HOWEVER, meager our lives, celebrity Instagram accounts offer certain reliable comforts : front-facing studio-quality portraits of our favorite stars standing or sitting alone -

In careful outfits; a high percentage of photos taken from from the manubrium up, so that our phone  screen is dominated by their proportional features.

And, if the celebrity is Beyonce-level famous, gorgeous unending color story we can fall through forever : a block of white, silver, gold and indigo clearly curated by someone with the patience to learn color theory.

This is the fame-trade-off in 2019 : We give them attention and a lightly engaged readership with the potential to translate to advertising revenue; they give us stylized, intimate glimpses of a life more elegant and photogenic than our own.

What is the result when someone ignores these conventions and attempts to use an account like a  regular person Clashing colors, ''Minions'' memes and cellphone videos shot from the middle distance.

What is the result when that someone has spent decades living the cloistered existence of one of the most successful entertainers of all time and has a limited understanding of what a regular person is like? The aberrant account of Britney Spears.

On Spear's Instagram, the light is uncalibrated - as likely to charge in from  floor-to-ceiling  windows offering 380 degree California views as to issue from a single overhead light bulb located behind her, casting her face in shadow.

Her feed is the is a place where frenetic solitary dance dance routines are performed with total commitment for Spear's unseen reflection in the mirror of her home gym, which is lined with purple string lights.

It is a place where Britney can share her favorite quotes, whether a typographical exhortation to stay  ''extra sparkly'' or a musing from Nietzsche about an artist's ability to endure what is known as  ''reality''.

But her most memorable, jolting posts are ones that crop up  every once in a while, seemingly with no rhyme or reason to their frequency : Britney, alone, pretending to be walking on a runway inside her home.

The plot of each is roughly the same:
Spears quickly struts straight-as-arrow toward the camera in a selection of outfits that are not particularly fancy - the sort of clothes a woman might have in her closet, if she had one.:

A red off-shoulder minidress with glittering embroidery; a red off-shoulder minidress with her flamenco sleeves.

The editing is fast, amateurish and jarring; frequently Spears is back at her point of origin, striding forward in a new outfit before she had finished walking out of frame in her old one.

Every video is overlaid with music by artists as varied as Beyonce and Tracy Chapman and Britney Spears. There is surreal lack of momentum to the clips; Spears never seems bound for anywhere in her vibrantly demonstrated ensembles.

The footage presents her as a human GIF, repeating small motions with minute adjustments of infinitum in the hallways, passages, corridors and and loggias of the Italianate airplane hangar where she lives.

Because the videos are a kind of art brut expressionism, empty of context, they fill viewers with questions. Who is filming? Why these clothes? Did Spears learn how to edit video clips?

And, most perplexing, what does she wants us to feel when we watch?

The world Students Society thanks author Caity Weaver.


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