Something Else

talks about a friend or family member buying a “cute” or “cool” or whatever product for them

shows multiple well-lit, well-framed photos of a product

sounds like it was written by an alien (why are they laughing so hard at something that clearly isn’t funny?)

has an uncredited “twitter”-esque screenshot and tumblr text that seem to be written by the same person (which they probably were)

is from a blog that completely lacks personality and is only devoted to similar or “aesthetic” posts

is entirely devoted to posting a link to a product that yOu JuSt CaN’t ReSiSt GeTtInG rIgHt NoW!!1!

uses colored text and caps lock to draw attention to a link to purchase a product

Fallon presides over his rituals of play like a vampire, feeding not on blood but on enthusiasm. He doesn’t really converse with any of his guests; they all know what they are there for. Rather, he extracts. He demands “relatability” from them, draining the authenticity from the interaction until only the husk of a “viral moment” remains. The horror lies in the repetition: the feigned shock, the hysterical laughter at unfunny mishaps, the relentless “Golden Retriever energy.”

It is a performance of joy so excessive, so desperate, that it reveals the void it attempts to cover. It is the logic of the assembly line applied to human connection. What Fallon offers is a standardized production of “fun” that feels increasingly like a desperate plea to ignore the crumbling world outside the studio walls.

The real, unsettling mechanism of Fallon’s banal horror is its insistence on a radical non-engagement with reality: a position that, in our current political climate, is itself an aggressively political act.

[…]

Fallon and his show are not horrifying because they are malevolent, actively creating suffering in the world, but because of a thoughtless, systematic refusal to perceive any of their work as having ethical consequences.

Silk doublet and Pluderhosen, Northern Germany, ca. 1580/90.

Another personal favourite of mine: a pair of late 16th century Pluderhosen combined with a doublet from the same time. While both garments were most likely made by a tailor from the Hanseatic city of Einbeck, they were not meant to be worn together and were just placed like this by the museum for exhibition. While doublet and breeches look beautiful, they were heavily altered during the 19th and 20th century; the doublet´s silk sleeves as well as the red silk lining of the Pluderhosen are later additions and not a genuine 16th century feature.