Caeli nodded.
My phone buzzed with a text from Evan, Genocide: Who Wore It Better? I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. He was right: who would want to spend their time watching this stuff? I wasn’t sure how witnessing two women scold another woman for wearing a costume added value to our self-care community. It seemed like the problem we already had with our comments section, amplified to another level.
Clem paused the video and jumped back in, pitching directly to Evan now. “If you’ve been following the renaissance of Teen Vogue . . .”
“Read it religiously,” Evan joked.
“Then you know that cultural commentary is hugely popular among the woke Gen Z demo. Our research suggests that user engagement that once aggregated around FOMO and envy is now more dynamic in regards to controversy and outrage.”
“In other words,” Doug said, “your most engaged users connect with one another through a sense of tribalism. If I’m a woman, I’m more likely to connect with you if you’ve gone through the same trauma as me. The positive thinking movements of the last century? Forget about it. Now we want to share our rage over a common enemy: the women who don’t ‘get it’ like we saw in the makeup video.”
“Wait,” I said, “I thought we wanted to help women feel better, right? Like, that’s our value prop. We empower women by helping them put themselves first.”
“Personally, I love it,” Evan said. “How do you see this fitting into our revenue stream?”
I turned to face him directly. I could feel my face getting hot and forced a deep inhalation through my nose. “You ‘love’ it?”
“Well, the beauty is that this will be Richual-exclusive premium content, requiring a paid membership for access,” Doug said. “We’ll be able to collect demo data on new subscribers drawn to our revolutionary programming, and we’ll be adding value for current subscribers. Maren had also shared with us that there has been some member attrition due to . . . women feeling like the platform is racist or ableist. By specifically courting some of those users and giving them a platform for video content, the way BuzzFeed or Facebook has done, you’ll grow your membership exponentially. Our projections indicate you could triple your new subscribers in the next six months.”
Evan sent me another text: $$$$$$$$$$.
Chloé raised her hand like this was a classroom. “I’m sorry, but . . . does the makeup girl . . . I mean, does the first girl you showed us, who was putting on makeup? Does she get to tell her side of the story?”
“What side would that be?” Khadijah said.
“I mean, like how she meant for it to not be disrespectful.”
Doug and Clem exchanged a look. I could read their minds: Chloé was the audience for this.
“Great feedback, Chloé,” Doug said, gesturing to his assistant to make a note. “We’ll definitely bring that back to the production team if Dear White Ladies goes to pilot. I think what we’re really talking about here is empathy.”
Chloé sat up straighter. “Because what if she just wanted to, like, share her artistry and showcase the beauty of Native culture? And how do we know she isn’t an Indian? Aren’t a lot of people part Cherokee, like Elizabeth Warren?”
“Interesting,” I said, careful not to overcommit. “Maren, what do you think about Native Americans?”
“I think you’re all missing the point,” she said. “The broader and more potentially problematic issue is that many of our users—” And then the screen went dark.
“Ah, the gifts of technology,” Doug said.
“Can I say something?” Khadijah asked.
“Please,” I said.
“There’s already a movie,” she said, “called Dear White People. It was a big deal at Sundance a few years ago. I’m not sure if this is trying to pay homage or . . .”
“We were not aware of that film,” Doug said, “but we will definitely watch it immediately. Is it streaming?”
“And I would want to ensure we’re financially compensating the on-camera users,” Khadijah added.
“Of course,” Doug said.
“We would cast six to eight users for the pilot,” Clem said, looking at me, “from diverse backgrounds.”
“Devin, we still haven’t heard what you think. You’re the boss.”
I’m the boss, I thought. I’m the boss. Doug and Clem thought this was a good idea, but that’s because it was their idea. Evan heard the words Teen Vogue and “exponentially” and was like, “Sold.” Chloé seemed on the fence, but she was twelve years old. What was Maren getting at with the broader and more potentially problematic issue? I was hoping Khadijah would tell me why this was a bad idea. I felt, inexplicably, like I was about to start crying. My calming essential oil rollerball was in my bag in my office and all I could do was keep breathing. Respond, I told myself. Don’t react. Don’t fuck up don’t fuck up don’t fuck up.
“I’m not against diversity,” I said. “But our users . . . they’re watching this because . . . ? Because they want to shame other women and make them feel bad? That seems to go against everything we stand for. I’m not sure I ‘get’ it.”
“This emotional reaction is precisely what we were going for,” Clem said, looking directly into my eyes, creepily unblinking behind her spectacles. “Have you ever seen that video on the internet of the dog who’s reunited with her owner and at first she doesn’t recognize him, but then she does and she starts licking his face?”
I nodded, mute.
“Sorry to interrupt, but are we comparing women to dogs in this scenario?” Khadijah asked.
“Of course not,” Clem said, smiling softly. “I’m just pointing to the efficacy of emotional video content. We all want to be loved, in the way that the dog loved her owner. And the opposite of love is hate. And the antidote to hate is education. So there’s a real opportunity here.”
“I’m on board with any anti-racist education initiative,” Khadijah said, checking the time on her phone.
What would Maren do? She would probably ask for more time to review their projections. She would say, I’m not sure this content fits into our eighteen-month strategy. She would want to play a role in the casting process, the editing process. She wouldn’t release any of it to our users until she had personally vetted each minute of footage herself. And that would waste so much time.
If I’d learned anything from Maren’s tweet, it was that the only thing women love more than being angry is being angry at those who are angry about the wrong things. And if there were a way to monetize that anger? Why shouldn’t Richual be the first to capitalize on that?