vox--2020-11-10--Everything about Netflix’s Hillbilly Elegy movie is awful

Near the beginning of Netflix ’ s Hillbilly Elegy — possibly the worst movie I ’ ve seen in years — J.D .
Vance ( an inert Gabriel Basso ) attends a dinner reception .
J.D .
is a first-year law student at Yale , and the event is supposed to introduce students seeking summer internships to law firm partners who wish to hire them .
J.D .
hails from Middletown , Ohio , where his grandparents moved from the hill country of east Kentucky .
So far , he has spent his time at Yale feeling like a fish @ @ @ @ @ @ @ already told us this in voiceover .
But the obvious purpose of the dinner scene is to show us just how not-Yale he really is .
The first indicator : When J.D .
asks for white wine and the waiter asks what kind he would like , he freezes , then is saved by a kind dining companion ’ s choice on his behalf .
The second indicator arrives when J.D .
sits down at the table and panics about the number of forks on the table ( look , we ’ ve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ himself and calls his girlfriend , who is more sophisticated than he is , and she walks him through fork selection .
Both of these anecdotes appear in the real-life Vance ’ s account of this real-life dinner , which he recounts in his bestselling 2016 nonfiction book Hillbilly Elegy , now adapted into a Netflix feature film .
The book is a memoir-slash-sociocultural critique that was heralded upon its release as “ a civilized reference guide for an uncivilized election , ” and praised by some publications as a skeleton key to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by many who saw it as advancing rhetoric and old myths about the poor , and eliding the racist roots of antipathy toward Barack Obama .
The book was published in June 2016 , and mostly drew attention from conservative outlets until it started to develop a reputation as crucial to understanding the white working class , many of whom became Trump voters .
But whatever your opinion of the book , the movie is a different animal , and a startlingly terrible one .
This fancy dinner scene shows exactly why .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ life at Yale as bewildering , since he was among the small number of students from poor backgrounds and constantly felt like he was playing catch-up , learning that Cracker Barrel is not actually fine dining and figuring out which fork to use .
But he has mostly kind things to say about his fellow students and faculty : In the movie , though , Vance ’ s story plays out quite differently .
After the emergency call to his girlfriend , J.D .
sits at the dinner table with fellow students and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is nervous .
While making conversation , he says that he is from Ohio and that his grandfather moved there from Kentucky ’ s hill country to work in a steel mill .
A quiet falls over the table .
Everyone glances at each other knowingly .
Nobody says anything .
They change the subject , while J.D .
sits crestfallen and mortified .
I yelled at the screen when I saw that .
( Yelling happened multiple times throughout the movie . )
Reading Hillbilly Elegy , I feel some kinship with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Appalachia , but they ’ re working-class Northerners , by way of immigrants , potato farmers in Maine , and shoot-your-dinner-from-the-porch North Carolina rednecks .
I too am the first in my nuclear family to go to college ( on a massive scholarship ) , and to earn two master ’ s degrees I ’ ll be paying for until I retire .
Growing up , Cracker Barrel was my favorite special-occasion restaurant .
But my alma mater is an elite institution .
Most of my friends were well-off , though a lot @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the things they took for granted — parents who could send money to them , cable TV , Pop-Tarts for breakfast — were far beyond my imagining .
Like J.D.
, I often felt out of place .
And yet that ’ s exactly why this scene rang so false .
It seems impossible that everyone at that table would take J.D.
’ s biographical note as embarrassing ; instead , as Vance himself points out in his book , his background makes him intriguing , someone different from the usual bunch .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ imagine that , however .
Its writing feels vague and hazy , unacquainted with the world it ’ s portraying , a collection of clichés stuffed into a two-hour slog .
I am surprised it ’ s as bad as it is .
Written for the screen by Vanessa Taylor ( The Shape of Water , Hope Springs ) and directed by Ron Howard , it is distractingly Hollywoodified , a rich person ’ s idea of what it is like to be a poor person , a tone-deaf attempt to assuage a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reifying the very thing that caused the guilt in the first place .
And , perhaps worst of all , it ’ s a very dull movie .
Vance ’ s book weaves his individual story into his family ’ s story , but the basic arc is a familiar American one : His grandparents moved from Kentucky to Ohio in search of a better life , which they found in some measure .
But various circumstances , most of which he attributes to aspects of “ hillbilly ” culture along with larger @ @ @ @ @ @ @ family from reaching their true potential .
He managed to get out , first joining the military , then enrolling at Ohio State , and eventually being accepted at Yale Law .
Vance blends this arc with larger commentary on the state of the white working class in the US , trying to provide a window onto the people he loves , the challenges they face , and the reasons they vote the way they do .
It takes only a mild sniff to catch a strange whiff of the self-congratulatory .
( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ got out , and as he tells it , that ’ s because he made good choices . )
And Hillbilly Elegy is a strangely incurious book , purporting to explain various phenomena ( like working-class white distrust of media , or his family ’ s history of rampant domestic violence ) without much in-depth exploration of the factors in play .
But the book is affectionate , despite its masked disdain , and it has something to say , which explains why people — especially white , educated liberals — fell over @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of a presidential election that took them by surprise .
So what happened with the movie ?
I can only speculate , and my best guess is that Howard ( whose company bought the film rights to the book ) read Hillbilly Elegy as an uplifting tale of family and upward mobility and decided it would make a nice old-fashioned American movie .
He apparently also decided to make it studiously unpolitical , not touching Trump or the election at all , presumably to appeal to the all-important “ broad audience.
” Then @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to join the cast , in the kind of roles that normally garner awards attention : Movie stars transforming themselves into “ normal ” people and hollering a lot .
They shot a few scenes in Middletown , Ohio , and a lot of scenes in Georgia , where the tax breaks encourage the film industry to go when it wants to replicate virtually anywhere else in America .
All well-intentioned , I think .
But wow , does the result fall flat on its face .
The first issue is in its @ @ @ @ @ @ @ memoir , which is told chronologically , Hillbilly Elegy runs along two parallel time tracks .
One follows J.D .
through the days after that fateful Yale dinner , when he must return home to care for his mother , who has overdosed on heroin ( again ) .
The other starts out as flashbacks , moments J.D .
remembers from his childhood triggered by something in the present , but eventually becomes just a second timeline in the past .
In the past timeline , J.D.
’ s mother Bev ( Adams @ @ @ @ @ @ @ affectionate toward her children one minute , and abusive the next .
She has a string of boyfriends .
J.D.
’ s childhood is sometimes a happy one .
His grandmother , Mamaw ( Close ) , shields him from the brunt of her daughter ’ s rage , but can ’ t protect him from everything .
In the present timeline , Mamaw has passed away years earlier .
J.D.
’ s older sister Lindsay ( Haley Bennett ) , who ’ s now married with children of her own , still @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ask him to return home after Bev ends up in the hospital .
And once he does , J.D .
must decide whether he can even return to Yale for the interview that could land him the summer internship he desperately needs if he ’ s going to stay in school .
It ’ s never easy to articulate why a movie is boring , especially if the movie is as full of explosive fights and trips to the hospital as this one .
My best explanation is that every scene seems to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or losing their temper in a spectacular public fashion ; at one point , someone is even lit on fire .
( Once in a while there ’ s a pause so that someone can give young J.D .
a dramatic speech about Family or Loyalty or Hard Work . )
Every scene peaks , with little to break it up , and thus the extraordinary becomes monotonous .
There ’ s little actual story to follow .
But Hillbilly Elegy is also just strangely gross .
It ’ s not that actors @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lived very different lives from them — especially two actors as versatile as Adams and Close .
But their performances here feel bizarrely theatrical , as if they had to wind themselves up to Perform , with a capital P , as strange creatures they ’ ve never encountered before .
They ’ re not humanizing portrayals ; I watched an official Q & A about the film following an advanced screening , and as its moderator joked , they feel like memes waiting to happen .
( I did not find this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ What might have solidified the movie ’ s failure for me was a comment Close made during that same Q & A , when she described the character of Mamaw as not all that different from other characters she ’ d played in “ full drag , ” such as Cruella de Vil , Norma Desmond , or Albert Nobbs — all larger-than-life caricatures of one kind or another .
In this case , her costume was glasses , a cigarette , a big T-shirt , and layers of prosthetics intended , she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about her as Glenn Close and allow you to just think about Mamaw .
But here is the thing : Mamaw is not like Cruella de Vil or Albert Nobbs .
She has a thick accent and some tip-top zingers that she hurls at misbehaving children , to be sure .
So does my grandmother .
Mamaw is a recognizable grandma .
She isn ’ t a curiosity or an icon ; she is a regular American lady .
Similarly , Bev is a woman with an unhappy life and a drug problem @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , strikingly normal .
Mamaw and Bev are just one of the myriad ways in which Hillbilly Elegy seems to be simultaneously telling you a story and watching from the sidelines , waiting for your reaction .
Aren ’ t these people crazy ?
!
it seems to be saying .
How exotic !
