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Tag: Charli XCX Crash

  • Charli XCX Doing A Skims Ad Campaign Is More Crash Than Brat

    Charli XCX Doing A Skims Ad Campaign Is More Crash Than Brat

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    During one of her many interviews about Brat, Charli XCX mentioned being committed to whatever “character”/“persona” she’s trying on for her album of the moment. (Though it bears mentioning that no one could ever be as committed as Marina and the Diamonds playing Electra Heart for the album of the same name back in 2012.) Admitting that, to her, this aspect of it is more interesting that the music itself. But it seems that, in capitulating to becoming a “Skims model” (a term that somehow feels and sounds derisive probably because it inherently is), she’s having a bit of whiplash in terms of recalling just who, exactly, she’s supposed to be embodying for the (brat) summer of 2024, instead reverting more freely to her Crash persona from 2022. The one that “took every advertising deal” (including, most glaringly, the one with Samsung) without the slightest bit of shame or hesitation because, hey, this was her “sellout” era. Whoring herself out for [insert company name here] and gleefully taking the money in return was, accordingly, completely “on-brand.”

    Kim Kardashian, needless to say, has been in the “whoring herself out” era ever since the days of sticking her head up Paris Hilton’s asshole and keeping it in there until she could come out with a slightly more famous face than before. Funnily enough, Kardashian herself does exemplify a brat in the more conventional sense of the word (along with the children she’s “raising”). That is, minus the part where she’s not a little girl anymore—though it’s no secret that most millennial women, particularly those in the limelight, still can’t help but act that way (see also: Paris Hilton and Lana Del Rey). And yes, what was brattier than Kim screaming, “My diamond earring!” after losing a stud reportedly worth seventy-five thousand dollars while swimming in Bora Bora circa 2011? Her melodramatic delivery and traditional brat reaction was, thus, the polar opposite of being “very demure, very mindful.”

    As is XCX choosing to pose for Skims’ cotton “underthings.” Regardless of trying to make it more “Brat coded” by having Petra Collins do the photoshoot and “tongue-in-cheekly” captioning it “#ad” (in keeping with the dry, straightforward labeling of things in the Brat world). A caption that essentially “Brat-ifies” Crash behavior. In any case, maybe some part of Kardashian (aside from the part that jumps on every bandwagon to capitalize as much as possible for both more money and clout) tapped XCX for the campaign because she saw a “kindred” in the literal meaning of “brat” as opposed to XCX’s modern twist on the concept, which essentially means being messy (e.g., wearing the same makeup for days at a time), not trying too hard and being, in effect, too cool to care.

    Thus, posing for a Skims ad, however “no frills,” feels very much the opposite of Brat. As though XCX can’t help but return, ever so slightly, to the girl she was on Crash. The unapologetic sellout that could collect the cash without judgment because that’s simply the name of the game when you’re an Ultra-Famous Pop Star. Such an unapologetic sellout could also effortlessly get into bed with Kim Kardashian and her odious Skims brand without thinking twice about it. In point of fact, Crash’s last song (on the standard edition) is called “Twice,” a track featuring the lyrics, “Don’t, don’t, don’t think twice/Don’t think about it.” Although she might have been referring to the end of the world/mortality (it was sort of like her more upbeat version of Billie Eilish’s “Everybody Dies”), in this instance, it can easily apply to the idea of not thinking twice about becoming one of Kardashian’s growing list of shills. Much to Taylor Swift’s increasing dismay, as she seems to be losing all the “cool” girls to the former Mrs. West and her flesh-toned shapewear. Even her own “good friend,” Lana Del Rey, who also blithely donned the coquette look in time for Skims’ Valentine’s Day 2024 ad campaign. Resultantly, there were rumors of a fallout between Swift and Del Rey after the latter showed up to the Met Gala with a cinched-waist-to-the-max Kardashian.

    As for Charli XCX, despite knowing she “couldn’t even be her if she tried” (a lyric from Brat’s “Sympathy is a knife,” which features some heavy allusions to Swift), the Crash album was her biggest attempt at being “that pop star bitch.” You know, the kind with Swiftian-level juggernaut powers. While, at the same time, also being her biggest troll of the music industry. The entire concept, after all, was centered on the “Faustian pact” nature of becoming a star (Maxxxine also comes to mind on that front). And, if anyone knows all about such Faustian pacts, it’s surely Kim Kardashian. So perhaps this “deal with the devil” connection also played a role in XCX’s “attraction” to the “girl with no talent.”

