Taylor, Travis, and Doja: Commanders of the Attention Economy
Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce are celebrities who follow the rules. Doja Cat might have a problem with that.
Last weekend, there were pretty much two things that commanded my attention: (1) Doja Cat’s new album and (2) Taylor Swift’s appearance at a Kansas City Chief’s game, where she sat in a box with star tight end Travis Kelce’s family following weeks of rumors that they had been dating.
Both Doja Cat and Taylor Swift commanded my—and at least for the latter, most of America’s—attention because, frankly, both are masters at doing so. It is fair to say that both are successful because they are talented at making art. It is also fair to say that neither could have reached the level of fame that they have reached without their respective—and, as I’ll get into, stylistically distinct—commands of the attention economy.
Still, although Taylor Swift is no stranger to creating a pop culture “moment,” she may have outdone herself here. Her appearance at Arrowhead Stadium was, in many ways, a perfect storm for driving discourse: it seemed to confirm easily dismissable rumors, creating an “I can’t believe it” reaction; it crossed demographics, with NFL fans equally as shocked as Swifties; it was ostentatious in the most classic sense, with Swift dressed in Kelce’s jersey and sitting next to Kelce’s mom in a spot where cameras could easily cut to her at any moment.
So many specific details, too, seemed almost designed for the age of internet discourse and meme-ery. Kelce exiting the stadium with Swift, dressed in the color associated with her next release. A grainy picture of the two of them in a convertible later that night. A picture—later a meme—of Swift eating a chicken tender with “ketchup and seemingly ranch.”
Those moments, in fact, may very well have been designed. So much of the discourse around this attention-grabbing moment—and, indeed, Swift and Kelce’s entire reported relationship—has centered around whether it is all for PR. Kelce is, after all, one of the most famous athletes in America. Later this month, Swift will release what will be one of the most commercially successful films of the year, then two weeks later release what will be one of the most commercially successful albums of the year.
What is really driving the “is it PR” conversation, though, is not simply that they are famous. It is that the very idea of Swift and Kelce as a couple seems a little too perfect. They are each individually the epitome of the classic celebrity: beautiful, white, American, highly-talented, widely-adored. As a couple, they are somehow stronger than the sum of their parts.
If the public image seems a little too perfect, that’s because it’s meant to be. After all, these are two people who have built their careers in the classic celebrity mold. They do what is expected of them. They attend the events they’re expected to. They give their fans what their fans expect. Put simply, they follow the rules.
In fact, perhaps the most interesting thing about Swift and Kelce is not whether their relationship is for PR, but that they do not seem to mind if people think it is. And, frankly, why should they? If their careers are built on following the rules, it won’t hurt them if people believe they are continuing to do so.
Doja Cat, whose new album “Scarlet” was released a little over a week ago, is in many ways the converse of that celebrity dynamic. She is technically a pop star in the traditional mold, but one whose entire persona is based on viral trolling, meme-ery, and edgelord-ism. She has survived numerous controversies and cancellations for which she remains largely unapologetic. Her lyrics exceed R-rated. Put simply, she is known for not following the rules.
In the past year, she has broken perhaps the most important rule of being a celebrity: be grateful for your fame. While Taylor Swift has never said an even remotely ill word about her fans, Doja Cat has essentially gone to war with hers. She has told stans to delete their fan accounts and told them to “get off your phone and get a job.” She’s spoken about the dangers of parasocial relationships and how fans feel ownership over her. In general, Doja Cat has not seemed particularly fond of being a celebrity lately.
Her new album—at times great and often at least interesting—is a rumination on (and potentially a rejection of) celebrity. She abandons the pop-oriented music that she rose to fame with in favor of unadulterated hip-hop. She raps about her public persona constantly. On the opening track, and number one hit, “Paint the Town Red,” she could not be more blunt: “Fame ain’t something that I need no more.”
Indeed, Doja Cat is often blunt. And yet, considering that so much of her success is built on trolling, it has been surprising how much analysis of the album since its release has taken her lyrics at face value.
The standout track “Agora Hill,” for instance, does seem on the surface to simply be a song about Doja Cat wanting to flaunt her new lover. But she doesn’t just mention that theme once, she repeats it, and then repeats it again, and again. Every other line is about wanting to be seen in public together. Even the title is a play on words: “agora” is a public square.
She adopts a notably softer and less brash voice on that track, as well, like this isn’t Doja Cat talking but rather a satire of what she is expected to be as a celebrity, a satire of Doja Cat if she followed the rules, a satire of celebrities like Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce.
And yet, observers of pop culture may have also been too quick to assume that Doja Cat is herself rejecting fame. For every song like “Paint the Town Red” and “Agora Hills,” there are earnest tracks about loving being adored. For every time that she has pissed off her own fans, there is a high-budget music video to feed their demand. For every moment in which she has run from attention, there is another viral stunt. Rejecting fame, for all we know, may itself be a viral stunt.
It might be more fair to say that Doja Cat is not herself uncomfortable with being a celebrity, but rather is uncomfortable with the celebrity culture that we have created—one in which we give people the power to utterly and completely command our attention whenever they choose to do so, one in which an entire industry can grow, or fall, at the whims of one celebrity couple.
As one post (that I can’t seem to find) said after the “ketchup and seemingly ranch” meme blew up and caught the attention of numerous corporations: “All she did was eat a piece of chicken with completely normal condiments. Literally no one should have this power.”
That’s all for this edition of Cansler Culture. More from me later this week on the geopolitics of “Evita” and “Here Lies Love.”