And yet , they ’ re humans just like you and me !
But they ’ ll only really feel exotic to those who think that a fried bologna sandwich or watching Terminator a hundred times or having to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cards is unusual .
It feels like Hillbilly Elegy ’ s filmmakers think that way — that these details are set pieces , rather than just character color .
The movie is like an “ elite ” apologia for ignoring these poor , downtrodden fellow Americans , except without any idea who those people are .
There ’ s nothing noble about presenting ordinary people as larger-than-life caricatures who must be performed in “ full drag.
” Hillbilly Elegy is a movie designed to let comfortable white liberals feel like they have learned @ @ @ @ @ @ @ meaningful to make the world a better , more inclusive place .
And unlike the book , I doubt it even leaves room for comfortable white conservatives to do the same .
I finished the film wondering what this deeply non-political version of Hillbilly Elegy thinks it is about .
( It ’ s worth noting that , for a movie about a very specific group of people from a very specific region , Hillbilly Elegy seems hard-pressed to include any markers that identify its characters as pointedly Appalachian , except one scene @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ respect our dead.
” ) It strips out Vance ’ s sociopolitical commentary entirely , which , however you feel about the commentary , leaves the story without an all-important ingredient : a political and sociological point .
A hint of the movie ’ s intended message comes in a sequence where young J.D .
— having apparently only realized ... something ... about his family ’ s poverty when he sees Mamaw split her Meals on Wheels dinner so he can have some — starts suddenly working hard at school .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ he goes from failing to excelling .
All he had to do was realize he could break the cycle , and go break it !
That ’ s all it takes !
Why , the movie implies , can ’ t the rest of his family just do the same ?
Hillbilly Elegy seems like a movie with huge aspirations — a work of art that wants to reveal something to the audience , like Winter ’ s Bone , or Minding the Gap , or the upcoming Nomadland .
It does nothing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ just a movie about the hardships of poor people , and one kid who made good because he tried hard .
It lacks any thoughtful sense of why J.D .
succeeded where others have not , and how , and what it means , and whether there ’ s some reason beyond laziness that any given family might struggle .
An elegy is a mournful poem of reflection .
Often , it ’ s a lament , a song sung for the dead .
But Hillbilly Elegy is no elegy .
It ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the living .
Hillbilly Elegy opens in select theaters on November 11 and premieres on Netflix on November 24 .

Near the beginning of Netflix’s Hillbilly Elegy — possibly the worst movie I’ve seen in years — J.D. Vance (an inert Gabriel Basso) attends a dinner reception. J.D. is a first-year law student at Yale, and the event is supposed to introduce students seeking summer internships to law firm partners who wish to hire them.
J.D. hails from Middletown, Ohio, where his grandparents moved from the hill country of east Kentucky. So far, he has spent his time at Yale feeling like a fish out of water. He’s already told us this in voiceover. But the obvious purpose of the dinner scene is to show us just how not-Yale he really is.
The first indicator: When J.D. asks for white wine and the waiter asks what kind he would like, he freezes, then is saved by a kind dining companion’s choice on his behalf. The second indicator arrives when J.D. sits down at the table and panics about the number of forks on the table (look, we’ve all been there). He excuses himself and calls his girlfriend, who is more sophisticated than he is, and she walks him through fork selection.
Rating: 1 out of 5 vox-mark vox-mark vox-mark vox-mark vox-mark
Both of these anecdotes appear in the real-life Vance’s account of this real-life dinner, which he recounts in his bestselling 2016 nonfiction book Hillbilly Elegy, now adapted into a Netflix feature film. The book is a memoir-slash-sociocultural critique that was heralded upon its release as “a civilized reference guide for an uncivilized election,” and praised by some publications as a skeleton key to Trumpism. It was also sharply criticized by many who saw it as advancing rhetoric and old myths about the poor, and eliding the racist roots of antipathy toward Barack Obama. The book was published in June 2016, and mostly drew attention from conservative outlets until it started to develop a reputation as crucial to understanding the white working class, many of whom became Trump voters.
But whatever your opinion of the book, the movie is a different animal, and a startlingly terrible one. This fancy dinner scene shows exactly why. In the book, Vance describes his life at Yale as bewildering, since he was among the small number of students from poor backgrounds and constantly felt like he was playing catch-up, learning that Cracker Barrel is not actually fine dining and figuring out which fork to use. But he has mostly kind things to say about his fellow students and faculty:
Yale made me feel, for the first time in my life, that others viewed my life with intrigue. Professors and classmates seemed genuinely interested in what seemed to me a superficially boring story: I went to a mediocre public high school, my parents didn’t go to college, and I grew up in Ohio.
In the movie, though, Vance’s story plays out quite differently. After the emergency call to his girlfriend, J.D. sits at the dinner table with fellow students and attorneys from high-powered law firms. He is nervous. While making conversation, he says that he is from Ohio and that his grandfather moved there from Kentucky’s hill country to work in a steel mill.
A quiet falls over the table. Everyone glances at each other knowingly. Nobody says anything. They change the subject, while J.D. sits crestfallen and mortified.
I yelled at the screen when I saw that. (Yelling happened multiple times throughout the movie.) Reading Hillbilly Elegy, I feel some kinship with Vance. My people are not from Appalachia, but they’re working-class Northerners, by way of immigrants, potato farmers in Maine, and shoot-your-dinner-from-the-porch North Carolina rednecks. I too am the first in my nuclear family to go to college (on a massive scholarship), and to earn two master’s degrees I’ll be paying for until I retire. Growing up, Cracker Barrel was my favorite special-occasion restaurant.
But my alma mater is an elite institution. Most of my friends were well-off, though a lot of them didn’t realize that the things they took for granted — parents who could send money to them, cable TV, Pop-Tarts for breakfast — were far beyond my imagining. Like J.D., I often felt out of place.
And yet that’s exactly why this scene rang so false. It seems impossible that everyone at that table would take J.D.’s biographical note as embarrassing; instead, as Vance himself points out in his book, his background makes him intriguing, someone different from the usual bunch. The movie can’t seem to imagine that, however. Its writing feels vague and hazy, unacquainted with the world it’s portraying, a collection of clichés stuffed into a two-hour slog.
I am surprised it’s as bad as it is. Written for the screen by Vanessa Taylor (The Shape of Water, Hope Springs) and directed by Ron Howard, it is distractingly Hollywoodified, a rich person’s idea of what it is like to be a poor person, a tone-deaf attempt to assuage a very particular kind of liberal guilt by reifying the very thing that caused the guilt in the first place. And, perhaps worst of all, it’s a very dull movie.
Vance’s book weaves his individual story into his family’s story, but the basic arc is a familiar American one: His grandparents moved from Kentucky to Ohio in search of a better life, which they found in some measure. But various circumstances, most of which he attributes to aspects of “hillbilly” culture along with larger political and social factors, kept the family from reaching their true potential. He managed to get out, first joining the military, then enrolling at Ohio State, and eventually being accepted at Yale Law. Vance blends this arc with larger commentary on the state of the white working class in the US, trying to provide a window onto the people he loves, the challenges they face, and the reasons they vote the way they do.
It takes only a mild sniff to catch a strange whiff of the self-congratulatory. (Vance is one of the ones who got out, and as he tells it, that’s because he made good choices.) And Hillbilly Elegy is a strangely incurious book, purporting to explain various phenomena (like working-class white distrust of media, or his family’s history of rampant domestic violence) without much in-depth exploration of the factors in play.
But the book is affectionate, despite its masked disdain, and it has something to say, which explains why people — especially white, educated liberals — fell over themselves to read it in the wake of a presidential election that took them by surprise.
So what happened with the movie? I can only speculate, and my best guess is that Howard (whose company bought the film rights to the book) read Hillbilly Elegy as an uplifting tale of family and upward mobility and decided it would make a nice old-fashioned American movie. He apparently also decided to make it studiously unpolitical, not touching Trump or the election at all, presumably to appeal to the all-important “broad audience.”
Then he got Glenn Close and Amy Adams to join the cast, in the kind of roles that normally garner awards attention: Movie stars transforming themselves into “normal” people and hollering a lot. They shot a few scenes in Middletown, Ohio, and a lot of scenes in Georgia, where the tax breaks encourage the film industry to go when it wants to replicate virtually anywhere else in America.
All well-intentioned, I think. But wow, does the result fall flat on its face. The first issue is in its narrative construction. Unlike Vance’s memoir, which is told chronologically, Hillbilly Elegy runs along two parallel time tracks. One follows J.D. through the days after that fateful Yale dinner, when he must return home to care for his mother, who has overdosed on heroin (again). The other starts out as flashbacks, moments J.D. remembers from his childhood triggered by something in the present, but eventually becomes just a second timeline in the past.
In the past timeline, J.D.’s mother Bev (Adams) is a nurse who’s affectionate toward her children one minute, and abusive the next. She has a string of boyfriends. J.D.’s childhood is sometimes a happy one. His grandmother, Mamaw (Close), shields him from the brunt of her daughter’s rage, but can’t protect him from everything.
