—
For The Emigre

—
For The Emigre

.
Born when we were born, and embarking on writing ‘careers’ (LOL) just as the web ripped the financial guts out of the paper industry, my idea of a good time is to phone my best mate every couple of months and bitch about how, ten years before us, even the lowliest hacks had an expense account, and, ten years afterwards, world-famous ‘media’ types make actual fortunes from unboxing videos.

I’m not on TikTok. I’d never heard of Clubhouse til last week. Hell, I don’t even have a LinkedIn account. Why would I? My idea of self-promotion is to post my articles on Facebook. Once. I would sooner shit myself in public than use an unironic hashtag.

Then, last October, said mate sent me a Wall Street Journal bit about a 21-year-old Texan ‘electronic music producer’ who, having amassed 52,000 followers on social media, dropped out of college to go full-time, and in the last two years has made… just under $70.

Damned if I didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the poor fellow.

Symeon Brown’s Get Rich or Lie Trying opens around the same time, 15-20 years ago, when hip-hop up-and-comer Soulja Boy used LimeWire, YouTube, and appropriated 50 Cent song titles to send his breakout ‘Crank That’ viral, and net himself $7m in the process. ‘By design or good fortune, [Soulja Boy] created a formula for viral success that is still being used today by artists, companies and social media influencers.’

Still, at least he was creating something.

That shift away from the dominance of the traditional media ‘generated a new global currency: influence.’ The current highest-earning influencer, Kylie Jenner, can make over a million dollars from just a single post on Instagram – most often in association with brands like Fashion Nova, ‘a market leader in ghetto chic and timeless hoochie wear’, which has paid rappers for shout-outs (i.e. product placements) in their songs, and signed up ex-reality TV superstars like Cardi B as employed brand ambassadors.

But the apparent glamour of Fashion Nova’s couture is somewhat at odds with the reality that it is hastily ripped off and poorly made in rat-infested wage-thieving sweatshops, and by and large even marketed for nothing on – literally – the backs of young women, many of whom have paid for kit decked out with slogans of female empowerment.

The majority of GRoLT‘s investigations into the corrosive influence of influencing are saturated with this and every other conceivable flavour of dishonesty.

Turkish cosmetic surgeons offering ‘aggressive discounts’ to surgery obsessives (some of the least alluring paragraphs you’ll ever read) who then proceed to advertise on their behalf. Meme-humour accounts built up and sold on with their followings (one offered me a dildo just the other day). Borderline-non-existent dropshipping ‘businesses’ that at best sell cheap Chinese crap, and at worst take your money and then simply evaporate. ‘Traders’ who flat-out fabricate high-flying lives, recruiting – for cold, hard monetary gain – ‘fellow investors’ to finance their own dreams, while it turns out they are living with their mothers.

Inexorably, of course, we come to cryptocurrency: ‘A culture where nothing needs to be intrinsically valuable or true about a commodity…’

Many of Brown’s targets are little more than good old-fashioned ‘direct selling’ pyramid schemes – ‘the default business model of the social media age’ – get-rich-quick wannabes duped into paying fees and subscriptions for supposedly elite training/goods/access privileges. In one instance, students signing up to market nutrition drinks (as an avowed alternative to mountainous post-college debt!) found that ‘97% of them would have made more in a minimum-wage job.’ Another company – in a nicely circular bit of legal logic – had to pay out $4.75m in a consumer (sic) protection suit brought by its own ‘staff’.

And in almost every situation, from breast-implants to bitcoin, ‘the challenge was to make as much money as possible before the game was up.’

In this eye-watering environment of chicanery and cynicism, the abuse of language is, naturally, endemic. ‘Platinum 150’ is the lowest rung of one particular Ponzi scheme. ‘Boss Babes’ routinely turn out to be ‘young women, single mothers and housewives short of money.’ When a fly-by-night plastic surgery outfit is eventually embarrassed online they respond, ‘Clinichub pays great attention to BODY AWARENESS and BODY POSITIVITY.’

So: where there’s bullshit there’s brass. But at least social media enables us to come together for the most-obvious (and least-monetisable) causes such as social justice, right?

Wrong. ‘The infighting between the most prominent figures attached to #BlackLivesMatter has become a lesson in how social media incentivises competition and disincentivises collectivism.’ One leading light became a brand ambassador for Twitter itself. Another amassed a private million-dollar property portfolio ‘while publicly proclaiming socialist values.’

Dreams can be a dreadful poison, and ‘the addictive rewards of accruing followers by any means necessary are warping human behaviour both on- and off-line.’ Influencers get their teeth, tits, and everything else done to mimic Insta filters. A modish (and highly marketable) preference for the ‘racially ambiguous’ has even caused a few to ‘fake their ethnicity’ (cue hatestorm). Funnily enough, there are some mental health issues arising from this need to ‘live a life of performance disguised as authenticity.’

So what possesses anyone to compete in these ‘attention hunger games’?

