I often think about muting every account on Instagram except the animals. The app appears to have intuited my preference for them, as it primarily serves me posts from @pinkpigletpuppy, a deaf and blind dachshund/Chihuahua mix, and @wolfgang2242, a full house of senior dog rescues, as well as a pig, a chicken and a turkey. Like many of the human influencers in my feed, these widely followed pets have been rightly classified as "public figures."

The social media branding of animals — the so-cute-they-look-fake designer breeds, the beloved zoo dwellers, the species that are remarkable because they live indoors, the scragglier guys to whom I most relate — is almost as old as the platforms themselves. Boo, a pomeranian frequently described as “the world’s cutest dog,” developed a fan base on Facebook in the aughts. Lil Bub and Grumpy Cat, whose defining characteristics were caused by feline dwarfism, joined Tumblr at the turn of the 2010s. Soon, everyone was on Instagram. Now there are hedgehogs, foxes, raccoons, hippos, opossums and squirrels with followings of their own.

For many of these animals, celebrity has transcended social media. Their stories are the basis of children’s books and coffee-table tomes. Their likenesses appear as plush toys and are printed on T-shirts. They are “interviewed” by mainstream media outlets. And the most famous of them become memorialized in obituaries, such as those published in The New York Times. While early members of the Ochs-Sulzberger line may have objected to seeing such frivolous tales printed in their family newspaper, the stories don’t read as especially unusual today. These animals are as much empire-builders as any human influencer, and their stories are often more inspiring. Because for all they may have to teach us about self-branding and the modern internet, they also reveal our own potential to love without question or complexity.

Jeff Bezos

Elon Musk

Richard Branson

Yusaku Maezawa

Jeff Bezos. Elon Musk. Yuri Milner. Richard Branson. Lonely would-be space tourist Yusaku Maezawa. Meteorite collector Naveen Jain. Any one of these (we presume) wildly wealthy people could likely provide clean water for every thirsty entity on this parched simulation we call Earth. Instead, each of these men want to visit, own, put objects into or otherwise exploit all that space that isn’t Earth. They’re in a race with half of Africa, China and the United Arab Emirates — but what they crave goes even beyond their appetite for super-profitable satellites for our increasingly high-bandwidth future. The stars may hold the future of humanity, and exploration and exploitation is the ultimate branding opportunity. Isn’t that right, Amerigo Vespucci!

Wrapped in an unfortunately explosive arms race, they know they’re not alone, and that some truth is out there. But as the saucy lady in the famous (and fake) Roy Lichtenstein imitation print put it: “Well … if they can put one man on the moon, why not all of them?”

Ariana Grande

Beyoncé

Billie Eilish

BTS

Drake

Halsey

Harry Styles

Marshmellow

The Weeknd

In the aftermath of George Floyd’s death, a number of major pop stars (defined as having at least 20 million followers on Instagram and one Top 10 Billboard hit within the past year) demanded — and/or funded — societal change. Some marched in the streets or donated vast sums of money to Black Lives Matter and related social justice causes (confirmed contributions ranged from $50,000 to $1 million). Others wrote letters to public officials, and used their social media platforms to make repeated personal appeals for fans to take action. With these activities, they set themselves apart from equally famous peers who opted for a more hands-off approach to human rights.

WHO?Ariana Grande / Beyoncé / Halsey / Harry Styles / The Weeknd / Dua Lipa / Marshmello / Drake / Billie Eilish / BTS / Cardi B

Chrises

The Chrises — surnamed Pine, Pratt, Hemsworth and Evans — wield super-strength shields, magic hammers or fancy guns that blast hot plasma. One, refreshingly, is a sidekick to a lady superhero. All are endemic to summer blockbusters derived from comic book IP. Three out of four of them appeared in “Avengers Endgame.” All are jacked, as their action hero jobs and bodysuits require, and all have tawny hair, square jaws, twinkly eyes, peachy skin, and well, honestly, it can be hard to tell them apart. “I’m not in Guardians of the Galaxy,” Chris Pine said dejectedly when he hosted Saturday Night Live in 2017, after the audience cheered when he mentioned the movie. “That is Chris Pratt. I am Chris Pine.” He later referred with exasperation to a poster that identified all four Chrises, a gag that only made it more apparent how necessary the visual aid was.

The people who used to make a living screenshotting tweets for Instagram now make a living reposting TikToks to Instagram. Memers are the masters of high-speed curation, rarely creating their own content. They can usually be found in the comment section of any popular post trying to growth-hack their page to a sizable enough following, then sell their handles on Telegram and start all over again.

Christian Bale

Mark Ruffalo

Pierce Brosnan

Samuel L. Jackson

Christopher Reeve

Brie Larson

Jennifer Lawrence

Hugh Jackman

Daniel Craig

Until the year 2008, Robert Downey Jr. was Robert Downey Jr. The progeny of a cinematic rebel, his film career had started when he was a kid, was nearly snuffed out by a pile of drug charges, and then sparked back to life before disappearing into a metal suit.

Because in 2008, Downey Jr. became Iron Man. The first movie in Marvel’s global domination machine grossed $585 million worldwide and buried the actor’s complicated history under the weight of an industry-changing franchise. The episodic nature of the films required Downey to be Tony Stark for more than a decade: a character created to sell comics during the Cold War, refitted for the Forever Wars of the following century. No matter what Downey does next, after twelve movies and a ridiculous amount of money, he’ll be that man within the suit within the machine forevermore.

WHO? Christian Bale, Mark Ruffalo, Pierce Brosnan, Samuel L. Jackson, Christopher Reeve, Brie Larson, Jennifer Lawrence, Hugh Jackman, Daniel Craig

Natasha Lyonne, who starred in the 1999 lesbian comedy “But I’m A Cheerleader” and later played Nicky on “Orange Is The New Black,” is practically the blueprint for straight lesbian icons. Though she’s not “gay,” Ms. Lyonne memorably told The New York Times in 2016 that “when I say I’m not gay, it doesn’t mean that I’ve never tried sleeping with women. Of course I have. I’m not a dumb-dumb.”

Ms. Lyonne — who has been dating Fred Armisen since 2014 — isn’t the first or last non-lesbian to steal hearts from the Sapphic corners of the internet. Laura Dern, who played the out lesbian that Ellen DeGeneres first came out to in 1997, has long championed the queer community. Ms. Dern — who received an abundantly gay tribute at this year’s Independent Spirit Awards — has often worked alongside non-lesbian lesbian royalty (see also: the entire cast of “Big Little Lies”). There’s also Cate Blanchett, who starred in the lesbian romance “Carol” and recently even declared herself a lesbian (despite her husband of more than two decades).

And, of course, when Rachel Weisz spit in Rachel McAdams’s mouth in “Disobedience,” it became a lesbian shot heard ’round the world. When she starred in the lesbian love triangle comedy “The Favourite,” she earned her place in lesbian heaven, and soon after, as she wore a latex dress to the 2019 Oscars, queer women far and wide frantically beseeched her for more.

“A woman came up to me at dinner,” she told The Independent in 2019, “and she looked me in the eyes and said, ‘On behalf of all the lesbians, I wanted to say thank you.’”

Nick Cannon

Ellen Degeneres

Lea Michele

Virgil Abloh

Lana del Rey

Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez

The Chainsmokers

Smashmouth

For the average person, remaining indoors for several months is an effective way to keep out of trouble. Not so for our celebrity cousins. Did confinement exacerbate regrettable aspects of their personalities otherwise camouflaged by the bustle of everyday life? Impossible to know. What is certain is that diverse famous people, under stay-at-home orders, seemed to become as disoriented as moths under a spotlight. Some were credibly accused of fostering discriminatory work environments; others doubled down on bigoted comments; a couple flouted pandemic health regulations; still others were simply tone deaf.

All thrash-flapped their way into white hot reputational ruin. At least for the time being.

WHO?Nick Cannon / Ellen DeGeneres / Lea Michele / Virgil Abloh / Lana del Rey / Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez / The Chainsmokers / Smash Mouth

In a cozy yet prickly nook of Alt TikTok, past bean TikTok but just before frog TikTok, exists a growing community known as WitchTok. Healers and witches like @melantedmomma, @yoxsyd, @chaoticwitchaunt and @pythianpriestess have garnered millions of likes across their content on the video-sharing app, freely sharing their knowledge of all things occult. From manifestations to incantations to tarot card readings to crystals, the makers in this social circle are more than willing to guide curious newcomers and baby witches through them all — as long as no one hexes the moon again! Marianne Willamson will actually come for you if you even think about it. Whether you’re looking to cleanse your new apartment or undo a love curse unwillingly cast upon you, there is quite literally a magical solution to nearly any problem within this realm, synthesized into a video snippet of 60 seconds or less. Hermoine Granger who?

