As Man Repeller’s Social Media Manager, it is a part of my job description to eat pop culture for breakfast. And I do (with eggs). But Ansel Elgort is an eternal “who?” to me. He is one of those celebrities whose Wikipedia page I have scanned upwards of six times with the intention of finding just one detail to hold onto. Every time I come out with virtually nothing other than that I’m pretty sure he makes Gen-Z froth at the mouth (please confirm).
But today — May 29, 2019!!! — I ran, not walked, to Ansel Elgort’s profile and smashed that Follow button. Why? Because last night, in the space of 10 minutes after midnight, Elgort posted 17 consecutive selfies — of both the mirror and flash variety — with no captions to his Instagram.
What a goddamn treat.
He takes us on a journey that starts with a closet door mirror, presumably in his LA home. His face? Void of expression. His shirt? Nonexistent. His iPhone? Exposed, then coyly hidden from view in photos 2 and 3. He turns the camera to face him, flashing angle after angle (eight angles, to be exact) of his jawline that could probably cut my wedge salad. For the final sextych (double-entendre very much intended), Elgort brings it all home with one last camera angle: the pixelated mirror selfie. He smolders and chin wags, and this image alone was enough to make me let out a primal screech of “WHO IS THIS??” I needed to know more.
I can almost see his subconscious selfie wheels turning as he cycles through close crop, distant crop, right profile, left profile, right profile AGAIN, jaw down, jaw up, blank stare, soul-penetrating stare. Let me be honest: My camera roll (when she feeleth herself most) looks just like this. I’d wager that yours does, too. It’s human nature. Even if 16 out of my 17 pics wouldn’t have this exact je ne sais quoi, I see you, Ansel.
To be clear, I do not find Ansel Elgort precisely attractive or compelling. Many will disagree with me. But the devil-may-care act of posting not one, not three, but SEVENTEEN mirror selfies in the space of 10 minutes from his bedroom is a preposterous move that I find exhilarating. It portends a promise of more weirdness,
(like this sans-caption pic of Cher and Meryl smooching on the Mamma Mia 2 red carpet a few weeks ago). That’s all I want. There’s a reason I get post notifications for Lindsay Lohan, mom.
With the abundance of celebrities whose social managers curate their feeds, or who interpolate organic social presence with inauthentic promotional posts, this felt like a social media whiskey slap. Imagine how liberating it would be to upload an entire camera roll worth of selfies taken in the span of a few minutes? Can only a Gen Z sex symbol get away with this kind of nuttiness? Dost anyone care? For reasons I can’t fully explain, I’m deeply here for it.
Feature photo by Bruce Glikas/FilmMagic via Getty Images.