Binge

  We arrived back at the hotel to hundreds of teenage girls lining the street, screaming at our arrival. We checked in, made our way upstairs to the press waiting room, and sat among adults with BlackBerrys. In my DIY flower crown and lilac hair, I definitely felt out of place. I checked my Twitter and saw that the buzz had spread about my arrival, and I suddenly felt the weight of the interview on my shoulders. This wasn’t just about making a fun interview for my channel, it was also about asking the boys questions that the fandom wanted asked. I was representing, to a degree, people who spent every day hoping for a favorite or a follow. I took a look at my note cards, got out my pen, trusted my gut, and crossed out the safe questions I had prepared. I wrote down the real questions I would want to hear answered.

  “Tyler?” a voice said from the hallway.

  It was time.

  I made my way down the hall, into an elevator, down another hall, and took a seat. I could hear muffled voices in the hotel room I was waiting outside of, followed by the unmistakable sound of Niall laughing. This was happening. I reviewed my last-minute changes on my note cards, wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, and reminded myself to smile and have fun. As the previous interviewer made her way out of the room, I clutched five flower crowns, adjusted my own, stood up, rounded the corner, and entered the room.

  What you typically see in an interview is a tight shot of celebrities in front of a backdrop. What I saw was the truth of the grand production: cords running every which way, bright boxlights illuminating faces and softening imperfections, and people—so many people, from producers, management, sound teams, and publicists to handlers, makeup artists, stylists, and marketers. The production behind this day was intense. I ducked as I swooped into the set, stepping in toward the five boys, who were chatting among themselves about the previous interview.

  As the producer announced my arrival, I shook hands with the boys one by one and introduced myself.

  Niall’s eyes lit up, “This guy’s very famous.”

  My heart stopped.

  “I see you all over Twitter . . . ,” Harry added.

  I was officially dead.

  Before I realized it, the cameras were rolling, and it was time to get my fucking shit together and make them put on these damn flower crowns. I would not be the only one sporting a casual tween floral look in this room.

  If you want to see the video, go to my YouTube channel and check out “Tyler Oakley Interviews One Direction.”

  It’s exciting to build up the hype of a huge video, but it’s even more exciting to drop a bomb out of the blue, Beyoncé-style. I’ve done it for a few special events, such as when I interviewed Michelle Obama, but nothing will match the explosion that occurred on August 30, 2013, when I uploaded my video interviewing One Direction. Pandemonium in the YouTube fandom, insanity in the One Direction fandom; it was madness.

  From then on, One Direction became so much a part of my online presence that I rarely went a d ay without tweeting to or about them. I completely submerged myself into their community and immediately became a fixture there. A couple months later, I was offered the chance to interview the boys once again on the day of their album launch, during their twenty-four-hour livestream aptly named 1D Day. Hundreds of thousands of teens all over the world would be watching—this was an opportunity like no other. Not only did I get to play a game with Zayn and Louis wherein Zayn joked that his middle name was Beyoncé (which later became an inside joke for the fandom), but I also got to hang out behind the cameras with Niall. It all culminated with me onstage participating in a live sing-along of “White Christmas” with the boys, Jerry Springer, and Michael Bublé. Weird day.

  And just as fast as it went up, it all came crumbling down.

  Some people spend the majority of their online lives tweeting their favorite celebrities hoping that one day, maybe, a celebrity might favorite their tweet and acknowledge their existence. Rarely will you get a reply. On January 19, my 11:11 wishes came true—but I should have been more careful of what I wished for.

  Basically, a member of One Direction tweeted his support of the family values of a TV personality who had recently come under fire for homophobic remarks he made in a magazine profile. I tweeted expressing concern and hoping for clarity. The band member then tweeted directly at me saying I was never a fan. And then, shit hit the fan.