In the present timeline, Mamaw has passed away years earlier. J.D.’s older sister Lindsay (Haley Bennett), who’s now married with children of her own, still lives in Middletown. She calls to ask him to return home after Bev ends up in the hospital. And once he does, J.D. must decide whether he can even return to Yale for the interview that could land him the summer internship he desperately needs if he’s going to stay in school.
It’s never easy to articulate why a movie is boring, especially if the movie is as full of explosive fights and trips to the hospital as this one. My best explanation is that every scene seems to end with someone either calling the cops or losing their temper in a spectacular public fashion; at one point, someone is even lit on fire. (Once in a while there’s a pause so that someone can give young J.D. a dramatic speech about Family or Loyalty or Hard Work.) Every scene peaks, with little to break it up, and thus the extraordinary becomes monotonous. There’s little actual story to follow.
But Hillbilly Elegy is also just strangely gross. It’s not that actors can’t play characters who have lived very different lives from them — especially two actors as versatile as Adams and Close. But their performances here feel bizarrely theatrical, as if they had to wind themselves up to Perform, with a capital P, as strange creatures they’ve never encountered before. They’re not humanizing portrayals; I watched an official Q&A about the film following an advanced screening, and as its moderator joked, they feel like memes waiting to happen. (I did not find this to be a great joke.)
What might have solidified the movie’s failure for me was a comment Close made during that same Q&A, when she described the character of Mamaw as not all that different from other characters she’d played in “full drag,” such as Cruella de Vil, Norma Desmond, or Albert Nobbs — all larger-than-life caricatures of one kind or another. In this case, her costume was glasses, a cigarette, a big T-shirt, and layers of prosthetics intended, she said, to keep you from thinking about her as Glenn Close and allow you to just think about Mamaw.
But here is the thing: Mamaw is not like Cruella de Vil or Albert Nobbs. She has a thick accent and some tip-top zingers that she hurls at misbehaving children, to be sure. So does my grandmother. Mamaw is a recognizable grandma. She isn’t a curiosity or an icon; she is a regular American lady. Similarly, Bev is a woman with an unhappy life and a drug problem. She is, in that way, strikingly normal.
Mamaw and Bev are just one of the myriad ways in which Hillbilly Elegy seems to be simultaneously telling you a story and watching from the sidelines, waiting for your reaction. Aren’t these people crazy?! it seems to be saying. How exotic! And yet, they’re humans just like you and me!
But they’ll only really feel exotic to those who think that a fried bologna sandwich or watching Terminator a hundred times or having to split a medical bill across several credit cards is unusual. It feels like Hillbilly Elegy’s filmmakers think that way — that these details are set pieces, rather than just character color. The movie is like an “elite” apologia for ignoring these poor, downtrodden fellow Americans, except without any idea who those people are.
There’s nothing noble about presenting ordinary people as larger-than-life caricatures who must be performed in “full drag.” Hillbilly Elegy is a movie designed to let comfortable white liberals feel like they have learned something, and thus have done something meaningful to make the world a better, more inclusive place. And unlike the book, I doubt it even leaves room for comfortable white conservatives to do the same.
I finished the film wondering what this deeply non-political version of Hillbilly Elegy thinks it is about. (It’s worth noting that, for a movie about a very specific group of people from a very specific region, Hillbilly Elegy seems hard-pressed to include any markers that identify its characters as pointedly Appalachian, except one scene in which Mamaw says that hill people “respect our dead.”) It strips out Vance’s sociopolitical commentary entirely, which, however you feel about the commentary, leaves the story without an all-important ingredient: a political and sociological point.
A hint of the movie’s intended message comes in a sequence where young J.D. — having apparently only realized ... something ... about his family’s poverty when he sees Mamaw split her Meals on Wheels dinner so he can have some — starts suddenly working hard at school. In the space of a montage, he goes from failing to excelling. All he had to do was realize he could break the cycle, and go break it! That’s all it takes! Why, the movie implies, can’t the rest of his family just do the same?
Hillbilly Elegy seems like a movie with huge aspirations — a work of art that wants to reveal something to the audience, like Winter’s Bone, or Minding the Gap, or the upcoming Nomadland. It does nothing of the sort. It’s just a movie about the hardships of poor people, and one kid who made good because he tried hard. It lacks any thoughtful sense of why J.D. succeeded where others have not, and how, and what it means, and whether there’s some reason beyond laziness that any given family might struggle.
An elegy is a mournful poem of reflection. Often, it’s a lament, a song sung for the dead. But Hillbilly Elegy is no elegy. It’s not reflective enough to even understand the living.
Hillbilly Elegy opens in select theaters on November 11 and premieres on Netflix on November 24.


vox--2020-11-10--This week in TikTok: MAGA meltdowns and Gen Z revolutions

Hello from The Goods ’ twice-weekly newsletter !
On Tuesdays , internet culture reporter Rebecca Jennings uses this space to update you all on what ’ s been going on in the world of TikTok .
Is there something you want to see more of ?
Less of ?
Different of ?
Email rebecca.jennings @ vox.com , and subscribe to The Goods ’ newsletter here .
Wow , so many things have happened since last Tuesday !
Here is a partial list : • … during which we consumed mostly carbs and booze • As election results began to roll @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to manifest a Democratic Texas ( it failed ) • As even more results came in , the TikTok teens pivoted to making fun of the states that were , in their estimation , taking too damn long to count the votes • Nobody got any work done • In the midst of all this uncertainty , people got horny for MSNBC ’ s Steve Kornacki and made fancams for him and other election analysts ( there was also a fancam for the state of Georgia going blue ) • The Trump campaign @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Seasons Total Landscaping , which furries eventually descended upon in virtual reality • Destiel is canon ( I do not know what this means but I know it is a very big deal in certain communities ) It ’ s possible that a few things are missing here ( for actual politics news , visit pretty much any other part of the website Vox.com ) because being online — especially on TikTok — was an unusually bizarre experience this week .
Like many other platforms , TikTok ’ s feed isn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ stumble upon videos drawing from outdated information in a period of time when the news ( and the mood ) seemed to be changing every hour .
Also , people were losing their shit .
In the span of a few minutes , I heard a detailed explanation of Walter Benjamin ’ s theory on the aestheticization of politics to explain why people continue to support Trump and also watched an uncomfortably theatrical dramatization of what life would be like under a Biden presidency by a blonde girl in a red hat .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ because she refuses the Covid-19 vaccine .
God responds : “ Well done , good and faithful servant.
” ) In between these two extremes , there are other growing divides : those between Democrats celebrating the Biden win with heartfelt supercuts or Hamilton covers and leftists who won ’ t “ let people enjoy things ” ; and between people who are play-acting the Gen Z-led “ revolution ” and those who retort that Gen Z can ’ t even make their own doctor ’ s appointments .
I ’ m reminded @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that quipped , “ I don ’ t have friends on ‘ both sides , ’ I have friends in 400 varying leftist splinters and they all hate each other.
” What this really illustrates to me is a trend that ’ s sort of refreshing : The end of the Trump administration means we might be able to go from paying attention to two distinct and opposing internets to one that is at least dysfunctional in a way we ’ ve experienced before .
Of course , just because Trump will no @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that we can or should ignore his family ’ s immense power and the concerns of his enormous swath of supporters .
But it does mean that at least we don ’ t have to wake up in the morning dreading to find out what the president might have tweeted , or what conspiracy theory he might have supported , accidentally or otherwise .
This is when social media is at its best : It is not fighting against dangerous mass conspiracy theories ( social media is actually very bad for that ) @ @ @ @ @ @ @ insignificant divisions between groups of terminally online people who basically want the same things .
• Like the rest of the social media platforms , TikTok was rife with misinformation during election week .
But by all accounts , the company has done a pretty good job at removing it quickly .
• A very thorough analysis of the fancam from internet culture reporter Brian Feldman ’ s newsletter : “ The fancam , a once-niche video format is now commonplace , I think , because it lets anyone adopt the facade of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the effort to be one .
It ’ s why it ’ s tough to read how sincere or ironic any of these clips are , and it ’ s also why some people think ‘ everything is fandom ’ nowadays .
The reality is a bit more complicated .
If it ’ s now easy to stan anything , then how do you know who really qualifies as a stan ?
” • A very cool Q & A with indigenous Inuk creator Shina Novalinga , who shares videos of herself throat @ @ @ @ @ @ @ losing my mind over this Hallmark movie actress revealing how they film fake figure skating scenes !
!
!
!
!

Hello from The Goods’ twice-weekly newsletter! On Tuesdays, internet culture reporter Rebecca Jennings uses this space to update you all on what’s been going on in the world of TikTok. Is there something you want to see more of? Less of? Different of? Email rebecca.jennings@vox.com, and subscribe to The Goods’ newsletter here.
