ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Capital!

the bad omens of the internet's response to "the hunger games," the death of critical consumption, and where our lack of resistance takes root.

I woke up this morning and realized that critical thinking might just be dead, and, unfortunately, I fear we have no one else to blame but ourselves. 

Suzanne Collins’ newest “Hunger Games” installment left the internet reeling - and, overwhelmingly and quite alarmingly, ravenous for another book. By reading “Sunrise on the Reaping” in less than twenty-four hours, we’re missing its most vital point, that Collins has been constant on compelling the audience towards since Katniss’ first games: that, in our hungry and never satisfied enjoyment for the series, we have veered closer and closer to becoming the Capital. 

The relentless speed, the unsatiated hunger, and the thoughtless disregard for nuance that is characterizing so much of modern media consumption is the problem. Sure, we can recognize that some stories have more value than others - it is indisputable, not elitist, to acknowledge that not every story is of equal significance or salience in meaning. At the end of the day, though, you may be able to find intellectual value in the cheapest, most clumsily executed piece of romantasy, and the woman sitting next to you on the train may be failing to locate any deeper meaning in R.F. Kuang’s “Babel.” 

The biggest problem with how we’ve decided to talk about intellectual value is that people seem to think they need to get a PhD to seek it. Media with intellectual value simply means that it motivates you to think, to consider and to reconsider, and to learn something new. It doesn’t mean long dictionary words, English degrees, or talking a lot in Socratic seminar-style courses. You don’t need to be a blazer-wearing twentysomething on a “dark academia” campus who loves Donna Tartt’s “The Secret History” to consume media of quality and learn something of quality from it. 

I first noticed this fundamental misunderstanding based on a well-meaning comment left on my article on ambition: a commenter argued that this wasn’t really a problem, because there was nothing wrong with goals linked to something other than college education or wealth accruement. And there isn’t - I recall thinking - and what’s crazy is I never said there was. The insidious and pervasive nature of anti-intellectualism in today’s society isn’t just about a negative view of higher education - it is also, and more importantly, about a refusal to think and a snottiness towards anyone (on the internet or in real life) who dares to think about something. 

Once again, there is a clear villain here - and it might just be our obsession with aesthetics. Our digital worlds have coerced us into thinking that we have to look and present ourselves a certain way to consume certain types of media: does my vintage leather tote make it look like I read Dostoevsky? do my Jeffrey Campbell ballet flats guarantee that my favorite movie is by Sofia Coppola? Is it obvious from my shade of lip gloss that I’m caught up on “Severance?” Digital culture has dictated that you either look like someone who thinks deeply about the media they consume or someone that doesn’t. 

In reality, there is no degree or outfit that is a prerequisite for critical thinking. That isn’t to say that you need to find meaning in everything you consume, but I do think you need to recognize that it’s there. The online response to Suzanne Collins’ latest “Hunger Games” prequel, “Sunrise on the Reaping,” is crystal-clear proof that we have a problem with recognizing that there is meaning in nearly everything that we read, watch, or listen to. For every Tiktok video or thinkpiece analyzing meaning, theme, or character, there is another person online saying that “it’s not that deep.” And yes, you can continue mindlessly reading 200 books a year because “it’s not that deep,” but your insatiable thirst to consume, consume, consume won’t save you. It really is “that deep.” Art and popular media is not made just for the sake of it existing - it is rarely made just to be meme-ified, but rather for the sort of analysis that so much of the internet seems to actively and self-defensively resist. And even in the rare cases in which it is made solely for your personal entertainment, that doesn’t prohibit you from noticing how it speaks to an outside world. 

Young women on “Booktok” increasingly reading smutty romance with minimal plot or deeper meaning or college students watching hours and hours of deep dives into celebrity scandals isn’t the problem - in fact, I too enjoy instant gratification, cheap thrills, and good old-fashioned fun. Yet our overconsumption of mindlessness urges us to apply these habits of uncritical consumption to media that is made to be critically and thoughtfully consumed. Suzanne Collins’ has been trying to make the same point for five books now and a large subsection of her readership seems to have missed the point, from 2008 until today: that we aren’t supposed to enjoy “The Hunger Games.” 

I don’t think Collins necessarily  intended to write pure allegory, but in 2025, she almost certainly has - whether she planned the metaphor initially or not, we have become Capitol citizens, glued to our screens of reality television and our glorified Wattpad fanfiction bound up in hardcover form, while the world outside of our cushy lives burns. As Collins’ reveals more and more information about the horror, nauseating brutality, and pure disturbing violence of the Games, her fandom only grows hungrier for more. I want a book about Finnick’s games and a book about Johanna’s games and a book about the 25th Quarter Quell! I want to become the Capital - to delight in only the temporary, thoughtless rush of feeling, of consuming, of eating and never being full! I reject understanding and embrace more, more more more and more! 

The hunger for more content, more information that will be consumed but not digested, and more things to buy is exponentially stronger than it was even a decade ago, when the marketing strategy for the series’ film adaptations similarly transformed fans into the Capital. An effort to fixate on the story’s infamous love triangle, to create makeup and fast fashion collections inspired by the aesthetics of the Capital, and to market by spectacle, style, and scandal was, of course, entirely inevitable. We were always the Capital and we were always going to buy exactly what they were selling us. It isn’t entirely our fault, but our continued resistance to the very, very clear and somewhat basic political commentary of these stories speaks to something bigger: we don’t really want to think. 

Critical consumption is dead, and I don’t think it’s just the internet’s fault. We’ve been trained to miss the point by promotional campaigns, by hegemonic structures and corporations, and by everyone else who has a direct interest in a collective lack of thought. Resisting this isn’t about getting an English or Political Science degree, only about taking an extra minute or two to consider intention, effect, and meaning. 

I’m not saying you need to treat every book like it belongs in an AP Literature class - that everything needs to be annotated, questioned, and thought of outside of its explicit meaning. I’m not saying you need to write in-depth film reviews of Netflix teen romcoms. I’m not saying you can’t watch reality television without considering the normalization of surveillance culture. I’m certainly not saying every new album release warrants a Substack think piece. I’m not telling you to read Dostoevsky (I haven’t and likely never will) or to give up your guilty pleasures. I’m not in favor of counting your consumption calories and cutting them down to only what will change the world.

I am, however, begging you to give up your stubbornness to critical thinking. To the conviction that finding social, cultural, or political meaning requires a certain number of course hours or a certain linen shirt. To the misguided assumption that some media is less deserving of critical consumption than others. To the easier way out.