Antiracist Accountability Post and TYSG Mash-Up: #DiversifyYourFeed

 Hey there friends,

For this month's Antiracist Accountability, I have SUCH A TREAT in store: I offer you not only an opportunity to engage in simultaneously educating yourself AND supporting Black creators, but also to consistently lift your mood while barely lifting a finger.  That's right: It's Antiracist Accountability AND another entry in the pantheon of terrible year survival guides!!

How, you ask?  How???

TikTok.  That's how.

For those of you who are heretofore woefully unaware, TikTok is a social media platform consisting solely of very brief (meaning: often one minute or shorter) videos.  And it is a GODDAMN DELIGHT.

With deepest sincerity, I implore you to try the following simple, three-step experiment:

1. Rate your mood from 0 - 10, 10 being awesome and 0 being not great.

2. Choose literally any social media platform other than TikTok.  Spend 10 minutes on that platform.  Re-rate your mood.

(Did it go down? 
Notice how it almost certainly went down? 
Notice how, at minimum, it definitely didn't go up?)

3. Now, spend 10 minutes on TikTok.  Come across a video that doesn't do much for you?  Cool, scroll to the next one.  Re-rate your mood.

(Did it go up?? 
DON'T YOU LIE TO ME. 
More importantly, DON'T YOU LIE TO YOURSELF.)

Seriously: This site is a major-game changer for me.  I have started watching TikToks during little breaks in my day, just for a few minutes at a time, and it is having a measurable and consistently positive impact on my mood.  

As a result, I have become a TikTok zealot.  I have started at turns badgering and imploring people I love to start using TikTok, and so many of them simply will not respond to reason.  

In fairness, we are all so burned by the role social media has played in our lives.  It has become at once so seemingly essential as much as it is a drainer of life force that people are just not willing to make space for another social media platform.  Which, fair point: why risk opening yourself up to more arguments with strangers on the internet and bummer content?  At some point, spending more time with that nonsense is just emotionally self-injurious.

But with utter seriousness: TikTok is not that.  These precious tiny little videos contain some of the most inventive, silly, entertaining, informative, sweet, hysterical, human content I have ever seen.  It is such an unexpected gift.  It might be because it is only videos--no status updates, no articles from dubious sources, no arguments between random sectors of your disparate social circles.  It might also be because you have to work to see people's comments on videos, so you can remain blissfully unaware if people are behaving badly.  Whatever the reason, against the odds, the most pleasant surprise of all about TikTok is that it is a major conduit of connectedness--a portal through which we can see into other people's lives and, through that, become better, kinder, more informed, and more empathic.

Hence the relevance of TikTok to Antiracist Accountability: TikTok hosts an immense treasure trove of content created by Black people and people of color more broadly, including LGBTQIA people.  And because TikTok is unlike most social media sites that are based to varying extents on a user's actual social network, TikTok users have the opportunity to engage with content shared by anyone using TikTok.  Which means, quickly and easily, you can get acquainted with perspectives from people all over the nation and the world and with all sorts of lived experience outside your own.  

This means that the social milieu of TikTok can, if you choose to make it so, be radically different than our in-real-life social milieu.  This is incredibly important, because one of the many consequences of American systems of oppression is that essentially all spaces in public life continue to be segregated.  It is work--worthwhile work, but work nonetheless--to break outside of the racial and cultural homogeneity that systemic racism creates and maintains for all of us.  As white allies, it is imperative that we do this work, without intruding into spaces that are not for us, demanding work, energy, or time from people who have experienced more oppression than us, or centering ourselves.  Diversifying our social media feeds can be one small way in which we desegregate our lives.

So, SERIOUSLY: TikTok! 

