Despite the Roman Empire crumbling thousands of years ago, Juvenal’s words still resonate today as the West continues its long descent into obsolescence.
People watch less television since they can’t afford cable, so they see less news. Paywalls make it impossible to access news media, so they get the intel on current events from trusted online voices. Knowledge and access to knowledge are less top-down and more bottom-up these days. Regular people like you and me establish what is popular and what is dominant in “pop culture.” Wins in cultural power have made it so that people of the global majority can dictate what is “in” and what flops. However, these wins are under threat.
Our influence in the culture sector is shifting in a concerning direction. In the last four months, the ultra-wealthy (with influence from the Zionist entity) have been trying to force their hand and change the way these semi-democratized systems work, infringing upon the internet and social media as the public square. This weekend, Meta announced Instagram and Threads will “no longer recommend political content” to users. Of course, they didn’t say what counts as “political” content, but a Meta spokesperson told Yahoo that they are including government, laws, elections, and “social” topics. Super broad but open to interpretation.
Everything is political. The ambiguity in Meta’s decision is intentional. These companies and CEOs deem our entire existence as political. I don’t believe the internet is “just the internet,” either. It is a third space dictated by people that shape culture, politics, beliefs, and worldviews. We can talk about the “why” — a lack of accessible, free, physical third spaces that have forced many of us to build community digitally as a symptom of late-stage capitalism in a “post-pandemic” society – but I digress.
With this new regulation by Meta, along with previous attempts by Zionists to censor anything that criticizes their settler state of Israel, I believe these sorts of gag orders are part of an attempt at regaining full control of social media where a privileged few dictate the terms by which the underprivileged many have the luxury of accessing. It might be Meta enforcing these rules today, but what’s stopping other platforms from doing the same? We’re really going to be shadowbanned, and that should scare the shit out of anyone who uses these platforms to organize, to work, to share art and music, to stay informed, to be in a global community, to build and scheme and dream together.
And now, for a clumsy attempt at threading the needle between media and celebrity culture.
The privileged few are afraid of the slow collapse of our relationships with celebrities and celebrity culture, which is evident in conversations about the death of celebrity, the dangers of parasocial relationships, and stan culture. Celebrities can see the way we talk about them and feel it in their pockets when their tours don’t sell out, or albums don’t perform well. These people are disconnected from our reality. They don’t need to be. We are a means to an end. Celebrity is inherently bound to racialized and gendered capitalism. Celebrity veneration is necessary to keep the gears of capitalism turning. Historically, celebrities dictated the rules of engagement – how we want to look, what we want to buy, how we want to identify ourselves, our aspirations and our behaviors, etc. It still does in some ways. Celebrity as an institution ensures that the American culture of consumerism and individualism continues unabated. It keeps regular people sated until the next “it” thing. The next thing we have to buy, the next trend we have to contend with, the next collection to preorder, the next superstar tour we need to max out a credit card to experience.
The Super Bowl exposed the rifts between investment and divestment in celebrity culture. On the other hand, Americana aesthetics were center stage. Let’s go back to Taylor Swift for just a bit longer.
Swift has been lauded as a representation of America itself, of femininity, and of status quo beauty standards: able-bodied, blonde, skinny. The lead-up to the Super Bowl was rife with conspiracy theories from incels and anti-vaxxers alike. Psyop conspiracies aside, the role celebrities play in culture and politics, their influence on government and institutions, and their silence during multiple genocides (Gaza, Sudan, and the Democratic Republic of Congo) were also part of the media cycle and will likely continue in the days to come.
If you’re still with me, I appreciate you. Maybe this is my “Roman Empire.”