No comment.

Not since Jenna Karvunidis documented the surprise pink interior of a cake 12 years ago has a person wielded more power in the universe of ideas. It was she who heightened the fever for gender reveal parties, which then set off fires, woundings and even deaths. (Don’t worry, she’s not happy about it!)

The mommy bloggers hold enormous sway over the raging idea infernos of our culture. For years, it was just vicious fighting about religion and breastfeeding, maybe a little this and that about the patriarchy. But even the horrible La Leche struggles of yore pale in comparison to the last year of strife: over vaccines, QAnon, astrology, home birth and now the brutal decisions around homeschooling, pods, day care, coronavirus and exhaustion. Over the years, Heather Armstrong and pioneering women of the plains have taught us how to live, laugh and love but also how to get divorced, get fired and go broke. They’ve also built thriving, innovative businesses that don’t get the respect or support they deserve.

Jason Statham

Jet Li

Dolph Lundgren

Sylvester Stallone

Vin Diesel

Tyrese Gibson

Dwayne Johnson

Two franchises, unalike in dignity, offer a cornucopia of the world’s strongest-appearing men who are also (mostly) actors.

They offer us Jason Statham, the hottest human hammer (and secretly fine comedic actor!), and Sylvester Stallone, who gave America its best model of underdoggery, to Dolph Lundgren, Jet Li and, naturally, America’s most-wanted older brother, Vin Diesel. Beefy boys! We’re family! Yes, even Tyrese! And not enough can be said about the Rock, the real Mr. Muscles of this already squat-friendly crowd. Literally if the Rock walked out in front of the White House and was like, “I’m your president now, idiots!” nearly everyone would be like, “Yes, sure, fine with us. Go forth and legislate or whatever a president does!” (They don’t.) And those who disagreed would get a stern but sensitive talking-to and maybe a hug. I feel like I’ve thought about this a lot.

They come online for your funds and your follows. They live to broadcast, it’s just that the signal is clouded with unhinged noise. Generally they post solid pieces of news about the state of the world. But their narratives are perforated with postcards from the graffiti edge. Maybe they believe in social justice — and in chemtrails, who can say! — but in their world, there’s always some kompromat just under the couch. People keep following them because there’s never any narrative resolution. We’re always on the verge of finding some amazing truth.

Just be careful who you follow out there. They’ll dirty your mind garden in their pursuit for more and more followers. The victim will be you, when you decide not to get a flu shot this winter because of some rich jerk’s dumb tweet.

The night shift stops for no pandemic — not in an election year, kiddo! The endless war for late night dominance has no winners, and comedy as an effective tactic in politics died around the time Dick Cheney weaponized the existing pipeline between private industry and wars of the United States without any consequence. But that doesn’t mean we don’t need someone to suck our thumbs with. Enormously talented and stressed teams of people work behind the scenes to make celebrities seem available, make politics seem intelligible and to give laugh lines to the likes of Jimmy, Stephen, the other Jimmy, and the ambitious third Jimmy (that’s James Corden), plus Trevor Noah. Without them, we might be very lonely before bed or at “work” the next morning browsing YouTube. If it makes late night watchers feel any better, just know that your favorite host is sad on the inside too.

There’s a type of social media star (their fortress is Instagram, with forward operating bases on Twitter, LinkedIn and YouTube) who presents as a secular saint of the religion of hustle. According to the likes of wine merchant and content mogul Gary Vaynerchuk (8.3 million followers) and business author Grant Cardone (2.9 million followers), you are holding yourself back with timesucks like videogames, drugs, romance and friendship. “There is so much hustle in my day I don’t even have a second to spare to ‘hang out’ and catch up with the people around me,” Mr. Vaynerchuk once wrote.

There’s only one original sin: Sloth. They aren’t proselytizing the value of a job so much as work-adjacent behavior, a lifestyle of extreme busy-ness where every moment is a juicy grape to be stomped for profit. They combine the libidinous fervor of Frank T.J. Mackey with the bug-eyed growth evangelism of Silicon Valley founders. “This is a game of do,” said Mr. Vaynerchuck in a recent Instagram video captioned “What I spend 99.999999 percent of my time on.”

These productivity wizards are relentlessly upbeat and mercilessly confident. Success, after all, is a mindset. If their advice seems dubious, it’s only because you’re a loser afraid of your own potential. “You need more debt!” crowed Mr. Cardone from a Las Vegas stage. “The last time we were at Mandalay Bay I had 50 million in debt. I have, like, 900 million now!”

Sure, the details might seem vague. How exactly does one monetize one’s personal brand, sell affiliate links on social media or start a drop-shipping empire? Don’t worry — their secrets are waiting in the Kindle e-book listed in their bio, on sale until Friday for only 4.99!!

Biologically speaking, Chris Harrison is a father of two. But emotionally and professionally, he is a dad figure to the millions of people who make up Bachelor Nation. Both an occupational niche and an online fan province, this “nation” is governed by individuals who endure onscreen humiliation in front of millions of viewers under the guise of a “journey” to find true love. They are conventionally attractive, almost uniformly white and often Christian enough to cite Bible passages on social media.

Their job, on the show and after, is to sell people a fantasy of heterosexual monogamy and homeownership before age 35, made possible by numerous TV appearances and their endorsements of corny and questionable products (Flat Tummy Tea, Halo Top, etc). Many of them also hawk their own wares (such as self-referential tissue boxes) and host their own entertainment franchises (e.g. “Bachelor” recap podcasts). Though they rarely marry fellow nationals, the few who do can expect their most intimate life events — weddings, anniversaries, pregnancies — to be broadcast, and their advice to be sought by future bachelors and bachelorettes, all of whom will be forever marked by the unusually public shared experience of dating on network TV.

You have Shakespeare and Homer, and later, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and also Jewel, but the vast majority of poets scrape by on grants, teaching gigs and minuscule advances.

Then, a new class of Instagram-savvy gatecrashers slingshotted onto the bestseller lists, leveraging their massive online followings into fat book deals and massive print runs. With epigrammatic, confessional verses that could fit handily on a coffee mug or canvas tote (“If you are not enough for yourself / you will never be enough / for someone else,” one of Rupi Kaur’s poems reads in its entirety) these Instapoets are bringing poetry to the masses, in snack-sized, sharable like-bait that delivers a jolt of insight before you continue scrolling through images of meals, pets, babies and sunsets.

Kaur’s debut collection, “Milk and Honey,” sold more than a million copies in just over a year; her poetry became so ubiquitous that it spawned parody accounts. “These are airport novel numbers, not poetry ones,” a literary critic wrote with grudging admiration. A headline in New York magazine identified Kaur as “The Instagram Poet Outselling Homer Ten to One.”

It would be easy to dismiss Kaur’s success as a fluke, except that she belongs to a growing cohort of Instagram-famous poets, among them Lang Leav, R.M. Drake, Yrsa Daley-Ward, Tyler Knott Gregson and Amanda Lovelace, who has gained a following for her script-flippinng feminist fairy tale verses. “you were my almost, /but i’m my own forever/ — long may i reign,” she posted on Instagram this spring.

The concept of famous sisters (and monetizing sisterhood) is not new — from the Brontës to the Gabors to Tia and Tamera, the draw of a sister act is irresistible. And while there are still superstar siblings on the scene — Beyoncé and Solange, Venus and Serena, Malia and Sasha, Dakota and Elle, a kadre of Kardashians — there is a new wave of lionized ladies who are related.

Sure, there was a remake of “Little Women.” And Lana del Rey and Kacey Musgraves both have sisters as their photographers/image makers. But a new, younger generation is big on the small (as in pocket-sized) screen, creating a genuine generation gap — if you don’t know Cardi and Hennessy, Gigi and Bella, Charli and Dixie, and Chloe and Halle, it says more about you and your age than their reach. You may not have heard of the Merrell twins but their 5.6 million subscribers on YouTube prove it: All the hot new sisters are less Mary-Kate and Ashley-style paparazzi magnets and more social media savants, showcasing short-form talents and flexing fashion fits (the glamorous Loora Wang and her silly sis have 2.5 million fans on Douyin simply for being stylish). While the man who used the catchphrase “Hi sister!” got canceled with a “Bye Sister,” it’s clear — from Claudia and Janine Kishi all the way to the Able Sisters in Animal Crossing — the culture is ready to put sisters before misters.

