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TikToker Delaney Rowe is toasting Hollywood. Will Hollywood embrace it?

One actress is about to find out if power on social media translates to power in the studio system.

(Photo by Savannah Ruddy for The Washington Post)

LOS ANGELES — Wearing a letterman jacket, Delaney Rowe leans against a supermarket cart. She told the camera she was not angry. “The way I see it, people are like” — the actress’s hands knock on the cart as she looks around — “potato chips.”

“Spicy” – Roo throws a green bag of jalapeño relish into the cart – “Acidic” – salt and vinegar, tossed in a swirl – or “Would it kill you to be sweet?” As in honey dijon flakes. Seriousness pools in her voice. “Open it,” Rowe says, holding the bag out to the camera. “I dare you. Just be the type of person who opens a bag of potato chips in the middle of a grocery store.

If this monologue sounds a little awkward, well, it should be. The title of the video, after all, is “The absolutely insufferable heroine of an indie film uses a meaningless metaphor.”

Rowe, 28, has been a TikTok star for the better part of the past three years, gaining traction online by writing and performing sketches like “A health influencer who’s obviously sick,” and “The girl who just discovered” mules Moscow “” and ” people who believe that hatred of small talk is personal.

But Rowe, who lives in Los Angeles, has reached a new level of popularity this year by poking fun at popular movie tropes, a task she takes on with impeccable timing, precision and a straight face: “The character in every action movie still makes jokes.” In Difficult Circumstances”, “The Villain Eats an Apple with a Pocket Knife” and “The Barmaid in Every Movie Written by a Man”.

Her parodies of Hollywood and Los Angeles life are so obvious that they are as likely to elicit mild disgust—or “embarrassment”—as laughter. Typical comment on Delaney Rowe’s video: “Hurts more than ever, bravo.”

In some of these videos, nostalgia collides with modern sensibilities. The story of “the shy, sweet girl who corrects the teacher during class” harkens back to the teenage heroines of the past while emphasizing their absurdity. Others distort the way we operate in the digital world, where our tastes, opinions and fantasies are constantly on display.

When she sat down with Rue for dinner in late October at Speranza, an Italian restaurant in Silver Lake, she chose the food partly because it felt like eating “in a rich person’s backyard,” and fans had called her out several times already. The first was a well-meaning but intrusive man at a nearby wine shop, followed by two women rushing in to watch Rowe’s videos. We weren’t seated at our table long before the young waiter walked by, not to take our order, but to tell Ru how much they enjoyed watching her TikToks.

Rowe says that over the past six months, she has been routinely stopped in public. But the phenomenon is still so new that she feels ashamed of it: “I paid them to say that,” she jokes after each time.

Rowe’s TikTok videos have been so successful that she can make a living from them. But at a time when content creators can experience more stability, control, and freedom through social media platforms than through traditional entertainment methods — when we meet, the SAG-AFTRA strike is still in full swing — the USC theater graduate wants something most entrepreneurs in the world have eschewed. Social Media: Success on the Silver Screen.

In the past two years, Rowe has signed with United Talent Agency, one of Hollywood’s largest agencies. She landed a small role in her first feature film, 2023’s “The List” (it went straight to digital in August). Directors, producers and actors she admired were not only reaching out to her on social media, they were arranging meetings. She auditions for roles that best align with the work she wants to do. She has been in talks to publish a book of personal essays. She has built a persona and audience through her TikTok and Instagram accounts.

“I have a wallet,” she says. “I’m not an influencer. I’m an artist.”

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CContent creation is a billion-dollar business — $250 billion to be exact — and many industries have exploited social media entrepreneurs for their influence and audiences. They sit front row at fashion weeks all over the world (Rue has held New York Fashion Week shows for Altuzarra, Staud and Prabal Gurung). They publish best-selling books (see articles above). Rowe, along with a few other creators, made Variety’s 2023 Young Hollywood Report, which also featured Ice Spice, Ariana Greenblatt, and Jenna Ortega.

However, Hollywood’s relationship with social media stars remains somewhat amorphous.

There aren’t many examples yet of content creators who have successfully made that leap — and those who have gotten their foot in the door with extra good faith. Quinta Bronson, star and creator of the hit ABC series “Abbott Elementary,” received BuzzFeed’s support when she was making her own videos that went viral. Jordan Firstman was a TV writer for years before his “impressions” went viral on Instagram. Comedian Megan Stalter is known for her shenanigans, but she’s also become a star on New York’s alternative comedy circuit.

“Hollywood has learned painfully, in very costly ways, that you can’t expect someone with a large social media following to be able to bring people to a theater, or likely to get people to subscribe to a channel.” Broadcast platform” says David Craig, a professor at the University of Southern California who has researched “creative culture.” When Hollywood turns to content creators, he says, it’s usually for marketing partnerships or unscripted television, such as reality shows and hosting parties.

In contrast to her “inconsolable” and narcissistic online personas, Ru is attentive and generous in real life: the kind of person who puts her phone on the table and doesn’t look at it all night. She wants to know how I met my husband (Instagram) and if I have a morning routine (no, but we both feel pressured by…Instagram). She shares her lifelong insecurities about being perceived as smart, and laughs about what it means to be internet famous: A DM from “Jerry246988” calling her a “genius,” followed by a photo of a d—.

