Thoroughly Modern Millennial

In Uncategorized on November 16, 2009 at 9:22 pm

It struck me last night as I was listening to Radio Oxford’s literary show The Write Lines, simultaneously  tweeting, and watching a muted image of eighties glamour model Samantha Fox politely host a rather large arachnid in her mouth, how strange and paradoxical my life has become.

Celebrity culture continues to permeate the high brow. Over 14 million of us watched The X-Factor on Saturday night.  14 million.  So who are these people? They can’t all be chavs, surely?

Staying in on a Saturday night and tweeting about the X-Factor is the new going out. I know, because instead of going out and seeing my 3D friends this Saturday, I chose to stay in on my own and do just that.  I say on my own, but to be fair, it actually felt as if I was at one of those parties where you are trying desperately to be heard over the LOUD MUSIC.  I’ll admit.  It’s very competitive. Every amusing tweet has to be trumped. Every ReTweet is a goal in your opponent’s net. Make a spelling mistake?  Massive own goal. You have be sharp, reactionary and good at typing under pressure.  Things that are harder to maintain as the evening progresses and you’ve had a few glasses of wine. 

I’m allowed to admit I like trashy TV. It’s become socially acceptable to not only admit to watching mainstream entertainment shows  but to also admit you actually enjoy them. And the great thing is you don’t even have to do it ironically, which seemed to be all the rage last year. 

Everybody’s at it.  The Telegraph today ran with an X-Factor article focusing on the fact that Saturday’s show was the biggest peek time audience ITV1 has had in the last five years.  Interestingly they went with a big picture of JEdward. The Times ran a piece with the memorable title “Calvin Harris slams X Factor after stage invasion with pineapple.” Interestingly they went with a big picture of a pineapple.

So there. I’ve come clean. Now I know how Brooke Magnanti feels.

I love the X Factor and I don’t think that by loving it makes me any less intelligent. So why when writing this do I feel compelled to end with some intelligent comment about capturing the zeitgeist?



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