    Or maybe XCX simply wanted to look “hot in it” (to quote one of her songs), donning a see-through white cotton bra that miraculously shows no sign of any nipples (let alone hard ones) and matching white cotton boxers while flashing what has become her signature “dead-eyed” look. Though one has to wonder if that expression is “ironic” anymore, so much as a sign that she played the part of Crash corporate sellout for so long that it’s now bled into the Brat era. XCX even had the audacity to declare, “SKIMS empowers people to feel confident in their own skin, which is the essence of Brat. I am excited to be working with a brand that understands that comfort and style don’t need to be compromised.” Aside from Charli sounding like a marketing robot/recently converted cult member, it has to be said that what obviously does need to be compromised, at this juncture, in order to be “brat” is artistic integrity.

    After Crash came out, XCX declared, “I needed to switch after Crash—I wasn’t born to do radio liners. That’s not who I am at all.” But if Brat is (or was) meant to be something of its polar opposite/a return to her “fringe club days,” an ad with Skims certainly doesn’t align with that narrative. But, then again, perhaps the corporate-ification of Brat (complete with Kamala Harris joining in on the meme trend for her presidential campaign) is causing a rightfully schizophrenic reaction on Charli’s part.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Charli XCX’s “Speed Drive” Is Her Most Anti-Environmental Music Video Yet

    Charli XCX’s “Speed Drive” Is Her Most Anti-Environmental Music Video Yet

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    Becoming something of a “soundtrack queen” (to rival Lana Del Rey), the chart success of “Speed Drive” from Barbie: The Album has prompted Charli XCX to make a music video for it. And, although Charli has had her fair share of anti-environmental music videos (see also: “2099”), “Speed Drive” might be her most no-fucks-given-about-Gaia one yet. Particularly at a time when any signs of flagrant abuse of Mother Earth have become more political than ever before. Nonetheless, what can anybody really expect from a song that, like Olivia Rodrigo’s “bad idea right?,” favors a bratty 00s-era feel to it? The 00s being one of the best times to exist for anyone who loved a gas-guzzling vehicle (whether Hummers or Bentleys).

    And, talking of the 00s, no one was queen of the “sweet ride” like Regina George (Rachel McAdams) in Mean Girls. With her 2002 Lexus SC 430, Regina couldn’t have given less of a fuck about emitting fossil fuels (ergo, popular girls should be deemed losers for promoting rampant fossil fuel usage). Same as Barbie wouldn’t (and doesn’t) in her pink Corvette. The very one we see being driven by Devon Lee Carlson (who also gets name-checked in the song) as the video, co-directed by XCX and Ramez Silyan, opens on her and Charli speeding down the backroads overlooked by Los Angeles’ Fourth Street Bridge. 

    If the overall aesthetic seems familiar, complete with “industrial L.A. backdrop,” it’s because Charli has managed to continue her Crash era from early 2022 into the present. After all, as she’s admitted herself, “I’ve always really liked singing about cars. For me, there is this intrinsic link between driving and music and feeling like you’re a star when you’re in a car.” But, for as “brightly burning” as one might feel in that “star-y” moment they get from what Missy Elliott would describe as, “Top down, loud sound/See my peeps,” it’s not going to be even half as brightly burning as this Earth amid going up into flames thanks to unremitting CO2 emissions. Which makes one not merely “wonder” (so much as despise) why Charli (and many pop stars/other types of famous people) are so content to keep plugging the notion of how driving is “freedom” when, in fact, it will be the death of everyone. And while, sure, some say death is the ultimate liberation, there are others still who would prefer to last as long as possible without the effects of air pollution/climate change taking years off their lives. This being precisely what continued car usage (and the glamorization of car usage) will do. 

    XCX might have talked about the “intrinsic link” between driving and music, but she glossed right past the intrinsic link between driving and capitalism. As Metric says in the chorus of “Handshakes,” “Buy this car to drive to work/Drive to work to pay for this car.” The vicious cycle that arises when a shoddy economic system creates a need that isn’t actually a need, but a frivolous, detrimental want caused by a made-up life purpose (i.e., working a job you hate [or at least resent] so as to be paid). And yet, because of the expert conditioning we’re all given from day one thanks to advertising and, correlatively, the celebrity-industrial complex, we tell ourselves that selfish desires are needs. Including the desire to superfluously drive around in our cars doing donuts and slamming the brakes arbitrarily after stepping on the gas and letting out another massive, senseless CO2 fart into the world. Which is what both Carlson and Charli seem to enjoy doing with their status as: rich and influential. 

