Category: culture

  • How to Stop Your Appetite from Heckling You and Achieve Savorosity

    How to Stop Your Appetite from Heckling You and Achieve Savorosity

    Coined Term: Cravattenuation

    (craving + attenuation)


    Extended Definition:

    Cravattenuation is the psychological and physiological art of turning down the volume on your inner snack gremlin—the one who starts kicking the back of your consciousness the moment your stomach makes a polite gurgle. It’s the deliberate process of retraining your body to interpret minor hunger signals not as existential emergencies but as low-priority system notifications: “You might want to eat in a bit” instead of “RAID THE PANTRY OR DIE.” Just as meditation teaches you to sit with discomfort rather than react impulsively, Cravattenuation teaches you that a little hunger isn’t a crisis—it’s foreplay for a better meal.

    We’ve been conditioned by snack culture and anxiety-driven consumption to treat hunger as something to be feared and fixed immediately, like a smoke alarm or a toddler tantrum. But when you practice Cravattenuation, something remarkable happens: your threshold for hunger strengthens, and the urgency softens. You learn to sit with a mild stomach pang without spiraling into carb-lust. Over time, you develop what can only be described as Hunger Discernment: the ability to separate emotional nibble-itching from true physiological need.


    The Unexpected Perk:

    By making your body earn the meal—not through punishment, but patience—you begin to eat with a clarity and joy that’s been missing since the dawn of office vending machines. Food tastes better when you’re actually hungry for it. Not “kinda bored” hungry, not “scrolling through cheese reels” hungry, but real hungry. Cravattenuation helps you not only manage your weight with more ease and grace, it re-enchants the eating experience itself. You’ll start treating meals like mini homecomings rather than pit stops at a dopamine gas station.


    Name for the Healthy State: Savorosity

    (savor + satiety + curiosity)

    Savorosity is the elegant state you enter after mastering Cravattenuation—a zone where hunger feels less like a hostage crisis and more like an invitation. It’s when you greet mealtime with curiosity and pleasure, not guilt or compulsion. It’s when you chew slower, taste deeper, and know you’ve arrived not because you gave in to a craving, but because you earned your appetite.

    Cravattenuation gets you there. Savorosity keeps you there. And together, they free you from the tyranny of the pantry’s siren call.

  • DeDopaminification: Breaking Up with the Machine That Loves You Too Much

    DeDopaminification: Breaking Up with the Machine That Loves You Too Much

    DeDopaminification is the deliberate and uncomfortable process of recalibrating the brain’s reward circuitry after years—sometimes decades—of synthetic overstimulation. It’s what happens when you look your phone in the face and whisper, “It’s not me, it’s you.” In a culture addicted to frictionless pleasure and frictionless communication, DeDopaminification means reintroducing friction on purpose. It’s the detox of the soul, not with celery juice, but with withdrawal from digital dopamine driplines—apps, feeds, alerts, porn, outrage, and validation loops disguised as “engagement.”

    In Alone Together, Sherry Turkle diagnosed the psychic fragmentation wrought by constant digital interaction: we’ve become people who talk less but text more, who perform connection while starving for authenticity. In one of her most haunting observations, she notes how teens feel panicked without their phones—not because they’re afraid of missing messages, but because they fear missing themselves in the mirror of others’ attention. Turkle’s world is one where dopamine dependency isn’t just neurological—it’s existential. We’ve been trained to outsource our worth to the algorithmic gaze.

    Anne Lembke’s Dopamine Nation picks up this thread like a clinical slap to the face. Lembke, a Stanford psychiatrist, makes it plain: the modern world is engineered to overstimulate us into oblivion. Pleasure is no longer earned—it’s swipeable. Whether it’s TikTok, sugar, or digital outrage, our brains are being rewired to expect fireworks where there used to be a slow-burning candle. Lembke writes that to reset our internal reward systems, we must embrace discomfort—yes, want less, enjoy silence, and learn how to sit with boredom like it’s a spiritual practice.

    DeDopaminification is not some puritanical rejection of pleasure. It’s the fight to reclaim pleasure that isn’t bankrupting us. It’s deleting TikTok not because you’re better than it, but because it’s better than you—so good it’s lethal. It’s deciding that your attention span deserves a tombstone with dignity, not a death-by-scroll. It’s not heroic or Instagrammable. In fact, it’s boring, slow, sometimes lonely—but it’s also real. And that’s what makes it revolutionary.