Anne, Emily, and Charlotte Brontë. A portion of the painting in the center reveals a ghostly outline of a male figure. It is believed to be a portrait of the painter, Branwell Brontë, that was later painted over.

* Romulus and Remus

* Cain and Abel

* Chris and Andrew

* Ben and Casey

* Josh and Benny

* Mark and Jay

* Ralph and Joseph

* Eli and Peyton

* Jonathan, Franklin and Joshua

* Owen, Luke and Andrew

* Tyler and Cameron

* Harry and William

* Charlie and Emilio

* Alec, Daniel, William and Stephen

* Keenen Ivory, Shawn, Marlon, Dwayne and Damon

* Mark and Donnie

* Raúl and Fidel

* John and Hank

* Kevin, Joe and Nick

* Alex and Eddie

* Orville and Wilbur

* Chico, Harpo, Groucho, Gummo and Zeppo

“Being misunderstood will feel like abandonment before it feels like peace,” wrote Dr. Nicole LePera, in a September 3 Instagram post on her popular account, @the.holistic.psychologist. With 2.8 million followers, Dr. LePera is an example of a relatively new celebrity: The Instagram Therapist, a figure who posts messages promoting public health at a time when public health needs are miles from being met, especially for Black and Latino Americans.

Instagram Therapists like Diego Perez, who posts as @yung_pueblo, have become popular for their daily messages of encouragement, self-care and community. Their simply-designed, proverb-like posts can feel inane or enlightening, depending on their message, and the mood you’re in while scrolling.

Many Instagram Therapists are accredited; many are not. In a post on June 20, Dr. Jennifer Mullan, a clinical psychologist who posts under the handle @decolonizingtherapy, explained why that might be: “These programs. Certifications. Schools. These institutions are businesses. They charge us so much money just to be ‘certifiable.’” But you don’t need money to access Instagram therapy. Nor do you need an expensive degree to become an Instagram Therapist celebrity.

They invented a look, a sound, an ethos, a fashion and a commerce. Some of them even lived. They were maybe the last generation to create a coherent moment. But the art stars of a New York City gone by went on to age punkily. David Byrne and Gary Indiana and Ai Weiwei; Kim Gordon and Grace Jones and Ann Magnuson and Rosie Perez and Larry Rivers and Debbie Harry and Michael Musto and Nile Rodgers and Diane von Furstenberg; Lou Reed and Patti Smith and Laurie Anderson, all victors, kinda, of when both life and rent were cheap.

Since, according to Newton’s third law, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, it should not really be a surprise that for every wanna-be influencer who delights in sharing their life and product choices on-screen there is an individual who finds nothing more horrifying. For every Kardashian, for example, there is a Phoebe Philo, the former designer of what has become known as Old Celine, whose Greta Garbo-worthy attitude toward privacy has rendered her the patron saint and role model of the anti-accessibility crowd. For every Blonde Salad, making their own wardrobe into a marketing campaign and changing it by the hour, there is a Grace Coddington, the former creative director of Vogue and designer string-puller, whose attitude toward her own clothing is to be as invisible and unidentifiable as possible. What they are selling is not stuff, but integrity of taste. Do you buy it?

Jenny Bui’s nail art.

There is nothing more soothing than watching Jenny Bui, known as the Queen of Bling, painstakingly apply Swarovski crystals big and small to the immaculate fingers of Cardi B on an Instagram video. Ms. Bui already had her own nail shops in the Bronx and Harlem, but she blew up on the Internet thanks to Cardi B’s patronage. The Queen of Bling is not the only celebrity groomer to become her own brand name; for example, Jen Atkin and Chris Appleton have both transcended their roles as hairdressers to assorted Kardashians. But Ms. Bui’s artistry and hustle stand out just like the jewel-encrusted talons she puts on her grateful clients.

The goal of Stoicism — as espoused by Seneca and his peers around 2,000 years ago — was to achieve mastery over one’s fluctuating emotions; to subdue pride, ambition and ego; to develop inner calm and cultivate indifference toward the outward trappings of success.

So it’s strange to see Stoicism having a sustained moment as the hot life-hacking tool with a group of wildly ambitious, uber-successful, hyper-masculine NFL coaches and players, venture capitalists, tech founders, chief executives and life coaches (among others). Prominent Stoic enthusiasts include Phil Libin, the former chief executive of Evernote; the venture capitalist Brad Feld; the Digg co-founder Kevin Rose; the Palantir co-founder Joe Lonsdale; the productivity guru Tim Ferriss; and Ryan Holiday, a power public-relations strategist turned Stoicism evangelist, who has repackaged ancient wisdom as pithy advancement strategies for modern-day hustlers in his books, blog and podcast.

Who, then, is the most hardcore, most self-disciplined of the bro-ish Stoics?

Ferriss — a best-selling author, podcaster, influence broker, angel investor and a zealous champion of Stoicism — endorses rites of self-abnegation like fasting for several days, spending a week wearing the same clothes (jeans and a white t-shirt), and subsisting on cheap, bland foods like rice and beans or instant oatmeal for a week at a time, all to keep his “baseline for happiness” from creeping up to dangerous levels. According to contemporary Stoic lore (as chronicled on the website The Daily Stoic,which sells a $400 pewter bust of Seneca), Ferris once wore a pair of hideous shoes to a dinner party, deliberately inviting ridicule because he was training himself to care less about other people’s opinions.

The venture capitalist Kevin Rose has suggested that practicing Stoicism can help us stop being whiny, entitled babies who are addicted to our devices, snacks and climate-controlled homes. Technology “has made us soft,” he’s said. “We’re kept in constant comfort.” To counter that, he subjects himself to plunges in ice-cold water, wears sandals when walking in the snow, and goes outside without a coat in the rain. He also, of course, fasts, an increasingly popular form of self-denial he embraces so enthusiastically that he launched an intermittent fasting app, which he called Zero.

Jack Dorsey, the chief executive of Twitter and Square, practices Vipassana Buddhist meditation, but has obvious Stoic tendencies. He eats just one meal a day during the week, and fasts all weekend. He begins his mornings with ice baths and a five mile-long walk to work. He journals, just like the Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius did. When Dorsey tweeted about his fasting regimen last year, he was met with a torrent of abuse from people who said he should focus instead on purging trolls and white supremacists from Twitter. Dorsey might have been comforted by the words of Marcus Aurelius: “Choose not to be harmed — and you won’t feel harmed.”

Nearly every meme on Instagram trickles down from Twitter weeks, and sometimes months, after the jokes are originally made. And many of those jokes are made by a relatively new breed of demi-celebrity: the internet-famous comedian. I’m talking about the Jaboukie Young-Whites, the Joel Kim Boosters, the Patti Harrisons, the Meg Stalters and the Mitra Jouharis. They’re fluent in viral tweets and front-facing comedy videos, they probably write for a TV show, and they might host a niche podcast with 6 of their friends.

The internet comedian likely doesn’t have a Netflix special (yet), but their material often feels a lot more relevant (and inclusive!) than the outdated jokes of some of their more famous elders.

Gigi Hadid and Zayn Malik

Cardi B and Offset

Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner

Justin and Hailey Bieber

In days of auld lang syne, the entertainment industry’s brightest upstarts appeared to function as stable and productive members of society only when legally compelled to do so by the awesome powers of the Los Angeles County Superior Court. In 2020, it doesn’t take a SCRAM device analyzing the perspiratory alcohol content of supple young ankle skin to keep stars in at night — they were already planning to stay in because they’re married. Or they have a baby. Or they have to be at church in 14 hours. When they’re not working, today’s bombshells retreat to the depths of their own private bomb shelters, and heartthrobs are confined to hearth and home. It’s disgraceful.

WHO?Gigi Hadid and Zayn Malik / Cardi B and Offset / Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner / Justin and Hailey Bieber / Kylie Jenner

Tabitha Brown

January Jones

Padma Lakshmi

Leslie Jordan

In March, when coronavirus shutdowns were just beginning to choke the world, the actress Gal Gadot convinced a murderers’ row of wealthy stars to release a video of themselves singing (at various keys, tempos, and volumes) a cover of John Lennon’s “Imagine.” The global population’s response to its celebrity class was clear: ‘We hate when you try to inspire us; never do it again.’ In June, a different crew of famous people did it again (this time releasing clips of themselves taking sober responsibility for racism).

