The Elon Musk Baby Discourse and the Terminally Online Mind
There’s something uniquely deranged about the way people behave online, and nothing has showcased that better than the absolute meltdown over Elon Musk having more kids.
It started, as it always does, with a headline. Then came the discourse, the knee-jerk reactions, the Twitter scholars turning into sudden experts on eugenics, family structures, and the ethics of reproduction. And then came my mentions—filled with people confidently diagnosing my psyche, my desires, and my entire worldview, based solely on the fact that I exist as a woman who shitposts online.
Because apparently, if I have ever made a joke about Elon’s prolific fatherhood, or even dared to discuss it at all, that must mean I desperately want his sperm. And if I don’t, well, I must still be punished for the crime of talking about things online while being female.
The Two-Truths Problem: Why Nuance is a Foreign Concept
The problem here isn’t just the discourse—it’s the fact that people have completely lost the ability to hold two truths at once. If you say something, it must mean you are 100% endorsing it, embodying it, or secretly obsessed with it. The idea that you can analyze a situation without personally inserting yourself into it is something the internet refuses to compute.
So let me say this clearly:
Elon Musk having a bunch of kids is both fascinating and hilarious.
Me discussing that doesn’t mean I want to have his children.
Even if I did want his children, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.
If a guy made the exact same jokes I have, you’d all be laughing along with him.
And yet, here we are—where simply commenting on a cultural event turns into some desperate attempt to psychoanalyze me through the lens of pure misogyny.
One of the funniest (and by funniest, I mean most deeply frustrating) aspects of this entire thing is how differently men and women are treated online when it comes to humor. If a guy were making jokes about Elon’s insane birth rate, he’d be met with laughter, engagement, maybe even a few quote tweets adding to the bit.
When I make jokes? It’s a full-blown investigation into my character, my beliefs, my personal life, and my reproductive ambitions. Dudes who I have never interacted with in my life feel emboldened to tell me what they think I want, what they assume my life is like, and why I should feel bad about it. They are trying to shame me for something that isn’t even real.
It’s not even just about Elon. The internet operates this way on every topic. Make a joke, have a take, say anything and there will be an army of people ready to twist your words, shove them into their personal projection machine, and spit out a version of you that aligns with whatever internal battle they’re having that day.
I have seen this happen to some of the best posters on the internet—people who are genuinely funny, insightful, and engaging—who eventually just step away because it’s not worth the endless bad-faith engagement. When you’re a public-facing person online, you don’t just deal with disagreement, you deal with constant, relentless misrepresentation.
People don’t argue with what you said; they argue with the version of you they’ve created in their heads. And no matter what you do, you can’t fight that projection.
I’ve had people assume they know my life, my experiences, my desires, my values—all based on out-of-context posts, jokes, or half-sarcastic takes. And I’m just exhausted by it.
So I’m stepping back. Not entirely—let’s be real, I’m never fully logging off—but I am choosing to do more of my writing in spaces like this, because frankly, I’m tired of the noise. I’m tired of getting shit on for existing online. I’m tired of people who bring nothing to the table but negativity, bad faith, and the inability to comprehend humor.
I love the internet. I love good discourse, good shitposting, and people who engage in ways that are actually entertaining or thought-provoking. But I do not love the parasocial strangers who have made it their mission to misinterpret everything I say and shove me into their pre-written narratives.
So if you’re reading this, you’re one of the good ones. You’re here because you care about nuance, because you know that two things can be true at once, because you actually enjoy engaging with ideas instead of just lashing out at them. And to you, I say: thank you.
To everyone else? Go argue with the imaginary version of me in your head. I’m done feeding you.