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  • The End of ‘Brat Summer’ Doesn’t Mean What You Think

    The End of ‘Brat Summer’ Doesn’t Mean What You Think

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    Charli XCX said it, so it must be true: Brat Summer is over. In a tweet so echoey it got several news hits, the club rat/pop girl said goodbye to the season that may come to define her career—and America’s political future. It was September 2, 87 days after Charli released the album Brat and 43 days after she declared that Vice President Kamala Harris “IS brat.” Normally, the fall, spooky end-of-summer vibes don’t really start until, like, the end of the month, but being online has always been a surefire way to warp one’s sense of time.

    This year, though, that warp comes at warp speed. As Bethy Squires pointed out at Vulture this week, the internet seems to be “starting spooky season early.” Perhaps Demure Autumn didn’t give people enough of what they needed; maybe everyone just wants to get in a lot of Halloween before everyone has to start preparing for the holidays on October 1(ish). A few TikTokkers are advocating for a fall dedicated to Magdelena Bay’s album Imaginal Disk.

    More than that, though, I’d say this all has something to do with the fact that being extremely online means observing one’s own calendar, one slightly aligned with the Gregorian one but with its own set of holidays and traditions.

    You already know them: Galentine’s Day, Beyoncé’s birthday (which was just honored on Wednesday), that time in spring when everyone starts posting “It’s gonna be May” with an image macro of Justin Timberlake’s grinning mug. Right now, perhaps a bit early, Spooktober and a new Pumpkin Spice Latte/PSL Season is upon us. Like many others, that last one, similar to National Doughnut Day, is one that while perhaps not entirely the product of a corporate marketing whiz, is definitely one that benefits Starbucks. #Brands like hopping on #trends. Now, when they know there’s a surefire way to be a part of something, like Pride Month, they put it on a calendar and roll out a whole campaign.

    This is perhaps how things got here in the first place. Everyone from Gen Z TikTokers to the Dunkin’ social media manager needs to know when to get on the trend and when to get off. Presumably this is why the Kamala HQ X account has already removed its Brat Green hue. As my colleague Leah Feiger discussed with writer Hunter Harris a few weeks back, as the US gets closer to Election Day in November, the pop culture moment around Harris will likely shift back to a more political one.

    The Monitor is a weekly column devoted to everything happening in the WIRED world of culture, from movies to memes, TV to TikTok.



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  • The Trademark Tug-of-War Over ‘Demure’ Shows a Massive Meme Power Shift

    The Trademark Tug-of-War Over ‘Demure’ Shows a Massive Meme Power Shift

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    All of this underscores that, unlike 10 or 15 years ago, there is now a greater understanding that “content creation is labor,” says Kate Miltner, a lecturer in data, AI, and society at the University of Sheffield’s Information School. “It is time-consuming and often poorly remunerated labor for the most part,” but far more people make entire careers out of being content creators than a decade ago, Miltner adds, “and it feels like an ethics of plagiarism, in addition to trademark/copyright, have come into play.”

    Simply put, people get this shit now. A decade after “on fleek,” creators are much smarter when it comes to ownership of their creations. “A series of conversations and discourses about cultural appropriation and where a lot of contemporary (online) language comes from (Black communities, queer communities) have happened since Peaches Monroee,” Miltner says. Lebron may have felt like she dropped the ball because of a lack of resources, but the resources she did have were other creators who knew how to call out what had happened. She also had companies like Netflix, which—perhaps anticipating blowback for just hopping on a viral trend—just asked that Lebron curate a “Very Demure, Very Mindful” list.

    The Monitor is a weekly column devoted to everything happening in the WIRED world of culture, from movies to memes, TV to TikTok.

    Will this happen every time? No. Memes built from everyday language will always be hard to trademark—Miltner cites Fox Media’s unsuccessful attempt to trademark “OK Boomer” as an example. But now that even Hawk Tuah Girl has merch, the possibilities of getting credit for your meme, or even cash, don’t seem as unlikely as they did before. Might your meme get ingested and reinterpreted by an artificial intelligence bot? Yes. Will that bot be able to make a T-shirt? Er, well, that might happen, too. Creators, especially minority creators, will always have to fight to keep control of their works once they’ve been unleashed onto the world. Now, though, they have a few more coaches in their corner.