Wow, so many things have happened since last Tuesday! Here is a partial list:
It’s possible that a few things are missing here (for actual politics news, visit pretty much any other part of the website Vox.com) because being online — especially on TikTok — was an unusually bizarre experience this week. Like many other platforms, TikTok’s feed isn’t chronological, so it was easy to stumble upon videos drawing from outdated information in a period of time when the news (and the mood) seemed to be changing every hour. Also, people were losing their shit.
In the span of a few minutes, I heard a detailed explanation of Walter Benjamin’s theory on the aestheticization of politics to explain why people continue to support Trump and also watched an uncomfortably theatrical dramatization of what life would be like under a Biden presidency by a blonde girl in a red hat. (Spoiler: The government murders her because she refuses the Covid-19 vaccine. God responds: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”)
In between these two extremes, there are other growing divides: those between Democrats celebrating the Biden win with heartfelt supercuts or Hamilton covers and leftists who won’t “let people enjoy things”; and between people who are play-acting the Gen Z-led “revolution” and those who retort that Gen Z can’t even make their own doctor’s appointments. I’m reminded of the viral tweet from last week that quipped, “I don’t have friends on ‘both sides,’ I have friends in 400 varying leftist splinters and they all hate each other.”
What this really illustrates to me is a trend that’s sort of refreshing: The end of the Trump administration means we might be able to go from paying attention to two distinct and opposing internets to one that is at least dysfunctional in a way we’ve experienced before.
Of course, just because Trump will no longer be president doesn’t mean that we can or should ignore his family’s immense power and the concerns of his enormous swath of supporters. But it does mean that at least we don’t have to wake up in the morning dreading to find out what the president might have tweeted, or what conspiracy theory he might have supported, accidentally or otherwise.
This is when social media is at its best: It is not fighting against dangerous mass conspiracy theories (social media is actually very bad for that), it is exacerbating tiny, largely insignificant divisions between groups of terminally online people who basically want the same things.
TikTok in the news
Like the rest of the social media platforms, TikTok was rife with misinformation during election week. But by all accounts, the company has done a pretty good job at removing it quickly.
A very thorough analysis of the fancam from internet culture reporter Brian Feldman’s newsletter: “The fancam, a once-niche video format is now commonplace, I think, because it lets anyone adopt the facade of being a stan without actually putting in the effort to be one. It’s why it’s tough to read how sincere or ironic any of these clips are, and it’s also why some people think ‘everything is fandom’ nowadays. The reality is a bit more complicated. If it’s now easy to stan anything, then how do you know who really qualifies as a stan?”
A very cool Q&A with indigenous Inuk creator Shina Novalinga, who shares videos of herself throat singing with her mother.
Welcome to shoplifting TikTok.
One Last Thing
I am losing my mind over this Hallmark movie actress revealing how they film fake figure skating scenes!!!!!


vox--2020-11-10--The best $475 I ever spent: A kayak that made me appreciate where I come from

Over the course of the decade after I moved away , I saw my once-steely fondness for the place where I ’ d grown up slowly fade .
Northeast Pennsylvania is beautiful , I had no doubt , full of forests and brooks , but it had been years since I ’ d seen them .
I spent the better part of my 20s in California , seduced by the pristine shorelines and palatial mountain ranges .
I would return to my childhood house outside of Scranton one or two times a year , but it was usually during the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ naked and the sky was perpetually gray .
Even after I moved back East in 2019 , to take a new job in Manhattan , I rarely went home , and when I did it was only for a night or two .
I had grown spoiled by the shimmer of California and New York , and the Northeastern panorama became something to be endured , not enjoyed .
When my girlfriend and I left New York for Pennsylvania at the beginning of March , we assumed it would be for a short @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a few weeks , we reasoned , and our apartment was lacking in certain amenities ( functioning water lines , for one thing ) .
But those weeks have become months , and we ’ re still here .
We broke our lease , moved our lives into storage , and now spend our downtime ambling through the very landscapes I had once been so eager to leave behind .
I have realized over the last few months just how wrong I was in my snobbishness .
And for that , I have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to thank .
I was reluctant to purchase the kayak .
As someone who , thanks to those years out West , has spent a lot of time on the water , it ’ s not that I didn ’ t want one .
I just couldn ’ t rationalize the cost : $ 700 for the kayak , another $ 100 for the two adjustable seats , $ 150 for the paddles .
Even though my girlfriend and I had agreed to split the expense — an arrangement that did little to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ultimately , accommodating my wish list and not the other way around — it still felt like too much .
This was a summer of inexplicable pain ; how could we buy an oversized toy boat ?
Finally , one hot July day , while I was taking a break from my umpteenth round of “ but should we ?
” circumspection to answer a work email , she swiped her credit card .
“ I knew you ’ d never actually do it , ” she told me matter-of-factly ( and she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ couldn ’ t even feign anger as I thumbed through my phone to open Venmo .
It was ours .
The Crescent Splash II is not the most attractive watercraft out there .
Twelve feet front to back and 69 pounds of aqua blue polyethylene , it ’ s sort of the Mack Truck of kayaks .
Depending on how you configure the seats , it can function as either a solo or tandem vessel , a feature that was especially appealing , I thought , given that I ’ d be taking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ half the time .
I was the one with a background in paddling , racing outrigger canoes — picture six people chugging through the open ocean in a narrow 40-foot canoe — on teams first in California and then in New York .
It ’ s sort of the Mack Truck of kayaks The pandemic had put a stop to outrigger : no practices or races for the foreseeable future .
Here was a pretty close second , albeit one that was relatively foreign to me .
From the outset , though , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ small nearby lake to give it a proper test run , I could feel the familiar sensations .
The technique was undeniably different — kayaking requires a smoother stroke than outrigger paddling and is much more of an arm workout — but the net effect was still there .
I quickly got lost in the swift dip of the paddle into the water , in the buzz of birds and crickets that broke through the quiet .
The inherent repetition of paddling — whether it ’ s a kayak , a canoe , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ can always be counted on to clear my mind .
It ’ s simple meditation through action , the same as what you hear surfers and knitters describe .
I was instantly hooked .
Even now , I ’ ll head out for a pre-work morning paddle several days a week ( sometimes I sneak in an evening session , weather permitting ) .
Northeast Pennsylvania , it turns out , is a kayaker ’ s dream ; rivers and streams snake through the region ’ s hemlock forests , and public lakes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , my girlfriend was smitten , too .
The unexpected satisfaction of a boat gliding exactly where you tell it to , our long drives through sweet-smelling backwoods to find the perfect launch spot — it ’ s all so alluringly uncomplicated .
It wasn ’ t long after we bought the kayak that I would find her sitting on the couch staring at Google Maps , trying to pinpoint a new body of water for us to explore .
We ’ d giddily scan through satellite images of snaking deltas and oddly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ these small public kingdoms could be ours to share in .
My parents seem especially pleased , proud even , when we ’ d prattle to them about our very modest littoral exploits .
“ See ?
” they say .
“ Like we said , it ’ s not so bad here.
” Of the many outings that have followed since we purchased the Splash II , there ’ s one I don ’ t think I ’ ll ever forget .
A few months ago , we drove an hour east @ @ @ @ @ @ @ old steel bridge , to a boat launch on the New York side of the Delaware River .
We dragged our bulky little boat onto the river and started on our 10-mile trip .
In the beginning , the route was packed — families and throngs of young people had come to the water to laze about on the big , inflatable rafts that were available to rent .
Other groups had pulled off along riverbanks to take out their grills and their portable stereos .
Everyone we passed seemed happy and maybe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ closest thing to a party I had seen in months .
It wasn ’ t too long before we had left the crowds behind , and then it was only the two of us out there .
For the next 10 or so miles , we would dart the kayak around the river , finding little rapids to pitch our boat in every direction and grassy riverbanks where we could pull off and aimlessly search the riverbed for stones to skip .
We spent much of the day paddling at a middling pace @ @ @ @ @ @ @ chat and to point out the fish or birds that meandered past .
On a few occasions , my old outrigger instinct would kick in and I would inadvertently pick up the pace , letting my body glide through the strokes faster than my mind could follow .
In those moments , I ’ d lose focus on everything but the paddle I was holding .
Soon enough my girlfriend would rightly tell me to knock it off and slow down .
At the end of the day , we hitched the kayak @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , on our way back home , stopped at a roadside inn to buy ourselves each a beer .
I might just be fabricating a convenient narrative in my mental re-creation of that day , but I think it was during that run down the Delaware that I realized how much I love being home .
Our excursions , our retelling of the excursions to my patient parents the next day , the otherwise humdrum existence of life here ( where going to the gas station-cum-grocer counts as an outing ) — I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of it all .
I can ’ t imagine we will stay in Pennsylvania for good — our jobs are in New York , as are most of our friends .
But I won ’ t forget this rare window of time we have been afforded here , and while I am here , I ’ ll never take for granted how nice the buzz of insects sounds over the water .