  • Reclaiming Your Sanity May Depend on DeBrandification

    Reclaiming Your Sanity May Depend on DeBrandification

    DeBrandification is the conscious, defiant act of peeling away the curated layers of your public persona like old vinyl siding from a house that never needed a makeover in the first place. It’s the moment you look at your bio—“educator, content strategist, latte enthusiast, recovering perfectionist”—and think, Who the hell is this algorithm-optimized mannequin and what has she done with my soul? DeBrandification is not rebranding; it is anti-branding. It’s the willful act of becoming unmarketable, unpredictable, and gloriously unverified. You stop asking, Will this post get engagement? and start wondering, What would I write if no one were watching and no sponsors were lurking?

    It begins subtly: you delete a profile picture, unpublish a blog, or (gasp) let your TikTok account die peacefully of neglect. Soon, you’re off the grid like a suburban Thoreau with Wi-Fi guilt, refusing to hashtag your lunch or quote-tag your trauma. You don’t disappear—you just stop performing. The metrics vanish, and in their place, something odd happens: your thoughts get weirder, your sentences wobblier, your voice less pleasing but more alive. DeBrandification is not career suicide. It’s self-resurrection. And if you do it right, you won’t just lose followers—you’ll lose the craving for them.

    The final scene of Black Mirror’s “Nosedive” is a textbook act of DeBrandification—messy, raw, and utterly liberating. After spending the entire episode contorting herself into a chirpy, pastel-colored caricature to boost her social rating, Lacie finally bottoms out—literally and metaphorically—in a jail cell. Stripped of her devices, her followers, and the suffocating need to be likable, she engages in a gloriously profane scream-fest with her fellow inmate, both of them hurling insults with reckless joy. It’s the first time we see her alive—flushed, furious, and unfiltered. In that moment, Lacie isn’t falling apart; she’s shedding the synthetic skin of her brand. No more forced smiles, no more filtered breakfasts, no more networking by emotional hostage. What remains is a person—not an avatar, not a score—a human being who, for the first time, doesn’t give a five-star damn.

  • If Paul Feuded with His Rival Apostles on Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen

    If Paul Feuded with His Rival Apostles on Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen

    Title: The Real Apostles of Jerusalem: Pentecost and Pettiness on Bravo

    [INT. Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen – The studio is lit like a Roman bathhouse crossed with a New York tiki bar. Andy Cohen sits gleaming between a grimacing Paul the Apostle, in an impeccably tailored robe with Roman stitching, and Peter, who looks like he’d rather be crucified upside-down again than share a couch with Paul. To the left, Bartholomew checks his cuticles while James the Lesser sips merlot like it’s judgment day.]

    ANDY COHEN
    Welcome back to Watch What Happens Live! We are blessed tonight—literally. It’s an apostolic showdown, honey. On my left, we have Peter, James, John, and the boys from Galilee. And to my right, the man who insists he’s also a real apostle—Paul of Tarsus!

    PAUL (tight smile)
    I’m not just a real apostle, Andy. I’m the apostle to the Gentiles. I practically invented the church. And yet I’m never invited to the literary salons in Antioch, never quoted at theology brunches. I wrote thirteen letters—some of which people still read. Unlike certain fishermen whose only contribution was foot-in-mouth disease.

    PETER (fuming)
    Oh give me a break, Saul—I mean Paul. You show up years after the resurrection, claim you saw a “light,” and suddenly you’re the CEO of Jesus, Inc.? The rest of us actually knew the man. We walked with Him. We ate with Him. We heard Him snore. You had a seizure on a donkey and decided you’re the oracle of salvation.

    JAMES THE LESSER (leaning in)
    Let’s be real. If Paul had a PR team any better, he’d be trending on Messianic TikTok. The man has a scroll drop every month. “To the Galatians,” “To the Ephesians,” “To My Haters.” Please.

    ANDY COHEN
    Wow, okay! So Peter, what’s your biggest gripe with Paul?

    PETER
    He’s always subtweeting us in his epistles! “Even if an angel preaches a different gospel, let him be accursed.” Oh gee, I wonder who he meant. Then he throws in a “those who seemed to be something meant nothing to me.” That’s me, Andy! He means me! I was the rock! Now I’m a footnote?

    JOHN (muttering)
    I wrote a whole gospel and he still called me “pillar adjacent.”

    PAUL (exploding)
    You accuse me of ambition, but I suffered for this calling. I was shipwrecked! Imprisoned! Bitten by snakes! You lot had fish and loaves—I had near-death experiences and unpaid missionary tours! If I boast, I boast in the Lord. And maybe also a little in my rhetorical genius.

    BARTHOLOMEW (finally speaking)
    He called himself the least of the apostles and then made himself the brand.

    PAUL
    The Spirit speaks through me!

    PETER
    The Spirit told you to call me a hypocrite in front of the Galatians?