    Loose Threads

    Leave Chappell a-Roan. After speaking up about her fans’ “weird shit” on Drew Afualo’s podcast The Comment Section in June, pop star Chappell Roan took to TikTok to post a pair of videos thoughtfully asking her followers to just stop with all the uncool behavior. “I don’t care that abuse and harassment, stalking, whatever, is a normal thing to do to people who are famous or a little famous or whatever,” Roan said. The videos now have a combined 27 million views and are garnering Roan praise for being the rare celebrity who can set boundaries with fans.

    Silence of the Lambs as a romantic comedy. The title says it all. This idea has actually been around for quite some time—since, like, 2017, maybe? But it’s making the rounds again. Perhaps because Donald Trump keeps talking about Hannibal Lecter.

    BritPop is not optimized for SEO success. So says this Thread, which points out band names like Oasis, Blur, and Pulp aren’t very unique in Google’s eyes. Still seems like people will be able to find out about the Oasis reunion and upcoming tour, though.

    The humbleness of Glen Powell. An anonymous producer recently told The Wrap that Glen Powell is the kind of movie star that gets people to go see movies, “unlike Ryan Gosling whose appeal is mostly limited to female audiences.” Powell replied with a tweet referencing Gosling’s iconic Barbie song, saying, “Gosling is a legend. I’m just Glen.”



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  • The Australian Breaker Who Broke the Internet

    The Australian Breaker Who Broke the Internet

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    Before some of them were taken down, the memes about Australian Olympic breaker Rachael Gunn, aka Raygun, were all about poking fun. Videos of her flipping around or kangaroo hopping on the competition floor at the Paris Summer Games were accompanied by captions like “what my nephew does after telling all of us to ‘watch this’” or images of Gunn spinning next to images of Homer Simpson doing the same. The cringe was endless.

    It was also only the beginning. As the internet does what it does and made jabs about Gunn’s performance—she ultimately won no medals and didn’t earn a single point—it also did the other thing it does and went down a rabbit hole on how exactly someone with less-than-stellar skills managed to represent Australia in the Olympics.

    That’s when things got complicated.

    Fairly quickly after the Olympics breakdancing competition ended, controversy began to swirl as to how Gunn, a cultural studies professor at Macquarie University in Sydney, made it to the Games. People began to question her bona fides, her relationship to the Australian Breaking Association, and whether or not her performance was an insult to breaking. Someone even started a Change.org petition asking for an investigation into what happened and whether Gunn’s participation meant a less privileged dancer didn’t get a shot.

    According to a Vox report, the malfeasance allegations against Gunn are largely unfounded. Some breakers in Australia and beyond even rallied to her defense. Still others in her home country noted the side effects of the situation were rough, telling The Guardian that Gunn’s performance could affect the ability of other dancers in Australia to get support.

    “How do I go to work now and try to get our sponsorship and get our grant money for breaking programs [for a sport] that’s just been made a mockery of?” Leah Clark, who runs a dance studio in Brisbane, asked the outlet. “This is actually affecting us on a much larger scale than just memes.”

    What this represents is actually a sizable disconnect online. As the past week wore on, Gunn took to Instagram on Thursday to post a video saying she didn’t realize competing in the Olympics would “open the door to so much hate,” calling the experience “devastating.” Harassment is already a huge problem online, but in situations like this, it becomes too easy for genuine criticisms to get drowned out by quick jokes and hot takes.

    There is merit to interrogating what role Gunn’s privilege played in securing her spot—if nothing else, she could afford to participate in qualifying events which may have been out of reach for some—and larger questions about cultural appropriation in breaking. (“Raygun Deserves an Olympic Gold Medal for Colonizing Breakdancing,” read the headline in The Grio. There are also several threads out there on this topic, and I encourage you to read them.) Those questions are being raised in several places, but chances are you might not see them until you’ve watched a few spoofs or reaction vids first.



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  • How Camo Hats Became an Instant Meme

    How Camo Hats Became an Instant Meme

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    On Tuesday, when Vice President Kamala Harris picked Tim Walz to be her running mate in her bid for US president, she commemorated it by sharing a video of her calling the Minnesota governor and asking him if he’d like to join her campaign. In the clip, he appears in a T-shirt, khakis, white sneakers, and a camouflage baseball cap.