A small number of celebrities did prove worthy of affection: those who recorded low production value videos of themselves alone making food, or revisiting bygone hits, or otherwise laying bare their weird little personalities for mass ogling. All we asked was that famous people find a way to help us fill the hours without teaching us anything more serious than how to make some broth. Very few delivered.

WHO?Verzuz battlers / Leslie Jordan / Tabitha Brown / Padma Lakshmi

Do not dismiss Victoria Beckham and Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen just because they didn’t toil for years in the ateliers. These pop idols are on the classic famous person’s existential quest for artistic credibility — though instead of pursuing it via Shakespeare, oil paints or rock music, they are pursuing it in fashion. The hallmarks of their journey are humility, allegiance to the existing system, and an ability to name-drop the classics: YSL, Chanel, Kawakubo. It’s not about them anymore; it’s about the work. And they should not be mistaken for celebrity designers like Jessica Simpson, Jennifer Lopez and Gwen Stefani, who have been seduced by the idea of being the next coming of Hanes and see clothing as simply another way to extend their personal brands. Nor should they be confused with celebrity designers such as Kanye West and Rihanna, who have taken the immortal words of Ryan Gosling’s character in “Crazy, Stupid Love” to heart, and edited them into a new mantra — not just “Be better than the Gap” but also “Be bigger than the Gap.”

Ashley and Mary-Kate Olsen clutching their CFDA Award.

Remember the days when a positive drug test was a potential career killer for a professional athlete? Nowadays, it’s more like a resume stuffer. In a 420 era when the vast majority of pro teams play in a state where marijuana is legal at some level, and league testing is increasingly minimal, pot is not only shedding its dirty-bong connotations among the professionally musclebound but has become a handy second career once their glory days are gone.

The late Cliff Robinson, who died this summer and who was known as “Uncle Cliffy” during his days as a Portland Trail Blazer, helped get the ball rolling — and the trail, apparently, blazing — a few years ago with a cannabis line adopting that very nickname (too bad he ditched the original name: “Uncle Spliffy”).

The floodgates are now open. Ricky Williams, who always seemed like he was engaged in a cosmic smoke-off with the ghost of Bob Marley during his days as a running back with the New Orleans Saints and Miami Dolphins, rebranded himself the “Heisman Healer” with a cannabis wellness company called Real Wellness.

Calvin Johnson, the former star receiver for the Detroit Lions who once claimed he smoked pot after every game as an alternative to opioid-painkillers, debuted a cannabis company in Michigan called Primitiv, along with his former teammate Rob Sims.

For Al Harrington, the former N.B.A. forward, legal weed can be a ticket to social justice, which is why the journeyman hoopster started Viola, a cannabis company that aims to mint 100 Black millionaires in the industry through minority ownership and community reinvestment — in particular, by helping black-market cannabis producers go legit.

We could make a lame joke about “seed” investments. Or simply observe that Joe Montana, the Hall of Fame quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers, recently invested in a California-based cannabis company called Caliva through his venture capital firm, and that Kevin Durant, the Brooklyn Nets star, has also backed weed companies.

These days, Hollywood royalty loves appearing in goofy TikToks, dubious singalongs and late night TV games. For A-listers, a bubbly, approachable persona can open up lucrative career opportunities (think Marvel spectacles) and new revenue streams.

There are though still a select few A-Listers avoiding the Carpool Karaoke trenches. Think Daniel Day-Lewis and Tilda Swinton, cerebral stars who value craft and arch mystique over accessibility. Over their storied careers they’ve earned the critical standing and financial independence to skip schlocky roles and the sillier varieties of fan-service-y promo.

Then there are the former very young stars, who grew up in gears of the star-making machinery and then extricated themselves. Neither Kristin Stewart or Robert Pattinson are strictly press-shy, but both rejected the harsh limelight and exhausting regimen of their Twilight origins with a series of spiky arthouse roles (and funky haircuts). And fair play to Daniel Radcliffe for portraying a farting corpse.

Then there’s the real wildcards. They don’t just avoid fame; they want, probably rightly, to trash it. There aren’t many actors who’d use their Best Actor acceptance speech to declare “We feel entitled to artificially inseminate a cow and when she gives birth we steal her baby,” as Joaquin Phoenix did.

And there’s Shia Labeouf, the only one who would ever do this. Or this. And most definitely this.

Jaboukie Young-White

Sandy Honig

Cole Escola

Jaboukie Young-White is the undisputed king of Twitter account satire. He’ll alter his name and avatar, along with his blue check, to send tweets as powerful figures, from Ted Cruz to President Trump to the FBI. In March, he was unverified and briefly suspended after a particularly juicy tweet sent as CNN. Public outcry, employing #FreeJaboukie, ensued. Other comedians, including Cole Escola (tweeting in the voice of Mayor Bill DeBlasio) and Sandy Honig (parodying Ivanka Trump), remain suspended for similar forays. Call it comedy, call it activism, they may be banned but their legacies endure.

The bottom feeders and front pages of the internet, stars of the drama world like Keemstar, Tea Spill and TikTok Room, hoover up everyone else’s business and air it out for the world to see. They feed off feuds and have a near encyclopedic knowledge of internet gossip. They shape the conversation of the internet. Cross them and you could be canceled next.

While Charli D’Amelio and the Sway House boys are sunshine and cheery content, alt TikTok stars like Mooptopia are mainstays on the more indie side of the app. They aren’t the popular crowd, but their cool, quirky content still attracts millions.

The Clubhouse

The Sway House

The Hype House

Teenagers and young people flock to live in Los Angeles mansions, joining collectives with names like The Hype House, The Sway House and The Clubhouse. They pay their rent by producing content for brands or for their management company overlords. Nearly all of these houses will inevitably devolve into drama and another fresh batch of doe-eyed social media stars will replace them.

The vlog elite — Jake and Logan Paul, Emma Chamberlain, Tana Mongeau, Shane Dawson — have amassed tens of millions of subscribers on YouTube. As their fame grows, they’ve made enough money to afford a mansion in Calabasas or at least a $4 million starter home.

Strippers, cam girls, porn stars and Instagram models who all finally stopped giving away pics for free. These women and men sell nudes and exclusive R and X rated content to dedicated communities of paying fans on OnlyFans. They are masters of monetization and have a more secure business model than 90 percent of influencers.

Mang0. Ludwig. Pokimane. A briefly departed Ninja. All streamers on Twitch, a service mainly used for live-streaming video game content, with ever-growing followings who literally pay them to play through subscriptions. Ninja was raking in $500,000 a month from his subscribers while rubbing virtual elbows with fellow (if less dexterous) celebrities like Drake and Travis Scott, all while never leaving his home (how tragically ahead of his time he was). These creators of content make their income like many of us also existing under the strain of capitalism: sitting in front of a screen (or several screens) for hours on end.

But, in addition to making money from participating in an activity they actually enjoy, these video game Gods set themselves apart from the rest of us by fostering genuine communities through their audiences and subscribers. Friendships are made, transcending physical space, and inside jokes are formed among each streamer’s avid watchers. To those who regularly tune in, these streamers are more than celebrities with large followings and sometimes exorbitant amounts of money. They are beacons guiding like-minded people to one another, which might launch these entertainers into a wholesome echelon of stardom far above all others. On the other hand, having to tell their several thousand employers each time they need to get up to pee might tip the scale back into balance.

The season finale of The Great British Baking Show is always simultaneously heartwarming and gut-wrenching. Each season’s ousted cast members all return to frolic in the English countryside with one another once more. There is laughter. There is hugging. There is a measly cake platter awarded to the winner who gave their blood, sweat and tears as an offering to the bread God known as Paul Hollywood. But just like the end of a good ’90s documentary, the show began incorporating a “where are they now” section. Frankly, it’s confusing. These bakers, supposedly and clearly the best in the land, deserve contracts with Netflix! Book deals! A movie script tossed into their laps! And some, like Nadiyah Hussain, receive the recognition they deserve. But others, after winning the hearts of nearly the entire Western hemisphere, seemingly return to their day jobs and continue baking as a hobby. Iain Watters, involved in a scandalous Baked Alaska incident in an otherwise scandal-less series, had the drama and flair for a show solely centered on his baking endeavors. But, alas, he returned to work as a builder and joined a cohort of fellow bakers who are recognized and stopped on the street for their talents but are cheated out of the perpetual monetary compensation.