Part of what is particularly important about this vast cache of videos is its breadth, not just in terms of who is contributing to it, but also what they're contributing.  While there are plenty of TikToks dedicated to valuable social justice or political commentary, there are also plenty that are about people's passions more generally.  There's the guy who shares unusual and hilarious animal facts.  There's the forager who will teach you how to make cookies and simple syrups using plants growing in your neighborhood.  There's the woman playing the role of a deliciously petty White House HR representative processing the outgoing administration's exit paperwork.  My absolute favorite TikTok ever is just a person rocking out in her car to Phil Collins, forever endearing Phil Collins, of all people, to me:

Check out the video on TikTok and like/follow @marz.gif here!

It's all just. Freaking. Delightful.

Here's the thing: after over a year of profound isolation, where we haven't been able to just be out in the world among our communities and neighbors, we have to be ever more intentional about whose stories, perspectives, expertise, and ideas we expose ourselves to.  White allies have a huge resource in a site like TikTok, which empowers us to stay in touch with perspectives outside our own while not demanding emotional labor of people of color while also doing a small part of the work of allyship by lending our eyeballs, "likes", and follows to creators of color and maybe learning something new or laughing for a moment.  Everyone wins.

If you choose to get on TikTok (which you should) and you want to use TikTok in the manner I am proposing (which you should), take the following steps to intentionally #DiversifyYourFeed:

1. Download TikTok on your phone.

2. Watch TikTok videos.

3. When you see videos you like by Black creators, as well as other creators of color, watch them all the way through and/or "like" them.  If you really like a video, follow its creator.  All of this will teach TikTok's algorithm which type of videos to show you. 

Major hint: If you don't like the content TikTok is showing you, you screwed up this step.  Seek out what you want to see using the "Discover" feature and try again.  Again, whatever your interests are, there will be creators of color making videos about that subject.  Seek them out and support their work!

4. Feel better, and be better.

In conclusion:

I WILL FIGHT ANYONE WHO DOES NOT LIKE TIKTOK.

**WHY** WOULD ANYONE NOT LIKE TIKTOK.

Happy scrolling! (But actually happy scrolling!)

{Heart}

"Made You Look" at "Varsity Blues", or: When Rich People Do Bad Things

 Hey everybody,

Over the last few years, I've gradually drifted away from the intense true crime fixation I've had off and on since I was a teenager.  That is likely in no small part because I am overall happier with the state of my life, at least in the domains I can reasonably control and pandemic notwithstanding.  But instead of being gone altogether, my morbid fascination has simply evolved and softened: instead of gobbling up podcasts, shows, and movies about murder, I know almost-as-ravenously consume media about less murder-y crimes.

I therefore present to you: a double-header of documentaries about rich people being terrible.

The first: "Made You Look: A True Story About Fake Art" (2020)

The second: "Operation Varsity Blues: The College Admissions Scandal" (2021)

(Warning: Spoilers ahoy!)

On the surface, these two films focus on very different topics.  "Made You Look" explores the largest art fraud ever discovered in America, and "Operation Varsity Blues" dissects 2019's infamous college admissions scandal.  Setting those differences in subject matter aside, both films expand on a common question: What happens when bad deeds are committed in the context of extreme wealth and privilege?

"Made You Look" reveals how Ann Freedman, the director at a well-established and well-regarded New York City-based gallery pulled a fast one on multiple of her mega-rich clientele, shilling counterfeit art fabricated and sold by con artists far below her social station.  In interviews for the documentary, Freedman claims to have been ignorant of the true nature and value of the pieces she sold.  The mounting litany of expert analysis verifying the pieces' lack of authenticity and Freedman's strident and at times ad hominem attacks against those experts strongly suggests otherwise.  By the conclusion of the film, a bunch of very rich people are very mad they spent a nano-fraction of their immense wealth on bogus paintings, and Freedman has the audacity to open her own art dealership after escaping legal punishment for her role in the scandal she helped create.