    Before we can get the full, uninterrupted effect of Charli letting her gasses loose, she steps out of the front seat in a white onesie (that seems the best word for it) complemented by a pink and white feather boa. As she starts to get into her “I’m a hot girl, pop girl, rich girl/I’m a bitch girl” type of dance, the world of the music video is shattered by the meta sound of her “Vroom Vroom” ringtone. Indeed, this entire portion is supposed to be meta, what with Sam Smith also being present on Barbie: The Album. Answering her oh so specifically zoomed in on Samsung Galaxy Z Flip5, the screen is opened to reveal Smith demanding, “Did you have a chance to listen to the new mix, babe? What’d you think?” She tells Smith, “I’m actually on the set of a music video right now.” Smith replies, “Okay, okay, sorry. I just, we gotta submit it so we can get it out.” Promising to call them afterward, she snaps the phone closed and cuts right back to the gear shift of the pink Corvette as Carlson hits the gas, showing us the “thrill” of the needle on the odometer rising while she does donuts around a dancing Charli. This in between close-ups on the car’s version of fuzzy dice hanging on the rearview mirror: an Android mini collectible. Because what is this video if not an aggrandizement of capitalistic synergy (mostly pertaining to Samsung)?

    While XCX happily mugs for the camera, Carlson’s driving skills cause a huge blast of smoke to trail behind her in the Corvette’s wake. This is appropriately timed to coincide with XCX cockily singing, “Got the top down, tires on fire (on fire).” Followed by a classic “I’m an asshole but there’s nothing wrong with that” defense as Charli flexes, “Who are you? I’m livin’ my life/See you lookin’ with that side eye/Wow, you’re so jealous ’cause I’m one of a kind/What you think about me, I don’t care.” Really? Even if one tends to think Charli is a one-woman promotion parade for using and touting all manner of vehicles that contribute to our collective quietus? It seems like something one should care about, reputation-wise. But, as she’s made clear, she’s too “hot, ridin’ through the streets” and “on a different frequency”—at least from the environmentally-minded who would prefer to stop seeing the deification (and sexualization, à la J. G. Ballard’s Crash) of cars. Those metal monsters who will spell human extinction if AI doesn’t first. 

    To add insult to injury, rubber tires are set ablaze for the purpose of the video, emitting more smoke into the air so that the aerosols can contribute to affecting climate change as well. Even before this moment, it was long ago apparent that Charli is strictly among the camp that views environmental-friendliness not only as a hindrance to “economic growth,” but also, evidently, to her “art.” And as the credits to the video show the “tag” of Charli standing in the middle of the road while a freight train slowly crawls past her and a flaming wheel rolls by, to boot, she confirms that no one actually gives a shit about mitigating environmental damage as much as possible, whenever possible. Not when it makes them look so “hot” to do otherwise. Alas, everyone will be Satan-level hot on a more literal level soon enough. 

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Symphorophiliac Is the New Black: Tove Lo Takes J. G. Ballard’s Crash to A Different Level in “Borderline”

    Symphorophiliac Is the New Black: Tove Lo Takes J. G. Ballard’s Crash to A Different Level in “Borderline”

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    When last we left Tove Lo’s jilted robot lover in the Alaska-directed video for Dirt Femme’s second single, “No One Dies From Love,” Annie 3000 had been cast aside in favor of a newer model (tale as old as time). Specifically, for a more “lifelike” robot named Eva. Annie, who just spent the entirety of the video making a plethora of memories with Tove as her servile robo-lover, never would have imagined she could be tossed out so easily for someone (or something) else. For, as it turns out, the key line in the chorus, “No one dies from love/Guess I’ll be the first” is ultimately from Annie’s perspective, not Tove’s. And, upon seeing her gush over how “real” Eva is, Annie feels the unspoken sting of not being “real enough” for Tove by ripping her “heart” (located at the center of her chest) out in response as the deluge of memories they shared plays back in a painful montage before Annie goes up in flames (foreshadowing for how things will also transpire in “Borderline,” set to appear on the deluxe edition of Dirt Femme).

    The final scene of the video, however, assures us that it’s just as the song says, “No one dies from love.” Instead, one gets repurposed into another useful thing: being a crash test dummy. For this is Annie’s new fate in the aftermath of having her heart broken by Tove. Hence, the state we find her in (side note: her true robot identity isn’t revealed for certain until the last frame) throughout the sequel to “No One Dies From Love”: “Borderline” (always a brave title choice when considering Madonna’s 1983 single of the same name has the monopoly on that word, try as Ariana Grande, Tame Impala, and now, Tove Lo might to make it their own). Co-written with fellow pop powerhouse Dua Lipa around the time Future Nostalgia was being created, Tove was certain to mention that this “is a song about being on the edge of love. The drama you cause inside yourself and with another person if you feel insecure.” To be sure, Annie, by this point, is nothing if not insecure. Though still confident enough to know that she deserves her revenge (as Budd [Michael Madsen] says of Beatrix Kiddo [Uma Thurman] in Kill Bill). And how she gets it is very elaborate indeed.

