the outrage machine


I have two things to say today. One is that Green Mountain Cabaret’s fairy-tale burlesque coincides with the ONLY night my favorite band is in town. I’d been looking forward to both events for months, and now I want to break things. I ultimately picked Carbon Leaf – they come to Burlington about once a year, but cabarets happen every month. (Not fairy-tale ones, though, dammit. And this girl loves her fairy tales.)

Buuuut I joined this program where I can get into the show free if I hang posters and promote the band on social media, so watch out for upcoming spam. I promise I haven’t been hacked.


The second thing is that I am totally, completely, 100% done with manufactured outrage.

Every day it’s something else. Some poor sap’s transgression – maybe he tweeted something, or shared an article, or wore a shirt – gets blasted into the ether and becomes an excuse to harass him ad infinitum. If you take issue, no matter how small, with the Cause of the Moment, prepare to be told to kill yourself. It comes from people in all movements, on all sides, and I am sick to death of it no matter where it comes from. As someone who identifies as moderate in almost all things, I feel no avenue is safe. I see bullying wrapped in activist clothing, and I don’t want to see it anymore.

Who has the goddamn energy to care about every insensitive comment and internet faux pas? It is a privilege to put so much of yourself into rallying the twitter troops. Choosing the next person to dogpile isn’t noble. It isn’t activism. It’s unadulterated vengeance.


If I ever disagree with you, I promise never to resort to ad hominems. I will never tell you you’re wrong by association with a group you belong to, and I will never write an entire passive-aggressive article about how people like you are ruining the country.

And if I ever land a rover on a comet, I will wear whatever goddamn shirt I please.


Author: skye

I aspire to be a bright-eyed girl in a big city, even though I wear glasses and live in what amounts to a hole in the ground.

One thought on “the outrage machine”

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