Not long after the COVID-19 pandemic in 2021, when average-income Australians were still facing the concentrated economic repercussions of lockdown while millionaires almost doubled their income, American politician and activist Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez (AOC) wore a white gown with the red bold letters “tax the rich” to the Met Gala. After disrupting the annual event celebrating the elite and uber-wealthy, Ocasio-Cortez released a collection of “tax the rich” merchandise: tees, mugs, stickers and tote bags, all made by unionised workers yet ostensibly profiting her political campaign. It received both controversy and praise. Some criticised AOC for her distasteful hypocrisy. Others praised her for bringing awareness to such political issues in elitist spaces. She was critiqued and celebrated. To me, this signifies the inevitable contradictions of glorifying anti-capitalist rebellion in our capitalist economy.
Mark Fisher, in his novel Capitalist Realism: Is there no alternative?, describes the process of absorbing activism into the system it critiques as circulatory. In Fisher’s Capitalist Realism theory, he explores capitalism as a totalising structure that commodifies rebellion, until activists feel as if there is no escape from the larger system at play. He quotes a phrase attributed to Frederic Jameson and Slavoj Žižek, which summarises the cynical disillusionment with the commodification of anti-capitalism: “It is easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism.”
This probes the question: can glorifying anti-capitalist rebellion prove to be transformative in an age of endless commercialisation?
When Luigi Mangione was arrested for allegedly shooting the UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson in late 2024, netizens were quick to sympathise with his struggles dealing with the American healthcare system, as news headlines labelled him the ‘anti-capitalist crusader’. Gen Z, in particular, heroise Mangione with the viralised hashtag ‘#FreeLuigi’. Similar to AOC’s line, this case has brought on the widespread creation of “Free Luigi” merchandise; t-shirts, beanies, the usual — all most likely being produced unethically through third-party retailers. Nevertheless, the virality of ‘Free Luigi’ merch has even resulted in Amazon and eBay spokespersons making statements about the removal of merchandise celebrating Mangione, prohibiting “items that glorify or incite violence”.
So what was it about figures like Mangione that are so popularised in Gen Z online spaces? In comparison to criminalised climate change activists, who are often sidelined in the media as disruptive, crime cases that mix status and money are now more attractive than ever. Just look at Jordan Belfort, the Menendez Brothers, or The Bling Ring.
Meanwhile, criminalised climate activists, who are fighting for similar political and social change as anti-capitalists, remain overshadowed by the media’s preference for physically attractive figures whose rebellion is easily commodified. It’s unsurprising that these ‘icons’ who have spearheaded the aestheticising of anti-capitalist capitalism conform to our normative ideals of beauty and attraction.
Penn Badgley, an actor who plays an anti-capitalist serial-killer in the Netflix series ‘You’, once said in an interview that the romanticisation of his character on social media “says something about how much we are willing to be patient and forgive someone who inhabits a body like mine, the colour of my skin, my gender… and how much less willing to forgive people who don’t fit those boxes.” Just as Badgley points out, the conventional attractiveness of these figures allows them to be seen as aspirational icons rather than vilified for being radical or threatening. How can we expect liberation when we only allow capitalistic transgression for our most beautiful criminals?
Besides their good looks, the status frustration wielded by these criminals resonates with the financial anxieties of our generation. According to a 2024 YouGov Survey, 53% of Australians aged 18-24 favour a socialist economy over a capitalist one. With the rising cost of living and increased social immobility, it’s no wonder that ‘eat the rich’ narratives in true crime have been gaining traction.
This sentiment has even been swallowed by pop culture. The White Lotus, Severance, and Succession are just a few of the productions that critique the elite(all while being run by some of Hollywood’s most wealthy showrunners). Inevitably, this raises the paradox of dismantling capitalism through capitalist means. If, according to Fisher, there is no alternative, perhaps the only way out is to use the larger system to expose its own flaws.
In a similar vein, Anna Sorokin, a con artist who was charged with eight counts of theft against New York socialites, has built a following from controversially profiting off of the uber-rich. Kara Kennedy in The Spectator refers to her with a contradictory yet fitting label, an ‘anti-capitalist-capitalist’. On social media, Sorokin is often glamorised for her unapologetic demeanor, whether it’s through making her New York Fashion Week debut in an ankle monitor, or wearing a bedazzled one on Dancing With The Stars. The socialist attitudes Sorokin fans have towards Sorokin, despite her ‘capitalist pursuits’, further symbolise the duality of resisting against a system she’s inadvertently a part of. The glamorisation of Sorokin’s crimes is only amplified, as Sorokin seemingly utilises her crimes for her gain: rebranding herself as a fashion icon. As Vogue Australia calls it, ‘Scammer Chic’.
In line with Fisher’s theory, the glamorisation of the ‘eat the rich’ movement ultimately diverts attention away from the systemic change that lies at the core of anti-capitalist rebellion. It instead aestheticises a political critique into a marketable and, by extension, consumable slogan.
It’s for this reason that true crime cases like Sorokin’s and Mangione’s are being adapted into biopics and documentaries, spread through merchandise, podcasts and utilised for entertainment. Just as Fisher predicts, these stories, which seemingly critique capitalism, fall back into the cycle of consumerism until they are sold back to us. While this perspective may feel pessimistic, acknowledging the limiting process of co-optation is the first step to finding an alternative where resistance can lead to genuine change.