Ann Freedman

On the other hand, there are clearly no rich-people "victims" in "Operation Varsity Blues," but rather rich-people co-conspirators.  Damning re-enactments (with admittedly variable quality performances) illustrate how excruciatingly informed Rick Springer's extremely wealthy and powerful clients were about the legal and moral wrongdoing inherent in Springer's "side door" approach to buying admission to elite universities, while experts in the field and reporters who followed the dramatically breaking story highlight the corruption rife in all aspects of admission to prestigious colleges and universities.  The film goes so far as to assail the very notion of "prestige", highlighting that the original meaning behind the French term is actually deceit.  The movie illustrates with infuriating clarity how much the entire college admissions process lives up to that original definition of the term.  Unlike in "Made You Look," mercifully some of the incredibly privileged people participating in Springer's scheme faced some degree of consequence, often in the form of (very) brief stints in prison.

Rick Springer

Each of these movies paint portraits of the criminals at the center of their respective scandals as at turns hard-charging when their schemes are succeeding and flailing when they are ultimately caught.  Springer and Freedman differ, arguably, in their commitment to their duplicity: while Springer was honest with his clients about the dishonesty of his ruse and has largely cooperated with the FBI (in an effort to save himself, of course), Freedman has stalwartly maintained her improbably ignorant innocence.

The films again diverge in how they ultimately emotionally land.  To be fair, neither is altogether satisfying in the comeuppance delivered to their bad actors, because spoiler alert: extreme wealth and privilege arguably inevitably lead to some quantity of bad things, often with aggravating and unsurprising impunity.  That said, the frustration and disappointment at the conclusion of "Made You Look" is easier to absorb than the righteous anger waiting to greet you in "Operation Varsity Blues".  

For me, at least, a prominent emotional note following "Made You Look" is one of schadenfreude: it's hard for me to get my blood pressure up over a bunch of jilted mega-rich people who thought they were hoarding works of art for their own personal consumption.  Very much to the contrary, "Operation Varsity Blues" leads inevitably--to those who care to care, at least--to considerable rage.  This is not because, as of the conclusion of the film, Springer managed to elude prison time.  Instead, it is because the elite universities that were the prize of Springer's plot remain unaccounted for among the entities charged with misconduct, and therefore the grinding societal gears that shore up ever more privilege among the very few--in this case, in the form of access to high-priced college coaches, exclusive high schools, and standardized test tutors, not to mention all the other advantages of fantastic levels of wealth and resultant power--continue to turn unabated.  In their considerable efforts to dubiously protect their reputations, these institutions seem to have completely glazed right over the opportunity the admissions scandal presents to make their admissions process equitable, inclusive, and actually merit-based.

On that bummer of a note: if you're looking to take a little tour of the misdeeds of the rich and (in)famous, I can recommend both of these movies.  I gave both of them 4s.

Both of them are currently viewable on Netflix!

{Heart}

On the Passage of a Year

Hi friends,

A year ago today, everything changed for the second time. Our child was born at the end of November, and the end of February brought the end of my maternity leave and my gradual return to work. In many ways we'd been simultaneously profoundly isolated and drowning in people: we were so lucky to have an almost constant merry-go-round of visits from family and a few very close friends for those three months, but we also barely left the house for fear of exposing our sweet and as-yet unvaccinated newborn to any possible wayward germs. The prospect of leaving him to go out into the world everyday again was predictably gutwrenching.

On February 29th, we took our child to a restaurant--one of our favorite brunch places that always plays funk and Motown and has delicious pancakes--for the first time during my mom's third or fourth visit to see her grandson. That same visit, Mom accompanied us to pick up a gigantic grocery order because we'd heard about that alarming mystery virus and, since we were already in hunker-down defenses-up mode because of our new baby, I think we were primed to overreact. The workers at the store were so sweet and helpful as they fit groceries into every corner of our car, clearly and reasonably, at the time, thinking we were going a little overboard. I don't remember exactly when Mom's next visit was supposed to be, but the wait wasn't supposed to be long.