    PAUL
    If the sandal fits.

    ANDY COHEN (grinning like a man feeding Christians to lions)
    Oof! Okay, we are flaming tonight—like the bush, not the brunch. Final thoughts? Can we bury the hatchet like it’s buried at Golgotha?

    PETER (snatching his wine glass)
    Sure. I’ll bury it right here.

    Peter hurls the wine in Paul’s face. The studio erupts. Paul stands, soaked and fuming, quoting 2 Corinthians about his sufferings while John rolls his eyes and checks his scroll for quotes about loving one another.

    ANDY COHEN (gleeful)
    Okay, that’s the gospel according to Bravo! Next week: Mary Magdalene claps back at Judas in The Real Disciples: Women Tell All! Goodnight, everybody!

    [Cue the theme song: “Turn the Other Cheek (Remix)” by DJ Pontius Pilate.]

  • Cartoon Eve and the Algorithmic Hangover

    Cartoon Eve and the Algorithmic Hangover

    In the early ’70s, the network execs at ABC, CBS, and NBC pulled a marketing move so manipulative it should’ve been illegal under the Geneva Conventions. On a hallowed Friday night in the month of September, they handed kids a psychic dog biscuit: a glittering preview of Saturday morning’s new cartoon lineup. As a nine-year-old, I’d sit cross-legged in front of the TV, slack-jawed and vibrating, watching grainy flashes of The Bugaloos and H.R. Pufnstuf like I was being shown a trailer for heaven. It was less of a preview and more of a grilled Ribeye waved under my nose by a smiling sadist who tells me breakfast is in 12 hours.

    Sleep was not an option on Cartoon Eve, a night more sacred than Christmas, Easter, and your grandma’s funeral combined. I’d lie in bed thinking, What if I sleep in? What if I miss the premiere of Lidsville? What if, in a moment of tragic miscalculation, I eat my Cap’n Crunch in the kitchen instead of the TV room and lose valuable viewing seconds? These were the pre-digital days—no DVR, no YouTube, no forgiveness. If you missed it, you missed it. You could cry, but the cathode ray tube did not care.

    The masterminds behind these shows weren’t just marketers—they were psychological arsonists, setting fire to our dopamine circuits before we were old enough to spell serotonin. They didn’t just sell cartoons. They sold Tang, Danish Go-Rounds, and Pillsbury Space Sticks with the breathless urgency of black-market opioids. The shows started at 7 a.m. and ran till 11, but by 10 I’d start to feel queasy. I’d hear the crack of a baseball bat outside and realize I was sitting in a dim living room while my real childhood was playing third base across the street. That’s when the guilt set in—the primal, shame-soaked knowledge that I was trading sunshine and scraped knees for anthropomorphic cereal mascots and animated product placement.

    Eventually I’d fling off my pajamas like a molting larva, throw on jeans, and bolt out the door, desperate to reclaim the morning before it calcified into regret. Childhood, I realized, was a loop of anticipation, overstimulation, and the fear of having made the wrong choice.

    But compared to today’s chaos, that quaint Saturday-morning psychodrama feels like a gentle massage from Mr. Rogers. Social media is Cartoon Eve with weapons-grade dopamine—a psychic arms race where even adults devolve into sweaty, wide-eyed nine-year-olds, tapping their screens like they’re trying to summon a cartoon genie.

    After a decade of scrolling, I’ve pulled the plug. I’ve cut back my digital exposure by 97%, and what’s left is like being a shell-shocked tourist floating down the Amazon on a deflating raft, watching piranhas in mid-frenzy shred a water buffalo. It’s gruesomely riveting, but it fries your soul and robs you of original thought. Now, like millions of others, I am in post-social media convalescence—pale, twitchy, and unsure if I’ll ever feel real sunlight again.

    But one thing’s for certain: I don’t miss the Space Sticks.

  • Foam Alone: The Hipster Bed Hustle and the Cult of Compressed Cool

    Foam Alone: The Hipster Bed Hustle and the Cult of Compressed Cool

    Recently, my wife and I embarked on that most sacred and ridiculous rite of modern consumer adulthood: mattress shopping. But not just any mattress. No, we were lured—like moths to an ironic Edison bulb—by the siren song of the “bed in a box” movement. You know the pitch: memory foam meets gel, vacuum-sealed into a tight roll like a Chipotle burrito of luxury. Just slice it open with a box cutter and voilà!—it unfurls into a California King, like some latex-based resurrection miracle, all while promising to align your spine and your chakras.

