On lowercase losers

Stray thoughts from the shitty media man denouement

Thus far, my focus on the Wesley Lowery story has been on the story part, not the Lowery part. This for presumably obvious reasons — I don't know these people, I don't know what happened, I am not in the habit of trying to litigate criminal allegations in public (I would gently suggest nobody should do this, it is absolutely never a good idea.)

And yet: I have been thinking about Lowery's part in this story, insofar as it reveals something about who he is. Because one week post-exposé, and with the obvious caveat that new information could still emerge that confirms what the CJR article could only insinuate (i.e. Lowery's browser history reveals a google search for "roofies where to buy"), it seems like the big revelation here is just what a boring, ordinary, garden-variety sort of ugh total loser this guy turned out to be — and how badly he squandered the kind of opportunity most people would kill for. In any other time, Wesley Lowery would have been just another journalist with serviceable writing skills and an above-average nose for news; it just so happened that he stumbled backwards into a cultural moment where, briefly, incredibly, there was a huge and slavering market for the one weird thing he was selling. (See also: DiAngelo, Robin; Kendi, Ibram X.) And instead of recognizing his star status for the extraordinary good luck that it was — instead of rising to the occasion and proving himself worthy of the moral authority conferred upon him — Lowery's primary concern was how best to leverage his newfound fame and fortune to, as the kids say, smash.

And just, god, the banality of it. What a disappointment. What a waste.

For this reason, I really, truly feel for the women who told their stories to CJR (even if, as previously noted, I think the resulting piece mishandled said stories pretty egregiously.) Maybe Lowery did drug and assault these women — again, evidence may still emerge to this effect — but whether this happened or not, it’s clear they were bitterly and brutally disappointed by someone who they admired and respected, and this alone makes them deserving of sympathy. Obviously, it sucks when someone you thought was capital-G-good turns out to be just another dickhead, being led around by the head of his dick. But when you thought you had formed a relationship (romantic or otherwise) with said dickhead based on mutual admiration and respect, finding out you were wrong isn't just upsetting; it's devastating. As soon as I started thinking about this, I thought of the scene in Legally Blonde where Elle's professor, Callahan, makes a pass at her. The pain and disbelief on her face says it all. Yes, she's dismayed by the revelation of Callahan's true character— but what's heartbreaking is that she thought his attention and interest was something to be proud of, a reflection of her talent as an aspiring lawyer. To realize that he only ever saw her as a pair of tits doesn't just change the way she feels about him; it changes how she feels about herself.

The thing is, Callahan isn't a supervillain. He's not even a criminal. He's just a jerk. But doesn't that just make it worse? That someone as amazing as Elle could be brought so low by someone so comparatively unexceptional?

And this is the type of bad guy Lowery seems to be. Unexceptional, and awful, and all the more awful for his unexceptionalness. A story about a monster would at least have the benefit of being about a monster, something with fangs and claws and too many eyes and/or legs; something you sit on the edge of your seat both terrified and desperate to catch a glimpse of as it moves through the shadows. Monsters are horrifying, which is to say, there's an underlying thrill in the revulsion they inspire.

There is very little exciting or interesting about a disappointing man.