Opinion: The insidious monotony of modern-day commentary

The movie "Love Story" featured on a film reel. Art by Addie Martin.

Over the past few months, I’ve been utterly disappointed with the spoils of my social media algorithm. 

My YouTube homepage has been inundated with videos discussing hit AI TikTok series Fruit Love Island or Ryan Murphy’s newest exercise in style over substance. All of the thumbnails include a quip making fun of the content and the creator soy-facing at the viewer or posing in exaggerated disgust. I recognize that this is a personal issue. I have a specific algorithm; I choose to follow a lot of commentary creators who focus on the intersection of politics and pop culture. However, the issue is broader than my social media intake. Due to the algorithm and creators' need for engagement, commentary all across the internet has been doomed to a state of hypocritical monotony. 

The media echo chamber, wherein one’s beliefs are consistently reaffirmed by the content and people they are exposed to, has been a widely discussed issue for years. This phenomenon has implications on both the political and entertainment value of media. When you’re only shown content from a limited demographic and everyone’s sources are one another, the variety of perspectives one consumes narrows, leading content to become repetitive and boring. 

To a certain extent, the homogeneity of commentary is also incentivized by the nature of content creation as a career. Many people make a living off of their opinions and analyses, whether through video essays, podcasts or articles. For those whose livelihood is impacted by the amount of views they get or those who just want to feel like they aren’t screaming into the void, it’s beneficial to discuss popular topics. Thus, everyone ends up commenting on the pop culture event of the day. At a certain point, it feels like people are saying something because it’s their job to say something, not because they have anything to say. 

The desire for clicks can also encourage people to cover more controversial or notably trashy topics, leading to the creation of clickbait and ragebait as strategies for self-promotion. To return to the aforementioned Ryan Murphy content, I saw multiple videos complaining about his show, “All’s Fair.” They critiqued its rampant girlbossery, its plotlessness and its thoughtless portrayal of sexual assault. Yet all of these videos covered the plot extensively, using its wacky clips throughout, as the creators dunked on the utter sloppiness of the project. 

While critiquing “All’s Fair,” a few creators also voiced that this was their last time engaging with Murphy’s content. They deemed his work a misogynistic cash grab, more interested in the aesthetics of empowerment than presenting women as people. All of these promises were forgotten after the release of Murphy’s latest project, “Love Story,” a stylized retelling of John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s relationship.

Although “All’s Fair” was panned, “Love Story” was a hit. For the first time in a few years, the Kennedy name regained its association with class and American royalty, rather than brainworm icon Robert F. Kennedy Jr. People went all in on glamourizing their relationship, coveting Bessette Kennedy’s seemingly effortless cool girl affect and attempting to replicate her style. The show highlights the detrimental impacts of media scrutiny and public obsession, but through its presentation of the Kennedys’ allure, it recreated the very environment that ruined their lives. Thus, it is revealed that beneath all of the show’s style and drama, there is only hypocrisy. 

This hypocrisy is also present in the commentary sphere. People are constantly platforming content they find to be offensive or distasteful, but this only serves to provide a greater audience consuming that content. Their criticism can also appear somewhat disingenuous, considering they are profiting from the very content they seek to critique. In the case of “All’s Fair,” Murphy profited off of making ragebait, a poorly written show full of famous people and shocking moments. Now, the creators who claim to denounce these practices are benefiting from the same big names and eye-catching clips. 

And yet, I must admit, my own criticisms may fall just as flat. Even within this article, I have highlighted content that I dislike, dooming myself and my reader to have this nonsense on their mind. Is this unavoidable, an unfortunate inevitably of life as a critic? Perhaps the only way to win is not to play. 

For my own sanity, I can’t believe this is the answer. Firstly, the world of commentary and our media ecosystem generally would be better if there was a greater distinction between informative and entertainment content. When the lines between entertainment and moral argument become blurred, both components of commentary become weaker. 

In the case of the discourse surrounding “All’s Fair,” it appeared that many of the videos wanted to make fun of the kitschy stupidness of the show because it was fun and easy. Making fun of a show like “All’s Fair” was low-hanging fruit, so time and time again, people picked it. By commenting on something so clearly stupid, people got the appearance of intellect for making surface-level observations. They were able to acknowledge the obviously insidious components of the project without having to do much further research and were able to gain support from those who appreciate progressive critiques.

A greater distinction of the aim of a piece of media could enable more nuance both in its creation and consumption. The medium is the message. If a comedian and an academic state the same statistic, the former in service of a joke and the latter in service of an argument, I’d be more upset if the academic stated the statistic incorrectly, and I’d have good reason to be. Unless the specifics of the statistic were essential to the joke’s punchline, the comedian was still successful in their pursuit if they made me laugh. On the other hand, if the academic cited the statistic incorrectly, this could undermine their credibility and their claim.

The statements people make will be interpreted differently given their circumstances, so the intent of the content needs to be somewhat clear, in order for the audience to interpret it through the appropriate lens. If I understand my circumstances, I will not fault the comedian for lacking a well-researched thesis, nor will I fault the academic for failing to make me laugh.

On an individual level, recognizing for yourself the content you consume to learn and the content you consume to laugh can be a good start. Of course, there can and will be overlap between these two genres, but once you begin to consume more consciously, you can recognize blind spots in your media consumption. Maybe that means seeking out more informative content, through nonfiction books or day-to-day news.

For me, seeking a more balanced media diet meant I expanded the sources I looked to for information. Previously, I primarily read and listened to the opinions of other young women, specifically cynical stylish leftists. I still turn to these women, my chronically online sisters in arms. I still read their Substacks and watch their videos, but now, their opinions are not the only ones I consume. Whether broadening your scope of consumption means changing the information you seek or who you seek it from, the most essential component of this process is being active. As long as you are not blindly accepting what algorithms serve you, as long as you are thinking critically about the content you interact with and the motivations of those who create the content, you’re on the right track.

And sometimes, the most beneficial addition to one’s media rotation can just be a break. Maybe you don’t always need to have an opinion on everything. Maybe you don’t have to be a producer or a consumer of content. Maybe you can be.