    The in-store experience was a curated fever dream. We lay on foam slabs priced between three and nine thousand dollars, enveloped in mood lighting, whisper-soft sales pitches, and ambient indie folk. The mattresses were… fine. They cradled our backs, cupped our hip joints, whispered sweet nothings to our lumbar region. But I wasn’t feeling transcendent—I was feeling sold. Somewhere, I imagined a marketing team high-fiving over a whiteboard with phrases like “Artisanal Sleep” and “Millennial Mattress Disruption” scribbled in dry-erase bravado.

    It wasn’t just a mattress we were meant to be buying—it was an identity. A lifestyle. Minimalist, eco-cool, unburdened by the dusty sins of box springs and showroom floor futons. The subtext was loud: if you’re still buying a traditional mattress, you might as well admit you still use a rotary phone and tuck in your t-shirts. FOMO was baked into every layer of that overpriced memory foam: Buy this, or accept your fate as an aging square who sleeps like a Boomer.

    Once home, I turned to the digital sages—AI platforms, review aggregators, comment sections brimming with keyboard philosophers. The consensus was sobering: “Bed in a box? Cute gimmick. Overhyped. Questionable lifespan.” It turns out luxury doesn’t arrive folded like a quesadilla and held together by hope and branding. Traditional mattresses—those innerspring tanks and hybrid fortresses—still dominate in sheer performance. They don’t need to be unpacked with surgical caution, and they’ll cradle your creaky skeleton well into the next presidential administration.

    The most damning flaw? Durability. You can drop four grand on a foam mattress with a name that sounds like a startup and a logo that belongs on a vape pen, and five years later you’ll be sleeping in a crater. Meanwhile, that crusty old-school mattress from the showroom? Still holding you up like a reliable ex who pays their taxes and owns real furniture.

    In the end, we walked away—me, a little wiser, a little smugger, fully unfooled. I had dodged the algorithmic shame cycle of “Buy now or die alone in orthopedic misery.” I collapsed onto my overpriced sectional—a remnant of a different consumer panic—and streamed stand-up comedy with the gentle satisfaction of a man who knew that comfort, real comfort, doesn’t need branding. It just needs springs that don’t flatten and marketing that doesn’t gaslight you into thinking your dignity lies inside a vacuum-sealed tube of artisanal foam.

  • I Am My Own Audiobook: A Washed-Up Reader’s Redemption Arc

    I Am My Own Audiobook: A Washed-Up Reader’s Redemption Arc

    After four decades of teaching college writing, I now find myself plagued by a humiliating truth: my reading habits have withered into something more decorative than devout. In my twenties, I devoured two books a week like a literary piranha. Now, I manage a limp 30-minute bedtime reading session before drooling onto the page like a narcoleptic bookworm. Call it aging, call it digital distraction, or—as I like to tell myself in moments of flattering delusion—call it undiagnosed ADHD. Whatever the cause, my reading stamina has become a cautionary tale.

    If I want to do anything resembling real, rigorous reading, I’ve learned to prop myself between two 27-inch screens like a cyborg monk: one monitor displaying the sacred text, the other open to Google Docs so I can take notes, argue with myself, and shame my inner skimmer into paying attention. This is not pleasure reading. This is performance reading—a controlled environment designed to bully my mind into staying in the room. If a book so much as looks at me funny, I’ll click over to email.

    But something strange has happened: I’ve become a better listener than reader. I now “read” through Audible with more duration and intensity than I’ve mustered with paper in years. Especially with nonfiction, the audiobook format feels less like cheating and more like a form of literary intravenous drip—direct, efficient, and oddly intimate. That’s why a recent blurb in The New Yorker caught my eye: Peter Szendy’s Powers of Reading: From Plato to Audiobooks isn’t just an academic tour through literary history—it’s a philosophical rebranding of the audiobook experience.

    Szendy resurrects a long-lost distinction between two roles: the reader (the person decoding text) and the readee (the listener, the audience of the reading). Since antiquity, he notes, most literature wasn’t read—it was heard. We were, for most of human history, listenees. Silent, solo reading is a relatively recent phenomenon, and yet we’ve somehow crowned it the gold standard of literary engagement. Szendy isn’t buying it. In fact, he argues for the emancipation of the readee—a manifesto that practically throws confetti over the return of orality via Audible.

    And here’s the kicker: even when we read to ourselves, we’re still listenees. We are listening to our own interior narration. We are, in essence, narrating to ourselves. Szendy suggests that when we read, we play both roles: the voice and the ear, the actor and the audience. And when we listen to a book, we are doing something ancient, dignified, and sacred—not some degraded, dumbed-down version of real reading.