For even the most accomplished ballet dancers, a successful career doesn’t exactly lead to fortune or fame. Still, a select few are recognizable to the public for one reason or another. Most notably, Misty Copeland snapped the ballet mold when she became the first Black woman to become a principal dancer at the acclaimed American Ballet Theater. Since then, she’s been flexing in Under Armour ads, showing up in a Drake music video, appearing in numerous TV shows and films, writing several books and posting for her nearly 2 million Instagram followers.

Though Mikhail Baryshnikov is referred to as one of the greatest male ballet dancers, he only achieved ballebrity status after his role in the Oscar-winning movie “The Turning Point.” Or was it when he played Carrie’s lover, Aleksandr Petrovsky, in “Sex and The City”?

And Sergei Pulonin — the “bad boy of ballet” — became the Royal Ballet’s youngest principal dancer, but his clout only erupted after a video of him dancing shirtless in a warehouse to Hozier’s “Take Me To Church” went viral. His fame turned controversial when he tattooed Vladimir Putin’s face on his chest, went on a seemingly sexist and homophobic internet rant and was literally canceled by the Paris Opera Ballet.

Another notable tour de force includes Isabella Boylston, who’s then-boyfriend, Benjamin Millepiede, was the choreographer for Black Swan. She transitioned from minor- to major-ballebrity status as he left her during filming and proposed to its lead actress, Natalie Portman, who was pregnant with his child — a story perhaps more dramatic than the plot of the film.

There will be more. Other ballebrities to watch include Harper Watters, Carlos Acosta, Steven McRae and Maria Khoreva.

Chris Pratt taking a selfie next to his Hollywood Walk of Fame star.

Brendan Frazier. Jason Mendoza. Chris Pratt. Keanu Reeves. A portmanteau of “him” and “bimbo” describing seemingly unintelligent, unpretentious beefcakes. The himbo’s supposed lack of brain cells softens his sculpted arms, abs and jawline. While the earliest documentation of the word was in 1988 by The Washington Post, examples exist historically throughout classical art and literature. Hercules. Thor. My ex-boyfriend.

Kristin Stewart

Cara Delevingne

Lizzy McChesney

St. Vincent

The actor and model Cara Delevingne, the actor Kristen Stewart and other queer women like the musician Lizzy McChesney (known as Lissy Trullie) may have personal stylists. They still display a deep affection for beanies, ripped jeans and waif-like forms. They also all, at some point, may have dated St. Vincent.

At the turn of the century, Disney and Nickelodeon were pioneering their child star machines that produced Hilary Duff and Amanda Bynes. Some of their contemporaries never hit it big beyond children’s television, but today’s mid-millennials keep them in a special place in our hearts, next to slime and aggro crag.

* Kel Mitchell

* Lori Beth Denberg

* Danny Tamberelli

* Josh Server

* Christy Carlson Romano

* Kyla Pratt

* Drake Bell

* Orlando Brown

* Lalaine

* Kimberly J. Brown

* Raviv Ullman

Olivia Jade, Malcolm Abbott and Jack Buckingham became infamous on certain corners of the internet for their parents’ actions when it was revealed that some parents had bribed their kids into schools. Many seemed born for the spotlight. Malcolm Abbott, the son of Gregory and Marcia Abbott (and an aspiring white rapper), decided to talk to the New York Post outside of his home on Fifth Avenue while smoking, as the Post noted, “a giant blunt.” And Jack Buckingham, the son of Jane and Marcus Buckingham, seemed contrite in a statement to the Hollywood Reporter, ending it with “It was probably not a smart idea to say anything but I needed to get that off my chest.” The budding influencer Olivia Jade Giannulli, the daughter of Lori Loughlin and Mossimo Giannulli, finally returned to YouTube last December to share makeup tips: “I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I feel like I haven’t done, like, a sit-down tutorial in so long … is this boring?”

KJ Apa as Archie in season 3 episode 1 of “Riverdale”. Katie Yu/The CW

Poor teens: Beyond having the existential dread of near-future climate catastrophes, now they have to deal with an onslaught of TV shows and movies about high school students with washboard abs. And no acne! KJ Apa, 23, from “Riverdale” and Taylor Zakhar Perez, 28, from “The Kissing Booth 2” are just two of the most impressive culprits of this ruse. Sami Outalbali from “Sex Education” is 21, and so at least he is closer to a teenager than Darren Barnet, of “Never Have I Ever,” who is 29. That was the same age of Gabrielle Carteris, who played Andrea Zuckerman on “Beverly Hills, 90210.” She was supposed to be 16! Thanks, unions.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Matthew Gray Gubler

Donald Glover

Harry Shum Jr.

Matt Smith

Oscar Isaac

Dev Patel

Nicholas Hoult

Harry Styles

Zayn Malik

If you had a Tumblr in the platform’s heyday it was impossible to spend an hour on your dashboard without seeing photos and gifsets of these thin, gentle-eyed, dark-haired men. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Matthew Gray Gubler, Donald Glover, Harry Shum Jr., Matt Smith, Oscar Isaac, Dev Patel, Nicholas Hoult, Harry Styles and Zayn Malik. These collective crushes often brought a sprawling, unwieldy internet population together through swoons and thirst. Even as the platform has shed most of its users over the last few years, there's no better place to find color-saturated GIFsets or black and white collages of Timothée Chalamet, who is ushering forth a new generation of Tumblr boyfriends.

These individuals could make you feel academically, socially and personally inferior — in the best way possible. You know them from explaining the universe in eight minutes (Neil deGrasse Tyson can make quantum physics sound like a bedtime story) to dropping juicy tidbits about former U.S. presidents (Doris Kearns Goodwin is basically a dream dinner party guest). Their strongest skill is a knack for simplifying the incredibly complex in a way that’s still 100 percent accurate — with zest.

These sexa- and septuagenarians tweet like they’re 40 years younger than they are. They may not know what “the tea” is, exactly, but that won’t stop them from throwing the phrase into their TikToks and tweets. Cher has launched a decade-long ALL CAPS assault on grammatical norms (and deploys emoji far more frequently than commas). Andrew Lloyd Webber has gifted the world a timeless video in which he plays piano variations of Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky.” Howie Mandel boasts about his #fishtoks on TikTok and has retweeted fan art of his face on a mandarin orange. The perk of having one of these social-media obsessives for a grandparent? They’ll never yell at you to get off your phone.

On a mundane Tuesday morning in September, a nearly 7,000-word essay was published in The Cut. As New York media fiends dug into the laborious piece and live-tweeted their thoughts, one question rippled through the internet: Who the heck is Caroline Calloway?

Though the easy answer would be that Ms. Calloway is simply an influencer, the discourse that followed was nearly as complicated, long-winded and mind-numbingly intricate as the tales that Ms. Calloway and her ex-best friend, Natalie Beach, plastered on their respective platforms. But as they were each lauded and “canceled,” Ms. Calloway’s fame increased, or at least, expanded slightly outside of the world of those who knew her as an influencer.

Many people have followed this ascension to relevance. It’s distinct but adjacent to the category of those who have become famous, in a relative sense, through outré tactics that are meant to shock their names into the new cycle. The Scientologist and singer Joy Villa made her name wearing pro-Trump dresses to the Grammy’s. The conservative activist Kaitlin Bennett — a.k.a. “gun girl” — tweeted a photo of herself standing on the Kent State University campus with an AR-10 rifle slung over her shoulder and a graduation cap that said, “come and take it.”

Though these people are often dunked on and ridiculed online, they’re fresh proof of the age-old sentiment that there’s no such thing as bad publicity. After all, we’re still here talking about them, aren’t we?

“fellas is it gay to listen to sufjan stevens and softly weep, yearning for a mans touch,” the comic Jaboukie Young-White tweeted in 2019.

The short answer? Yes, of course it is, because yearning might as well be a gay Olympic sport.

Mr. Stevens, the midwestern singer who received his first Grammy nomination for his work on the soundtrack for “Call Me By Your Name,” has plenty of touch-starved company. He yearns alongside artists like Fiona Apple, the elusive New York-born singer who recently released “Fetch the Bolt Cutters,” her poignant master class in yearning and catharsis; Mitski, the Japanese-American singer-songwriter who begged for “one good movie kiss” on her 2018 disco-ballad “Nobody;” girl in red, the gay Norwegian bedroom pop singer who made her name in ever-yearning lesbian circles with songs like “i wanna be your girlfriend;” King Princess, the Brooklyn-born lesbian who made her name with the queer ballad “1950;” and Phoebe Bridgers, the LA-born indie rocker who often writes hazy, longing songs about her reckonings with “emotional motion sickness.”