Since the days when she subjected her parents and their friends to impromptu tap-dancing performances (not to mention that she didn’t know how to tap) while growing up in Baltimore, Rowe has wanted to be an artist. After graduating from high school in Boise, Idaho, she had her sights set on studying drama in New York, where she would become a “major artist.” Except that she was not accepted into any school in New York. So Rowe headed west to the University of Southern California’s theater school.

Without sarcasm or shame – and despite not knowing how to drive – Rowe fell in love with Los Angeles.

After graduating, Rowe immersed himself in the city’s nightlife — especially its vibrant restaurant culture. I got into “weird wellness” stuff – going vegan for four years, and trying to live zero waste. She cheated her way into becoming a private chef. (“I’ve never felt so tired in my life.”) She applied to work as a personal assistant and nanny (it turns out a driver’s license is necessary for these jobs).

All the while, Rowe was holding auditions. A lot of them. Rowe estimates that she tried out for 60 shows over five years, and encountered a lot of scripts with “stereotypical, over-the-top, sexy” side characters. Those images stuck with her: “A lot of my drawings” — especially those of young adult heroes — “are inspired by some of those (tests).”

Then came the pandemic. Hollywood has virtually stopped, and this stillness has given Rowe some thought. People have told her about the importance of making her own stuff, but Rowe always understood that to mean a short film, an endeavor that requires money and time. With TikTok use on the rise during the coronavirus outbreak, Rowe realized it was a way to put her own work out there: “I could do it for free in my bed every day if I wanted to.”

So, in June 2020, Rowe posted her first TikTok: “When someone says they sleep really well.” Two days later, she posted another clip. Then the next day. Then the next.

In her first year and a half, Ru has amassed just under half a million followers. As of December 2023, that number stands at around 2.3 million (with another 778,000 on Instagram). She hasn’t had a TikTok video get fewer than 1 million views since February. Her growing popularity has allowed her to secure a number of deals with brands such as Fidelity Investments and Corona. She said those partnerships were the first time she was able to make real money from performing.

“When I got my first really big deal with my brand, I remember seeing the money on the show and getting emotional, and I started crying because I was like, ‘Maybe I’m actually going to have a real life, a real adult life,’” said Rue — a day fully powered by her creativity.

Despite these gains, her standing in the world feels fragile. “I really wake up every day thinking that everything is going to elude me,” says Rowe.

WWhen he first started studying the world of content creation 10 years ago, Craig, the University of Southern California professor, assumed that most people were like Rowe — people whose ultimate ambitions ultimately lay in more traditional forms of media: aspiring actors, authors, or storytellers. Illustrated. But that rarely happens now, says Craig: Having a large, loyal following is an end goal in itself.

“In aggregate, we are talking about platforms that reach more than two-thirds of the planet, with monthly users numbering several billion.”

The popularity of these platforms has changed our notions of celebrities. The entertainment industry may produce actors, singers and performers whose work and personalities are supported and produced by publicists and marketing agencies, but there’s another kind of celebrity out there now, Craig says: “People who have the talent to harness (social media) techniques to find communities.” Online she shares her interests and values.

“However, Delaney is part of a very small subset of people who have brilliantly figured out how to play an online character that taps into something that’s going on in the zeitgeist and in the world,” he says.

The tension that defines many of Rowe’s characters is a fundamental disconnect between who they think they are and how the rest of the world views them. Our digital age has magnified this gap: we are constantly performing and encountering shows that are sophisticate, socially conscious, humorous, and charming. If the function of satire is to hold a mirror up to our own follies, is it any wonder we recoil from Rowe’s videos?

The next day at dinner, Ru and I sat on the balcony of a ridiculously large hotel in West Hollywood. The sun rose for the first time in days, illuminating the neighborhood’s green hills and shiny electric cars. Rue was in front of me, wearing baggy white pants and a striped, half-zip jacket (She can be recognized from a number of her videos), her wavy hair falling over her shoulders. It’s easy to ignore the banality of Los Angeles, but the city provided an “endless” source of material for Rowe.

Our conversation was briefly interrupted by a howling scream—a scream we both recognize as someone enjoying a loud sound from a hotel room near or far. Rowe takes everything in stride.

“Seriously, this is amazing,” says Rue, after the screaming subsides. “Let me just say that sex in hotels is different.”

For now, Rowe is happy to let the magic of “the worst person on Earth walk up to you at Chipotle,” “the people who claim to always be cold” and “the characters in every movie whose weird trait is that they’re ‘I’ve never seen snow before ” live on TikTok and Instagram. She’s also willing to take on new characters that are more complex than the ones she’s created. She’s a master at deconstructing genre stereotypes, and the type of character — superhero, romantic comedy heroine, or villain — in which she plays a role that’s less important to Her from the text: “I’m only interested in really good writing.”

Rowe says her biggest hurdle now is “getting that big approval.”