Okay so last night I did a 0.7 meth slam and I don’t know how many hits of G with this six and a half foot bearded biker dude in some fake ass hipster trailer park in East Williamsburg. Now I find myself strapped to a rotten, decrepit mattress in the attic of what has to be the most dilapidated, disgusting house I’ve ever seen. My tongue is like sandpaper, my skin feels like velcro and there’s an iPhone 11+ stuck three inches from my face, playing all nine hours of Netflix’s Inventing Anna on a continuous loop. To make matters worse, this creepy little guy in a Santa mask keeps coming into the room and leering at me, saying gay shit like, “Hope you like Netflix, little girl, hehehehe,” in what I assume he thinks is a menacing way? But like, his voice is so high pitched and stupid he honestly sounds less like Freddy Kruger and more like Squidward. I’m pretty sure he’s a faggot. 

 

Anyway, I don’t know where I am or how I got here or what the fuck is going on, but since I’m here I might as well tell you about the show. 

 

First of all, everyone knows who Anna Delvey is. She’s a fucking icon. She’s the American Dream personified. I can’t even believe there are people out there trying to cancel her. Everyone should just give her what she wants and let the bitch soar. She’s a genius and a visionary and the purest artist who ever lived. Listen. All art is a scam. That’s literally what’s great about it. Some famous fag writer once said, “All art is quite worthless.” The true creative genius is the one who makes you buy the art in spite of that. The one who convinces you their shit is worth your attention, worth your clicks, worth your likes, and, best of all, worth your money. That’s all Anna Delvey ever did. Her only crime was playing the fucking game too god damn good for you bitches. The bankers and the prosecutors saw how good she was, and they couldn’t fucking stand it. They wanted what she had, and they knew they’d never get it, so now she’s stuck in an ICE detention center in Hackensack New Jersey, awaiting deportation. Are you kidding me, America? Gag, goop, eyeroll emoji. 

 

The best thing I can say about Inventing Anna is that its creators largely share my assessment of Ms. Delvey and her extraordinary gifts. The actress who plays Anna is gorgeous and looks just like her. The accent is a bit much, but whatever. It’s fine. She embodies the role of Anna like Anna embodies the role of Anna, which is pretty high praise if you think about it. She marches around in Valentino and Dolce & Gabbana like she owns the whole world. She slips in out of limos, rubs shoulders with Martin Shkreli (lol) and the Fyre Fest guy (lmao), and is just generally a bad ass boss bitch. She slips hundreds to concierges and cab drivers. She hosts beautiful fancy business dinners. She wines and dines the best of the best. She comes so close to achieving her dream. And then, thanks to the basic bitches at the DA’s office, the fantasy all comes crashing down. 

 

NGL, it’s pretty fun to watch Inventing Anna’s Anna do her thing. But elsewhere the series is derailed by Netflix and its complete disregard for the rhythms and aesthetics of conventional storytelling. The series’ co-lead is this lady, who was great on Veep (I’m assuming) but who in this series is forced to play a shrill, irritating journalist who never should have even been a character in the first place. Basically all she does is chase people around Manhattan trying to convince them to be interviewed for her little story about Anna. For nine fucking hours. Imagine if you had to spend nine hours with Amy Adams’ food blogger from Julie & Julia and that’ll give you some sense of what I mean. It gets like, super repetitive and annoying, and it totally disrupts the natural tragic arc of Anna’s incredible story. The show also delves into the personal lives of Anna’s attorney, her friends, and one of the banker guys who was supposed to help her with business stuff. Why? What’s the purpose of any of this? Honestly the whole thing should have just been a movie, with Sofia Coppola as the director, and me as the star. It’ll be like a spiritual sequel to The Bling Ring. We can call it…Sofia Coppola Presents: Lee Daniels’ Sybil and Anna’s The Bling Ring 2. We’re all going to win Oscars, I can tell. Me, Sofia, Anna, that other girl who’s friends with Anna, Lee Daniels. Everyone. But who’s going to dress me for the ceremony? Gag!

 

Sorry, guess I was daydreaming. Inventing Anna, like many things on Netflix, defies description. Not because it’s good, not because it’s bad, but simply because the platform’s house aesthetic is just so god damn blah. Am I wrong? I mean, what do you even say about this type of content? Like, how is it even possible to make Balenciaga look bland? 

 

Netflix is like its own new medium. It’s not television, it’s not movies. It’s not meant to make you laugh or cry, or feel anything. It’s just there. A medium perfectly adapted to the hollow flatness of the computer screen. Netflix is designed to be experienced in bed, in sweat pants, when you’re coming down off fentanyl-laced meth and hate everything about yourself and your whole stupid fucking life. When your brain is just totally off, you know? It’s like the morphine of media. You set it up like an IV bag, hit play, and let that shit drip into your vein all night. As fake and gay as it sounds, Netflix requires its own new critical vocabulary. Ugh. I hate myself for even saying that. But it’s true. Am I going to be the one to invent that vocabulary? Fuck no, bitch! I’ve got things to do. Like figure out how I’m going to get out of this god damn murder attic and make my mark on society. It’s going to happen eventually. Just wait. 

 

Ultimately, Inventing Anna’s value is not aesthetic but promotional. It’s not a stunning piece of art, but it works if you think of it as a nine-hour fan trailer for Anna Delvey herself. Which is maybe what the Netflix medium excels at best of all. Beautiful, fabulous Anna is in the public eye once again. That’s all that matters. Anna, this is your fifteen minutes. It’s up to you to make it stick. To make it last. Don’t let those fuckers eat you alive. Don’t let them steal your light. Condense your power. Meditate and pray. Write the Great American Novel. Marry Hunter Biden for a Green Card. Do what you have to do. It doesn’t matter where you are, or where you end up in the future. You are special. You are starseed. A child of the universe. Bitch, you’ll always have that. Trust me. You got this. 

P.S. Laverne Cox is in the show, too. Good for her. I mean, trans representation is like, so important for all of us. It’s everything. I’m not jealous. Laverne is my sister. I love her. Not everything has to be a fucking competition.