    In politics, this is known as “appealing to the base”—looking like an average (yet electable) American. For pop culture followers, it was known as “appealing to Chappell Roan stans.” Over the last year, during the singer’s meteoric rise, Roan has been selling camo caps emblazoned with “Midwest Princess” in orange block letters. Once Walz officially joined the ticket, the campaign began selling a similar hat with “Harris Walz” on it.

    Soon, everyone wanted to know: Has Chappell seen this?

    Eventually, she did. Later on Tuesday she reposted an image on X showing a side-by-side comparison of her hat and the Harris campaign’s with the caption “Is this real[?]”

    Indeed it was, and according to reporting from my colleagues at Teen Vogue, the 3,000 hats that were initially made sold out in 30 minutes. Close to $1 million worth of hats have now been sold, officially making it a liberal status symbol. As the hat, and its similarities to Roan’s merch, began to spread, the jokes sprang to life.

    “This is the Bushwick x Los Feliz unity our nation needs,” wrote podcast and TV personality Desus Nice, referring to the hip enclaves in New York and Los Angeles, respectively. Wall Street Journal tech columnist Christopher Mims shared Roan’s tweet on Threads saying, “Chappell Roan posting the Harris-Walz camo hat is some kind of Gen Z inception.”

    You say “inception,” others say “reclaiming the narrative.” Yes, the hat could be a subtle (or not subtle) attempt by the Harris-Walz campaign to get a Roan endorsement. When President Biden was still running for reelection, she’d turned down an opportunity to play a Pride event at the White House, and so maybe the hat was a move to make her reconsider. (A rep for Roan didn’t respond to a request for comment.) It could also be an attempt to make camo do for Harris-Walz what red has done for Donald Trump.

    In the years since Trump started wearing them, the red Make America Great Again hat has become a symbol of not only Trump’s campaigns for the US presidency, but also for the values he and the GOP stand for. Red hats became symbols, memes of their own. Kanye West wore one to the White House; supporters wear them at rallies.

    The language of the MAGA cap also became something translatable. The Strand bookstore in New York made a line of hats that said “Make America Read Again” (albeit in white); in 2020, LeBron James and the Los Angeles Lakers wore red caps that read “Make America Great Again Arrest the Cops Who Killed Breonna Taylor.”

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  • Welcome to the Weird Era

    Welcome to the Weird Era

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    What liberals are pushing back against, then, is seeing all of these things cobbled together and demonized. “This moment is important, I think, for people to call out,” Phillips says. “You’ve got this strange minoritarianism, this obsession with children and genitals and drag queens and librarians and all of this stuff where you’re like, ‘What is wrong with you guys?’”

    Backlash, it’s worth noting, is already afoot. Last weekend, onetime Republican presidential hopeful Vivek Ramaswamy took to X to call the “they’re weird” argument “dumb and juvenile,” adding, “this is a presidential election, not a high school prom queen contest.”

    Derek Guy, aka X’s Menswear Guy, responded to Ramaswamy’s post with an image of the former candidate and the caption “big ass shoes,” zooming in on what looked like ill-fitting footwear. It was an attempt to call out Ramaswamy’s own weirdness, but two days later Guy posted a new message to X that “the discourse around ‘weird’ strikes me as not great.”

    Calling anyone “weird” implies that someone else is “normal” or deviant, and that has consequences. “That is how trans people get attacked, that is how women who don’t have children get attacked,” Phillips says. Trump and his supporters aren’t going to turn around and rethink their actions, and ultimately “weirdness” could end up being “weaponized in ways that then makes me nervous, even though I also think that not calling attention to the weirdness is dangerous,” she adds.

    “Weird as a framing works really well as a meme,” Phillips says, “but it doesn’t work really well as an outreach strategy.”

    Katiyar says it will ultimately come down to whether liberals, and the Harris campaign specifically, can back up the memes with something else. “Young voters really do care about social issues, about housing prices, the economy, very substantive issues,” she says. “So I do see [“weird”] losing efficacy if they don’t continue to shift policy to create a difference.” That, to use last week’s buzzword, would be so brat.