Anyway, that’s enough yearning for today. Alexa, play “Mystery of Love” by Sufjan Stevens.

Many of these choreographers would have toiled behind the curtain in the past. Today they produce high-quality recordings of their dance sequences for millions of fans on Instagram, TikTok and YouTube. They leverage these social-media followings to fund their own businesses, like Samantha Long, J. Balvin’s dance captain, did with A Threat.

Another prominent example: Parris Goebel, who was nominated for an Emmy last month for her dance direction in Rihanna’s Savage x Fenty extravaganza. Ms. Goebel is also the brains behind Jennifer Lopez’s Super Bowl halftime performance and the popular music video for Justin Bieber’s “Sorry.”

Others in this group include Sienna Lalau, the 19-year-old who dreamed up the moves for BTS’s “On” music video; Kyle Hanagami, whose YouTube videos have been watched hundreds of millions of times; and Aliya Janell, founder of the Queen N’ Lettos dance studio in Los Angeles who makes dance magic happen — in heels.

They appeared on television every day for weeks, crowded into a villa and “looking for love” (or just an attractive stranger to hook up with). Now they’re hawking Fashion Nova (and many, many other brands).

Thanks to their mundane yet endlessly entertaining turns on the British reality dating show “Love Island,” cast members like Amy Hart, Molly-Mae Hague, Ovie Soko, Anna Vakili, Chris Hughes, Amber Gill and Megan Barton Hanson have become staples of the British tabloids. Whether they’re trying out a new hair color, having dental work done or wearing clothes, someone on the internet is reporting on it. Like many other people famous for having spent weeks on camera discussing each other, Love Island cast members have parlayed their newfound celebrity into sponsorship deals, hosting gigs and, of course, more reality television appearances.

“Let’s Play” gamers are famous for riffing along while playing “The Last of Us” and “Sonic the Hedgehog” on YouTube, Twitch and other platforms, but it would be a mistake to call them merely minor celebrities. Folks like Mark Edward Fischbach (also known as Markiplier) have huge global followings, make appearances on television and make millions from sponsorships and merchandising. There’s an ugly side to this kind of fame, though. Felix Kjellberg, known as PewDiePie, is certainly the most recognizable and notorious of the Let’s Play set and is no stranger to controversy. After his moniker was mentioned during the livestreamed Christchurch mosque shootings in 2019, Kjellberg was forced to make clear that he wasn’t complicit with the anti-Muslim terror attack.

While there’s no shortage of YouTubers who comment on pop culture, especially in the age of Marvel everything, some, like Lindsay Ellis, have raised the bar in terms of subject matter — think “Transformers” through a Marxist lens — and sheer ambition. Ms. Ellis was a Hugo Award finalist for her three-part documentary on Peter Jackson’s “The Hobbit” trilogy, and her debut novel, “Axiom’s End,” recently landed on “The New York Times” best seller list for hardcover fiction.

An answer to the proliferation of right-leaning commentary on YouTube, BreadTube features accounts like Natalie Wynn’s ContraPoints, whose videos explore philosophy, gender, race and politics from a leftist point of view. (The name is a reference to “The Conquest of Bread” by anarcho-communist writer Peter Kropotkin.) Ms. Wynn, along with other YouTube channels like Renegade Cut and Some More News, has slowly built up a following by talking about and poking fun at some of the same topics that attract the alt-right.

The hosts are poised and smooth-talking, created in some breeding ground for sharp-tongued silver foxes. They know their on-screen charisma, padded by some basic reading skills and the occasional sly comment or eyebrow raise, will keep the paychecks and the adoration flowing. Alex Trebek, Regis Philbin, Pat Sajak (a different person than Philbin, I had to check), Steve Harvey, Howie Mandel. Ben Bailey was the chill one on “Cash Cab,” Scott Rogowsky the fratty bro on “HQ Trivia.”

These shows are gamified versions of the American Dream, so obsessed with ever-greater net worth that Fox literally named its short-lived “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire” wannabe “Greed.” So we inevitably remember the proletariat in the equation — the contestant — for, yes, their awkwardness, pluckiness and general underdog-ness, but most importantly for winning. John Carpenter, who turned the tables and snarkily called his dad just to brag just before winning “Millionaire.” All the “Jeopardy!” champions tournament guys (justice for Brad Rutter). And of course, Diana and Charles Ingram, who became both game show and true crime celebrities when they were caught cheating (or were they?) on the British “Millionaire.”

Messi and Ronaldo! They’re always named first, and always in that order. Who do they play for? Where are they from? What are they actually good at? What have they won?

Closer to home in America, there’s Megan Rapinoe, hallowed be thy purple hair. Alex Morgan, poster child for aspirational older millennial vibes: A baby and straight back to work, becoming a meme for a goal celebration and a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model? Amazing, yes, but can you tell us about her club career?

After that it’s tough. You know they’re out there, the ~global game~ must have some celebs. Wayne Rooney, he’s a soccer player, right? The one whose wife got into that Instagram drama with Rebekah Vardy? Oh and David Beckham, of course, he’s a hottie. Again, though, don’t even think about asking what he was actually good at in the sport of soccer. But whew could he sell underwear.

There are grandmasters, and then there are those who cash in after checkmate.

In 2010, the Dutch designer clothing line G-Star made a very unexpected addition to their fashion week model lineup: the then-youngest ever No. 1 chess player in the world, Magnus Carlsen. Maybe the original Chessfluencer™, Magnus has been followed by a small group of people who manage to dominate the board game and trickle into outside fame. Hikaru Nakamaru, a five-time U.S. chess champion, has a huge following on Twitch. The youngest woman to ever become a grandmaster, Hou Yifan, also became the youngest ever full professor at Shenzhen University; she’s also gotten a slew of chess-related brand deals.

Parvati Shallow, Jeremy Collins, Sandra Diaz-Twine and other superhumans who avoided getting their torches snuffed twenty years ago and now are just surviving with the rest of us.

They swallowed bug larvae on television, they shivered under palm-frond roofs through lightning storms, they threw another contestant’s hat in an island bonfire and then pretended to not know where it went. Now, the winners of old seasons of “Survivor” have found their own corner of fame, as staples of fan blogs and Cameo video greetings and a never-ending stream of podcasts. Parvati Shallow wrote a children’s book about a yoga-loving otter; Jeremy Collins tweets about Qdoba; Sandra Diaz-Twine sells autographed photos of herself and, apparently, still uses her catchphrase, “Queen stays queen.” Accurate.

It might start with one of the many beloved sitcoms created by Mike Schur or one of the 600-plus episodes of Comedy Bang Bang. That’s how Jason Mantzoukas got me. But it could really be any comedy show or podcast; that’s how it works.

First, a guest star in a supporting role becomes someone you recognize, someone you start to spot in other places. First they’re “that guy!” or “that girl!” — then you see them so often in different shows and movies they finally become someone whose name you remember. You might start following them on Twitter or Instagram because you like their jokes, but then you start to notice which other famous people they’re friends with, who has their own podcast, who has a new project coming out that week. You dig up their old projects, the indie dramedies and the cult sketch shows and the old YouTube web series. That person helps you discover a few more people, and the cycle begins anew.

You’re attuned to this type of celebrity if you couldn’t watch “Palm Springs” without pointing out Conner O’Malley or if you watched “Space Force” not for Steve Carell and John Malkovich but for Tawny Newsome and Ben Schwartz. All it takes is once: one time where someone makes you laugh so hard in such a specific, personal way, you’re sold on everything they do from that point forward. Lauren Lapkus may not be an A-lister in your household, but she is in mine.

While hip-hop in 2020 is largely driven by memes and TikToks, streaming music services allow teenage rappers to thrive alongside elder statesmen, deep into their careers making music. Rap has always been a young person’s genre, but now Jay-Z is 50; we are officially in uncharted territory. Streaming music also gives us the ability to navigate the musical landscape with ease. On Spotify, producers can receive equal billing to rappers, allowing you to delve into the discographies of artists who, in another era, might have remained behind the scenes.

