As far back as I can remember, I’ve always loved talking about weird shit. Back when my Twitter circle was made up solely of my high school friends and the liberal celebrities and comedians I’d worshipped, I had a predilection to champion to my followers – at the time, made up exclusively of said friends who had been forced to endure this both in real life and online for years (and still are) – these things that others might find “cringe.” This habit probably has a lot to do with my contrarian nature, and the fact that I cling fastidiously to ideas and art and am hungry to move on to the next obsession in the same way that I cling to romantic interests until I don’t. I’m both fickle and passionate, and I love proving to the world that I love the things that I love – especially when I feel like they’re the underdogs. But maybe it’s not really that deep. It’s just the stuff that I like.
My enduring fondness for yelling about my affections for the strange and “ugly” continued as I joined the “Film Twitter” community in 2018, shortly after graduating from Penn State University with a Bachelor’s of Arts in Film Studies (cue laugh track, this is where it’s led me). Coinciding with my burgeoning attempts at making a career in film journalism, I tweeted about things like my loud and lasting fixation on Steve Buscemi, publicly upheld that the Razzie darling Movie 43 is good; saw Rob Zombie as an underappreciated auteur (a line of thinking that has its own momentum behind it elsewhere). But I liked to argue – occasionally facetiously – that these were not very strange or very odd things to love at all. That they are simply other, valid forms of art and beauty. And that they are justifiably valuable in their own ways.
With the visibility granted to me from my original, since-suspended Twitter account – which accumulated more reach than I ever really got comfortable with – came the inevitable accusations of bad taste; sometimes with cruel intent, sometimes very much not. Sometimes, even from myself, self-deprecation an inescapable part of my Ashkenazi heritage. However, the espousal of my contrarian affections reaped usually positive, or at the very least amused responses – by and large, the types of responses I ultimately wanted out of people. Still, from the casual comments of my reply guys and friends alike, there was this laughed-off view of me loving “bad” things that I began taking to heart. My years-long defense of Movie 43 was seen by some as a running bit. Putting movies like Now You See Me and Hot Rod in my top 4 on Letterboxd drew the sort of reaction you give to a toddler you try to humor. But I do not see the things that I love as bad, or among the tired categorization of “so bad it’s good.” Roger Ebert’s scathing review of Tim and Eric’s Billion Dollar Movie accuses the influential alt-comedians of making intentionally bad comedy. There are many of us – artists, fans, Tim and Eric themselves – who staunchly believe that that is not the case.
So, this is That’s Weird – a monthly newsletter where I make a space for maligned oddities and the criminally underrated. For low brow trash, gaudy eyesores, gross shit, and that one thirst you’re afraid to name out loud because the world has deemed them too unconventional; allow me to explain why they’re not. The main thrust of this newsletter is to make the case for such unsung obsessions, but I am also using it to carve myself out a tiny section on the internet to write at length on the strange things I am inclined to yell about in quick bite posts, and I hope that maybe you guys will like them too. I am partly to blame for the way my projection of my own oddball passions has been perceived by those who have ever read them on social media or listened to them. I speak sarcastically and facetiously to my detriment, my aforementioned self-deprecation an ever-useful shield from the horrors of my own subconscious earnestness. No more of that. Guilty pleasures do not exist, nothing is so bad that it’s good.
And while I enjoy writing about film, I enjoy writing about a lot of other things too. 2020 is when I saw myself leaning less heavily on exclusively film writing, and I’ve branched off occasionally to write on other things, like music, comedy, television. I had initially mused a Substack where I went deep on all things Tim and Eric (probably the only topic that I feel confident calling myself an expert on), or waxed poetic about my many strange male celebrity obsessions, but I realized that my struggle to commit to one idea or the other lay in the fact that I didn’t want to limit myself to one idea at all. If I had learned anything about myself as a writer in the past year, it’s that I don’t want to put myself in a box. I want to grow and change and grant myself the space to write about all sorts of things that I love. Especially those that remain too vastly unloved. A space where these thoughts can be considerately and intentionally established, beyond the confines of the Twitter take-factory where most of them have been dumped.
I’m starting this off as a free newsletter, but hope to eventually work my way to paid tiers in the event that this turns out to be something people really want to follow along with. For now, I’m just happy to have a space to wax poetic about things like the Rainforest Cafe, or Stardust, or the appeal of David Thewlis and his disgusting fake teeth in season three of Fargo. I will also be allowing requests – feel free to email me with that particularly peculiar actor, movie, show, or anything else in pop culture that you love, want highlighted, and would love to read about, and I will take it into consideration. You’ll of course get a shout out in the newsletter if I use your suggestion (briannaszigler@gmail.com).
If you’ve enjoyed me and my big mouth on Twitter dot com, or in real life, or have no idea who I am or what I’m talking about but I’ve somehow managed to pique your interest here, perhaps you will join me for a newsletter in which my mouth becomes even bigger and wider, a human foghorn for the sole purpose of explaining why Movie 43 is one of my favorite comedies of all time.
-Brianna