A late-millennial black man from a Tottenham school that gave out more free meals than it did GCSEs, Symeon Brown is well placed to empathise with the ‘immeasurable pressure to be rich, especially among young men and working class racial minorities.’

Boosted by mantras of Blair-era ‘aspiration’ (‘the internet’s most exploitable economy’), his generation grew up at the roiling convergence of celebrity culture, high fashion, hip-hop, and the technology explosion, and went to work between the 2008 financial crash and Covid, in a world of instant gratification where ‘modern apprenticeships barely pay and rarely lead to job progression’. Many of them have, if anything, gone backwards since. It is perhaps forgivable that they would be receptive to any message (Brown notes some striking echoes of the evangelical church) which says the meek are on the fast track with regard to earth-inheritance.

It’s nonetheless noticeable that few of GRoLT’s chaotically-failed influencers ever conclude that they should get a ‘proper’ job. But then why would they? In the context of the current, desperate, gigging economy, a Cameroonian immigrant paid to be racially abused by livestreamers says it is ‘child’s play’ compared to being homeless. Besides, the ‘hustle’ ethos, epitomised by rap musicians and the likes of fraudster Jordan Belfort, is now ‘so pervasive that even having a well-paid job is regularly derided as selling yourself short.’

‘We are all influencers now,’ Symeon Brown declares. Well, no. But Get Rich or Lie Trying is nevertheless a depressingly instructive read – and the nightmare of the influencer (and ‘influenced’) economy is probably still only halfway through getting started. So if, as Brown asserts, social media is now ‘where the first draft of history is written and where the discourse that informs our civic institutions is set,’ please take this opportunity to look up ‘Influencers in the Wild’, and see just how much trouble we’re all really in.

—
For The Critic

—
For The Spectator

—
For The Critic

—
For Geographical

— The Nelson Evening Mail, Tuesday, December 22 1908
.

The SAS have killed some people in Afghanistan.

The Veneziana pizza was invented in the 1970s by Pizza Express.

In China, there’s a Monastery of Sin.

The first artificial Christmas tree wasn’t a tree at all.

Sir Isaac Newton was the last of the magicians.

The half-cock is a purely defensive stroke.

Greed was the cause of Colombo and indolence was that of Star Fort.

The word ‘robot’ is derived from the Russian for ‘to work’.

Wolves are a bit scarier than reindeers.

The average Dutchman is 6’1″.

Every child finds their father’s sneezes loud.

There are about half a dozen booksellers’ shops in Sydney.

A basic awareness of the humanities could make one a little less offensive.
.

—
For the Sri Lankan Sunday Times

—
For The Critic

In late July 1579, an enormous, well-dressed and well-armed African bodyguard stepped off a boat into the southern Japanese port of Kochinotsu.

Yasuke – perhaps from ‘Isaac’ in Amharic – had (probably) been abducted as a child by neighbouring Nilotic tribesmen, sold into slavery, and, by 23ish, already travelled (and fought) through northeast Africa, Arabia, and round the long coasts of both India and China.

His employer was the ‘most important Catholic in all of Asia’, Alessandro Valignano, papal ‘Visitor to the Indies’, here to impress the One True Faith upon the Japanese, and build on unsure Catholic footholds in the country.

But Yasuke promptly stole the show. He needed two beds, wore three men’s clothes sewn into one, and couldn’t fit through basic doors. His was a very noticeably muscular Christianity – and his blackness, far from hindering, had potentially divine connotations among the Japanese.

In the next three years he learned their ‘outlandish’ language, was given away (or sold?) to a mercurial warlord, nearly died thanks to an enthusiastic, festive mob, found himself exalted to the status of samurai, served at the forefront of ‘The Age of The Country at War’ – and then abruptly disappeared from the historical record.

The number of direct and unambiguous references to Yasuke in that record, though, is tiny, and beyond the ninjas, monks and ruthless warlords, typhoons, cliff-falls and disease that make up this undeniably rollicking historical yarn (both films and graphic novels have been fashioned out of it), much of this book is, of necessity, about the Jesuits and/or the Japanese internal conflicts of the 16th century.

The co-authorship of a Tokyo-based academic (Lockley) and a ‘historical adventure non-fiction’ writer (Girard) is not without its problems, either. The narrative leans lustily towards the Game of Thrones end of the spectrum, and the boisterous prose is well stocked with unverifiable adjectives, use of the word ‘likely’, and glimpses of Yasuke’s thought-process which surely cannot be substantiated. The extensive research is amply evidenced, but the delivery (there are no footnotes or attributions, per se) leaves the reader unclear as to which threads are the solid historical warp and weft and which are the more speculative embroidery. The chronology can be quite evasive. And there are sporadic and slightly effortful references to latter-day race/gender/slavery issues, which aren’t really in keeping with the adventure-story tone.

All of this, however, opens plenty of interesting windows into seafaring, high-caste homosexuality, palace architecture, and more – and the considerable endnotes and bibliography will be a trove for anyone who might prefer the sterner, rather more scholarly approach.

—
For Geographical