So far this year, the best reviewed hip-hop record of the year is Run The Jewels’s “RTJ4,” by two 45-year-olds, Killer Mike and rapper-producer El-P. Madlib (age 46), beloved for his early 2000s collaborations with MF DOOM and J Dilla, released an album with his younger brother as The Professionals and is teasing another project on the heels of two widely praised albums with rapper Freddie Gibbs. The Alchemist (age 42) also dropped a pair of albums with Freddie Gibbs (including this year’s “Alfredo”), as well as projects with Boldy James and Conway.

For a community of aging hip-hop heads, getting critically acclaimed new releases from legendary producers, decades after their debuts, is the closest rap’s gotten to replicating classic rock’s model. If the Rolling Stones and Bruce Springsteen can kick around for several decades and release dozens of albums, why can’t hip-hop groups?

Zooey Deschanel. Lea Michele. The manic pixie dream girls of “Fifty Shades of Grey” and Sally Rooney’s “Normal People.” Queen Sally Rooney herself! Not one of these women is immune to the venom of popular opinion, yet they’ve managed to tune out the haters and the memes and do the improbable: Say Yes to the Bangs. Society says: Bangs are for Bad Breakups. Bangs are Just a Form of Cheap Therapy. People with bangs have heard every takedown. Nevertheless, we persisted. A quick counterpoint: Did you know Michelle Obama took a chance on a full frontal fringe? Word on the street is that her husband considered a bangs executive order, but apparently Barack had other priorities.

The “cool girls” of Hollywood were identified by Anne Helen Petersen in BuzzFeed, and their queen was Jennifer Lawrence. Yes, she drinks Veuve Clicquot straight from the bottle. Yes, she talks about butt plugs on television. And yes, obviously she tripped on her way to get her Academy Award. Who among us hasn’t? She also tagged in Olivia Wilde and Mila Kunis, and identified Jane Fonda as their den mom. They can hang with the guys, but they’re always paparazzi ready. Hey does anyone wanna play beer pong?

Zoom fatigue, meet your counterpart: Instagram Live fatigue. Around March and April of 2020, there was a 70 percent jump in the use of the Instagram Live feature and the amount of videos you watched or ignored didn’t matter: Much like channel surfing, the list of endless live streams were exhausting. But coming to the rescue are the slew of hosts that are breathing new life to the clogged platform of broadcasted workouts and cooking shows.

Some hosts are lecture and sermon givers, conducting teach-ins on revolutionary resistance like @itswalela, a writer and organizer; discussing how “all your faves are problematic” like @thecollectress, a sommelier, founder of @radicalxchange and hospitality activist; or delivering Sunday sermons on the need for a revolution or the project of whiteness like @janayathefuture, a storyteller, activist, and co-founder of Black Lives Matter Canada.

Others are talk show-esque, interview whizzes like the comedian @ziwef and her weekly show with the good, the canceled, and the in-between of pop culture; the writer and performance artist @alokvmenon and their #BeyondTheGenderBinary talk inspired by their book with the same name; the writer and curator @museummammy with the #BlackPowerLunchHour mini-series featuring artists and organizers; @tuna__turner, the chef and artist with the #LivingRoom series, an extension of the IRL events by @yardy.nyc; and @kiacooks, chef and Cherry Bombe magazine’s culinary director, with the “On the Line” variety show. Instagram Live, in the hands of these people, could be the platform that television talk shows wishes it was.

Sean Larkin

Pete Davidson

Kevin Federline

Safaree Samuels

So you just got dumped by a celebrity. Time to ditch L.A., move home and get a normie job? Forget it — Hollywood loves an ex-boyfriend.

Take Safaree Samuels, who broke up with Nicki Minaj in 2014 after a 14-year relationship. He’s since released rap music, made an account on OnlyFans and appeared on reality shows like Love and Hip Hop Hollywood and Scared Famous.

Sean Larkin already had a job in reality television before he dated Lana Del Rey: besides working in the gang unit of Tulsa Police Department, he hosted the cop show Live PD. A few months after his amicable breakup with Ms. Del Rey, the show was canceled by A&E following the killing of George Floyd in police custody. His next moves are unclear, but he’s now known by lots of people beyond the show’s demographic, even if only as the “influencer cop” who dated the singer.

And who could forget Kevin Federline?

Then there’s Pete Davidson. Sure, he was technically on Saturday Night Live before his brief engagement to Ariana Grande. But his profile skyrocketed after their tumultuous, widely-covered breakup. Following a series of short-lived flings with Kate Beckinsale, Margaret Qualley and Kaia Gerber, he’s become the living embodiment of the lightly skeezy ex-boyfriend archetype. And he knows it.

“It’s not fair, Colin. You get to date a famous woman, and everyone’s delighted,” Mr. Davidson said, referring to his co-host Colin Jost’s marriage to Scarlett Johansson. “But when I do it, the world wants to punch me in the throat. What’d I do?”

When Peter Thiel, the billionaire tech investor and Trump stumper, started snapping up New Zealand real estate seemingly as a doomsday getaway, they laughed.

When Sam Altman, the 35-year-old former president of Y Combinator, the influential Silicon Valley start-up accelerator, began hoarding guns, gold, medicine, and gas masks to survive some undetermined apocalypse, they laughed. (Though “they,” presumably, did not include the swelling ranks of fellow Silicon Valley powerbroker preppers, including the likes of Steve Huffman, a Reddit founder, and Yishan Wong, formerly of Facebook and Reddit.)

And when David Stockman, the former Reagan budget director, best-selling author and financial-networks Cassandra, droned on about a coming debt-choked economy, a collapse of the “everything bubble,” and a run on gold, they laughed some more.

Who can we laugh at now? Surely not even America’s most prominent doomsayers, not in a pandemic that has already claimed nearly 900,000 lives worldwide. But with pathogens spreading out of control, protests in the streets and an economy perhaps teetering on the brink of collapse, America’s doomer A-list has nearly every right to feel vindicated.

While you could argue that they’re broken clocks (which are right twice a day, you know), our pampered preppers prove that, in 2020, it’s simply impossible to be too paranoid.

I bought a pair of not totally heinous Tevas in quarantine because Reina Triendl, a Netflixuencer I follow on Instagram, made them look, well, good. Netflix has been a pandemic escape from this year’s never-ending cycle of child care and working from home, and I am not alone in wanting to know more about the people I’m meeting on TV.

Ms. Triendl, a Japanese-Austrian actress, was a commentator on the now canceled “Terrace House.” But you can get in touch, via Cameo, with Jerry Harris (“Cheer,” $150), Rutledge Wood (“Floor Is Lava,” $75), Aparna Shewakramani (“Indian Matchmaking,” $55) and yes, the baddest b of 2020 and subject of the popular #carolebaskinchallenge on TikTok, Carole Baskin (“Tiger King,” $299).

Astrology is fake, you say? Tell it to the millions of star-struck enthusiasts who devotedly follow Chani Nicholas, Mecca Woods, Astro Poets, Annabel Gat, Jessica Lanyadoo, and Danielle Ayoka aka Mystic Lipstick — not to mention the zealous fans of the late Walter Mercado, the cape-clad charmer who is the subject of the Netflix documentary “Mucho Mucho Amor.” Even if none of them predicted a pandemic, global unrest and an acute economic crisis, relentless uncertainty has kept the faithful coming back for more. And social media has only made the ancient pseudoscience more digestible: Whether it’s the chill vibes of The Hoodwitch, meme accounts like the hilarious Not All Geminis, or apps like the intrusive and bewilderingly vague Co-Star, the stars are now in reach for anyone with a smartphone.

Carole Baskin

Flavor Flav

Lance Bass

Tara Reid

When was the last time you thought about Mark McGrath, the lead singer of the band Sugar Ray? Last fall, he re-entered the public consciousness in a viral video where he gave the news of a break-up to someone, then wished them good luck on their upcoming thesis.

It was later revealed to be a prank, but the whole entertaining saga was made possible by Cameo. It’s a service in which users can pay famous people — usually minor reality stars and washed-up celebs of the early 2000s — to deliver personalized video messages.

If a famous person sported frosted tips or starred on a VH1 show at some point in their career, they are likely on this app (hello, Lance Bass and Flavor Flav). The results are often equal parts charming (like the actress Tara Reid’s videos) and unhinged (we see you, Carole Baskin). We thank these celebs for their service.

If you’ve noticed a surge in glittery, colorful make-up looks on your social feeds over the past year, it’s likely thanks to “Euphoria,” the edgy HBO series chronicling teen life that’s full of drugs and sex and despair.