    Loose Threads

    Italian Olympic gymnast Giorgia Villa is a parmesan influencer. This is perfect; I have no notes. Please do check out the photos of her posing with giant wheels of cheese. (Yes, most of these threads are going to be about the Paris Olympics. Sorry not sorry.)

    Sure, you’ve heard of walking on water, but have you heard of standing on the air above it? Brazilian surfer Gabriel Medina has, and this photo of him doing just that has gone incredibly viral.

    South Korean sharpshooter Kim Ye-ji is cooler than you. Everyone thinks so.

    Finally, we’d like to leave you with this: A video of gold-medal Olympic gymnasts Simone Biles and Jordan Chiles dancing with Snoop Dogg.

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  • Somehow, Concerts Are the Biggest Memes of the Summer

    Somehow, Concerts Are the Biggest Memes of the Summer

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    On Wednesday, Juneteenth, Kendrick Lamar threw himself a party. Dubbed “the Pop Out: Ken and Friends,” the concert—held at the Kia Forum in Los Angeles—served as a celebration of West Coast hip-hop, and a “victory lap” for Lamar after he ostensibly won his beef with Drake following the release of “Not Like Us.” Or, as one X user called the show, “Kendrick Lamar Presents: I Hate Drake the Musical.”

    The Pop Out, which was livestreamed on Amazon Prime Video, trended Wednesday and into Thursday, and although much of the chatter revolved around the performances by Tyler, the Creator, Steve Lacy, and Dr. Dre, even more seemed to focus on Lamar using the show as a chance to get in another jab at his rival. “Kendrick really threw his own Hatechella lol” wrote one X user, “this is the hateration and holleration that Mary J. Blige was talking about.” The X account for the Public Enemies Podcast wrote “this level of hate will never be duplicated.”

    Ultimately, it wasn’t about hate; Lamar expressed several times that the show was meant to be a moment of unity, adding that it had “nothing to do with no song at this point, ain’t got nothing to do with no back and forth records.” He did, though, perform “Not Like Us” upwards of four times, something that in turn fueled the online furor over his beef with Drake even more.

    Lamar’s show was just the latest in a series of concerts this summer that have taken viral internet culture moments and brought them to the stage—or used the stage to create viral moments of their own.

    Two weeks ago, when pop femininomenon of the moment Chappell Roan took the stage at New York’s Gov Ball dressed as the Statue of Liberty, she created a near-instant meme fueled by her declaration that she turned down an invitation to play a Pride show at the White House. “We want liberty, justice, and freedom for all,” she said. “When you do that, that’s when I’ll come.”

    Roan’s popularity, fueled largely by her online fandom and her inability to put a single bad song on The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess, convinced the organizers of Bonnaroo Music Festival to give her a bigger stage at the event last weekend. Her performance, and the thousands of people that flocked to it, created yet another viral moment. (Search “Chappell Roan Bonnaroo” on TikTok for a taste.)

    Want me to bring it full circle? Here’s this tweet from X user @JoseRMejia: “Imagine [if] Kendrick brought out Chappell Roan.”

    This isn’t the first time concerts have caused a stir online, of course. When Beyoncé headlined Coachella in 2018, it nearly melted down YouTube, which streamed the performance. It ignited the service formerly known as Twitter, too. Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour is like a living meme, getting new iterations every time it goes to a new town or continent, getting its lifeblood, vampire-style, from the hyper-connected Swiftie fandom as it goes.



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  • A Blatant Attempt to Generate a 'House of the Dragon' AI Overview

    A Blatant Attempt to Generate a 'House of the Dragon' AI Overview

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    How many gallons of blood are there in the second season of House of the Dragon? How many wigs? Click here for an overview.

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  • No, Drake’s Cover of ‘Hey There Delilah’ Isn’t AI

    No, Drake’s Cover of ‘Hey There Delilah’ Isn’t AI

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    As if he didn’t have enough to deal with amid his beef with Kendrick Lamar (or perhaps to distract from it), Drake showed up on a remix of parody rapper Snowd4y’s cover of Plain White T’s “Hey There Delilah,” called “Wah Gwan Delilah,” that has everyone … perplexed? Annoyed? Laughing?

