While browsing the Hunger Games style dystopia of Instagram recently, I noticed how many influencers are now creating sponsored content as a meta/ironic commentary on the sponsored content itself. For the past decade, companies have been paying idiots on social media to talk about their products, so this is nothing new. What seems different, at least to me, is that many influencers are openly calling attention to the fact that the content in their #ad hashtag is complete bullshit. The trick the influencer uses here, in breaking the fourth wall, is to signal to their audience that they are just playing a role, for money, but don’t worry! You can always trust them! Yes, they’re cluttering your feed with bullshit, but don’t worry: they’re still the same authentic, original, creative, strong, and talented people you love to follow.
Content creators try to walk a tightrope of remaining authentic while still being paid stooges. The fact that they somehow manage to succeed shows the extent to which the disastrous culture of social media has managed to make us think that turning ourselves and our passions into billboards is not only completely normal, but in makes a desirable way to spend your time.
I guess we all agree to sell now. Maybe at one time you would be embarrassed to share a cute mountain climbing photo with your own personal discount code for dick hardening pills, but not anymore. Today’s social contract, especially among younger generations, seems to include grace for your friends and colleagues when they sell out. It’s like we all understand that we each privately roll our eyes when we see our friends awkwardly brandishing cans of non-alcoholic beer over rocks at their posts, then pretend it never happened the next time we will see them in real life.
Important distinction: one can “sell” (v) without being a “sold” (n). I suspect that most of us can distinguish the two simply by using our basic moral intuitions about people. That said, it gets murky quickly. If you sell consistently and long enough, no matter how genuine and pure your motivations, you will eventually become a sellout.
True sellouts are rare. There is nothing sacred about them. He’s the kind of person who would happily trade things he cares about, or should really care about, for something that has no real long-term value: a salary, a little fame, a few subscribers. additional, a bargain. of Red Bull, or even the ability to manipulate your own tribe into believing that you are a righteous leader when in reality you are just trash.
Can we sell without being sold? Surah. I’d say most of us fall into this liminal space, especially if your job requires you to create art, writing, videos, photography, or professional climbing content. In this sense, selling is a typical first world problem. No one ever accused a coal miner of being a traitor. People who aren’t fit, attractive, and talented don’t have the opportunity to sell, even if they did.
Additionally, at some point, everyone finds themselves in a position in which they must interact with a person, company, or institution whose values conflict with their own. It’s impossible to move forward in the world with an ethically clean slate, no matter how hard you try.
The phrase “selling out” has also historically been used to refer to those who make their climb seem harder, gnarlier, or scarier than it actually was. Avoiding sell-out calls from your peers used to be very motivating, which may be why so many routes from 30 years ago are sandbagged. But this stigma has largely disappeared. It’s all part of the same phenomenon. No one cares if your itinerary is upgraded or your first [fill in the blank] the rise is historically insignificant for the same reason, no one cares if it’s impossible for you to enter a public space without wearing a Red Bull hat.
I started thinking about it after reading a Facebook post from Colin Haley, directing people to the trailer for a new Nat Geo movie starring Alex Honnold and Tommy Caldwell. Colin wrote:
In the summer of 2010, Mikey Schaefer and I completed a superb traverse of the 5 peaks of Devil’s Thumb, a traverse that had been completed almost 6 years earlier by Jon Walsh and Andre Ike. What I said then, I still believe today: “It was a fantastic climb, in a magnificent region. It was more quality than difficulty, and it’s certainly a crossing I would recommend to others.” Last summer, the Diablo Traverse was finally repeated by my friends Tommy Caldwell and Alex Honnold, with a large film crew on hand to document it. Just now an old friend, who also climbed a lot in the Stikine Icecap area, sent me a link to the trailer for their film. I had to laugh a little… Looks like the Diablo Traverse has gotten a lot more extreme in the 13 years between climbs! 😅 And apparently it was a grander adventure than making the first ascent of the Fitz Traverse! I know Tommy and Alex are as legit and talented as climbers (and they rehearsed it in 1 day, while we spent 2.5 on the FA), but this trailer was a pretty perfect example of the way hyperbolic and dramatized climbing films have become, especially in the United States. Is this a trend that will continue indefinitely?
To be clear, Colin isn’t calling his friends sellouts at all, but he is kindly calling bullshit on this extremely dramatic trailer. He knows that this rise, to use Honnold’s signature phrase, probably wasn’t a problem, especially for a few studs like Honnold and Caldwell.
Colin is an astute observer of climbing culture and this article asks an important question. What is the point of hyperbole? Why do content creators feel the need to make things bigger than they are, to make us believe this is all a huge deal?
Can’t climbing be enough?
To be fair, I should point out that this is just a trailer and trailers are dramatic and hyperbolic by design. I haven’t seen the main film myself yet, so it’s possible the film is a lot less hyperbolic.
But to return to an earlier point, I see an interesting dynamic in the question of who can thread the sales needle without actually becoming sold. If you start from the exaggerated lines in this trailer, but feature a few climbers who don’t have the bona fides of Caldwell or Honnold – especially if those climbers spend more time posting about climbing than to actually climb – the trailer would land quite differently. The question is: would anyone care? Maybe 10 years ago. Certainly, 20 years ago. But today? I really don’t think so.
In today’s media landscape, I think we’ve reached a point where we expect everyone to have two sides: there’s the side that sells out online and the side that you know IRL. The over-the-top, over-dramatic, hyperbolic side of bullshit that sucks pennies out of cans of Red Bull. And the side that remains real.
You rolled your eyes at the online version. And the next time you see that person IRL, you’ll pretend you’ve never seen them before.