My first day back was at my once-a-week hospital gig, then I started to see some out-of-state teletherapy clients who I could mercifully see from home, and then, at the beginning of March, I returned to my private practice office with my plants and my client charts. Although it was hard being away from home, it was so nice to see my office--the first office I'd ever gotten to fully furnish and decorate myself--was as I had left it. I was so glad to see my clients for the first time in months, and share a few greeting hugs after not seeing each other for a while.

I remember calling my mom a few days later because I was feeling panicky about the virus making its way with almost perfect invisibility through various points in the States, again wondering if I was overreacting.

I called my brother one particularly anxious night to ask his advice on doing an additional grocery store run after putting my child down for the night, and went ahead with it. A woman in the beans aisle told me her recipe for a delicious meal using coconut milk, and the woman behind me in the checkout line was loading up on packets of ramen noodles.

On March 12th, I called my dad on the way to Target for one last supply run to talk about the WHO declaring a pandemic the day before. He had a work trip to the East coast coming up and had planned to use it as an excuse to come visit us again. Once I had rounded up a few snacks and basics at Target, including diapers and formula, I chatted with strangers in the checkout line for the last time in over a year. I put on a cheerful face, knowing everyone was spooked and on edge. The shelves were already so bare. The woman in front of me in line was buying diapers for her friend's child, and I told her she was being a great friend. You don't want to go without diapers.

Later, I would be grateful I had the foresight to take my charts and still-alive office plants back home with me that night, out of what seemed like an abundance of caution. My private practice partner and I scrambled to draft an email explaining the abrupt transition to teletherapy to our clients in a way that demonstrated our conscientiousness, considered optimism, and care for everyone's safety, and I updated a teletherapy consent form we could both use.

On March 15th, perhaps perplexingly, I went to get a massage. I've relied on monthly massages for years to keep my ever-accumulating somatized stress at bay and they're therefore a foundational part of my self-care. They'd been essentially the only thing that had drawn me out of the house alone during my maternity leave. Either after or before, I talked with my best friend about the bizarre dissonance of being terrified of what seemed like a looming tidal wave of catastrophe but also engaging in the seemingly absurd bourgeois indulgence of a massage. I teased myself, asking, "Which is it?? Are we preparing for the apocalypse, or are we hanging out in a room with another person for an hour to work out the bullshit in my shoulders?" The next weekend I had a haircut scheduled with a note from my stylist that I should bring my baby to introduce them to everyone. That was canceled by the salon.

My hospital is an excellent place to work, but most institutions tend to be a bit underly nimble in the face of abrupt, world-sweeping, unexpected change. Just as my first day back at work was at the hospital, so was my last day, on March 16th. I anxiously Purelled and washed my hands at every conceivable opportunity. Despite my recent massage (or perhaps demonstrating their necessity?) I carried myself as tightly as possible, tensing my shoulders to keep from superfluously brushing against any surfaces. I promised my families I'd tell them as soon as possible whether the hospital would transition to teletherapy. Thankfully, by my next day working for the hospital, they had.

I got home that day and immediately changed out of my work clothes. I may have rinsed off. The Governor had announced a temporary statewide shut-down starting that evening to fend off too much revelry--too much uninhibited togetherness--on St. Patrick's Day. Husband, Child, and I got in our car and drove into the county, into the woods, bolting like frightened horses and grasping at what, on some level, we knew would be our last foray out into the world for a long time. We thought about getting pizza, but the pizza place we liked was closed on Mondays. We'd be cooking for ourselves for months to come. After three months of seemingly unending visits from loved ones, we braced ourselves to be, for an undetermined span of time, alone. And now a year has passed.

I miss you all. This year has been horrible, lonely, terrifying, and sad. But, thanks to whatever compassion and grace exist in this world, we've made it this far. I can't wait to hug you again, to share space at work again, to eat together again, to visit each other again, to get massages and haircuts and to introduce you to my on-the-cusp-of-no-longer-being-a-baby child. Stay safe and well until that's possible again, hopefully soon enough.

{Heart}