  When I first saw his reply, my stomach dropped and my heart began to race. I quickly turned on Skype and called my friend and fellow YouTuber Troye Sivan to ask him what to do. Nobody else knew the complexities of fandom and the Internet like Troye, and together we weighed the options. Within minutes, #WeWantTylerOakleyDead began trending worldwide. It was as if I went from the fandom’s favorite supporter to their most despised traitor, and there was no going back.

  I felt hurt and betrayed. I had spent years publicly supporting this band, dedicating so much of my online presence to them, and it all went down the drain because a member of the band decided to very publicly throw a fit. In that moment, I was sure that my online identity was ruined, my career as a YouTuber was over, and my relationship with my audience was tainted. Texts from YouTubers flooded in acknowledging how much my situation sucked, and my mom even called to make sure I was safe. I was mad and disappointed and sad and sick to my stomach, with no clue what to do.

  I knew that if I continued the Twitter banter, it would only get worse. I thanked him for clearing up the confusion, acknowledged the death threats that were riddling my feed, and announced I’d be stepping away from the Internet for a minute to regroup. I went to bed that night questioning what it would be like to wake up the next day afraid of the Internet for the first time in my life.

  When I woke up, it was still terrible. The fandom found reimaginations of their first hashtag, such as #LiamSlayedTyler, #RIPTylerOakleysCareer, and #WeHateYouTyler, all trending worldwide throughout the next day. Over the following week, I decided to shut my laptop and contemplate what I had done. I reexamined my words, actions, and questioned if I had overstepped or spoken irrationally. What I found was that after every reconsideration, I still stood by what I had said. I held someone that I respected accountable for his actions—plain and simple. It was something that I would hope my own followers would do if I ever said something that alienated them. The misunderstanding itself was not what was disappointing; but how he handled the incident hurt, not to mention the sheeplike mentality of his fans. These things had nothing to do with me.

  So I let it go. After my week of impromptu vacation, I felt ready to return. I decided to come back not with spite or anger, but with a call to action for my own people. I asked them to be inclusive, to hold me accountable for my actions, and to support each other and make our family a positive environment. My return was poignant and the tiniest bit cheeky, but it set the foundation for the expectations I’ve had ever since.

  Almost two years later, I feel free—as silly as it sounds. What sometimes felt like a topic I always had to mention or talk about now is something I have regained control over. Throughout my now eight years online, I’ve found that what I want to give to the world is my decision. As soon as I feel bound by expectations, it’s okay to step back, reevaluate whether it’s actually something that I want to give, and proceed accordingly.

  I’ve moved on from the “1D professional fangirl” era of my online life, though I still remain a fan of the music—and it seems the boys have grown a bit too. As of the week I’m writing this, Zayn has officially left the band. Sometimes doing what’s right for your conscience is not always the most popular decision, but I can guarantee that in retrospect you won’t regret the choice you made.

  what michelle obama smells like

  ONE OF THE STRANGEST QUESTIONS I GET about celebrities that I’ve met is “What do they smell like?” When did this become a thing? When asked about Harry Styles, I typically say he smells like sunshine and happiness, because obviously he does. But who really takes a whiff of a celebrity when so much more important things hav
e to be considered during a brief encounter?

  For example, I’m more interested in asking Gaga what really happened at her “Edge of Glory” music-video shoot than sniffing her. Is that wrong? Do I have misguided priorities?

  When I met Michelle Obama, yes, obviously viewers cared about what we discussed, but also at the top of their resounding, must-know concerns was her scent. What are they expecting me to say? That she stank? That she was so rancid that I had to hold my breath as we did the double-cheek kiss? That she was so pungent that I questioned the health of her dogs Sunny and Bo? Okay, well, I’m here to finally answer the question of what Michelle Obama smelled like, and it’s not what you’d expect.