    So yes, maybe I’m a fallen reader, a man who used to crush Dostoevsky before breakfast but now requires high-tech scaffolding just to get through a paragraph. But thanks to Szendy, I can now see myself as a kind of restored readee—part monk, part machine, part audiobook in human form. Not a failure of attention, but a return to tradition. And if my bedtime ritual now sounds more like a podcast than a prayer, well… Plato probably would’ve approved.

  • Contagion of Fear: World War Z and the Collapse of Global Order: A College Essay Prompt

    Contagion of Fear: World War Z and the Collapse of Global Order: A College Essay Prompt

    Essay Prompt:

    In the film World War Z, the zombie apocalypse is more than a cinematic spectacle—it’s a fast-moving allegory for the collective anxieties plaguing our 21st-century world. As the undead swarm across borders and institutions collapse in real time, the movie confronts viewers with deep-rooted fears about globalization, pandemics, migration, misinformation, and the breakdown of social trust. The zombies are not just monsters—they are metaphors.

    This essay invites you to write a 1,700-word argumentative essay in which you analyze World War Z as a metaphor for mass anxiety. Using at least two of the research essays listed below, develop an argument that connects the film’s themes to contemporary global challenges such as:

    • The COVID-19 pandemic and fear of viral contagion
    • Global migration driven by war, poverty, and climate change
    • The dehumanization of “The Other” in politically polarized societies
    • The fragility of global cooperation in the face of crisis
    • The spread of weaponized misinformation and conspiracy

    Your thesis should not simply argue that World War Z is “about fear”—it should claim what kind of fear, why it matters, and what the film reveals about our modern condition. You may focus on one primary fear or compare multiple forms of crisis (e.g., pandemic vs. political polarization, or migration vs. misinformation).

    Use at least two of the following essays as research support:

    1. Jonathan Haidt, “Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid” (The Atlantic)
      —A deep dive into how social media has fractured trust, created echo chambers, and undermined democratic cooperation.
    2. Ed Yong, “How the Pandemic Defeated America” (The Atlantic)
      —An autopsy of institutional failure and public distrust during COVID-19, including how the virus exposed deep structural weaknesses.
    3. Seyla Benhabib, “The Return of the Sovereign: Immigration and the Crisis of Globalization” (Project Syndicate)
      —Explores the backlash against global migration and the erosion of human rights amid rising nationalism.
    4. Zeynep Tufekci, “We’re Asking the Wrong Questions of Facebook” (The New York Times)
      —An analysis of how misinformation spreads virally, creating moral panics and damaging collective reasoning.

    Requirements:

    • Use MLA format
    • 1,700 words
    • Quote directly from World War Z (film dialogue, plot events, or visuals)
    • Integrate at least two sources above with citation
    • Present a counterargument and a rebuttal

    Here’s a 9-paragraph outline and three sample thesis statements to guide students toward deep, layered analysis of World War Z as metaphor.


    Three Sample Thesis Statements

    World War Z presents zombies not just as flesh-eating threats but as avatars of global panic—embodying fears of pandemics, mass migration, and social collapse. Through its globe-hopping narrative and relentless spread of infection, the film critiques a world increasingly unprepared to manage the fallout of interconnected crises, echoing Haidt’s concerns about fractured public trust and Yong’s analysis of institutional fragility.

    In World War Z, the zombie outbreak functions as a metaphor for weaponized misinformation and the breakdown of global cooperation, dramatizing how societies consumed by fear and tribalism respond not with solidarity, but with suspicion and violence. The film anticipates the moral failures detailed by Haidt and Tufekci, making it less about monsters than about our inability to face crisis without self-destructing.

    Far from a typical horror film, World War Z is a global parable of dehumanization and displacement, where zombies symbolize both contagious fear and the faceless masses of migration and poverty. As Benhabib argues, the return of nationalism and the fear of the “Other” has shattered international solidarity—anxiety the film visualizes through barricades, lockdowns, and apocalyptic border control.


    9-Paragraph Outline

    Paragraph 1 – Introduction

    • Hook: Use an arresting visual to frame our world’s current instability.
    • Context: Introduce World War Z as more than a thriller—it’s an allegory of global collapse.
    • Thesis: State your central argument about how the zombies symbolize a deeper, contemporary fear (e.g., pandemic panic, social polarization, migration anxiety, misinformation, etc.).

    Paragraph 2 – The Metaphorical Function of Zombies

    • Discuss the symbolic role of zombies in film generally (fear of the masses, disease, mindlessness).
    • Explain how World War Z updates the metaphor to reflect 21st-century global anxieties.

    Paragraph 3 – Global Crisis and Institutional Collapse

    • Analyze scenes showing governments falling apart, the UN being sidelined, the world reduced to reactive chaos.
    • Connect to Ed Yong’s argument about institutional failure during COVID-19.

