Consumption
My thumb swipes up, involuntarily, hypnotically. There is a smudge on the screen. My eyes are half-open. I’m half-asleep. I pause my scroll to watch a fan cam of Aaron Taylor-Johnson. He was in Bullet Train (2022) and Nosferatu (2024). This video is made up of clips from Joe Wright’s Anna Karenina (2012).
I read Anna Karenina in my senior year of high school. I read Anna Karenina after having read War and Peace. I was on a Russian literature kick, and had too much free time, and too few friends.
I read all 864 pages of Anna Karenina.
I read all 1,444 pages of War and Peace.
I wrote a book report on War and Peace.
I won a contest for that book report.
They gave me a plaque and took my picture.
I hate the way I look in that picture.
I watch a video compilation of glass bottles rolling down marble steps. I wait to see which will crack against the surface. A disembodied voice rates the quality of shatter.
I watch a gender reveal and read the comments for discourse.
I watch a girl dressed as Chicken Little yell at a frat house full of people, “The sky is falling!”
I get a notification that I’ve passed my daily allotment for Instagram. I ignore it.
I watch a “Day in My Life.”
I “Come With Me.”
I “Pack With Me.”
I “Let’s Visit.”
I have been everywhere and seen everything, and I know absolutely nothing.
Except I know the differences to spot between what’s AI, and what’s real. I know that’s the truth, and that’s a lie our President claimed to be the truth. I know about a micro-influencer who found a bug in her salad, and I know the name of a girl who was killed in Gaza. I know how much a Louis Vuitton X MURAKAMI purse costs, and I know who made Forbes 30 under 30.
I know that the pizza restaurant is overhyped, but the other one is worth the line. I know that’s Brain Rot, and that’s Bed Rot. I know that a Dubai Chocolate Labubu is very different from the 14 Karat Gold Labubu. I know that’s a licensed therapist, I know that’s a wellness guru, I know they’re both claiming to be an authority. I know–wait–maybe that was AI. That was AI, and I accidentally liked it. I delete the like. I swipe away. I don’t want to know. Not really.
I know it’s the afternoon. I know I’ve been in bed all day. I read Anna Karenina in high school.
Do I remember the plot?
TikTok search bar, “Anba Karepnbina.” It knows what I meant. I watch the film in 6-minute-long clips. Aaron Taylor-Johnson plays Volkonsky in the movie. Keira Knightley plays Anna. Keira Knightley justified JK Rowling in an interview. We hate Keira Knightley. She’s good in the movie. Volkonsky loves Anna. But Anna is married. Volkonsky is promised to Kitty, a young debutante. Volkonsky scorns Kitty. Leaving her for Anna.
Kitty, left single and distraught, contracts consumption. That part isn’t in the movie. I remember it. She is heartbroken, and she is consumed. Tuberculosis used to be called “consumption,” because the afflicted would waste away. The disease consumed them.
It is 5 o'clock. I have to go. I pull myself out of bed, let TikTok play on loop on my bathroom counter, swiping to the next video when I have a free hand. I strangle my hair into a slick back bun. I swipe on Dior Lip Glow. I attempt a “Doe Eyed-Siren-Y2K” eyeliner look. It ends up looking the same as always.
I take the subway into Williamsburg. A man plays TikToks out loud on the train. I roll my eyes. I play TikToks over my headphones. I nearly miss my stop.
I get drinks with a friend. A friend from college, whom I haven’t seen since. We like each other’s Instagram stories and comment on each other’s posts. We meet at a bar on South 5th. I recognize their laugh before I even see them. I turn to watch them hug the hostess. They know everyone.
They’re wearing a pair of blue ankle boots and a matching faux fur coat. They stride across the room, their arms outstretched, and we collide, rocking each other side to side, side to side. We take our seats at the bar and order our drinks.
I put my phone in my purse.
I put my phone in my purse because I don’t want to look at my phone, and I want my friend to know I don’t want to look at my phone, so I put it in my purse.
They do the same.
We order drinks. We order more.
We catch up. We touch each other’s knees for emphasis. We talk about everything. We cite articles we’ve read, knowing we mean to cite TikToks we’ve watched.
“We need to create more than we consume,” my friend says. I say, “That’s so true.”
We hug goodbye, walking to opposite ends of the platform. They wave wildly as the train pulls in, and once they’re out of view, I rescue my phone from the depths of my bag.
I open my front door while I watch a dubstep remix of Melania Trump saying the word “beauty.” I don’t turn the light on, as night darkens my windows. I kick my shoes off and crawl into bed, fully clothed.
I’m watching someone dissect the body language of the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City from their recent reunion. I scrape my hair out of its bun. I should wash it. I should take an everything shower. I should buy a Jolie showerhead, and an Oui Hair Mask, and one of those machines that turns into a massage jet in your bathtub. But I’m too tired to shower.
When the deliveryman drops off food at my door, I reluctantly pad across the living room. I take my food to bed. I spill crumbs on the sheets. I leave them there to rest.
A fancam of Keira Knightley pops up on my feed. The algorithm is listening. I swipe past it. We hate Keira Knightley. But I know I used to love Anna Karenina. I don’t know if I’ll ever again read an 864-page book.
But I used to. I used to know things.
The infinite scroll is an insatiable beast. It will consume me.
I close my phone. Stare into the darkness of my room. The dirty shoes on the floor, the empty takeout box on the table. I think about taking a shower in the morning. For now, I close my eyes and try to remember what happened to Kitty.
She was so heartbroken, she contracted tuberculosis, she was nearly consumed by it and….then what?
Oh, right. Kitty leaves Moscow. She leaves Moscow for the warmer countryside, where she recovers. I reach for my phone. I delete TikTok.
Kitty lives. I will too.