  When I first got the e-mail from the White House asking if I’d be interested in collaborating with Michelle Obama, I immediately got on Twitter and frantically made sure I’ve never made a joke about Queen Michelle. I’ve always loved her, but I have a bad habit of poking fun at those I love. If I was actually going to be in the presence of her incredibly muscled arms, I needed to delete all evidence of such. Finding nothing but praise and adoration, I replied with one of the easiest Duhs I’ve ever sent. Yes, the White House and I are that casual. Probably because just seven months earlier, I was lucky enough to have had a meeting with President Barack Obama.3

  Michelle was on a publicity campaign for Reach Higher, which encouraged students to attend college after graduating from high school. As a first-generation college-goer, I was a great fit for the campaign, so I submitted my questions to the White House team for approval. She would be doing two interviews, the first with Sway at MTV, a legendary staple of the iconic station, someone whom I’ve watched for over a decade. The other? Some blue-haired twink from the Internet. (Me.)

  My first request was that the interview be dropped on my channel like a Beyoncé album—with no hype, just a quiet demonstration of who’s the boss of YouTube, at the click of a button. Approved. Then we discussed creative logistics. On my YouTube channel, I often do a two-part collaboration style with traditional celebrities. The first part is an interview-like portion that allows them to discuss the talking points their publicists insist upon. The second part consists of taking turns to see how many questions each person can answer in one minute. These questions are written on little strips of paper that are pulled out of a hat.

  “What type of hat will it be?” asked the White House representative. Every little detail needed to be preauthorized, including the hat. I explained to the official that I would be bringing the cutest, little summery hat that was a subtle banana-crème yellow and was adorable with navy short shorts. With zero amusement, they said okay, implying that the full, exact description would go through the approval process. Let’s hope this administration loves pastels.

  Apparently, they did. My concept was approved, and I would have about twenty minutes with the first lady to film. I was to fly out secretly the next night, immediately following the 2014 Streamy Awards. I was nominated for Streamy Entertainer of the Year, the final award of the evening, so I had to stay until the very end. Regardless of the outcome, I’d book it directly from the Streamys to the airport and hopefully not miss my flight. Either I’d be carrying an award right offstage and directly into my car, or I’d quietly be slipping out the back, empty-handed (but still winning, because I had a playdate with Michelle Obama the next day).

  Luckily, thanks to my people (read: you), the votes poured in, and I was on top! I went up to accept my award, and I talked about all the amazing opportunities YouTube had brought me. In the back of my mind, I was thinking about the opportunity of a lifetime scheduled for the following day, but about which nobody in the room had any clue.

  I hopped offstage and weaved through the crowd toward the exit. In the backseat of the car, my friend Korey and I changed from our black-tie attire into our airplane sweats. We made it to the terminal on time, boarded our flight, and reclined our seats to sleep on the red-eye to Atlanta. I tried my darnedest to sleep, but this was a career-defining interview, and it felt like the night before Christmas. I couldn’t believe that one of the most powerful women in the world found value in me, my career, and the positive impact the Internet can make. Meanwhile, in the hold of the plane, my suitcase was shifting—quietly crushing my cute, summery, subtle-banana-crème-yellow hat. I had no clue.

  We landed in Atlanta, where Michelle was to have a pep rally at a local high school, and we made our way to our hotel to shower and get ready. With a thud, I hoisted my suitcase onto my hotel-room bed. Piece by piece, I took out my clothes to be ironed and readied. At the bottom of my bag, underneath a pair of dress shoes, I spotted a subtle-banana-crème color peeking through. Oh, no. I yanked out my cutest, little summery hat, but it was too late. Devastated, I held the crinkled hat in my hands, like a family pet that had been hit by a car.

  “This simply won’t do,” I sighed dramatically (as usual).

  Korey rolled his eyes. “Okay, we’ll find something else to put the questions in.” He searched the sparse hotel room for something—anything—that was at once classy, playful, stylish, functional, seasonal, effortless, and yet plain enough to be appropriate for the task. We found a silver ice bucket—chic yet ordinary. This was the best and only option. I put it in my book bag, and we made our way downstairs. One little wrench in the works was not going to ruin my most important collaboration ever!

