Bambi Season

Bambi’s been getting criticism for decades, and it’s deserved—it’s basically an industry reminding itself it exists. You can sit home and trash the whole thing if you didn’t get invited, which is easy and makes sense. But then someone asks if you’re coming, and suddenly all that judgment dissolves and you’re digging through your closet past the t-shirts and old jeans, looking for something that might pass for formal.

The show itself never changes. Red carpet. Models and directors and money people. Someone gets a lifetime achievement award just for being around long enough. The after-party is the real thing—everyone’s drunk, complaining about how TV is dead, Netflix already won, and which dress showed the most cleavage. You could set your watch by it.

What’s new this year is the generation trying to refresh it. YouTubers and Instagram twins—Lisa and Lena, Dagi Bee, Dua Lipa. They’re supposed to be injecting some youth. But they all look like the same person, like someone cloned a Ukrainian Justin Bieber and just kept copying it. They’re grinning at their phones while teenagers watching are visibly turned on, throwing up hand signals that mean nothing. It’s this weird collision between manufactured celebrity and actual human need.

So you drink champagne, eat snacks, get cornered by a suit who promises he can make you big. You believe it for a second. Then it’s morning and you’re out the door early, relieved you lied about your number.