A Little Less Hyperfixation, A Little More Action Please
Some mild award season chatter, texts from friends, and finally watching movies.
Welcome to Hyperfixate! This is a weekly newsletter that publishes every Wednesday covering whatever pop culture artefact wormed its way into my mind and laid its eggs there. Forgive me for the crass mental image, but also sign up if you’re inclined to. If this is showing up in your emails, thanks for sticking around.
As goes the vicious cycle, after periods of hyperfocus comes the pits of disinterest. Times like this, where I’m not particularly fixated on anything, can be very difficult for me.
It’s not even a pop-culture obsession thing either. Say I’ve just completed a project I’ve done nothing but pour my time and brainpower into, and the second I try to start something new (especially if it’s something with a deadline) my mind and body both decide to ghost each other and leave texts unsent. Here’s to you, executive dysfunction. You saucy minx, you.
So Text, Besties
I am very fond of the Stan Twitter aphorism “So True, Bestie”. Despite my ignorance of its origins, my use of it is very well-documented online. I’m starting a new column on here where I share with you texts from my friends (with their consent) out of context. They are all very funny to me and I think about them a few times a week.
This one is full of hope, aspirational even:
InshaAllah, indeed. I might pray tahajud to make this happen for us all. I think I’ve been coming to terms with how much I actually want children. Both because I think having a child would be such a gift, and as a certified Hot Girl I can only hope to graduate to MILF someday. It’s my destiny, if not my birthright. Perhaps, when we as a society and a television industry finally run out of ideas and actually make bits from 30 Rock a reality, I’ll get cast in a season of MILF Island. For democracy’s sake, you should vote for me when that happens.
This text also concerns my aspirations, but I’ll take it as a suggestion instead:
As we’re all aware, I have unfortunately been subject to Stanning White Boys in my long career of being Extremely Online and Incredibly Gross1. I had a Chalamet phase. Who didn’t? Did I kick myself a little when my friend’s twin sister told us Timothée Chalamet was in the auditorium next door during our screening of The Favourite? Yes. Did I wear a cute outfit during the BFI London Film Festival premiere of The King and smoked like a vagrant in Leicester Square hoping to catch a glimpse? But of course! I’m only human. I have since opened my eyes, obviously. I’ve pivoted to loving 3 out of the 5 main cast members from Triple Frontier. Although, for the record, my ambitions have always been to become Will Poulter’s ex-wife2, not Chalamet’s. Also, no one said I couldn’t be a MILF and a cat lady at the same time, now, did they?
This one is probably my favourite of the week:
I can tell you the context of this one. This was in response to my realization that Taylor Swift, Harry Styles, and John Mayer were all under the same roof during the GRAMMYs this weekend. If you told 13-year-old me that those three people would be under the same roof in the future, she would tell you to change your Wattpad password. The delusion! But here we are, years later, and it’s true! It happened! When the re-recordings of Out of the Woods and Dear John come out, I bet those two other musicians will go into hiding.
GRAMMY? I Hardly Know Her
I’ve always struggled to reconcile my politics with my proclivity for participating in Awards Season shitposting. This weekend, the 63rd GRAMMYs took place and like all the award shows I watch, I don’t actually watch them. I simply observe my Twitter timeline, catch clips, and react accordingly. It’s the most efficient way for me to participate, timezone-wise.
First, my estranged son and one-half of the internet’s 2nd worst conspiracy theory, Harry Styles, opened the ceremony with his summer hit forced upon us by Columbia Records’ aggressive GRAMMY campaign, Watermelon Sugar. Now, I love Watermelon Sugar. I just can’t listen to it anymore. I was fasting when the music video came out, I painted the opening frame from the music video in watercolours as an early quarantine hobby, I co-host a Harry Styles podcast to do with watermelons—I was very dedicated to that song! But now, seeing all the suffering it has inflicted on my comrades in service and retail, I do not know who this Watermelon Sugar bitch is.
His performance was something. Any excuse for Styles to get his mommy milkers out is in service to a greater cause, perhaps the healing of our broken world. I loved that Dev Hynes was on bass. I loved his little dance. Every dance Harry does is vengeance and vindication for X-Factor Dance Bootcamp all those eons ago. Trust Olivia Wilde to respond accordingly with obscure images of Mick Jagger and fruit on her Instagram story. After the ceremony, I, in good faith, started rewatching Ted Lasso.
Then came my Virgo Mother & Birthday Twin, Fiona Apple, who won both categories she was nominated in, much to the dismay of Elton John. As expected, Apple was not in attendance to accept. I knew she wasn’t going to show, she hates going on Live TV and I don’t blame her. In this video, she explains that she’d rather not be in a space where her sobriety could be compromised and I can 100% relate to that. I’ve been really lucky to have been clean and sober for almost a year, and it’s just nice that someone I look up to is working on it as well. She also directs attention towards this petition for courtroom transparency, which I implore you to check out too.
I am obsessed with this clip (see below) of Harry Styles greeting Taylor Swift. I am not a Haylor, if anything I am what remains of the Kaylor Empire, but this clip truly evokes something visceral in me. I am not interested in comparisons to folklore’s opening track, the 1. If anyone was the 1, it was the Other Kushner Girl3, if not Dianna Agron at best. I am, however, curious to know what the hell they’re laughing at. Is it from relief that Yummy did not win in the categories they were nominated alongside it with? Are they thinking about hitting the breaks too soon, twenty stitches in a hospital room-ing John Mayer behind his back? I did not appreciate them speaking during Doja Cat’s set, though. Doja is an incredible performer and I think wins Production Design of the Night if that were an award.