    Let’s walk through this together, it’s a mess.

    On Monday, a fresh remix of “Wah Gwan Delilah” showed up on Snowd4y’s SoundCloud. It had what appeared to be Drake joining the comedian in a series of quips about women and name-checks of Toronto landmarks like the Yonge-Dundas Square mall. (“Wah gwan” is Jamaican patois for “What’s up?” and is common in the city, which has long had a sizable population of people of Caribbean descent.)

    As the track spread, it made its way to the Plain White T’s themselves, who posted a video on X and TikTok with the caption “too stunned to speak.” Frontman Tom Higgenson also says “it’s crazy that everybody thinks that it’s real,” seemingly referencing early rumors that Drake’s lyrics were generated using artificial intelligence. Higgenson also makes a series of faces that give off the appearance that he just smelled a fart.

    Those rumors, though, are likely untrue. Drake posted the song to his Instagram Story, seemingly confirming its authenticity.

    It’s easy to see, though, why everyone was confused. AI, as WIRED’s Evy Kwong pointed out on TikTok Thursday, has become so prevalent that it has caused people to question everything. When the song “Heart on My Sleeve” dropped, it took many people several listens to realize it wasn’t actually Drake and The Weeknd. Many fans probably never would’ve known The Beatles’ “Now and Then” wasn’t just a pristine long-lost tape if Paul McCartney hadn’t touted the AI needed to save it. Johnny Cash covers Taylor Swift from beyond the grave. Examples of AI’s ability to fool our ears feel truly endless.

    The Monitor is a weekly column devoted to everything happening in the WIRED world of culture, from movies to memes, TV to TikTok.

    With the realness of Drake’s presence on “Wah Gwan Delilah” seemingly confirmed, the floodgates opened. Rap Twitter, as Billboard noted, had a field day “with the main perception being that after losing the battle to Kendrick, Drake is now just losing it in general” and “leaning into his Toronto-ness” for some image repair.

    Likely, this will have the opposite effect. While Drake Reddit is screaming that it’s satire and if people don’t get it, “the joke is probably on you,” other swaths of the internet remain unable to keep a straight face—or at least a non-cringing one. Vulture, in its writeup of the remix, simply said “post-beef Drake cannot be serious.”



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  • The Limits of the AI-Generated ‘Eyes on Rafah’ Image

    The Limits of the AI-Generated ‘Eyes on Rafah’ Image

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    As “All eyes on Rafah” circulated, Shayan Sardarizadeh, a journalist with BBC Verify, posted on X that it “has now become the most viral AI-generated image I’ve ever seen.” Ironic, then, that all those eyes on Rafah aren’t really seeing Rafah at all.

    Establishing AI’s role in the act of news-spreading got fraught quickly. Meta, as NBC News pointed out this week, has made efforts to restrict political content on its platforms even as Instagram has become a “crucial outlet for Palestinian journalists.” The result is that actual footage from Rafah may be restricted as “graphic or violent content” while an AI image of tents can spread far and wide. People may want to see what’s happening on the ground in Gaza, but it’s an AI illustration that’s allowed to find its way to their feeds. It’s devastating.

    The Monitor is a weekly column devoted to everything happening in the WIRED world of culture, from movies to memes, TV to Twitter.

    Journalists, meanwhile, sit in the position of having their work fed into large-language models. On Wednesday, Axios reported that Vox Media and The Atlantic had both made deals with OpenAI that would allow the ChatGPT maker to use their content to train its AI models. Writing in The Atlantic itself, Damon Beres called it a “devil’s bargain,” pointing out the copyright and ethical battles AI is currently fighting and noting that the technology has “not exactly felt like a friend to the news industry”—a statement that may one day itself find its way into a chatbot’s memory. Give it a few years and much of the information out there—most of what people “see”—won’t come from witness accounts or result from a human looking at evidence and applying critical thinking. It will be a facsimile of what they reported, presented in a manner deemed appropriate.