Over the course of the decade after I moved away, I saw my once-steely fondness for the place where I’d grown up slowly fade. Northeast Pennsylvania is beautiful, I had no doubt, full of forests and brooks, but it had been years since I’d seen them.
I spent the better part of my 20s in California, seduced by the pristine shorelines and palatial mountain ranges. I would return to my childhood house outside of Scranton one or two times a year, but it was usually during the colder months, when the trees were naked and the sky was perpetually gray.
Even after I moved back East in 2019, to take a new job in Manhattan, I rarely went home, and when I did it was only for a night or two. I had grown spoiled by the shimmer of California and New York, and the Northeastern panorama became something to be endured, not enjoyed.
When my girlfriend and I left New York for Pennsylvania at the beginning of March, we assumed it would be for a short spell. This Covid thing might take a few weeks, we reasoned, and our apartment was lacking in certain amenities (functioning water lines, for one thing). But those weeks have become months, and we’re still here. We broke our lease, moved our lives into storage, and now spend our downtime ambling through the very landscapes I had once been so eager to leave behind.
I have realized over the last few months just how wrong I was in my snobbishness. And for that, I have a blue Crescent Splash II tandem kayak to thank.
I was reluctant to purchase the kayak. As someone who, thanks to those years out West, has spent a lot of time on the water, it’s not that I didn’t want one. I just couldn’t rationalize the cost: $700 for the kayak, another $100 for the two adjustable seats, $150 for the paddles. Even though my girlfriend and I had agreed to split the expense — an arrangement that did little to mask the fact that she was, ultimately, accommodating my wish list and not the other way around — it still felt like too much. This was a summer of inexplicable pain; how could we buy an oversized toy boat?
Finally, one hot July day, while I was taking a break from my umpteenth round of “but should we?” circumspection to answer a work email, she swiped her credit card. “I knew you’d never actually do it,” she told me matter-of-factly (and she wasn’t wrong). I couldn’t even feign anger as I thumbed through my phone to open Venmo. It was ours.
The Crescent Splash II is not the most attractive watercraft out there. Twelve feet front to back and 69 pounds of aqua blue polyethylene, it’s sort of the Mack Truck of kayaks. Depending on how you configure the seats, it can function as either a solo or tandem vessel, a feature that was especially appealing, I thought, given that I’d be taking the kayak for solo excursions at least half the time. I was the one with a background in paddling, racing outrigger canoes — picture six people chugging through the open ocean in a narrow 40-foot canoe — on teams first in California and then in New York.
It’s sort of the Mack Truck of kayaks
The pandemic had put a stop to outrigger: no practices or races for the foreseeable future. Here was a pretty close second, albeit one that was relatively foreign to me.
From the outset, though, when we took the kayak to a small nearby lake to give it a proper test run, I could feel the familiar sensations. The technique was undeniably different — kayaking requires a smoother stroke than outrigger paddling and is much more of an arm workout — but the net effect was still there. I quickly got lost in the swift dip of the paddle into the water, in the buzz of birds and crickets that broke through the quiet. The inherent repetition of paddling — whether it’s a kayak, a canoe, or anything else that will float — can always be counted on to clear my mind. It’s simple meditation through action, the same as what you hear surfers and knitters describe.
I was instantly hooked. Even now, I’ll head out for a pre-work morning paddle several days a week (sometimes I sneak in an evening session, weather permitting). Northeast Pennsylvania, it turns out, is a kayaker’s dream; rivers and streams snake through the region’s hemlock forests, and public lakes dot the rolling countryside.
Pretty quickly, my girlfriend was smitten, too. The unexpected satisfaction of a boat gliding exactly where you tell it to, our long drives through sweet-smelling backwoods to find the perfect launch spot — it’s all so alluringly uncomplicated. It wasn’t long after we bought the kayak that I would find her sitting on the couch staring at Google Maps, trying to pinpoint a new body of water for us to explore. We’d giddily scan through satellite images of snaking deltas and oddly shaped lakes, knowing fully well that these small public kingdoms could be ours to share in. My parents seem especially pleased, proud even, when we’d prattle to them about our very modest littoral exploits. “See?” they say. “Like we said, it’s not so bad here.”
Of the many outings that have followed since we purchased the Splash II, there’s one I don’t think I’ll ever forget. A few months ago, we drove an hour east, through empty fields and over an old steel bridge, to a boat launch on the New York side of the Delaware River.
We dragged our bulky little boat onto the river and started on our 10-mile trip. In the beginning, the route was packed — families and throngs of young people had come to the water to laze about on the big, inflatable rafts that were available to rent. Other groups had pulled off along riverbanks to take out their grills and their portable stereos. Everyone we passed seemed happy and maybe a little drunk; it was the closest thing to a party I had seen in months.
It wasn’t too long before we had left the crowds behind, and then it was only the two of us out there. For the next 10 or so miles, we would dart the kayak around the river, finding little rapids to pitch our boat in every direction and grassy riverbanks where we could pull off and aimlessly search the riverbed for stones to skip.
We spent much of the day paddling at a middling pace, one that allowed for us to chat and to point out the fish or birds that meandered past. On a few occasions, my old outrigger instinct would kick in and I would inadvertently pick up the pace, letting my body glide through the strokes faster than my mind could follow. In those moments, I’d lose focus on everything but the paddle I was holding. Soon enough my girlfriend would rightly tell me to knock it off and slow down. At the end of the day, we hitched the kayak to the roof of the car and, on our way back home, stopped at a roadside inn to buy ourselves each a beer.
I might just be fabricating a convenient narrative in my mental re-creation of that day, but I think it was during that run down the Delaware that I realized how much I love being home. Our excursions, our retelling of the excursions to my patient parents the next day, the otherwise humdrum existence of life here (where going to the gas station-cum-grocer counts as an outing) — I’ve become enamored with the smallness of it all. I can’t imagine we will stay in Pennsylvania for good — our jobs are in New York, as are most of our friends. But I won’t forget this rare window of time we have been afforded here, and while I am here, I’ll never take for granted how nice the buzz of insects sounds over the water.
Max Ufberg is a senior editor at GEN, a Medium publication.


vox--2020-11-10--3 core myths about eating animals — and why food tech may vanquish them

In 1989 , the social psychologist Melanie Joy became a vegetarian almost by accident .
She ate a hamburger contaminated with campylobacter and became so ill that she couldn ’ t stomach the idea of eating meat again .
So she set about learning new ways to cook for a meatless diet , reading cookbooks and doing research .
In the process , she started to learn about the suffering of non-human animals , the suffering of workers on factory farms , and the environmental toll exacted by animal agriculture .
This new knowledge shocked her .
“ But what @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than what I was learning was that nobody I talked to was willing to hear what I had to say , ” she remembers .
“ I mean , the response was almost always something like , ‘ Don ’ t tell me that , you ’ ll ruin my meal.
’ ” She was especially shocked that this was coming from her family and friends — people who , in her mind , were progressive and passionate about social change .
“ As soon as the conversation came to eating animals , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the progressive values that they espoused would just go right out the window.
” Joy wanted to know why she was seeing this phenomenon in people who were otherwise progressive .
So she went back to school and got her doctorate digging into the psychology behind eating animals .
She ’ s since written several books explaining her findings , including Why We Love Dogs , Eat Pigs , and Wear Cows , and Powerarchy : Understanding the Psychology of Oppression for Social Transformation .
In her research , she hit on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ system that conditions people to see a group of people or animals as less worthy of moral consideration .
Whether we ’ re trying to justify systems of racism , sexism , or , as she describes our treatment of animals , “ carnism , ” the mental hoops we jump through are very , very similar .
For season three of the Future Perfect podcast , we asked her to walk us through the ways human beings justify their participation in these systems , and how — at least when it comes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ new ones .
What follows is a transcript of our conversation , edited for clarity and length .
Carnism speaks to our ideology around meat .
But is there something broader we can say about how human beings think about the moral worth of all sorts of beings around them ?
Absolutely .
In my research on carnism , I was really trying to deconstruct this ideology and say , how does it keep itself together ?
I was looking at the structure of it .
Carnism is structured like other systems of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ all systems of oppression — classism , racism , sexism , and so forth — we can see that these systems all have the same basic makeup .
They all reflect and reinforce the very same mentality .
And that is the belief in a hierarchy of moral worth : this belief that certain individuals or groups are more worthy of moral consideration , of being treated with respect , than others .
I think there are some people who might have a hard time connecting with this when it comes to animals @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by digging into an example of this hierarchy of moral worth that ’ s not at all meat-related , just to make this really clear ?
Can you take me back on a little journey to , let ’ s say , pre-1950s ?
What did women ’ s lives look like then ?
Back before the second wave of feminism , women were essentially relegated to the realm of domestic servitude .
Their primary identity and value came from fulfilling the roles of mother , wife , keeper of the domestic domain @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was the identity and role of white middle-class women .
Women who were socioeconomically disadvantaged or women of color still had to work .
