The Hottest Gatekeeping Trend In America This Summer

Plus: Substack outages, Andre Agassi, cocaine owls, a special report from the DNC, and so, so much more. It's the second-to-last Summer Friday — feel the breeze.

Today is Friday, August 23rd, 2024.

• It’s the 14th Summer Friday of the year, one to go until Labor Day.

• KWS’s ”Please Don’t Go” is on the radio.

• New in theaters this weekend is the Zoe Kravitz-directed Channing Tatum thriller Blink Twice, and a remake of The Crow starring Bill Skarsgård.

• A great weekend for sports — on Saturday in the Premiere League, you’ll find Brighton & Hove Albion facing down Manchester United. On Sunday, F1 returns with the 36th running of the Dutch Grand Prix at Circuit Zandvoort. 

• Finally, around the world today, the weather: Laurel Canyon: 77/58, partly cloudy • The Cotswolds: 65/53, cloudy • Prout’s Neck: 77/57, mostly sunny • Forte dei Marmi: 85/71, mostly sunny • São Miguel: 75/68, sho—

—wait a second, did you hear? Substack went down today! And a bunch of dorks Substackers were mad about it. But you, me, we weren’t upset — we knew better: Substack wasn’t down, Substack was finally trying to vibe with a Summer Friday. All content creation is intrinsically immoral to begin with, but doing it on a Friday, in Summer?¹ What greater evidence of the human propensity for wastefulness? And maybe, in Substack going down, what more compelling evidence of the sentience in the machine in the garden getting a clue, ripping out those Wayfarers, and getting to the nearest shoreline? Bless.

Meanwhile, whether you’re taking in the fine mists and music of the Azores or you’re in Maine-after-Greece like everyone else (including your esteemed publisher, this weekend), take a moment to recognize, right now, our one deeply human commonality this weekend, which is that there’s only one Summer Friday left in the season. I know: Emotional. But as we’ve said before, so shall we say again: Summer is in your heads and hearts above all, and only you and your god alone can put that figurative umbrella in your drink. So while this season must come to a close, this newsletter and our time together will always exist as a reminder of your vast intellectual, physical, sartorial, and cultural superiority to those who Just Aren’t On The Level, or as Emily Bronte — who I often turn to in these delicate, tender late Summer days, as the great season of our hearts turns — so beautifully once put it: Those people can go shit in a safety cone.

That said, around here, we don’t stand on ceremony — we lounge on it, and there’s still time left to make the most of this season, and so shall we. This week, we’ve got special correspondents filing from the DNC party scene, how to turn into an owl (on cocaine), another installment in our What Are We Gatekeeping Now? series, and some pickleball-hating tennis action, too.

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A Paragraph About Pickleball And Andre Agassi From The Thing All The Hottest People Are Reading In The Lead-Up to This Year’s U.S. Open

Tennis is in New York City, have you heard? The U.S. Open is coming to the Big Apple yet again! And the most beautiful cool tennis magazine in the world, Racquet, just released a new issue with (Summer Fridays first-ballot-hall-of-fame vibes legend) Andre Agassi illustrated on its cover! The issue, guest-edited by Esquire’s former legendary editor-in-chief David Granger, is phenomenal. Especially that 6,000 word cover story on Andre Agassi, which contains this paragraph:

And finally, that awful, stupid, sound, the absolute worst of all those around you which denote time, place, and space: Bpop. Bpop. Bpop. It is to the glorious and singular aural percussion of racquet strings against a tennis ball what a paste-eating child popping his finger in and out of his mouth is to Charles Mingus slapping the bass. Again. And again. And again. It’s that sound which finally snaps you fully back to the moment, back in situ, back to your sordid reality, at One Penn Plaza, at the dead center of a valley of skyscrapers, in a neighborhood one friend once explained to me as SHAPS — “Shit around Penn Station” — a stone’s throw from one of the most storied sporting institutions in the world, Madison Square Garden, but not there, here, where I stand in an overpriced chain gym, watching a show pony with a sponsorship playing a game with its roots in retirement community leisure, with its roots in a way for the elderly to kill time before time kills them. Andre Agassi is playing pickleball, and I am spending a Saturday morning watching him do it, wondering why any of us, but especially him, are here. 