    Paragraph 4 – Fear of Migration and the Dehumanized Other

    • Examine the treatment of human mobs, refugees, and zombies in border scenes (e.g., Jerusalem wall, flight panic).
    • Use Seyla Benhabib’s piece to discuss the rising fear of displacement and the collapse of asylum ethics.

    Paragraph 5 – The Spread of Misinformation and Breakdown of Truth

    • Point to the conspiracy theories and media confusion in the film’s early scenes.
    • Use Tufekci’s argument to show how misinformation spreads like a virus—and how that’s reflected in the zombie metaphor.

    Paragraph 6 – The Psychology of Polarization and Fear

    • Explore the emotional tone of the film: anxiety, distrust, hyper-individualism.
    • Connect to Haidt’s claim that polarization has eroded rational cooperation and heightened mass irrationality.

    Paragraph 7 – Counterargument

    • Some may argue that World War Z is just a fast-paced action flick with no real political message.
    • Rebut by showing how even its structure—a global chase from chaos to cure—mirrors real-world anxieties about global crisis management and ethical triage.

    Paragraph 8 – Deeper Implications of the Metaphor

    • Push the metaphor further: zombies as collapsed selves, media-driven mobs, people stripped of identity.
    • Reflect on how the film doesn’t just diagnose fear—it reflects our inability to reckon with complexity in a globalized age.

    Paragraph 9 – Conclusion

    • Reaffirm your thesis.
    • Leave the reader with a provocative final thought: maybe the zombies aren’t the dead—they’re us, stripped of cooperation, overwhelmed by fear, and marching blindly toward collapse.

  • The Salma Hayek-ification of the Self: Black Mirror’s Warning Against the Flattening of Human Identity: A College Essay Prompt

    The Salma Hayek-ification of the Self: Black Mirror’s Warning Against the Flattening of Human Identity: A College Essay Prompt

    Essay Prompt:

    In an age where everyone is a content creator, where every emotion is a post-in-waiting, and every misstep is a potential viral catastrophe, the line between person and persona has nearly vanished. Jonathan Haidt warns that social media has made us tribal, shallow, and intellectually brittle—undermining not only democracy, but the very idea of coherent selfhood. Sherry Turkle argues we’ve traded genuine connection for curated performances and validation loops. And Black Mirror doesn’t just agree—it dramatizes the fallout.

    In episodes like “Joan Is Awful,” “Nosedive,” “Rachel, Jack and Ashley Too,” “Fifteen Million Merits,” and “Smithereens,” we see characters whose identities are warped by algorithmic feedback, whose humanity is buried beneath branding, and who ultimately implode or rebel in a world that demands constant performance.

    Write an argumentative essay in which you compare at least two of the episodes listed above and answer the following question:

    To what extent do these episodes portray the erosion of individuality and authenticity as a byproduct of a culture that prizes digital approval, self-commodification, and frictionless identity performance?

    In your response, engage directly with the ideas in Haidt’s essay “Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid” and Turkle’s TED Talk “Alone, together?” Your goal is to analyze how the fictional worlds of Black Mirror reflect real-world social and psychological consequences of becoming less human and more “user.”

    You may use additional sources (films, essays, or cultural events) as long as they support your central argument.

    Here’s a 9-paragraph outline and 3 sample thesis statements to help your students shape a high-impact, layered essay in response to the prompt.


    Three Sample Thesis Statements:

    In “Joan Is Awful” and “Nosedive,” Black Mirror dramatizes how the pursuit of algorithmic approval transforms individuals into brands, eroding authenticity and leaving behind soulless performers. Echoing Haidt’s warning about tribalism and Turkle’s critique of digital self-curation, the episodes show that in a culture obsessed with likes and curated identities, true individuality becomes not only obsolete, but dangerous.

    By comparing “Fifteen Million Merits” and “Rachel, Jack and Ashley Too,” we see how identity is no longer something people develop, but something handed to them by exploitative systems of surveillance and commerce. These episodes expose the psychological costs of living in a world where being real is punished, and conformity is rewarded with fleeting visibility and hollow fame.

    Black Mirror’s “Smithereens” and “Joan Is Awful” portray the modern individual as an emotionally fragmented user, not a self-possessed person—helplessly addicted to validation and enslaved to platforms that monetize attention. As Haidt and Turkle argue, these systems don’t merely reflect culture—they reshape it, creating citizens incapable of reflection, connection, or rebellion without first asking: Will this get engagement?