But nevertheless , they still also had to be domestic servants , only to other people in other people ’ s homes as well as in their own homes .
The average woman was not being encouraged to create a path for herself outside of that .
And , of course , many women were deeply unfulfilled , deeply unhappy .
Back in the 1940s or ‘ 50s , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ still loved their wives .
There were still feelings of affection .
So what exactly do we mean when we say that they maybe saw their wives as outside the moral circle or didn ’ t have a ton of empathy for them ?
You can feel affection for somebody and still perceive them as not on the same level as you when it comes to your perception of their moral worth .
Okay .
So what are some of the narratives that people were using back then to justify treating women this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the three Ns of justification .
These three primary justifications have been used to maintain all power : normal , natural , and necessary .
It ’ s normal for women to seek nothing other than domestic bliss .
Everyone ’ s doing it .
It ’ s the path of least resistance to conform , and to deviate is to risk scorn and shame .
It ’ s natural .
The division of labor that we ’ re talking about here had been longstanding and far-reaching .
It ’ s existed for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ world .
Women have always been , and therefore — this is the narrative — will always be in the service of men , of the family , of the home .
And , of course , it ’ s necessary .
We need somebody to be taking care of the household labor for the economy , for the function of society .
Okay , and now how does that play out with regard to animals ?
What ’ s the myth we tell ourselves about why eating animals is normal , natural @ @ @ @ @ @ @ believe two sets of myths .
One set is that eating animals is normal , natural , and necessary .
And the other related set of myths is that not eating animals is abnormal , unnatural , and unnecessary .
So the whole caveman diet would be about “ this is natural.
” We ’ ve learned to justify carnism by saying that we ’ ve always eaten animals , or that because we ’ ve been eating animals for so long , it ’ s the way we ’ re meant to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we ’ ve been eating animals for millennia .
However , it ’ s also true that our very earliest ancestors were fruit eaters , and for millennia , only a tiny percentage of our diet has come from animals .
And , of course , we ’ ve been raping and murdering for just as long as we ’ ve been eating animals .
But we don ’ t use the longevity [ of those practices ] as justification for them today .
And we ’ ve learned to believe in this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ survival .
Now this myth is becoming increasingly debunked .
We ’ re learning that it ’ s actually necessary to eat fewer , if any , animals , if we want to survive and thrive .
But you know , this myth , you can see it through these diets , like the Paleo diet , for example , or the keto diet , where there ’ s this belief that if we don ’ t eat meat and lots of it , we ’ re somehow going to get sick , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Often this is tied up with animal protein .
You know , we need animal protein in order to survive and thrive .
Of course , there ’ s a tremendous amount of literature debunking this myth today , but that is probably the core myth of necessity .
What about the idea that it ’ s sort of necessary to feed the world with meat ?
I mean , the United Nations would disagree .
In fact , the opposite is true .
We know that animal agriculture is a key driver @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , deforestation , of desertification , of freshwater depletion , issues that affect all of us , but in particular affect people in the developing world .
[ Author note : Joy doesn ’ t just believe that there ’ s a parallel between how people justify a system like sexism and a system like eating animals .
She also thinks there are parallels in the ways that those systems of justification are undermined .
She drew another comparison to sexism for us , but this time , she was drawing lessons from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ There were a lot of different factors converging , but we can ’ t downplay the role of technology in enabling a real shift back in the early 1960s .
We have the advent of the dishwasher , the electric washing machine , the birth control pill , the marketing and availability of commercial infant formulas .
And what happened was that it became increasingly difficult to argue for the necessity for women to remain in this position of domestic servitude .
It ’ s no longer necessary to have somebody at home @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and other ways of men managing household tasks and chores .
When a behavior becomes a choice , when we no longer can justify a behavior as necessary , then that behavior takes on a moral dimension it didn ’ t have in quite the same way before .
And so a lot of these technological changes really helped pave the way for society to become more open to engaging with the issue of feminism , the issue of equal rights for women , because there was no longer as strong an investment @ @ @ @ @ @ @ servitude .
So if the core myth of necessity around animal eating is we need the protein , we need this to feed the world , is there a new technology that ’ s coming around now that might knock down some of those ideas ?
Yes , it ’ s the newer technologies we have .
You know , even just five years ago , the plant-based meat products were completely different than they are today .
There are more and more alternatives that are much more palatable than the older alternatives @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plant-based products : meat , eggs , and dairy .
And then , of course , you ’ ve got cellular agriculture , which is sometimes referred to as cultured or clean meat , which is being created from the cells of animals .
Once you have these viable alternatives that make meat that is grown from plants or from cells just as delicious and potentially eventually just as accessible and cheap , is the idea that eating animals could increasingly feel like a choice ?
Absolutely .
As awareness grows about the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ need to eat animals , when the behavior becomes a choice , it takes on an ethical dimension it didn ’ t have in the same way before .
It becomes increasingly difficult to feel comfortable with and be able to justify that behavior .
There are other countries like China that have had meat substitutes , pretty sophisticated ones , for a long time .
China had these medieval banquets where they would serve these delicious elaborate meat substitutes that were designed to look and taste like duck , for example .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ and be different this time ?
The motivation needs to be there .
People need to be motivated to change longstanding habits .
And motivation takes awareness .
Fifty years ago , many people were not aware of the reasons to even want to move away from eating animals .
People need to be able to really understand why they would want an alternate to something that ’ s actually working for them .
I want to sound a note of skepticism for a minute about this idea that in the future we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ world where we never eat meat and we never oppress anyone .
The average American eats something like 200 pounds of meat a year .
When you look at developing economies like China or India , trendlines seem to suggest that as they develop economically , they ’ re going to follow eating patterns that we have in countries like the US , which is to say wanting more protein in their diets , and specifically more meat .
So is it likely , given all that , that somehow the world is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ move toward the future you ’ re envisioning ?
First of all , they ’ re not going to be eating more meat in developing countries .
They are eating more meat .
But there is a movement , the vegan movement , that ’ s also growing all over the world .
And there are many people who are not even necessarily vegan , but they ’ re concerned with climate change .
They ’ re concerned with some of the pollution and toxins that come from factory farms .
And so @ @ @ @ @ @ @ resistance around the world , really challenging the expansion of carnism , even as that expansion is happening .
This podcast is made possible thanks to support from Animal Charity Evaluators .
They research and promote the most effective ways to help animals .
Sign up for the Future Perfect newsletter .
Twice a week , you ’ ll get a roundup of ideas and solutions for tackling our biggest challenges : improving public health , decreasing human and animal suffering , easing catastrophic risks , and — to put it simply — @ @ @ @ @ @

In 1989, the social psychologist Melanie Joy became a vegetarian almost by accident. She ate a hamburger contaminated with campylobacter and became so ill that she couldn’t stomach the idea of eating meat again. So she set about learning new ways to cook for a meatless diet, reading cookbooks and doing research.
In the process, she started to learn about the suffering of non-human animals, the suffering of workers on factory farms, and the environmental toll exacted by animal agriculture.
This new knowledge shocked her.
“But what shocked me in some ways even more than what I was learning was that nobody I talked to was willing to hear what I had to say,” she remembers. “I mean, the response was almost always something like, ‘Don’t tell me that, you’ll ruin my meal.’”
Sign up for the Meat/Less newsletter course Want to eat less meat but don’t know where to start? Sign up for Vox’s five-day newsletter full of practical tips — and food for thought — to incorporate more plant-based food into your diet.
She was especially shocked that this was coming from her family and friends — people who, in her mind, were progressive and passionate about social change.
“As soon as the conversation came to eating animals,” she says, “all of the progressive values that they espoused would just go right out the window.”
Joy wanted to know why she was seeing this phenomenon in people who were otherwise progressive. So she went back to school and got her doctorate digging into the psychology behind eating animals. She’s since written several books explaining her findings, including Why We Love Dogs, Eat Pigs, and Wear Cows, and Powerarchy: Understanding the Psychology of Oppression for Social Transformation.
In her research, she hit on the notion of a powerarchy: a belief system that conditions people to see a group of people or animals as less worthy of moral consideration. Whether we’re trying to justify systems of racism, sexism, or, as she describes our treatment of animals, “carnism,” the mental hoops we jump through are very, very similar.
For season three of the Future Perfect podcast, we asked her to walk us through the ways human beings justify their participation in these systems, and how — at least when it comes to animals — we can start constructing new ones.
What follows is a transcript of our conversation, edited for clarity and length.
Sigal Samuel
Carnism speaks to our ideology around meat. But is there something broader we can say about how human beings think about the moral worth of all sorts of beings around them?
Melanie Joy
Absolutely. In my research on carnism, I was really trying to deconstruct this ideology and say, how does it keep itself together? I was looking at the structure of it.
Carnism is structured like other systems of oppression. So when we look at all systems of oppression — classism, racism, sexism, and so forth — we can see that these systems all have the same basic makeup. They all reflect and reinforce the very same mentality. And that is the belief in a hierarchy of moral worth: this belief that certain individuals or groups are more worthy of moral consideration, of being treated with respect, than others.
