Does it sometimes seem as if social media has turned American popular culture into a perfectionist parody of itself?
Last week, I followed a social-media-spawned debate over whether a home decor trend called “fridgescaping” was worthy of media attention. I guess it must be, because Architectural Digest recently explored what it called “romanticizing your refrigerator.”
“For some participants of this trend, it’s about organizing the fridge with decorative containers,” Kristen Moonjian, of the trend forecasting company Fashion Snoops, told the magazine. “For others, it goes beyond that with the incorporation of flowers, vases, twinkle lights, LED candles, framed artwork and more.”
Seems to me that worrying how your milk cartons are arranged is a bit obsessive, but I am not here to judge. Oh, hell, yes, I am. If you find yourself hankering to hang a framed photo or light a candle inside your fridge, it may be time to get help.
The longer social media exerts its magnetic hold on us, the more we’re going to see such pop culture trends going off the rails.
Do you remember the pre-pandemic trend #VanLife? The term was coined to describe incredibly good-looking couples who claimed to be having a fabulous time roaming around the country in their vans, their beautiful golden retrievers in tow, posting endless chatty updates about whatever products they happened to be paid to push that week.
In a world beset by climate change, partisan division and $20 Erewhon smoothies, some seem to yearn for a kind of Woodstockian simplicity — being able to roll around in the mud during a rainstorm — but to look like a million dollars while they do it because, you know, Instagram. (Looking at you, Coachella and Burning Man.)
I don’t care how good-looking you and your dog are, it is not fun to live in a van.
A few months ago, I was taken aback by an article in the New York Times’ Vows section. Each week, the section highlights one wedding with photos and a generally upbeat tale about the couple’s sometimes tortuous road to the altar. The story at issue was about the union of two-self described social media influencers, which took place on the shores of Italy’s Lake Como — ovviamente.
The bride, who had been married twice before, and the groom, who had one previous spouse, were very beautiful, of course, and impeccably dressed. Her social media feeds promote luxury hotels and tourism boards. He is a successful photographer.
Their vows sounded as if they had been written by the great social satirist Tom Wolfe.
“If you are down to travel the world, make babies, raise a family, jump out of planes, heal your inner child, buy dream homes all over the world and give back to the community,” vowed the bride, “I am so down to be your wife.”
“Thank you for finding me in this lifetime,” said the groom. “And here is to many more to come.” (More lifetimes, presumably, not marriages.)
Anyway, the grand finale of the nuptials was an explosion of what are called “daytime fireworks,” shooting what looked like streams of rainbow-colored powder into the sky.
As far as I can tell, unlike so many made-for-social-media extravaganzas that make their way into the news — gender reveal parties, anyone? — this one deserves some credit for causing no one to die, no forest to catch fire, no truck to end up in a lake and no man to run away in anger because he is having a girl but really wants a boy.
Further proof that social media has turned so many Americans into unrestrained exhibitionists emerged a week ago when — sorry, New York Times — the paper of record published a lifestyle story about a Brooklyn woman who throws a “birthday” party for her frozen eggs every year.
And, as we in the newspaper business like to say, she is not alone.
“TikTok is full of women throwing and attending egg showers, in which they invite friends and family to celebrate their taking charge of their fertility futures,” the article reported.
The paper did not mention whether any eggs or embryos of honor have ever been incorporated into anyone’s fridgescape.
Because that would just be silly.