    Admittedly, this is drastic. As Beres noted, “generative AI could turn out to be fine,” but there is room for concern. On Thursday, WIRED published a massive report looking at how generative AI is being used in elections around the world. It highlighted everything from fake images of Donald Trump with Black voters to deepfake robocalls from President Biden. It’ll get updated throughout the year, and my guess is that it’ll be hard to keep up with all the misinformation that comes from AI generators. One image may have put eyes on Rafah, but it could just as easily put eyes on something false or misleading. AI can learn from humans, but it cannot, like Ut did, save people from the things they do to each other.

    Loose Threads

    Search is screwed. Like a stupid aughts Bond villain, The Algorithm has menaced internet users for years. You know what I’m talking about: The mysterious system that decides which X post, Instagram Reel, or TikTok you should see next. The prevalence of one such algorithm really got the spotlight this week, though: Google. After a few rough days during which the search giant’s “AI Overviews” got pummeled on social media for telling people to put glue on pizza and eat rocks (not at the same time), the company hustled to scrub the bad results. My colleague Lauren Goode has already written about the ways in which search—and the results it provides—as we know it is changing. But I’d like to proffer a different argument: Search is just kind of screwed. It seems like every query these days calls up a chatbot no one wants to talk to, and personally, I spent the better part of the week trying to find new ways to search that would pull up what I was actually looking for, rather than an Overview. Oh, then there was that whole matter of 2,500 search-related documents getting leaked.

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  • Scarlett Johansson’s OpenAI Feud Makes Her an Uncanny Folk Hero

    Scarlett Johansson’s OpenAI Feud Makes Her an Uncanny Folk Hero

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    There is a distinct moment in the Marvel Cinematic Universe when Black Widow became a hero for the everyfan. It happens early in 2012’s The Avengers: She’s tied to a chair. Agent Coulson calls. A nondescript military leader who has been interrogating her hands her the phone. Coulson explains that S.H.I.E.L.D. needs to pull her out of the field. She kicks her questioner in the shin, smashes the chair she’s tied to, takes out three dudes, grabs her heels, and leaves.

    The Avengers went on to make $1.5 billion globally and catapulted nearly everyone in it to superstardom, even the actors who were already famous. Scarlett Johnasson’s Black Widow—the Avenger with no wealth and no superpowers beyond Red Room training—was one of the last to get her own movie or show. Black Widow was simultaneously released in theaters and on Disney+ in the summer of 2021, when the Covid-19 pandemic still had some people wary of the multiplex. Johansson sued Disney for breach of contract, claiming the streaming release hurt the movie’s box office potential.

    Johansson and Disney ultimately settled their suit. The terms weren’t disclosed, but the outcome was that Johansson proved she was not afraid of defending the worth of her work—whether against Disney, which had already paid her $20 million for the movie she made, or against OpenAI, which she threatened with legal action this week over its new conversational ChatGPT interface. The actor claims the computer’s voice, called Sky, sounds “so eerily similar to mine that my closest friends and news outlets could not tell the difference.” OpenAI CEO Sam Altman says Sky “was never intended to resemble” Johansson’s voice. Lawyers say she might have a case, should she pursue one.

    Following Johansson’s calling out of OpenAI, public opinion has largely been on her side. Or, rather, it’s sought to be on the side that isn’t Altman’s. Across X and news reports, pontificators noted that OpenAI’s actions tipped the company’s hand; that by, per Johansson’s statement, asking for the actress’ involvement and then proceeding with something similar even though she declined, Altman was “showing us who he really is.” Within hours, Johansson became an avatar of the resistance, this generation’s Ned Ludd. Everyone who’d ever wondered if AI had read their tweets or watched their video had a champion.

    “In a way, we are all Scarlett Johansson,” Kyle Chayka wrote in The New Yorker, “waiting to be confronted with an uncanny reflection of ourselves that was created without our permission and from which we will reap no benefit.”

    Few ironies are more bittersweet than this. The reason Johansson’s voice is desirable for an AI assistant is because she played one in Spike Jonze’s movie Her. As my colleague Brian Barrett pointed out last week, wanting to replicate that experience demonstrates a gross misreading of that film, but the fact remains that both tech honchos and those who live at their whims (aka everybody else) have parasocial relationships with Johansson because she has a skill set that AI just can’t learn. Now, those who have found joy in her work are identifying with her in a whole new way because she can confront AI’s encroachment more publicly than all those lawsuits brought by artists and writers.

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