    This time directed by Nogari, the video starts at the finale, with a vehicle up in flames. To this end, it’s no coincidence that J. G. Ballard’s Crash has seeped into the cultural consciousness of late by way of mainstream pop culture. This includes, most notably, Charli XCX (a regular Tove Lo collaborator) naming her most recent album Crash and featuring herself on the cover all bloodied and perched on the hood of a car (in a bikini, of course) with a cracked windshield—presumably because she deliberately threw herself in front of it. You know, just to feel something and all that jazz in our climate of total dissociation and sociopathy. Which is why an obsession with all-consuming, passion-burning love remains at a premium, particularly in narrative depictions. And when we can’t get something like that from an actual human in the way that we want it, perhaps it’s bound to transfer to…objects. Especially technologically-oriented ones.

    Enter technosexuality. But its precursor was, “naturally,” mechanophilia. For the car was the first major modern technological advancement of the post-Industrial age. Suddenly it was mother, father, sister, brother to so many. Offering shelter and comfort for any occasion: going to the movies, making out, having sex, sleeping, eating…maybe even going to the bathroom (a.k.a. pissing in a cup). Ballard’s tale of mechanosexuals-turned-symphorophiliacs (someone sexually aroused by accidents and disasters, e.g. car crashes) is a dark look at the effects the modern age has had on humankind, and its increasing inability to relate to its own flesh-and-blood ilk. Preferring instead the “no muss, no fuss” coldness of a machine. This, needless to say, also including robots. As Zadie Smith would assess of the novel in a 2014 article for The Guardian, “Crash is an existential book about how everybody uses everything. How everything uses everybody.” That reality has only amplified in the decade since the piece was initially published, not to mention the many decades since Crash was first released.

    One might even say Annie has become the new “nightmare angel of the expressways” in lieu of Crash’s Dr. Robert Vaughan. This much is made clear as we watch her kidnap Tove Lo, who we see in the back of the trunk after Annie has gone through the ringer in terms of being constructed into the perfect crash test dummy that can withstand all manner of impacts (hear the lyrics: “I like to my feel my bones when they crash into my heart/I like the taste of blood when you’re tearin’ me apart)—except unrequited love-oriented ones. It doesn’t take long for Tove to come around to playing along with Annie’s idea of a Thelma and Louise-inspired road trip, possibly because she’s not fully aware it actually is Annie. Her openness to doing whatever only augments after Annie serves her a handy tab of acid that also looks very much like a computer chip (with this in mind, Tove ostensibly speaks from Annie’s viewpoint when she sings, “I like to push it to the edge/As long as you say you’re mine/Borderline”).

    Cut to Tove Lo dancing sensually amid the wreckage of various vehicle parts as she trips blithely in the junkyard not just of “no longer useful” machinery, but also love itself. In another scene, Tove and Annie, in her crash test dummy guise, are backlit by a pair of headlights as Tove licks and kisses the non-person with the sort of tripped-out gusto that only LSD can incite. As Tove puts it in her lyrics, “Lost in the magic with you/A pretty disguise from the truth/Truth is ugly, don’t open your eyes/I can change, I can change with just one more lie.”

    The next day, however, even without the drugs, the reinstated “lavender haze” still seems to be at play as Tove hangs out the window, lovingly caresses the crash test dummy’s face while the latter drives and enjoys a roadside meal with her ex-turned-current boo. But somehow, it all seems part of Annie’s elaborate revenge plan: make Tove fall back in love with her as a different human-shaped object and then crash them into a wall as they’re pursued by a police car (for no apparent reason other than, again, to come across like Thelma and Louise). Sure, maybe Tove thought it had to go down that way in order for them to be together, but what she failed to take into account about Annie’s machinations (no pun intended) is that she knew she was quite literally built to crash and survive. Which she’s now not only done in a harrowing relationship with Tove, but in this actual crash in which she finds herself burned, but still moving. A symphorophiliac in matters of love, thanks to Tove’s original callousness.

    Because perhaps being a symphorophiliac stems, at first, from getting off on watching how easy it is for a relationship to crash and burn—as fragile and delicate (if not more so) as any person prone to a fatal wreck inside a vehicle.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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