Sigal Samuel
I think there are some people who might have a hard time connecting with this when it comes to animals specifically. So can we actually start by digging into an example of this hierarchy of moral worth that’s not at all meat-related, just to make this really clear? Can you take me back on a little journey to, let’s say, pre-1950s? What did women’s lives look like then?
Melanie Joy
Back before the second wave of feminism, women were essentially relegated to the realm of domestic servitude. Their primary identity and value came from fulfilling the roles of mother, wife, keeper of the domestic domain.
To be more specific, this was the identity and role of white middle-class women. Women who were socioeconomically disadvantaged or women of color still had to work. But nevertheless, they still also had to be domestic servants, only to other people in other people’s homes as well as in their own homes.
The average woman was not being encouraged to create a path for herself outside of that. And, of course, many women were deeply unfulfilled, deeply unhappy.
Sigal Samuel
Back in the 1940s or ‘50s, I’m sure that many men still loved their wives. There were still feelings of affection. So what exactly do we mean when we say that they maybe saw their wives as outside the moral circle or didn’t have a ton of empathy for them?
Melanie Joy
You can feel affection for somebody and still perceive them as not on the same level as you when it comes to your perception of their moral worth.
Sigal Samuel
Okay. So what are some of the narratives that people were using back then to justify treating women this way?
Melanie Joy
There were what I call the three Ns of justification. These three primary justifications have been used to maintain all power: normal, natural, and necessary.
It’s normal for women to seek nothing other than domestic bliss. Everyone’s doing it. It’s the path of least resistance to conform, and to deviate is to risk scorn and shame.
It’s natural. The division of labor that we’re talking about here had been longstanding and far-reaching. It’s existed for millennia. It’s around the world. Women have always been, and therefore — this is the narrative — will always be in the service of men, of the family, of the home.
And, of course, it’s necessary. We need somebody to be taking care of the household labor for the economy, for the function of society.
Sigal Samuel
Okay, and now how does that play out with regard to animals? What’s the myth we tell ourselves about why eating animals is normal, natural, and necessary?
Melanie Joy
We learn to believe two sets of myths. One set is that eating animals is normal, natural, and necessary. And the other related set of myths is that not eating animals is abnormal, unnatural, and unnecessary.
So the whole caveman diet would be about “this is natural.” We’ve learned to justify carnism by saying that we’ve always eaten animals, or that because we’ve been eating animals for so long, it’s the way we’re meant to be.
It’s true that we’ve been eating animals for millennia. However, it’s also true that our very earliest ancestors were fruit eaters, and for millennia, only a tiny percentage of our diet has come from animals.
And, of course, we’ve been raping and murdering for just as long as we’ve been eating animals. But we don’t use the longevity [of those practices] as justification for them today.
And we’ve learned to believe in this myth that eating animals is necessary for survival. Now this myth is becoming increasingly debunked. We’re learning that it’s actually necessary to eat fewer, if any, animals, if we want to survive and thrive.
But you know, this myth, you can see it through these diets, like the Paleo diet, for example, or the keto diet, where there’s this belief that if we don’t eat meat and lots of it, we’re somehow going to get sick, be unwell, unable to thrive.
Often this is tied up with animal protein. You know, we need animal protein in order to survive and thrive. Of course, there’s a tremendous amount of literature debunking this myth today, but that is probably the core myth of necessity.
Sigal Samuel
What about the idea that it’s sort of necessary to feed the world with meat?
Melanie Joy
I mean, the United Nations would disagree. In fact, the opposite is true. We know that animal agriculture is a key driver, for example, of climate change, deforestation, of desertification, of freshwater depletion, issues that affect all of us, but in particular affect people in the developing world.
[Author note: Joy doesn’t just believe that there’s a parallel between how people justify a system like sexism and a system like eating animals. She also thinks there are parallels in the ways that those systems of justification are undermined. She drew another comparison to sexism for us, but this time, she was drawing lessons from the success of second-wave feminism.]
There were a lot of different factors converging, but we can’t downplay the role of technology in enabling a real shift back in the early 1960s. We have the advent of the dishwasher, the electric washing machine, the birth control pill, the marketing and availability of commercial infant formulas.
And what happened was that it became increasingly difficult to argue for the necessity for women to remain in this position of domestic servitude. It’s no longer necessary to have somebody at home all day long when we have machines and other ways of men managing household tasks and chores.
When a behavior becomes a choice, when we no longer can justify a behavior as necessary, then that behavior takes on a moral dimension it didn’t have in quite the same way before. And so a lot of these technological changes really helped pave the way for society to become more open to engaging with the issue of feminism, the issue of equal rights for women, because there was no longer as strong an investment in maintaining women in positions of domestic servitude.
Sigal Samuel
So if the core myth of necessity around animal eating is we need the protein, we need this to feed the world, is there a new technology that’s coming around now that might knock down some of those ideas?
Melanie Joy
Yes, it’s the newer technologies we have. You know, even just five years ago, the plant-based meat products were completely different than they are today. There are more and more alternatives that are much more palatable than the older alternatives had been.
So there are newer plant-based products: meat, eggs, and dairy. And then, of course, you’ve got cellular agriculture, which is sometimes referred to as cultured or clean meat, which is being created from the cells of animals.
Sigal Samuel
Once you have these viable alternatives that make meat that is grown from plants or from cells just as delicious and potentially eventually just as accessible and cheap, is the idea that eating animals could increasingly feel like a choice?
Melanie Joy
Absolutely. As awareness grows about the fact that we really don’t need to eat animals, when the behavior becomes a choice, it takes on an ethical dimension it didn’t have in the same way before. It becomes increasingly difficult to feel comfortable with and be able to justify that behavior.
Related Now you can get Beyond Meat and Impossible Burgers delivered right to your door
Sigal Samuel
There are other countries like China that have had meat substitutes, pretty sophisticated ones, for a long time. China had these medieval banquets where they would serve these delicious elaborate meat substitutes that were designed to look and taste like duck, for example. So why would meat substitutes take off and be different this time?
Melanie Joy
The motivation needs to be there. People need to be motivated to change longstanding habits. And motivation takes awareness. Fifty years ago, many people were not aware of the reasons to even want to move away from eating animals. People need to be able to really understand why they would want an alternate to something that’s actually working for them.
Sigal Samuel
I want to sound a note of skepticism for a minute about this idea that in the future we’re going to have this wonderful world where we never eat meat and we never oppress anyone.
The average American eats something like 200 pounds of meat a year. When you look at developing economies like China or India, trendlines seem to suggest that as they develop economically, they’re going to follow eating patterns that we have in countries like the US, which is to say wanting more protein in their diets, and specifically more meat.
So is it likely, given all that, that somehow the world is going to overcome those trends and still move toward the future you’re envisioning?
Melanie Joy
First of all, they’re not going to be eating more meat in developing countries. They are eating more meat.
But there is a movement, the vegan movement, that’s also growing all over the world. And there are many people who are not even necessarily vegan, but they’re concerned with climate change. They’re concerned with some of the pollution and toxins that come from factory farms. And so there is a tremendous amount of growing resistance around the world, really challenging the expansion of carnism, even as that expansion is happening.
This podcast is made possible thanks to support from Animal Charity Evaluators. They research and promote the most effective ways to help animals.
Sign up for the Future Perfect newsletter. Twice a week, you’ll get a roundup of ideas and solutions for tackling our biggest challenges: improving public health, decreasing human and animal suffering, easing catastrophic risks, and — to put it simply — getting better at doing good.


vox--2020-11-10--The incredibly bizarre Dean Browning and “Dan Purdy” Twitter drama, explained

Dean Browning , a former commissioner in Lehigh County , Pennsylvania , confused Twitter users on Tuesday when he replied to his own tweet claiming to be a gay Black man who voted for Trump .
In reality , Browning is a white man who describes himself as a “ proud pro-life & pro-2A Christian conservative , ” as his Twitter photo and bio clearly illustrate .
None of this makes sense , but don ’ t worry , it will make even less sense soon .
Here is what happened : On November 8 , Browning tweeted , “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Biden will destroy in 4 months ” — a standard sentiment percolating on the MAGA internet right now .
On Tuesday , November 10 , when another user argued that , actually , it was Obama who built what Trump takes credit for , Browning came back with a retort .
“ I ’ m a black gay guy and I can personally say that Obama did nothing for me , my life only changed a little bit and it was for the worse , ” he wrote .
“ Everything is so @ @ @ @ @ @ @ feel respected — which I never do when democrats are involved.
” To anyone who has spent enough time watching pro-Trump conservatives and # resistance liberals argue on the internet , it seemed extremely clear what had taken place .
Browning was the owner of another Twitter account , one claiming to be a gay Black man who loved Trump , and he simply forgot to log in to it before posting the reply ( this is often called “ sock puppeting ” online ) .
Immediately , users began to flood into @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s accidental exposure of his fake burner account .