  En route to the high school, I reviewed the questions with Korey and did final preparations for the video. I was prepared—maybe overprepared—and I couldn’t wait. We got to the school and went through security without a hitch. We were led to the gym, where we waited among the government suits with their BlackBerrys, on the side of an elevated platform. The room was full of eager teens rambunctiously cheering in anticipation of the Queen. Without warning, she arrived, making her way onto the stage with a casual elegance and immediately captivating the room.

  She delivered her speech to roaring applause, pausing only to call over paramedics because a teen in the front row fainted halfway through. Presumably this was due to locked knees and lack of fresh air, but honestly, I was like Yes kid I feel you look at her arms they are more astounding than they are in the magazines I’m about to faint too!

  At the end of her plea for higher education, she stepped down, smiling and waving until she disappeared backstage. “You ready?” a White House Official whispered in my direction, eyes never leaving his BlackBerry. I was as ready as I’d ever be.

  We were escorted to the school’s library, where MTV had set up an area with two chairs, proper lighting, and campaign branding. I was taken into a conference room adjacent to the shelves of books, and I began to situate my things.

  “Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

  I looked up at the White House Official. His eyes had left his BlackBerry and were now fixed on the ice bucket in my hand. Given the reaction I was seeing in his eyes, I looked down to confirm that I was in fact holding a bucket and not a hand grenade.

  “Oh, uhhh, my cute hat was kinda beat-up from being in my luggage on the flight, so I brought this instead.” He turned, raised his hand to his earpiece, and whispered with great urgency, “There is no hat. There is an ice bucket.” After a moment, he dropped his hand, turned, and left the room without a word.

  I sat in silence, already mic’ed and too paranoid to voice my concerns out loud. I looked at Korey with a Literally, what the fuck was that? face, to which his expression seemed to reply, I have no clue what the fuck is happening right now. Minutes passed, and I could definitely feel my armpits getting nice and damp and unacceptable for the presence of Queen Michelle.

  The White House Official made his way back into the room and with a hard stare delivered the news. “An ice bucket sends a message of support for the alcohol industry, which is not aligned messaging with the first lady’s campaign.”

  “Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm”—my eyes darted around the room—“let me see if I can find something else to use then?”

  The White House Official put hi
s hand to his ear again; he turned his head slightly, listening. After a moment he announced, “You have three minutes.”

  With that, Korey and I went to work. We burst out of the conference room and back into the main library, looking for something—anything—that communicated a PG-rated, campaign-aligned message of going to college, without the highly frowned-upon message of blacking out while there. My eyes scanned back and forth, searching, until they fell on the front desk of the library. There, among card catalogs and hand sanitizer, was a wicker basket filled with apples. With no time to spare, I dumped the apples all over the desk, some rolling onto the floor as I spun around, wicker in hand, and power walked back to the White House Official—all with the determination of a nine-year-old scavenger-hunt winner.

  As I approached, his hand went to the earpiece. “The ice bucket has been replaced with a wicker basket.” A moment went by that felt like an eternity. His eyes met mine. “You’re approved.”

  My sigh of relief coincided with a quiet gasp from the room, as Michelle made her way through the front door.

  She greeted us with hugs, handshakes, and warm smiles. The mood of the room lightened instantly, and we positioned ourselves for the interview. The White House Official, obviously sensing that things were going according to plan, leaned over to me and whispered, “Due to timing, we no longer have twenty minutes. You’ll have seven minutes to conduct the interview.” I looked at him with eyes that said, How dare you right now, but a smile that said, That’s perfect, I’m a professional who only needs one take. His reply was to tap his phone, indicating he had started the timer.

  The interview portion went swimmingly: laughs were had, I called her “my queen” on camera—she exceeded my every expectation and was one of the most playful and ideal interviews I had ever conducted. With the timer ticking, I reached down to pull the question-filled wicker basket onto my lap, while simultaneously introducing the second segment.