Flippancy Alert: This post contains superficial comments intended for short-term levity. Some people may find them frivolous.
Nothing of this magnitude has ever hit a world so saturated in media before. And while we are integrating the still escalating situation, there is something bizarrely reassuring about the inexhaustible media montage of the Tabloid Geishas.
Big vibing garish people, (not mentioning any particular zodiac signs here, of course) often have fantastic immunity. It’s like a revved up version of the syndrome when lust or the sudden appearance of a glittery prospect zaps up your vibe. And who’s to say that putting on a gold lame cape or glueing acrylic nails to your purple latex anti-contamination gloves is more virtuous than sculling echinacea tea while you peruse terrifying graphs and struggle with the spelling of exponential?
Talk about social distancing – their gigantic aura of camera hogging, heat-seeking particles is already one metre or three feet wide. And, in circumstances like this, it turns into a force field. Maybe, for the Tabloid geishas, being obliged to avoid most people but you can go on television or post social-distancing-in-my-lingerie images online is an aphrodisiac? Tackiness could be a life force tonic.
These are a few of my grabs from the last week.
If cocaine was a coronavirus cure, the world would change immeasurably. Politicians accustomed to having to present as deeply sensible and the epitome of civic virtue would take about ten minutes to come out as Space Dust advocates, putting their dealers on the payroll if they weren’t already and extolling the ecological benefits of sports cars because…convertible.
It would be like smoking was in the olden days, considered healthy enough to do during live television spots and recommended by doctors. Governments who had refused to make sensible legislation for decades would form corporate laws (and the associated rorts) within a day.
But apparently it’s not.
Ronda Rousey’s survivalist tips. When did this happen? She’s an Aquarius but this comment – from 2018, before the virus – reflects her Mars conjunct the North Node in Aries: ” I think as a self proclaimed genetic cream of the crop such as I am, I owe it to humanity to survive the end of the world. It’s my responsibility.”
Prepster emergency bags, for when your crisis requires tactical paracord ropes, locator beacons, N95 masks, a first aid kit etc AND a Malin & Goetz skincare, and ‘premium chocolate.’ Because presumably, you’re the sort of person who can navigate apocalyptic conditions and keep up a coherent exfoliation routine.
Plague Productivity Memes. So far, people are only citing Isaac Newton and Shakespeare, and they are probably the only examples of such exceptional productivity under stress. But new versions of competitive quarantine enterprises will emerge.
And as you read this, thousands of writers crouch over their keyboards like Gollum with the Ring, friction burn on their fingers as they smash out a 100K words of – they hope – raw genius.
This situation is hell on the performing arts, music + movie production and many allied industries. But it’s heaven for writers, at least career-wise. Their unique style – clothes that don’t interfere with concentration or demand creative focus, saying yes to invitations but then flying into an existential rage and cancelling – is not only now more chic, it is practically compulsory.
As many wonder what the fuq they will do confined to their house all day, writers are acclimatized. They already wear hoodies inside at night, meditate while cleaning the lint from the dryer and resent limiting labels like ‘morning person’ or ‘nocturnal.’
And many directors, actors and movie people whose sets have been shut down will turn their attention to generating the perfect script. No more writer’s strikes, no more snippy texts about synonyms – auteur all the way.
This was the full ‘psychedelic dystopia’ – as actor Ashley Spencer put it. If you saw this image nine years ago, you’d think it looked like a well-made dark comedy, a sequel to Wag The Dog but preposterous, obviously.
This was an awards ceremony moment, not every day or streetwear, but Pisceans (Erykah Badu in this case) adapt fast and this makes sense. I got a high-end mask for the bushfires and am now getting good wear out of it for the plague. An entire hazmat suit is excessive for most people, but purposeful urban wear that does something and has eco-credentials? It could work. Luxury brands need to pivot.
It’s clear the coronavirus will decimate the sex work industry, as it will anything that requires intimacy or physical contact between strangers. Even the (innocuous for years) Thai massage or walk-in pedicure places are probably feeling this sting. But digital dominatrixes – social distancing to the max – and similar will thrive.
When you cite other people’s stupidity but can’t spell martial law and you are a senator. I see this a lot, however. People, it is martial law, as in martial arts.
Solitude is the new status. Space signalling tactics of the 1%. And the Tabloid Geisha edition of the coronavirus challenge would not be complete without a Kardashian endorsed publishing sensation. End of Days, by a Sylvia Browne, has gone into a reprint to meet mass orders after K.K. tweeted about it. It is not the end of days or even the end of years. But it’s the end of an era, a complex and daunting transition to the new one. And it will all generate this surreal melange of tackiness. If someone announced that a meteor was heading our way, there would be ‘comet chic’ and the Daily Mail would mention someone ‘showing off their ripped abs’ on the way to the space station, shelter, whatever.
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