This is dangerous territory. I am going to comment on something beyond my cultural acumen, critiquing something I try not to participate in and don’t understand. The Grammy’s — as a metaphor not a critique of music.
I only saw seventeen of the red carpet outfits captured and reported by the New York Times, so mine is admittedly a narrow perspective. As I flicked through the images of celebrities in gaudy clownish Haute couture, all I could think about was The Hunger Games. If you haven’t read the trilogy or seen the movies, the backstory is about a fictional USA in the aftermath of a civil war, with the victor a Mountain West District known as Panem. The other “Districts” have been reduced to slave labor for Panem and are brutally repressed economically and militarily. The author creates a vibrant contrast between the hardscrabble lives in the repressed Districts and an outrageously, unselfconsciously decadent, celebrity-driven culture in Panem.
There on Sunday night (which I didn’t watch) was Shania Twain in a black and white polka dot bellbottoms pantsuit, bright crimson wig, and an oversized matching witch hat “by Harris Reed.” Lizzo, a character right out of Panem anyway, walked around shrouded in a bright orange flowing ghost outfit “by Dolce Gabbana,” in which only her head and hands showed through cutout holes. Look it up, I’m not kidding. Harry Styles wore shinny diamond-pattern clown overalls “by EgonLab” without a shirt, just his pasty chest with copious tattoos on display. The rapper Cardi B was somehow fitted into an electric blue sculptured dress “by Gaurav Gupta” that appeared to be blowing in the wind around her head but without moving, and a flowing chapel train sliding on the floor behind her. To top it off, somebody named Sam Smith was surrounded by a brilliant red bag of satiny material “by Valentino,” that began with a pillow size cowl collar around his neck and went billowing down to the floor while covering his feet. The outfit included a matching red top hat with red veil hanging around the eyes, red gloves, and red cane. Pure Panem.
I have disdain for the whole notion of Haute couture anyway, so just the “by so-and-so” is enough to get my Swedish DNA agitated. Add the fawning worship of celebrity and I really get piqued. The wealthy pawns of the Hollywood-Disney-Broadway power-axis seem so thrilled with the egregiously decadent fantasy world created by their collusion with its billionaire-class owners.
The author of The Hunger Games (260 consecutive weeks as a NYT Bestseller), Suzanne Collins, got the idea for the first book of the trilogy one night as she was channel surfing. Reality television shows flickered in contrast with flooding images from the war in Iraq. “Ding!” Panem was born. Yet Panem already existed.
The Progressive Left, to which in another country I might belong, should but does not engage in a critique of celebrity worship and the excessiveness of Haute Couture. Rather, it solicits donations. It then gets associated with classism and a cozy entanglement with wealth so un-woke it sleeps through suffering.
Like I said, this is dangerous. My own cultural bias is likely flowing behind me like Cardi B’s dress. Yet we must be able to critique the excesses of Capitalism and the decadence of our culture or risk further descent into outrageous inequity.
I had no idea you were Swedish! How did I miss that?
My mom was adopted and sometime in the last 20 years we learned of her birth mother (who BTW moved to C’bus after the birth and lived in Franklinton). She was Swedish.
I feel that way about the Super Bowl!!
$6-7M for a 30 second ad, mostly about alcohol.
Mostly young black men, bashing their heads into one another until the seeds of dementia are planted….
Monetize any activity to that extent — music, sport, trading stock — and bad things happen.
Well said, but it’s “descent”. I am at peace, knowing that you will always prey for me.
Always appreciate the editing (hoping the newspaper editor caught it too). I only pray for you now.
I agree; I am offended by the whole idea of award shows: a small group of entertainers patting themselves on the back and exhibiting a degree of blatant “self”-ishness. I find it obscene that so many watch these things.
It is who we are. But it isn’t all decadence — within it is genuine beauty and wonder. The music is amazing and we must not let its monetizing obscure the genius within.
Given my limitations on paper, I have only (ever) been able to describe my feelings – not unlike yours, Cam – about such puffery with sarcasm and parody. I guess it’s my curse – at least one of them. (I recorded said production last Sunday, and watch it in “dribbles and drabs.” Plus, the commercial breaks receive their deserved fast forwards.)
“:)
Oh boy…I hadn’t made the connection to Hunger Games….now it will never leave my head. SO OBVIOUS!!! Thanks as always for the insight following the observation.
It’s a hard look to be sure. Glad we can share it.
It is the outrageousness and over the top glitz that make people watch. I often think of all the jobs behind the glitz. Hair, makeup, lighting, dressers, stylists, manicures, seamstresses, etc. it’s a big industry here in Southern California.
True enough! Big industry, lots of creativity, and deep passion. Just wish it was going toward something with more social value. Pipe dream, I know.
Dear Fr. Cam,
The whole of consumerist culture is, for me, more every year resembling Terry Gilliam’s film “Brazil” than any future I’d hoped for coming out of high school in 1970. I’ve not watched “Hunger Games”, having read the synopsis out of curiosity; it’s not that I think there’s not some pretty uncomfortable comparisons to be found, I just can’t absorb any more of the present dystopia that we pretend to be civic society. I find myself sobbing on reading Wendell Berry’s novels of the Port William membership, or watching James Herriott’s stories brought to life on the BBC, at how much has been lost in just fifty years of in turning Everything into Consumables for Money. I’ve become more like Bartleby the Scrivener by the week. Modernity? I’d prefer not to…
Thanks for your insight and critique here. Gilliam’s film narrative didn’t end well for the hero, Sam, and I’m not sanguine to think this all ends well for us, either. However, acknowledging the affliction is a first step, and opens the door to the second.
Meanwhile, there’s a pleasant fire in the woodstove, our Golden Retriever is always happy for a walk, Karen’ll have cinnamon raisin toast and coffee ready in the morning; and, I’ve a bicycle to mend and bits and bobbins are on the way to keep my fifty-year-old Triumph Bonneville rolling. And there’s this conversation to look forward to…
All shall be well, and all shall be well…
This falls into the category of things that happen for which I find myself saying to said self “Oh my goodness, isn’t that ridiculous or isn’t that terrible or those poor people who are suffering” and then get another cup of coffee. It is good that you shake my reverie as you always have done and help me get back on track and really think about it rather than just shake my head. It also helps when I look at photos and FB entries from children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and spouse.
We all need a little shake now and again to awaken to something we wish to keep asleep to.