To give a TL;DR on the vibe, Americanacore has been around for a very long time, and it is THE fashion trend that screams sea to shining sea, the prairie, the pulpit, urban sprawl, suburban utopias, white picket fences, golden retrievers, horse girls and cowboys, leather, pigskin, buckles and baubles, the traditional notions of gender, religiosity, and hot-blooded American patriotism. Americanacore represents American exceptionalism. Everyone wants a piece of the pie; it is low-key sexual in nature, and no, it is not divorced from politics. Swift is just one easy example of Americana. She suits different audiences – young girls and women, freedom-loving patriots, pro-ana groups, the list goes on. Even the incels who claim to hate her make AI rendered porn of her, partially to humiliate her, partially to fantasize about the unattainable. Swift’s branding is this – the American Sweetheart. Her celebrated and decorated mediocrity, her I’m-just-a-girl victimhood, everyone want a piece of Taylor, just like they want a piece of the American pie. Swift is part of a long line of white women used as a living metaphor for America. At the Grammys earlier this month, Swift brought Lana Del Rey, the queen of Americana (at the height of her career) on stage with her to accept an award. In media history, the product, America’s Sweetheart, can be traced back to silent movies (Mary Pickford), sex symbols (Marilyn Monroe), The Girl Next Door (Meg Ryan), or the Funny Girl (Jennifer Aniston).
Americana is not limited to white America, either. The politics of representation launders Americana not just in fashion and music, but as a replacement of radical politics. Usher’s performance was an ode to nostalgia, but what is Americanacore without romanticizing and depoliticizing the past? Beyoncé’s upcoming Act II will likely be a country album if the two songs she announced in a Verizon ad are any indication. She has been spotted in cowboy couture and critiqued for “looking white” and Kardashian-like on the red carpet of her Renaissance film debut. I understand that Act II is a reclamation of country music and its Black roots – country is nothing without race records and the blues – but the timing feels intentional and emblematic of this larger, forced trend. Like Usher and Beyoncé and the many other artists and celebrities who had a hand in the spectacle of the Super Bowl, any content they make feels like colorblind anti-politics. These big names monetize the attention economy, code-switching their brand to appeal to the buying power of Black, brown, queer, trans, and other marginalized communities. If we discuss these celebrities, they go viral. We are the ads they don’t need to pay for. After all, why would we consume anything if we don’t feel like it’s for us? Nothing for us without us, right?
While using just a select few Black and brown faces (not too many!), Americanacore is also Black culture in white bodies. Post Malone was the epitome of Black aesthetics in a white body in his acoustic rendition of America the Beautiful; he donned grills, a white shirt, blue jeans, brown corduroy, and an oval tag necklace like a real cowboy. Bud Light, appealing to a base they lost in their 2023 Pride campaign, and using culturally appropriative aesthetics, brought out Peyton Manning and Dana White in their one-minute “easy night out” ad slot. Israel’s $7 million hasbara ad buy reflected their take on Americana: targeting dads, they used traditional masculinity as the poster child to excuse their brutality against Palestinians. The ad was followed up by literal hellfire in Rafah in one of the most brutal campaigns since October 7.
It’s crazy-making to assume that celebrities don’t know the world around them or aren’t expected to take part in social, cultural, or political issues. They do it when they want to and when it benefits them. They have a loyal base to elevate their stances or move autonomously based on perceptions of their idol’s political leanings. Let’s not infantilize celebrities. They have access to resources and millions invested in PR firms who report back exactly what people are saying and writing about them. Tina Knowles saw people accuse her daughter of skin-lightening and shut that shit down immediately. Swift saw her fanbase split about her CO2 emissions and literally sent a cease and desist letter to the college student tracking her private jet flights using flight monitoring data available to the public.
Americana and endless displays of patriotism are used during times of economic fragility and global conflict, especially when the perception of U.S. dominance is under threat. In 2024, while we are faced with live-streamed genocide and ethnocide, Americanacore is the heels-in-the-dirt moment where the U.S. is committed to maintaining its grip. America will not change herself, but you will learn to adapt and appreciate her or be ostracized, threatened, sued, doxxed, or shadowbanned.
In 2024, the Super Bowl, media fracturing and monopolization, squashing dissent, doubling down Americana trends and aesthetics, and celebrity are part of the iconography of war and U.S. supremacy. It’s a joke to a few, a conspiracy for some, a fun American past-time for many disaffected people. The alarm bells won’t stop ringing for me.