The show’s aesthetic is hyper stylized — think glitter tears, bubblegum hair and a ton of face crystals — and has inspired a million copycats. Its star Zendaya reigns supreme over the Euphoria teens — which can refer to both the Gen Z fans who’ve adopted the looks or other members of the show’s popular young cast like Alexa Demie and Hunter Schafer.

They are hugely talented, Instagram-popular prisoners of perhaps their careers’ greatest success; people who, for the rest of their lives, upon meeting someone new, will be greeted by the words, “Oh, so you were in the room where it happened?”

Robert Pattinson post-“Twilight.” Shia LaBeouf in every role after he left the “Transformers” franchise. Jonah Hill. The “take them seriously” is a particular breed of actor that is basically like if the cult favorite indie studio A24 was a person. They probably give cryptic interviews. They usually wear fun clothes. But do not be mistaken — they are devoted to their craft and need you to know it.

A man barricades himself inside an armored vehicle with an AR-15 atop the Hoover Dam, in order to promote a conspiracy theory alleging that the world is controlled by a network of elite pedophiles.

A teenager hacks into a social media network and takes over the accounts of some of the world’s most powerful people, convincing their followers into sending him cryptocurrency.

A terrorist conceals a nuclear device within a package picked up by an unwitting gig-economy delivery man, who must throw it into a lake while dodging ghosts and toxic raindrops.

The first two events actually happened, in 2018 and 2020; the third is a plot point in the video game Death Stranding, the 2019 magnum opus of the idiosyncratic game designer Hideo Kojima. All three incidents encapsulate a bizarre texture of modern life. News stories read like science fiction, while dystopian fantasies feel ripped from the headlines. This is accelerationism: chaos wrought by capitalism and technology run amuck. “We all live in an operating system set up by the accelerating triad of war, capitalism and emergent AI,” said Steve Goodman, also known as the electronic musician Kode9.

The visionaries of the misinformation age include storytellers like Kojima and the science fiction author William Gibson, as well as the Acronym designer Errolson Hugh, whose high-tech garments seem built for survival in post-climate change extremes. Musicians like 100 Gecs and Oneohtrix Point Never twist rock and rave sounds into cacophonous reflections of life online.

But culture is also shaped by figures beyond the arts, like Q, the anonymous and possibly mythical prophet of QAnon, the conspiracy-cum-religion. Finance is upended by Satoshi Nakomoto, the pseudonymous creator (or creators) of Bitcoin, the favored currency of tech nerds, international drug networks and white supremacists. As shared reality decays into algorithmically separated tranches of fantasy, the future belongs to whoever is willing to imagine it.

Actor Norman Reedus standing next to a scale model of the character he portrays in the video game Death Stranding.

For years, we watched in horror and amusement as a group of young girls and their overly involved mothers battled it out on Lifetime’s reality show “Dance Moms.” Who would compete for a solo? Who would rise to the top of the pyramid? Who would be berated by a power-drunk dance teacher from Pittsburgh?

Now, the original cast members have emerged as Gen Z influencers. JoJo Siwa tops the list with a viable music career, a Nickelodeon contract, a YouTube channel with more than 11 million subscribers and a line of hair bows. Maddie and Mackenzie Ziegler maintain tens of millions of followers across Instagram and TikTok. Nia Sioux, Chloe Lukasiak, Kendall Vertes, Kalani Hilliker, and Brooke and Paige Hyland keep up a sizable social media following, too.

We love to hate them; we hate to love them. Stars of Bravo’s shows occupy a unique status of célébrité known as Bravolebrities — Bravolebs, for short. From “Real Housewives” to “Below Deck,” the larger-than-life personalities bring us a dependable supply of indulgent drama and instantly memeable screengrabs.

Bravo superfans — a.k.a. Bravoholics — are a dedicated bunch. They’ll even chalk up upward of $1,500 to brush shoulders with Bravolebs IRL for a weekend.

Until a recent racial reckoning regarding unequal pay for white and non-white staff, the test kitchen had been an unstoppable force in food media. Its wildly addictive YouTube channel introduced the world to a cast of Bon Appétit editors who soon amassed sizable fan bases. Claire Saffitz, Brad Leone, Molly Baz and Chris Morocco became household names, at least among Very Online foodies.

After recent events, BA Test Kitchen stars and fans alike have rallied to support the assistant editor and Test Kitchen talent Sohla El-Waylly, who spoke up about her lack of adequate compensation. The future of the kitchen may be in doubt, but at least some of the stars it made are unlikely to fade away.

The 20-somethings the director Greta Gerwig has cast in her movies so far constitute their own micro-brand. Timothée Chalamet and Saoirse Ronan are her bread and butter, of course, playing love interests in “Lady Bird” and “Little Women.” Lucas Hedges, Beanie Feldstein, Florence Pugh and Eliza Scanlen round out the enviable cohort. We expect many more will be added to this list in coming years!

It’s old news that millennials are old news. The majority of the benighted generation has tumbled into its 30s and beyond. And yet, for whatever reason, when certain younger members of the cohort write a book, that book becomes a stand-in for the entire group, all 72 million of us, specimen-pinned in some way by “Conversations with Friends,” “Private Citizens,” “Luster” and “Early Work.” There are plenty of millennials who write novels that aren’t perceived as overwhelmingly millennial: Ling Ma, Yaa Gyasi, Brandon Taylor, Ocean Vuong. But others can’t seem to help themselves!

WHO?Sally Rooney, Raven Leilani, Andrew Martin, Emma Cline, Tony Tulathimutte

“Needed Me,” the seventh song on Rihanna’s 2016 album “Anti,” is three minutes and eleven seconds long and was created, according to the album’s liner notes, by 14 different artists. The album itself was the work of well over 50 people, and that’s just according to the official credits.

The work of being a major pop artist in the 21st century is the work of assembling a team and making decisions on that team’s behalf. There’s no denying the artistry of Rihanna, of Beyoncé, of Lady Gaga or of Kanye West. But they’re also acting as curators and executives, slotting in talent and making choices about who goes where and what sounds to use when. Behind the glare of their star power, an army churns, making music to be released under a single, world-conquering name.

WHO?Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande, Bruno Mars, Katy Perry, Britney Spears

The athletes that you’ve heard of, even if you regularly use the term “sportsball.”

WHO?Cristiano Ronaldo, LeBron James, Serena Williams, Venus Williams, Megan Rapinoe, Roger Federer, Michael Jordan, Tom Brady, David Beckham

Certain artists thrive in the feature slot. It’s rap’s equivalent of scene-stealing: Pop in for a quick sixteen and you leave the listener asking for more. It’s a role that was once epitomized by Ludacris, whose rap verses on pop songs practically constituted a second career. Now, it’s the domain of a new crop of collaborative stars, as head-turning in supporting roles as they are when they take the lead.

WHO?Lil Baby, Travis Scott, DaBaby, Megan Thee Stallion, Moneybagg, Quavo, Saweetie, Young Thug, Gunna, Nav

With the fall of gyms and the corona-closure of boutique fitness studios, there has been a surge in on-screen sweat sessions — via Zoom, Instagram Live or Peloton — with gurus we bring into our living rooms as they espouse body positivity and intimacy (we feel we know them and also feel they know us).

A wide range of personalities like Ryan Heffington, Amanda Kloots and Alex Toussaint have added in the last six months to their already devoted followings thanks to their frank sharing of struggle and transcendence, inspiration and perspiration, and our need to get out frustrations while stuck at home with the people who love and annoy us. “You got this,” our fitness gurus tell us; “dig deep,” they urge us; and we try, as we grunt, jump, meditate and also sometimes just give up and check our email.

The vogue for executive realness as empowerment has its roots in some very really real stuff. (“What happened to that penis you all were going to get me?” a colleague asked me recently, tired of being treated different from us diffident executive fellows.) As Sophia Amoruso rose to riches as the founder of Nasty Gal and then rode almost as rapidly into bankruptcy, she monetized her lifestyle into a memoir and a memoir into a TV deal and her identity into a movement. Girlbosses: they’re bosses and also girls. Now we let women run TV shows and magazines and tell men what to do, hooray!

But sometimes representation does not bring equality in its wake. As The Wing, a group of womens’ clubs, grew and then foundered on the rocks of fairness, as Elizabeth Holmes created a near-unicorn out of Theranos and then rode it into the dirt and into court, as hotly funded founder after founder turned out to be kind of a Nightmareboss, it turns out the girl verse was as bad as the first. Sure, we should give women the equal chance to be exploiters of labor. The problem turned out to be boss-hood all along.