    9-Paragraph Essay Outline

    Paragraph 1 – Introduction:

    • Hook: Begin with a startling claim or image—e.g., “We are all influencers now, even if our only follower is despair.”
    • Context: Briefly introduce the concept of the curated digital self, referencing Haidt and Turkle.
    • Thesis: Clearly state which two episodes will be analyzed and what claim will be argued about how these stories reflect the erosion of selfhood in the age of social media.

    Paragraph 2 – Theoretical Framework:

    • Summarize Haidt’s key claim: social media has created performative tribalism, incentivized outrage, and weakened rational discourse.
    • Summarize Turkle’s central idea: digital platforms offer connection, but at the cost of solitude, authenticity, and deep relationships.
    • Link: Tie both thinkers together as diagnosing a common malaise: the death of the coherent self.

    Paragraph 3 – Episode #1 Summary and Setup:

    • Provide a concise summary of the first episode (e.g., “Joan Is Awful”), focusing on its dystopian conceit.
    • Identify the episode’s central character and their arc of performative self-destruction.
    • Set up the lens: how does this character embody Performatosis, Ozempification, or the death of the self?

    Paragraph 4 – Analysis of Episode #1:

    • Explore how this episode critiques self-commodification and algorithmic identity.
    • Use evidence: visuals, plot points, dialogue, and character breakdowns.
    • Link back to Haidt and Turkle: how is Joan (or Lacie, or Ashley) a product of the world they describe?

    Paragraph 5 – Episode #2 Summary and Setup:

    • Do the same for the second episode (e.g., “Nosedive” or “Rachel, Jack and Ashley Too”).
    • Focus on the world-building and social dynamics that force characters into identity performances.
    • Establish a comparative through-line with Episode #1.

    Paragraph 6 – Analysis of Episode #2:

    • Dive into the second episode’s emotional, rhetorical, and visual critiques of tech-mediated identity.
    • Highlight how the character loses or fights to reclaim their “real” self.
    • Use Haidt and Turkle again to frame how this is not sci-fi, but a dramatization of reality.

    Paragraph 7 – Comparison and Synthesis:

    • Put the two episodes in conversation. How do they complement or complicate each other?
    • Are there differences in how rebellion, autonomy, or collapse are portrayed?
    • Use this space to sharpen the argument: what do these episodes teach us collectively about selfhood?

    Paragraph 8 – Counterargument and Rebuttal:

    • Acknowledge a counterpoint: some might argue technology enhances individuality (more expression, more connection).
    • Rebut it: argue that quantity of expression ≠ depth, and curated personas replace real relationships with “brand management.”
    • Support rebuttal with examples from both episodes or real-world trends (e.g., TikTok burnout, online cancel culture).

    Paragraph 9 – Conclusion:

    • Reiterate the thesis with more urgency.

    End with a warning or a call to action: reclaim your glitch. Resist the algorithmic seduction. Stop performing.

  • Kayfabe Nation: How Wrestling Pinned American Politics: Exploring the Blurred Line Between Performance and Reality in the Post-Truth Era: A College Writing Prompt

    Kayfabe Nation: How Wrestling Pinned American Politics: Exploring the Blurred Line Between Performance and Reality in the Post-Truth Era: A College Writing Prompt

    Prompt:
    In his essay “The Rise and Fall of Vince McMahon,” Vinson Cunningham examines how the theatricality and blurred lines between reality and fiction in professional wrestling have permeated American politics, leading to a culture where spectacle often trumps substance. This phenomenon raises concerns about the erosion of truth and the rise of performative politics.

    Drawing upon the Netflix docuseries Mr. McMahon, Cunningham’s insights and the following essays, analyze the extent to which professional wrestling’s narrative techniques have influenced contemporary political discourse. Consider the implications of this shift for democratic processes, public trust, and the role of media in shaping political realities.

    Related Readings:

    1. Cunningham, Vinson. “The Rise and Fall of Vince McMahon.” The New Yorker, October 21, 2024. 
    2. Greene, Dan. “How Much Does Pro Wrestling Matter?” The New Yorker, March 31, 2023. 
    3. Hendrickson, John. “How Wrestling Explains America.” The Atlantic, March 26, 2023.
    4. Hendrickson, John. “Trump’s WWE Theory of Politics.” The Atlantic, March 31, 2023. 
    5. Parker, James. “Viceland’s ‘Dark Side of the Ring’ Shows the Sleaze and Humanity of Wrestling.” The Atlantic, May 17, 2019. 
    6. Newkirk II, Vann R. “Jesse Ventura’s Theory of Politics.” The Atlantic, July 25, 2016. 
    7. Haidt, Jonathan. “Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid.” The Atlantic, April 11, 2022. 
    8. Garber, Megan. “Are We Having Too Much Fun?” The Atlantic, April 27, 2017.
    9. Beckerman, Gal. “A Book That Was Like Putting on ‘a New Set of Glasses.’” The Atlantic, November 3, 2023.
    10. Miller, Laura. “Still Amusing Ourselves.” Slate, March 25, 2025.