Congratulations are also in order to William Bowery, the artist formerly known as Joe Alwyn, for his contributions to folklore.
Of course, I can’t talk about the GRAMMYs without talking about Aquarius extraordinaire, Megan Thee Stallion. She took home awards of her own with Beyoncé by her side. She did this with Cardi B. She elevated tap dancing to be an integral component in any and all future live performances. She gave Baz Luhrmann a run for his fucking money. I love her. I’m obsessed with her. I am still bitter that my friend got tickets to a Hot Girl Party in the summer of 2019 but did not go to see Her. Body is Record of the Year in my head. Thee Stallion is Thee Moment.
Elvira Lind, A Tale of Two Oscars
This year was a huge win for my community (sexy people), with nominations for the likes of Steven Yeun, Riz Ahmed, and Daniel Kaluuya. Chloé Zhao makes history as the first woman of Asian descent to be nominated in the Best Director category for Nomadland. This article about the backlash she’s received in China is very interesting. Maybe someday I’ll break this Caring about Award Shows Ceiling, right after I break that Bamboo one.
Speaking of wins for the sexy community, Elvira Lind’s The Letter Room was nominated in the short film category! I watched the film about a week ago and I’m so glad it was recognized in this way. Her husband co-stars alongside a Luigi-esque mustache to deliver a very compelling performance.
To All The Films I Didn’t Log on Letterboxd Before
Like many people who allegedly like movies, I struggle to watch movies.
Thanks to this respite from intense hyperfocus, however, I’ve happily been able to keep switching out the media I’m consuming.
Let’s start with the rewatches. This Monday, I revisited two of my favourite cast ensembles: D.E.B.S. (2004) and Bad Girls (1994). Made a decade apart from each other, the only things these films have in common are that there’s a group of four women central to the story, and both films have been critically panned but have captured my attention. D.E.B.S., to me, was ahead of its time. Secret tests within the SAT, Devon Aoki’s french accent, MEAGAN GOOD, and a love story between a spy and the agency’s nemesis (Jordana Brewster, my preferred Toretto sibling)? It’s everything I could’ve ever wanted. Bad Girls is a western starring Madeleine Stowe and a very blonde Drew Barrymore. I’ll write a whole piece about Bad Girls someday and what it means to me. But for now, trust me when I say it’s actually a pretty decent film to spend time with. In that Showgirls kind of way.
I also rewatched Man of Steel, Batman v. Superman, and Suicide Squad this week. Why? It’s above me. I say it’s preparation for the Snyder Cut, but I’ve never really cared about the DCEU unless my friends were paying for my tickets in high school. Man of Steel wasn’t as bad as I remember it to be, I quite enjoy Michael Shannon serving Taylor Swift’s quarantine bangs and 2000s alt-rock band meets Guy Fieri goatee. I cannot say the same for BvS and the other one. I’ll leave it at that.
In the weeks prior, I actually had some time to watch some new shit! Isn’t that nice? I’m not a fan of Promising Young Woman, though they almost had me with the use of my favourite Paris Hilton song. If I wanted “realistic”, I wouldn’t watch a film, you know what I mean? Perhaps that’s on me for expecting some form of catharsis. It took me four pauses to finish this film. It was a tough watch, at least in my experience. If you want to watch a film where a woman actually murders some rapists, may I humbly suggest Mouly Surya’s Marlina Si Pembunuh dalam Empat Babak (2017) (Marlina the Murderer in Four Acts in English).
Watching Barb and Star Go To Vista Del Mar is probably one of the highlights of my year, and it’s only March. Barb (Annie Mumolo) and Star (Kristen Wiig) are what I hope all white women aspire to be. Barb and Star have really set the bar. It’s been a while since a comedy film has really lifted my spirits and taken me by surprise. It’s the perfect blend of a would-be live-action Spongebob adaptation meets spy musical. Very disturbed to have found out that Jamie Dornan actually stalked women to prepare for his role in The Fall as I was about to praise him for his big musical number in Barb and Star. Also, the one-year anniversary of the infamous Imagine video (which sometimes I pretend my very own Pedro Pascal is not a part of despite his GRAMMY-worthy delivery of “Imagine no possessions”) made me realize that Dornan and Wiig appear back to back in the video. Imagine that. Barb and Star-ism, but at what cost?
Another surprise for me was Moxie, Amy Poehler’s directorial follow-up to Wine Country. She appears in the film wearing a Sleater-Kinney t-shirt, an image forever burned in my mind. Lauren Tsai and Alycia Pascual-Peña were the standouts for me, lest we forget Nico Hiraga’s listing off of American Girl doll names. It’s Booksmart with a little more caution. It’s nice to watch, and I do agree with the criticisms it’s received in the sense that it could’ve dug deeper with the themes and subjects it was touching upon. If this is some baby’s first taste of feminism, white or intersectional, it doesn’t leave a foul aftertaste. But read more books, some baby.
I only watched I Care A Lot for Eiza Gonzalez’s bangs + curl combination, truth be told. I love Rosamund Pike, obviously, but this Marla woman does not hold a candle to Amy Elliot Dunne. She doesn’t vape nearly as much as Will Poulter does in Midsommar. It’s not my cup of tea. But mate, give me Chris Messina in a three-piece suit any day.
That’s all for this week! See you next time!
A play on Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2005).
My best friend Andrea can attest to this, at our high school prom she made sure my picture in the slideshow of 10 Year Predictions was captioned “Divorced to Will Poulter”.
Karlie, not Ivanka. In reference to The Other Boleyn Girl. Stop explaining your bits, Ari. It’s unbecoming.