Every day, I see people around the Twittosphere and Blogosphere practically begging for more people to follow or read them. To these people I can say only one thing: Be Careful What You Wish For.
First of all, if you have anything interesting to say, people will show up whether you like it or not. Second, don’t assume that more “fans” or followers means they’ll all be adoring. The truth is, the more people who read you, the more bullshit you’re going to have to put up with – especially if you have any opinion on anything whatsoever. And if you have no opinion on anything, well, then you better be as funny as The Bloggess, or as good of a cook as Pioneer Woman, otherwise what the hell are people doing reading you anyway? Your friends may put up with mindless drivel, but your “fans” want something they can sink their teeth into.
As my fame/infamy has soared over the last year, I am instantly thrust into a place where I can do no right. Some people are all “Gina, you’re so awesome, I love you, you’re the greatest” which just makes me feel self-conscious and silly, and some people are all “I’m going to make sure I ruin your business and piss on your good name because I hate you, you stupid fucking cunt” which just makes me realize how many totally unstable people are obsessed with reading everything I write.
And all of this reminds me exactly why I got out of the music business. Sit back, let me tell you a story…
Fourteen years ago, I joined my first band. I was 18 and this band had just been featured on MTV. They were good, and Chicago was already abuzz talking about their newest singer (yours truly.) The problem was that, as an attractive, young lead singer of a pretty cool band, certain things were expected of me. My (all) male bandmates dictated my wardrobe and makeup, to the extent that if we went out, and they didn’t like what I was wearing, I had to change or buy a new outfit on the way. I represented them, and they needed me to represent well.
And along with that territory came all the sucking up that I had to do to the real “A” list celebrities in town. If we were at the club where all the cool bands hung out, I was supposed to go flash my vagina in the drummer’s general direction until he followed me around and gave my band a cool show. Oh, I am so not exaggerating that either. As you can imagine, my feminist-self resented this all very much and, as a result, I pulled back. So, the largely male-dominated music scene pegged me as someone standoffish. Well, let’s face it, they thought I was a bitch. A bitch who wouldn’t fuck them or snort coke off their dick for a good show. I’m such a terrible person, aren’t I?
At 21, when I started my own band, I told myself things were going to be my way. I would write what I wanted and wear what I wanted and run my band how I wanted, and I wasn’t interested in playing the “game” that seemed expected of me. Chicago’s small-and-incestuous rock scene required all participating parties, especially the women, to suck the cocks of the (seemingly) more popular bands, swallow, and pretend all the while that you loved it. I wasn’t down with that. I was friendly with the bands whose music I loved, but I had no interest in trying to convince some sleezebag that I loved his terrible songs and/or wanted to bone him just to get the “right” shows and the “right” opportunities.
Well, when I started getting the “right” opportunities – better opportunities than most of the shitty “A” list bands in the town were getting – people wanted all up in my business. When Milwaukee Summerfest asked my little band to play one of their stages (a highly coveted gig and one that locals rarely get), the guys asked me, “How did YOUR band get that gig?” (in other words, who did you blow, and can I blow them too?) And when I ended up just a little bit famous by joining one of the city’s most famous bands, Veruca Salt, people were downright angry at my success. I heard the rumors, but thankfully my bandmate had been through that same ringer herself, both in town, and in the international press, so she tried to protect me from it as much as possible. However, when we both joined a project with Courtney Love soon after – well – all hell broke loose.
It was Courtney Love’s internet message boards that first introduced me to the cruelty of “fame.” Courtney announced that I was joining her band on that very message board, and the press (who actually does read those things) picked up the story and ran with it. I woke up to calls and emails from everyone I’ve known in my life saying “I just heard your name on the radio!” and “I just saw Kurt Loder talking about you on MTV!”
Then, I opened that message board to find thread after thread after thread of strangers (some fans of VS, some fans of my band, and some people who’d never heard my name before in their lives) all dissecting every inch of my body, personality, and skill level. There was an entire thread about my weight. People wanted to know if I was too fat to be in a band with heroine-sheik Courtney. Some people wanted to know if my eyebrows were stylish enough (I can’t make this stuff up people.) And the worst of it was nothing more than fabricated gossip, rumors, and things taken completely out of context. My dad found the message board (because he saw my name on the news) before he had a chance to talk to me, and when he saw what they were writing about me, he came to my defense. They ate him up and spit him out. That, ladies & gentlemen, is what you get for getting a little bit famous.
Back then, all I wanted to do was play music and be who I was. I rocked. I wrote. I tried to entertain. And some people really loved it. But some people hated it, and me, and the people who treated me the worst were the ones that were jealous of a fame that they didn’t think I deserved.
And now, I get that same thing from blogging.
I don’t suck the right cock (or any of it, as a matter of fact) and some insecure and unstable people get hella mad when I don’t pay attention to them. And when I keep gaining fans and readers? Oh, that just makes their blood boil. Like here – I was chosen as the #2 “Most Controversial” Mom on Twitter – an accolade that I did not WANT, but a recognition that many other people wanted desperately to be awarded – and you have the little trolls showing up to anonymously comment on what a cunt I am. Most of their problem with me is that they say I don’t allow “disagreement” on my site, but the problem is their form of “disagreement” is a personal attack or threat against me, and in that case, they are absolutely right – I do NOT tolerate that on any of my pages. Call me crazy…
And the fact is, fellow bloggers, none of us are immune to this. Any person with a voice in this world, be that a blogger, a musician, or a politician, will be subject to these sorts of vicious attacks by people who just can’t help but be obsessed with them. Look at Barack Obama: people loved him enough to make him the leader of the free world, yet there are people – millions of people – who want him deader than a door nail and will tell anyone who listens. Heck, look at Dooce. She’s made a jillion dollars off her blog, which means she has lots and lots of people who love her writing. But she also has an equal number of people who say such mean shit to her that she now closes comments on most of her writings. I, for one, would NOT want to be her.
In fact, I don’t even want to be me anymore. My moniker’s fame/infamy/popularity has gotten somewhat out of control. But, there’s little I can do about it now. If I could go back to a time where five people read my blog, I absolutely would. Back then I could just write. Nobody expected anything. Nobody bullied me. But now, trolls read everything I say, obsess over it, and post their own blogs talking about how they can’t wait to punch me in the face.
One day I will pull the plug on the whole thing. After all, am I seriously going to still be writing this blog in ten years? Twenty years? Thirty? No. It has to end some day. But I will not be silenced by little twits whose mission in life is to bring me down because they’re so jealous they can’t see straight. I won’t be pushed out. If I go, it’s because I’ve moved up and on, and have found a new way to advocate for women and babies. In the meantime I’ll keep helping, entertaining, and/or supporting all the people who come here with good intentions.
Now listen here:
If you’re the blogger who still has only five readers, thank your lucky stars.
And if you’re a troll who plans on staying obsessed with me, then you can go fuck yourself right in the ass.
All others, thank you for reading. You will now be returned to your regularly scheduled programming.
I shouldn't be amazed, but I still am, that there are enough ugly people out there who really do invest their energy into being so hateful. Its mindblowing, really. Thanks for writing this, gina crosley-corcoran. It helps the rest of us who have experienced the haters as well.
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