And guess who wrote it? Yours truly. What, you think I wasn’t going to use my own newsletter to shill my own shit? Again: This is free. And I’m giving you those sample bars for free.

The issue’s great, [Racquet editor-in-chief] Caitlin Thompson and Granger did an incredible job with it, and I’m pretty happy with my story. [Whether Agassi and his new machination man Justin Gimelstob will be, well, uh: We’ll see.] For now, you can buy it everywhere on Racquet’s site and at Casa Magazines and this cool magazine store in Stockholm and all the other places the best print products in the world are sold.

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What Are We Gatekeeping Now?

PEOPLE?!?!? Yes: People. And exactly how, you might ask, does one ‘gatekeep’ a person? To which I’d answer: Uh, slavery, much? Oh, shit, right, you’d say, as I take a tactful pass on your solipsistic amoral ignorance² while continuing to run down this rhetorical logic ladder, with beyond that, imprisonment, and then just beyond that, keeping a leather-fetish pain pig in the basement of your pawn shop, though when explaining this I’d take care to remind you that The Gimp isn’t actually a person, he’s The Gimp. ³

But if we’re to deploy just a touch more poetic license with the term, this summer’s most en vogue gatekeeping of people with whom this esteemed newsletter concerns — glamorous, beautiful, talented, sun-kissed cosmopolitans always on metaphysical, spiritual, or literal vacation somewhere — is the domestic economic terrorism inflicted upon the world that are noncompete agreements (NCAs).

For the uninitiated, NCAs are basically American business interests’ version of the “Saw” torture traps, and they’re what the Taliban would do with an MBA from Stern. If you’re ever offered a noncompete to sign, you should look at the person telling you to sign it, and explain this to them. NCAs are the twin sibling contract of this summer’s other hot contract, the non-disclosure agreement, they’re the Alexander Brothers of contracts, closely related to the non-solicitation agreement (their most functional and embarrassed relation, what Josh Kushner is to the Trumps, if you will), but all definitely overseen by Big Daddy Arbitration Clause.⁴ If you ever see any of these three contracts, odds are, you’re in the presence of a specifically ass stripe of evil.

The latest development in NCAs came this week, four months after Lina Khan’s FTC announced a rule in April that banned noncompetes. And that predictable development? A Trump-appointee to the federal bench struck the FTC’s rule down. The FTC’s now considering an appeal.

The existence of noncompetes, which prevent workers in America from seeking other work, is a running joke of a supposedly free-market economy held up by the ideal of free and fair competition. If your job sucks, you should be able to leave for another one. But while noncompetes were once mostly the province of VP-level-and-above executives and anyone exposed to distinct and specific trade secrets — fine, sure, whatever — they’ve since made their way into every crevice of American business, from healthcare workers to fast-food workers, and everything in between. They also exist in my industry, media — and I have told every single person who has ever forced me to sign an NCA any number of the following things, which I urge you to tell them as well:

1. No.

2. No really, I’m not going to sign this. You’re engendering ill will from the start of this process. The difference between a good company and an evil one is the difference between a company that makes you sign a noncompete and one that doesn’t, and this company is telegraphing which one it is.

3. Non-competes are predatory and monopolistic. They’re also pretty unenforceable in many states (like New York).

4. You’ve already gone through the trouble of vetting and hiring me. Now you’re ready to end it over a non-compete. Who runs this company, you, or your lawyers?

That last one has done the trick quite a bit. Fun media gossip: One of the first things I did after taking my job at Futurism was telling the CEO that I’d be killing our noncompete, and furthermore, that we’d allow our people to freelance for whoever they want, because monopolizing the talent of a dying industry feels, at best, wildly immoral. I’m not exactly a paragon of virtue or intelligence, but you gotta be a profoundly dumb dog (and an evil one too) to think an NCA is morally acceptable or good way to engender trust with your employees (and thus, run a company).