The situation seemed to remain a mystery to Browning , who left the tweet up for several hours .
Later in the day , though , he said that it was actually all a misunderstanding .
“ Regarding the tweet that is going viral from my account — I was quoting a message that I received earlier this week from a follower , ” he wrote .
“ Sorry if context was not clear .
Trump received record minority votes & record LGBTQ votes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it vocally , but do in private.
” Though Browning attempted to use the “ silent majority ” argument , most people didn ’ t buy it .
Within the span of just a few minutes , Washington Post journalist Phillip Bump claimed to have found the smoking gun : the fake account in question .
“ You know who replies to Dean Browning a lot ?
‘ Dan Purdy , ’ a gay black Trump supporter who joined Twitter in October , ” wrote Bump , including screenshots of Purdy ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is an account with a cartoon of a Black man wearing a beanie as its avatar and a Trump 2020 logo as its header .
As people on Twitter soon discovered , it also has a history of posting extremely racist and sexist remarks .
Sample tweets include “ Black ppl can ’ t count ” and “ black women will be the death of America , ” among many others , in Purdy ’ s short time on the platform .
If Browning turns out to be the man behind the account @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , particularly among conservatives .
As far back as 2016 , experts were identifying huge networks of pro-Trump bot accounts for people who didn ’ t actually exist .
In October , Clemson University social media researcher Darren Linvill told the Washington Post that he ’ d identified more than two dozen Twitter accounts claiming to be Black Trump voters who ’ d gained hundreds of thousands of “ likes ” and retweets in the span of just a few days , sparking major doubts about their identities .
Many used photos of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ images , including one in which the text “ black man photo ” was still watermarked on the image .
White nationalists have also had a history of disguising as “ antifa ” online to sow fear toward leftists .
The Browning-Purdy plot thickened , however , when the account posted a video shortly thereafter of a Black man claiming to be Purdy himself .
“ I sent that message to Dean , Dean accidentally posted it somehow , that ’ s the end of the story , ” he said .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sock puppet .
No , I ’ m not a bot.
” Many of the replies to the video asked questions like , “ How much is he paying you ?
” and accusing him of being a hired actor .
Internet sleuths like Jon Hendren ( better known as @ fart on Twitter ) used Google to discover that “ Dan Purdy ” was also the name listed on a suspended account that had a history of several other aliases — including “ Pat Riarchy ” and “ White Goodman.
” In @ @ @ @ @ @ @ between the avatars — and faces — of the man in the video and William Holte , otherwise known as Byl Holte , otherwise known as the adopted son and nephew of music legend Patti LaBelle .
Holte has indeed written several articles on Medium complaining about feminism and anti-racism in the media and proudly calls himself an “ anti-feminist TV critic.
” However horrifying the tweets from “ Dan Purdy ” may be , the fiasco has offered , for some , a welcome distraction from the news .
Much like the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the idea that a small-time Republican politician is posing as a gay Black man on Twitter — who may also be Patti LaBelle ’ s actual son — is too juicy to ignore .
“ Congratulations to Dean Browning , today ’ s main character , ” tweeted Chris Geidner .
“ I really needed this … LMAO ” added Yashar Ali .
Browning , meanwhile , continues to , as they say , “ tweet through it , ” while Purdy ’ s account has been suspended .
Vox has reached @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and will update with more info as it comes in .

Dean Browning, a former commissioner in Lehigh County, Pennsylvania, confused Twitter users on Tuesday when he replied to his own tweet claiming to be a gay Black man who voted for Trump. In reality, Browning is a white man who describes himself as a “proud pro-life & pro-2A Christian conservative,” as his Twitter photo and bio clearly illustrate. None of this makes sense, but don’t worry, it will make even less sense soon.
Here is what happened: On November 8, Browning tweeted, “What Trump built in 4 years, Biden will destroy in 4 months” — a standard sentiment percolating on the MAGA internet right now. On Tuesday, November 10, when another user argued that, actually, it was Obama who built what Trump takes credit for, Browning came back with a retort.
“I’m a black gay guy and I can personally say that Obama did nothing for me, my life only changed a little bit and it was for the worse,” he wrote. “Everything is so much better under Trump though. I feel respected — which I never do when democrats are involved.”
Dean Browning, former Lehigh County comissioner who seems to have forgotten to log into his burner account, was about 2,500 votes away from being the GOP's nominee in Pennsylvania's 7th Congressional district this year. pic.twitter.com/ftiY68wae6 — Jacob Rubashkin (@JacobRubashkin) November 10, 2020
To anyone who has spent enough time watching pro-Trump conservatives and #resistance liberals argue on the internet, it seemed extremely clear what had taken place. Browning was the owner of another Twitter account, one claiming to be a gay Black man who loved Trump, and he simply forgot to log in to it before posting the reply (this is often called “sock puppeting” online). Immediately, users began to flood into the discussion, calling out Browning’s accidental exposure of his fake burner account.
The situation seemed to remain a mystery to Browning, who left the tweet up for several hours. Later in the day, though, he said that it was actually all a misunderstanding. “Regarding the tweet that is going viral from my account — I was quoting a message that I received earlier this week from a follower,” he wrote. “Sorry if context was not clear. Trump received record minority votes & record LGBTQ votes. Many people won’t say it vocally, but do in private.”
Though Browning attempted to use the “silent majority” argument, most people didn’t buy it. Within the span of just a few minutes, Washington Post journalist Phillip Bump claimed to have found the smoking gun: the fake account in question. “You know who replies to Dean Browning a lot? ‘Dan Purdy,’ a gay black Trump supporter who joined Twitter in October,” wrote Bump, including screenshots of Purdy’s frequent replies to Browning.
@DanPurdy322 is an account with a cartoon of a Black man wearing a beanie as its avatar and a Trump 2020 logo as its header. As people on Twitter soon discovered, it also has a history of posting extremely racist and sexist remarks. Sample tweets include “Black ppl can’t count” and “black women will be the death of America,” among many others, in Purdy’s short time on the platform.
incredible stuff happening here pic.twitter.com/Fvrmoq5kTk — jordan (@JordanUhl) November 10, 2020
Is this your totally real black gay conservative follower? pic.twitter.com/XSxgGjjxlc — Don "Big Chooch" Moynihan (@donmoyn) November 10, 2020
If Browning turns out to be the man behind the account, this is not a new phenomenon, particularly among conservatives. As far back as 2016, experts were identifying huge networks of pro-Trump bot accounts for people who didn’t actually exist. In October, Clemson University social media researcher Darren Linvill told the Washington Post that he’d identified more than two dozen Twitter accounts claiming to be Black Trump voters who’d gained hundreds of thousands of “likes” and retweets in the span of just a few days, sparking major doubts about their identities. Many used photos of Black men from news reports or stock images, including one in which the text “black man photo” was still watermarked on the image. White nationalists have also had a history of disguising as “antifa” online to sow fear toward leftists.
The Browning-Purdy plot thickened, however, when the account posted a video shortly thereafter of a Black man claiming to be Purdy himself. “I sent that message to Dean, Dean accidentally posted it somehow, that’s the end of the story,” he said. “No, he’s not a sock puppet. No, I’m not a bot.”
so the video was taken down, but here it is in case you want your brain to melt: pic.twitter.com/umGPjt5sN4 — alex (@alex_abads) November 10, 2020
Many of the replies to the video asked questions like, “How much is he paying you?” and accusing him of being a hired actor. Internet sleuths like Jon Hendren (better known as @fart on Twitter) used Google to discover that “Dan Purdy” was also the name listed on a suspended account that had a history of several other aliases — including “Pat Riarchy” and “White Goodman.”
so from googling it would appear @deanbrowningpa's black guy identity "Dan Purdy" was also once used on the suspended account @soulcookie322. but before that account became Dan Purdy, it was a white guy named "Pat Riarchy" and "White Goodman". dean is really something else pic.twitter.com/gFkUPkNDPV — food truck drove away with my debit card (@fart) November 10, 2020
In yet another twist, people noticed similarities between the avatars — and faces — of the man in the video and William Holte, otherwise known as Byl Holte, otherwise known as the adopted son and nephew of music legend Patti LaBelle. Holte has indeed written several articles on Medium complaining about feminism and anti-racism in the media and proudly calls himself an “anti-feminist TV critic.”
However horrifying the tweets from “Dan Purdy” may be, the fiasco has offered, for some, a welcome distraction from the news. Much like the objectively hilarious Four Seasons Total Landscaping ordeal, the idea that a small-time Republican politician is posing as a gay Black man on Twitter — who may also be Patti LaBelle’s actual son — is too juicy to ignore. “Congratulations to Dean Browning, today’s main character,” tweeted Chris Geidner. “I really needed this … LMAO” added Yashar Ali.
Browning, meanwhile, continues to, as they say, “tweet through it,” while Purdy’s account has been suspended. Vox has reached out to Dan Purdy and Dean Browning and will update with more info as it comes in.