Critical Thinking

I posted a TikTok earlier today that was just, like, a wee little joke. It was a lighthearted joke — and not a hurtful comment or a slam.

If I had said something prejudiced or hateful, I would’ve deserved some pushback. But I know I didn’t say anything sexist, racist, homophobic, transphobic, ableist, ageist, or violent. I wasn’t making a personal attack, or being vicious about someone’s bad outfit, or even taking a cowardly approach to bullying by saying, “Post this on IG Reels if you’re brave.”

I didn’t do anything vile or cruel. I didn’t. But after posting this video, I received a bunch of … I don’t know how to describe these comments. Other than — and I really don’t want to go there, but I’m going to go there — a bunch of young people complaining about what I’d posted.

So what was my big mistake? I made fun of an influencer.

I understand that going after influencers might seem can be misogynistic — depending on the type of criticism you’re levying. If I’d made a comment about her body, her face/beauty, her personality, her voice, her aesthetic, or even her choice of clothing, then I understand that people take umbrage with that sort of non-constructive “criticism.”

I also think it’s crucial to note that those types of cruel comments are often directed at young influencers and BIPOC influencers. (The influencer I referenced in my video is, for the record, a white woman in her late twenties or early thirties.)

But a woman making a crack at a specific video posted by another woman is not misogynistic. It’s just … it’s just clowning on a corny post. She put it out there for a global audience and she left it up, presumably to drive up engagement.

People rushed to her defense in my comments, and because I was afraid they would snitch-tag her, I shut the whole conversation down. I made my post private, which I would say is a cowardly thing — but I don’t care.

I took the video down because of the deluge of complaints in the comments. After I thought about it some more, I realized that the influencer was complaining in her video, and I made a video about her complaint, and then my comments were full of complaints. It was all too complain-y/Karen-y for me.

In 2024, I reserve the right to protect myself from bland commentary.

That’s the difference in the influencer and myself. I put it out there — and I took it down. Maybe that makes me a coward. Maybe that makes her braver than me. Oh, well. Good for her!

I almost replied to one of the teens in my comments section — I was a teen once, and I know what it’s like to make your voice heard. I know that — sometimes — it feels good for someone to validate your comment by sending a reply.

So I almost said, “I hear what people are saying. To keep it completely real, not all ‘news’ sites are truly in the news business. They’re just content aggregators trying to push content to get clicks. I get it.”

As soon as I typed that up, I felt like … damn. This is exactly what overexplaining is. As a teenager and early twenty-something, I often overexplained concepts and theories to my parents, my grandmother, and my best friend. I cringe at all the times I lectured my best friend, and I hope she forgives me for acting like a ninth-grade history teacher when we already had a ninth-grade history teacher.

We had the same ninth-grade history teacher, now that I think about it. And he was a much, much better lecturer than I could ever be.

I cringe at all the preaching I did to my best friends. And my family! Wow! They sure put up with a lot of overexplaining about politics and things they already knew about! I should’ve overexplained things like WiFi routers and PDF rotation. That would’ve been more helpful.

Not to be the old woman who shakes her fist at the clouds — especially because I’m just a young woman shaking her fist at the clouds — but it always makes me laugh when a nineteen-year-old who just took a JMC 101 course tries to explain to me “how the media is exploitative.”

I always want to respond with something like this:

“Hell yeah, girl. Do you know why the media is exploitative? Lemme guess. Your mass comm professors have talked to you about why stories sell, and which stories will sell, and all of the business behind the business. I understand that, too, because I was exactly where you were, ten years ago. But let me tell you a little secret. Every industry is exploitative — to one degree or another.”

Here, I’d have to take a pause and collect myself. I’m not done. This is a speech.

“I’m not done, girl. This is a speech. You teach the 101 class; I teach the graduate seminar. And I appreciate the fact that you are trying to teach me something — but I live that experience every day. And so do you. And I’m glad you’re more and more aware that the world is exploitative. So now, on social media, you should realize that everything here is exploitative, too. I was trying to exploit your (underdeveloped?) sense of humor to get a laugh — but I exploited your sense of incredulity and you gave me a lecture instead. Ah, well. Let’s keep it moving. I’m giving a lecture down the hall in thirty minutes. Drop in if you finish your lecture early. Toodles, babes!”

I’d be exhausted after all of that. So I didn’t post any lectures of my own. I just bailed.

2024 is the year of picking your battles — and I’m not battling nineteen-year-old media theory students.

I would rather encourage them than to argue with them. And even though they can teach an old dog new tricks — which is a good thing! — I want them to understand that the old dogs already know the old tricks.

Woof, woof!