Even more fun media gossip: Back when I was at Complex, after the first year of Complex News, when the careers of Brandon Jenkins, Sean Evans, Emily Oberg, and Hanuman Welch were all taking off, Complex wanted to monopolize our on-camera talent and lock them into yearlong non-competes. As senior management of the company, I was definitely not supposed to send their contracts to my lawyer, who definitely didn’t promptly urge all four to tell our bosses at Complex to fuck off with a provision that definitely didn’t look like this:

But I did leave the company about a month after that, because any company that makes you sign anything that looks like that thing up there definitely isn’t a place to build a career⁵ as they not only don’t care about your future, but want to specifically limit potential outcomes that favor workers. Anyway: If noncompetes are a voting issue for you, vote for the candidate who’s going to keep FTC chair Lina Khan in office, and do your best not to work for companies with them, remember that Barry Diller and Reid Hoffman are evil clowns; if you ever get the chance, make sure to take the opportunity to strike them down; and if you ever hear anyone defending them, remember “rulers make bad lovers” and these fuckless people deserve to be relegated to the bottom of the ocean or at least have rumors spread about how terrible they are in bed and that they’re also bad tippers, both of which are probably true.

PREVIOUSLY, IN GATEKEEPING: Adderall?!? and CitiBikes?!??! and Secret Strategist?!?!?

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The Single Most Delightful Explanation of Cocaine You Will Hear This Summer

There’s a decent chance you’ve already seen this, but that’s okay, because it bears appreciation. Up until earlier this month, the most poetically precise way one could articulate the experience of the ingesting cocaine (I’m told) was to tell someone to put on the soundtrack to Jonathan Demme’s underrated 2001 masterpiece Blow. Two weeks ago, the premiere of the third season of Industry gave that a run for its money.

But finally, this week, as part of the Republican party’s attempt to wrest attention away from the DNC, an interview between Donald Trump and former-Road-Rules-cast-member-turned-comedian-podcaster Theo Von really turned the entire “explanation of what cocaine is like” genre of poetry on its head.

Theo Von exists somewhere between Joe Rogan and Jeff Foxsworthy — he’s a podcasting Southern Fried Beavis whose politics are hard to pin down, as is precisely how stupid a character he’s playing at any given moment. But he is, on occasion, mindblowingly funny, maybe a dadaist playing dumb. Whatever the case, the premise that the Trump campaign would even agree to it is, itself, a joke, affirmed by the fact that it was obvious Zynternet citizen Barron Trump who proposed it. And nothing could possibly prepare you for the out-and-out weirdness and hilarity of this conversation to notorious teetoleter Trump, which I’ve been cackling at random intervals throughout the week whenever I’ve thought about it. To be clear, I am not the only one:

What’s delightful about Von’s characterizations about doing cocaine is that they truly don’t make any fucking sense, but you instinctively know they’re true. For example: I can’t tell you what “some of the stuff started to get a real rattle in it” means, but maybe he’s referring to coke being cut with worse mixing agents over the last decade, from caffeine to speed to bath salts. But the specific way he says it is as someone who’s done a lot of cocaine and maybe the rattle was just in his brain. I can’t even begin to fathom where “cocaine will turn you into a damn owl, homie — you’ll be out on your own porch, you’ll be your own street lamp” came from, but there is something undeniably wonderful about it, to say nothing of Trump’s reaction to being told that cocaine will turn you into an owl, specifically (on your own porch), then being called “homie.” Phenomenal.

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The Hottest Filings From FP:SF Correspondents at the 2024 DNC

What, you didn’t think FOSTERTALK Presents: Summer Fridays didn’t have multiple correspondents filing from the floor of the DNC?

• The One Place You Don’t Want To Look Young: If you're under the age of 40, you'll get asked constantly about what parties you're going to after the programming ends. But the main thing to know about the DNC parties is they’re terrible. It's a lot of semi-drunk dudes in skinny work suits who are either kind of networking or trying to get laid. They tend to feature some decent or slightly to moderately washed acts, playing for an audience of political staffers, which with a few exceptions are some of the least culturally interesting people imaginable. Drive By Truckers played at the Our Future, Our Freedom party, which was supposedly the event to go to Wednesday night, but clearly no one knew who they were. Joan Jett was the headliner; she was introduced by the kid who plays Young Sheldon, who gave a speech about the importance of the arts and then dropped it low onstage as he was walking off. It was pretty weird. 

