If anyone, like me, has ever been a compulsively masochistic reader of the YouTube comments section, it can be difficult to keep up with the rapidly changing nature of Internet verbiage. Its language, often most forcefully promulgated by angsty ten-year-olds under the videos of their favourite streamers, has the power to not only determine culture and identity in a more universal way than ever before, but can also provide the tools to teach us what behaviours to admire, and what to shun. Over the course of 2020 we witnessed the emergence of the infamous “Karen” meme, the once-inoffensive name now coming to represent the stereotypical entitlement of angry, middle-aged white women. Hundreds of videos have come to the fore across dozens of prominent Internet forums, ranging anywhere from histrionic meltdowns in the middle of supermarkets following requests to wear a mask, to more sinister incidents of racist abuse. One of the most disturbing and well known examples is that of white, middle-aged Amy Cooper, who called the police on Christian Cooper, a Black man bird watching in Central Park, after a dispute in which he politely asked her to put her dog on a leash. Here, the meme transcended simple internet humour, and became an instrument with which to highlight institutional racism. While this term appears to be slowly running its course, over the past year, a new verbal tool of delineation has risen to prominence, this time in the hands of heterosexual women targeting each other. It is the rise of the “pick me.”
What is a “pick me”? If you have yet to come across the term, in accordance with the most popular definition on Urban Dictionary, “a pick me is a woman that is willing to do anything for male approval,” the attainment of which is often achieved by demeaning or embarrassing other women. As disappointing as it is to admit in our forward-thinking climate, I’m sure many readers can instantly think of many situations in which women have promoted toxic attitudes towards each other, through the derision of each other’s appearances or sexuality, in a blatant attempt to bolster their own attractiveness in the eyes of men. Although the “pick me” phenomenon originally referred to women that were seen to “do the most” in order to attain the approval of men while simultaneously shaming the women who don’t – such as being immaculately groomed, engaging in uncomfortable sexual acts, going above and beyond in relationships – it has now extended to target women who sit on the opposite end of the spectrum. Conversely, women who assert their superiority over others in the form of spending less time on their appearance and by shaming sexually liberal behaviour have also been identified as “pick me”s. Ostensibly, it would appear that no one is safe from this label. As much as we have heard more stereotypically high-maintenance women talk down those less glamorous than they, girls who appear immaculately put-together are subject to the same vicious ridicule. Snide judgements are made about the amount of time it takes them to get ready, as are presumptions made about their relationships. As such, the broadness of the term brings us to a worrying predicament. Haven’t most of us, at least at some point, brought another group of girls down to bring ourselves up? Are we all, to some extent, a “pick me?”
This induced self-reflection leads me to wonder if perhaps it’s a good thing that this kind of behaviour indulged in by women is being called out in the same vein as the troublesome “Karens.” Anyone who has watched Regina George from Mean Girls seduce Aaron Samuels after ridiculing her romantic rival, Cady Heron, knows that despite the exaggerated nature of the film, there is still a sinking relatability to the scene. Far too often, we prioritise the acceptance and validation of our male peers even at the cost of other girls, whose only offence has been to provide us with perceived competition. Could the shaming of this behaviour through the unapologetic relentlessness of social media culture be, potentially, productive? Are we, as women, finally saying that enough is enough, that we are finally going to take accountability for this kind of behaviour amongst ourselves?
Recently, the Internet has seen a rise in the number of skits and call out videos made deriding the hypothetical character of the “pick me,” from TikTok compilations to commentary YouTubers, each taking their own wildly different slant on what exactly constitutes this unsavoury character. Now, a girl need not even be shaming other women to be given the label. Simply looking like a “pick me” can lead to pre-emptive accusations. These TikTok skits often create their “pick me” character primarily through their outfits, body language and interests which, though arguably serving a more satirical type of humour, creates the opening for unjust stereotyping. On an even more troubling level, behaviours which are often signs of deep-rooted insecurity and even abuse, such as staying with cheating partners, are now being labelled as “pick me” traits by many women looking to drag each other down. What may have once been a possible, if immature, means with which to call out toxic female behaviour, seems to have become yet another one with which to demean each other.
Of course, the overuse of a meme to the point that it loses its original meaning is nothing new. We have, after all, witnessed the promulgation of the title “Karen” to now encompass any blonde woman over the age of thirty, regardless of her character. What makes the misuse of the label “pick me” different, at least to me, is that there is an echo of truth in its universality that is not present in the obviously ridiculous overemployment of “Karen.” Sexist stereotypes of women have existed forever, not only regarding their behaviour, sexuality and appearance, but also surrounding their attitudes to one another. Time and time again, women have managed to disprove centuries-old stereotypes surrounding their intelligence, their sexuality, and their own agency. We have even seen attempts to dispel the idea that women secretly all hate each other, to foster a sense of sisterhood, which culminated perhaps most powerfully in the Me Too movement, where women came forward to support each other in the face of widespread misogynistic sexual abuse. Yet, the disregard that women seem to hold towards each other on a day-to-day ground level, Twitter movements aside, seems to be all too alive and well.
To explore the label at its root, the very phrase appears to assume a sea of women bobbing about in front of a lofty, male audience, who sit comfortably on deck, surveying which women jump the highest and shout the loudest; “pick me, pick me!” Is that how we see ourselves? Are we all in that uncomfortably overpopulated crowd, condemning the women that we perceive to be making an idiot of themselves to be noticed, yet, despite our different methods of coping with the situation, being in the exact same position as them? This mindset explains how quickly the term has spun out of control from something that could be used to call out female-on-female misogyny, to yet another instrument of it. The wielding of the label against girls who have not yet offended us, but simply might, either because they wear tighter clothes than us, or because they eschew traditionally feminine hobbies and we assume that they feel a sense of superiority to us, is symptomatic of a much deeper issue. Attack is, after all, the best form of defence. And as the rise of the “pick me” demonstrates, we seem to be mainly defending against each other.
The problem of female toxicity is undoubtedly still here. The snide comments, the judgemental looks, the unwarranted speculation on our relationships, all still happen, and are still a problem. I just don’t believe that the “pick me” label will change that. Warped by our own jaded experiences and multitude of insecurities, the term “pick me” has been transformed into the very beast it was created to overcome. I think part of the problem is that the word still situates itself in an ideological landscape created by misogynists. When we are insecure, when we doubt our own ability to stand out in that vast sea, any woman who appears to jump slightly higher than us will look like a threat to our own salvation. What we need to do is to scale change back from a widely propagated Internet meme to something more within our realm of control. Perhaps what the solution to this problem really requires is a simple reimagining of our own situation. There is no sea, there is no deck, and we don’t have to try and be picked – by anyone. The idea of “pick me” still establishes male approval as a sort of prize. But when we reimagine the prize – to happiness, friendship, a career; anything which encourages us to value our greatest inner qualities – other girls cease to be our competition. They might even become our greatest supporters.
