A long time ago on a blog far away, I was an entertainment reporter writing about the local scene in Bakersfield. My page was typically frequented by good-natured fun lovers just wanting to know what the hottest beer hole was and theater geeks furiously looking for their own name in my play reviews. It also had trolls. So. Many. Trolls. But my trolls weren’t just my trolls. In fact, it was all the work of one troll who was actually a fan of mine (BRAAAAM, YOU’VE BEEN INCEPTION’ED.)
This love/hate troll, who openly hated on my musical tastes, called me a “slut” for sharing the world’s most innocent kiss with an actor at a wrap party, and seemed really obsessed with calling me stupid and was very busy, as he trolled pretty much every blog at The Bakersfield Californian. He was pretty awful and in his love note/hate email to me he apologized for being a douche, admitted to loving my writing, but hating the writing of another writer he’d harassed so badly her police officer husband would have given anything to know who he was.
Unfortunately, shortly after he revealed himself to me (rookie move, troll) our servers crashed and I lost all my old emails. Lena’s* husband was never going to get that sweet Kern County justice on that weirdo.
I say all this because even then, in my 20s, I knew not to feed the trolls. I’d been bullied for most of my youth and knew that the minute you showed any cracks in your facade the bullying got worse. By the time I was working at The Californian I was either openly mocking the trolls in my comments, baiting them or ignoring them altogether. I mean, I got a troll to reveal himself to me as a fan. As a proud narcissist, this didn’t make me stop blogging/baiting at all.
I’ve since stopped baiting and now I’m on full-time ignore with no time for the dramz. Troll away. I’ll just go back to pre-approving comments and continue sleeping peacefully at night.
Still, if anyone tells you words don’t hurt they are lying. Words often hurt much deeper and for much longer than a fist to the face. After all, your face will eventually heal. You’ll be thinking forever about that time in the 8th grade when Vickie Barretti* tried to say you had chapped lips and they were “nasty” looking and how at least her friend who-the-hell-remembers-her-name had lipstick and how when you gave her the gas face she shouted “Oh my God! Are you crying!” Even though you weren’t crying.
You don’t do that anymore. Dumb broad.
She still told everyone I cried anyway. Haters. I swear. But yeah. Forever. Words.
But what does this have to do with Beyoncé?
In her documentary she admitted that she is often tempted to look at what kind of response she is getting on the Internet. This makes sense as Beyoncé is an approval-seeking, Try-Hard. (It takes one to know one as I am also the same.) Approval-seeking, try-hards are usually really talented but had at least one parent who seemed or in her case, was on purpose, emotionally withholding. This creates a void and if you’re talented and competitive you become obsessed with winning Daddy’s love or the world’s love or someone’s love. Like me! Really like me!
By design, even if they are “cool” in their career approval-seeking, try-hards are not “cool” in the hip, popular, socks never slid, traditional sense. Beyoncé, when not rocking a onesie and dropping it like it’s hot, is a massive goof nugget and possible musical kid dork.
NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT.
But it means you can probably make her feel bad. Hence Beyonce’s “Eff u” stance on “Bow Down” is like that Valerie anecdote. In how I knew this chick was full of crap and likely her friend or someone else put her up. I’d cried before the week prior when another kid much more vicious than Valerie had gone in on me. But strangely, I don’t remember what happened that made me spend lunch crying underneath the bleachers, but I remember Valerie because she was “trolling.” She wanted to get that reaction out of me in the laziest way possible. My lips weren’t even chapped.
Classic … classic trollin’.
Yet, it stuck with me to this day.
Beyonce is dealing with an Internet-full of Valeries and as a try hard she’s tried hard to get her “haters” to shut up. But just like my gas face, it does little. You don’t feel any better afterwards. So you posture and you fake it and you go hard, go H.A.M., go Houston, but it just looks strange. Mostly because you’re rich and talented and beautiful and already extremely popular with large segments of the population. Everyone loving you is simply not possible.
But you don’t need to respond like you’re some third-rate, status-humping singles jockey. You don’t need to answer your haters. YOU KNOW THE OBAMAS. All messages to haters should come through the form of record sales and sold out tours. Stunts like this make you look shook and I know you can’t be shook. That’s not possible. Even if you are, you have to fake it. TRUST ME. I KNOW THESE THINGS.
And this can’t be about Keri Hilson. It just can’t. That’s old business. This song makes it look like it took you three years to think up a comeback to a diss that doesn’t even matter anymore because the only people who remember it are your stans who harassed Keri so much she took to Twitter and went all Michael Jackson, “Leave Me Alone.”
Also, Gaga already did this and she did it better.
But I understand. I truly understand. One Daddy’s girl/Try-Hard to another. Next time you get this overwhelming urge to shut up your haters, just go work on your new album or play with your kid or have Jay teach you how to rap or something. Don’t write a diss track and actually produce it and release it with a pageant girl photo of you in front of all your awards. Like, I’m ten-thousand celebrity rungs lower than you and the equivalent would be me responding to a troll with a lengthy post that’s just my biography with links to TV appearances and an hour-long video of me flicking my hair back and forth rapping Nas’ “Hate Me Now.”
So Beyoncé, girl. Ya crazy is showing (unless you want to finally let that out, but I don’t think you do. You’re kind of image conscious). Cram it back in. CRAM IT BACK IN.
That said. Hot track. Garbage lyrics, but great vocals and hot track.
Same goes for you, Gags.
By Danielle.C.Belton via Clutch Magazine.