• The Hottest Party at the DNC Was The CNN Grill, The Berghein of the DNC: No, really. The CNN Grill has been really the only space for the media to hang out — and it's been actually really fun. It's sort of embarrassing that it's been so much fun. But there's been a huge line at 3:45PM before they open at 4PM, and people are waiting to get in all night — there's like a one-in-one-out policy. This is both objectively hilarious and objectively lame, though, to be fair, they’ve got an open bar and a ton of free food. It’s been hilarious to see all these CEOs and reporters and flacks in the DNC’s hottest club. [BTW: This tip comes at a particularly funny time as that hilarious Telegraph story about soon-to-fall galaxy-brained Discover-Warner Bros. CEO Jeff Zaslav being such a fan of great parties just dropped.]

• But Most Of The Other Parties Suck: I don’t know if that’s surprising or not, but the parties really have been pretty bad — the parties at the White House Correspondents Dinner, for example, are actually a ton of fun. Maybe that’s because the media’s not throwing them? [See above.] There was one party on top of the Sears Tower held by United Airlines, which was cool, but for the fact that it was giving ‘office holiday party,’ and weird.

• As Do The Way People Dress: Sartorially — and Max Tani did that great GQ interview about this — it’s your standard mix of poorly-dressed political people and the occasionally well-dressed telegenic media figure, and not much between. CNN anchor Katlin Collins: She dresses well!

• The Celebrity Scene Is Pathetic: A lot of celebs get asked to go to the DNC. Very few show up, the ones that do tend to be B-List or C-List. And when they get there, they don't have much to do. People kept acting really excited to see the guy from Modern Family walking around (who?). I saw Don Cheadle walking alone down an alley Wednesday night next to Three Dots and a Dash. Jack Schlossberg hid most of Tuesday night in the corner of the backyard of the CNN Grill, not watching the speeches and just looking at his phone. 

• Conway Report: Gossip? Uh: I walked past Kellyanne Conway on the street in downtown Chicago. She was basically half-naked, wearing tiny exercise shorts and a sports bra. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the weather’s been nice, but it’s not that hot, lol.

FOSTERTALK Presents: Summer Fridays correspondents: As ever, going to the DNC so you can stay on the beach.

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And that’s gonna do it! Sorry for all the typos, blame Substack. For the new people here, well, all will be explained next week. Speaking of: We’ve got one more week to go, and everyone who’s supported this, opened it, read it, taken your time with it, said anything about it to me, shared it with anyone: Thank you, so, so much. It’s insane that you read this! Only slightly more insane than the fact that I write it! But above all, it’s been a labor of love and compulsion, made fun by you all as much as anything.

Until then: Don’t sign noncompetes, don’t make people sign noncompetes, don’t party at the DNC, don’t do cocaine, be kind to yourself, be kind to others, stay hydrated, wear sunscreen, and don’t become an owl on your porch, but if you do, at least have some good music. See ya, -F.

1. Unless you write/read this newsletter, in which case, like the Pope, or Judge Dredd, you’re indemnified from pretty much all moral judgements as one of the sole instruments of the will of the summer. Just don’t get a DUI, we can’t help you there.

2. Hey, buddy, you get what you pay for, or don’t pay for, in which case, it’s me, getting to have this rhetorical conversation with the worst version of yourself. If you wanted a Substack that’s gonna be so far up the asses of its readers it can floss their molars, boy, do I have an entire network of panhandling content panderers to show you, and don’t get me started on literally everyone with a newsletter who writes about media. Independent publishers with sycophantic relationships to their audiences are only trying to build a cult. Demonstrating occasional contempt for your readers and trying to unspool their souls ever so slightly as a discreet conveyance of respect: Now that’s parenting. You want me to go easy on you? *Don Draper voice* THAT’S WHAT THE MONEY’S FOR!!!

3. He’s also sleeping.

4. You wanna know what’s super fucked up about all this great New York Times business reporting on arbitration clauses — which effectively waive your right to a fair trial — including but not limited to the recent fracas involving Disney trying to enforce one on the family of someone who died on a Disney property because they subscribed to Disney+? Guess who has an arbitration clause in their Terms of Service? Oh yes: The New York Times. Also, while we’re here: Substack, of course.

5. I should note, now, that Emily has a massive fashion line that Complex wishes they could’ve had a piece of, and Sean Evans has BuzzFeed by the balls. Hanuman and Brandon have far better careers than Complex ever could’ve delivered them. But of course.