Jake Q sums up everything that’s wrong with the cult of minor celebrity clashing with insecure narcissism.
It’s like he’s addicted to being ‘famous’ but he’s failing to see that, in feeding the beast, he’s only making it more hungry. The more he tries, the less relevant he becomes.
He strikes me as desperate: desperate to be loved, desperate to be seen, desperate to feel his existence is still valid despite his ever-waning status and diminishing fame.
Nothing - and I repeat nothing - is off-limits for these types of people. Using your newborn baby for likes? Fair game. Referencing your dead relative to increase engagement? Fair game. Pulling out the mental health card while guzzling sweeties with questionable health benefits? Fair game, if you pay me enough. Ad, ad, ad nauseam...
He knows his best days are far behind him and he now knows he’s not known for what little talent he had. That’s why he’s such a mess. The world has moved on. He doesn’t know what he is but he does know what he never became. He can’t handle it and is desperately clinging on; yelling into the comfort of his Instagram echo chamber.