Instagram

In the sinister annals of the men's rights activist internet back in 2017, an alt-right personality called Matt Forney popularized the term, or depending on your outlook, slur, “tradthot.” According to Forney, a “tradthot” (a portmanteau of “tradwife” and “thot”) was a woman who entered the alt-right pretending to believe in traditional gender roles but, in reality, wanted to exploit a male-dominated audience by catering to their fantasies.  Forney, although not well-known for his charitable views about women at the time — he's since repented, naturally — may have been onto something.

“Dear White Staffers”, an Instagram account that blew up just a couple of years ago for reporting alleged mistreatment of staff on Capitol Hill, is now under fire from some members of the progressive left for allegedly engaging in performative activism. The account joined Instagram in 2020 and quickly built a reputation for being a place where congressional staffers could anonymously share horror stories about their offices and dissuade others from joining toxic work environments. The account has more than 100,000 followers and is closely watched by members of Congress — and now the Biden administration, as White House employees have started making their own submissions to the “Dear White Staffers” DMs.

T​​he hottest new influencer isn't the gym bro or food guru. It’s the affiliate marketing mom of two working from her pool deck. If you’ve stumbled upon her Instagram, she’s most likely bragging about her two-hour workday and the new house she just bought with her six-figure income stream. And you know she's got a link in her bio directing you to the class she took to learn it all.   These new "entrepreneurs" are flooding social media. Some have just a dozen followers, others hundreds of thousands. But they are all part of a new scheme that promises to make you millions working from home as a freelance marketer. The catch — the course they're selling is how they're making their money; they're not actually using it to build a business. And their advice for you?

In a spacious, eighth floor apartment on Pennsylvania Avenue, just a few blocks from Capitol Hill, you will find a consultant. Of course you will; Washington, DC is a town filled with and built for consultants. This particular one, in a checked shirt and tweed jacket and charged with a genuine enthusiasm for life rarely seen among people in their twenties, is named Anthony Polcari. A Bostonian that loves his mother and makes a mean salmon dish would usually slip under the radar. But Anthony, better known as Tony P thanks to his Instagram handle @_tonypindc, has been in the capital for just under twelve months and is already the talk of the town. When I walked around downtown DC with him, we were periodically stopped for selfies by adoring fans.

As I was on FaceTime with Caroline Calloway, the Washington Post published a review of her memoir, Scammer, alongside one of a book written by her archnemesis, ex-best friend and former love interest, Natalie Beach. From her squealing — and the way her phone was blowing up with calls from friends who’d read the piece — I could make an educated guess about its contents. “Beach is a talented essayist with a promising career ahead of her. Calloway is a lunatic who has already written a masterpiece,” Calloway read, with an emphasis on “lunatic” and a twinkle in her eye. “At one point they call Natalie quote unquote, good enough. And honestly, that is so brutal in its own fucking way,” she told me. The Post was right.