    Instructions:

    • Thesis Development: Formulate a clear, argumentative thesis that addresses the influence of professional wrestling’s narrative style on American political discourse.
    • Evidence Integration: Support your argument with specific examples and quotations from the provided readings. Analyze how these examples illustrate the blending of entertainment and politics.
    • Critical Analysis: Evaluate the consequences of this phenomenon for democratic engagement and public perception of truth. Consider counterarguments and address potential criticisms of your position.
    • Conclusion: Summarize your findings and reflect on the broader implications for the future of political communication and civic responsibility.

    Essay Requirements:

    • Length: 1,500–2,000 words
    • Citations: Use MLA format for in-text citations and the Works Cited/References page.
    • Submission: Typed, double-spaced, 12-point Times New Roman font

    Here’s a 9-paragraph essay outline for the prompt “Spectacle Over Substance: Wrestling’s Influence on American Political Discourse.” This outline follows a logical, argumentative structure that weaves together the assigned readings while encouraging students to build a cohesive, persuasive essay.


    I. Introduction

    • Hook: Begin with a vivid moment—perhaps Trump’s triumphant fist pump after the assassination attempt, or Vince McMahon strutting to the ring—blurring entertainment and politics.
    • Context: Introduce Vinson Cunningham’s claim that McMahon’s wrestling empire laid the foundation for modern American political spectacle.
    • Thesis Statement: American politics has adopted the narrative strategies of professional wrestling—flattening truth, elevating spectacle, and turning public discourse into a performance—creating a civic culture where democracy is treated less like a system of governance and more like a ratings game.

    II. The McMahon Doctrine: Kayfabe and the Politics of Performance

    • Define kayfabe (the wrestling term for presenting fiction as real) and show how McMahon’s WWE blurred the lines between villainy and heroism for the sake of crowd reaction.
    • Use Cunningham’s insights to show how this strategy has infiltrated American political identity: politicians as characters, scandal as storyline, truth as a flexible tool.

    III. Trump as Wrestling Archetype

    • Draw on John Hendrickson’s The Atlantic essays and Cunningham’s portrayal of Trump’s staged bravado.
    • Analyze how Trump models the heel-turned-babyface narrative, using defiance, cruelty, and performative grievance to cultivate loyalty.
    • Show how this political theater leaves truth irrelevant—as long as the audience is entertained.

    IV. The Algorithm Joins the Ring

    • Introduce the role of social media algorithms in amplifying performative politics.
    • Reference Haidt’s and other essayists’ concerns about how outrage and spectacle rise to the top of the feed.
    • Connect to WWE’s formula: escalation, emotional arousal, and moral oversimplification.

    V. Wrestling with the Truth: The Death of Nuance

    • Explore how the binary storytelling of wrestling—good guys vs. bad guys—maps onto political polarization.
    • Use Cunningham and Greene to illustrate how political complexity has been flattened for audience catharsis and tribal loyalty.
    • Show how this environment punishes nuance, deliberation, and compromise.

    VI. The Erosion of Democratic Discourse

    • Argue that when politics becomes performative, democratic institutions suffer: debates become promos, policies become props.
    • Use Vann R. Newkirk II’s piece on Jesse Ventura to show how long this has been brewing.
    • Analyze the consequences: diminished trust, manipulated electorates, and emotional extremism.

    VII. Counterargument: Populist Connection or Dangerous Spectacle?

    • Acknowledge the defense: wrestling-style politics connects to “the people,” makes issues accessible, and breaks elite control of discourse.
    • Rebut: accessibility without integrity breeds demagoguery, and emotional spectacle is not a substitute for civic truth.

    VIII. Cultural Addiction to Spectacle

    • Tie together the readings’ concern that Americans are now addicted to the drama of public life more than its consequences.
    • Show how wrestling trained audiences to want louder, meaner, simpler characters—and how democracy now suffers for it.
    • Cite Dark Side of the Ring or How Wrestling Explains America for evidence of how low the spectacle can go.

    IX. Conclusion

    • Reaffirm thesis: politics has become wrestling with better suits and worse consequences.
    • Reflect on Cunningham’s closing concern: if spectacle is the new substance, democracy is no longer deliberative—it’s kayfabe.
    • Close with a challenge to the reader: if we want a democracy rooted in reality, we’ll need to stop confusing entertainment with governance.