If there’s one thing that is certain about the internet it is that every single thing you love about it will one day let you down. Sometimes it’s an update to your preferred social media app that makes it unusable, or at least much less enjoyable. Sometimes it’s a beloved media personality that you’ve celebrated and identified with, who does something ranging from cringeworthy to unforgivable. Even in the ‘nothing is ever gone forever’ age of social media and the internet, it is also true, as Robert Frost opines, that ‘nothing gold can stay.’
Then there’s the phenomenon that has been dubbed Milkshake Duck. @pixelatedboat on X/Twitter coined the phrase in 2016 by creating a tweet that demonstrates the rapid rise and fall of public sentiment about a semi-public figure.
An early example of Milkshake Duck is Ken Bone. For a brief moment Bone was the most famous undecided voter a symbol of the everyman after his viral moment during a presidential debate leading up to the 2016 election. His red sweater spawned countless memes and in the week following, he made the rounds on late night talk shows. He described himself as a “huggable, likable guy in the middle of a really nasty and divisive debate.”
For about a week, the Internet praised and admired Bone’s openness and honesty in the wake of his unexpected fame. Days after the debate, continuing on that theme of openness, Bone agreed to do a Reddit Ask me Anything — using his real Reddit handle. This allowed anybody to simply click through and read his entire post history. It didn’t take long for unsavory comments to surface, including truly disturbing posts about the Jennifer Lawrence phone hacking scandal and the killing of Trayvon Martin. He has since walked both statements and others back. Social media reception was swift and severe, and the blowback resulted in online and real life consequences, including police in bulletproof vests sweeping his house for reported explosives.
“Parts of it were a real bummer,” Bone told CNN “Parts of it were the most fun I ever had.”
Another example of Milkshake Duck: Chewbacca Mom. Akilah Hughes argues that these personalities aren’t supposed to be our moral compass.
Why are Milkshake Duck’s so predictable? I think it’s less the fault of the people thrust into the spotlight, and more about the machine making it possible. In an age of instant virality and instant access, all your publicly uttered (or typed) foibles are free to peruse the moment your name enters the zeitgeist. Additionally, we are constantly looking for avatars of ourselves, our ideals and our ambitions, and are quick to paint these semi-public figures with whatever reflects them, and by extension, us, in the best light. And predictably, very few of the exalted are able to stay on top of their shakily constructed pedestals. Add in the growing polarization of political idealogies, and it’s no wonder they topple so quickly.
“Before we were online, it took longer for people to disappoint you, and sometimes, maybe, they never did.” PG Vogt said in an episode of Reply All, before he himself and his much lauded podcast company Gimlet, became Milkshake Ducks themselves.
This pattern of disappointment is part of the risk of instantly elevating people for a single moment or opinion. It’s one thing to personally enjoy someone’s work, but another if you uncritically evangelize them and publicly identify with them without scrutiny.
What about parasocial relationships as it extends to internet culture? The term “parasocial interaction” refers to the psychological relationships formed between an audience and performers through the media, particularly on television and online.
One of social media’s biggest culprits of parasocial idolization is comedian John Mulaney. The often besuited Kid Gorgeous performer got even more of a bump with the adoption of TikTok, when, for a couple of months, clips of his standup and SNL sketches were unavoidable no matter what corner of TikTok you landed in. His clean cut style and NPR host charm endeared him to many and his own sparse social media presence allowed each fan to craft their own offstage persona for Mulaney.
All of that goodwill and one-sided storytelling came tumbling down when a series of news stories broke. In quick succession it was revealed that he had entered rehab for drug addiction, his relationship with his wife of seven years was over, and he was expecting a baby with his new girlfriend, actress Oliva Munn.
Dinner In March, Annamarie Tendler, a piece in a series chronicalling her post-divorce feelings.
If Mulaney’s image wasn’t so pristine, his public sentiment possibly wouldn’t have tanked as hard as it did immediately after each piece of information came to light. A popular Reddit thread in a child-free-focused forum asks “Did anyone else fall out of love with John Mulaney?” because of their disappointment in him no longer being a poster child for child-free adults. Others were disappointed their favorite Wife Guy was no longer extolling his love for artist Annamarie Tendler.
Is such an emotional response to a relationship in which they did not personally know either of the parties appropriate? Should a stranger’s divorce take up so much headspace? Is it normal to do a deep dive investigation into anyone in the public eye? Or is it inevitable in the way that we consume media and those personalities that create it?
Whether parasocial relationships or Milkshake Duck moments, we’ve created an environment where following, sharing, commenting and liking are all cultural currencies, and there is the non-zero chance that each one of us could be in the internet’s spotlight for a moment or more at some point in our lives, and until our relationship with social media shifts, the cycle of hero to villain is bound to play out over and over again.
Copyright Sylvia Rodemeyer, 2023
Sylvia Rodemeyer is a writer, podcaster, and internet historian living in Portland, Oregon. She can be found at the handle @not_plath most places on the internet, as well as her Substack, Media, Darling.
