The Kardashian Continuum of Haters and Harvesters

Why some people need to either drain you or destroy you

There are certain things in this world you are simply never meant to see. Macro things that no one should see—nuclear war, Donald Trump eating oysters, their HR lady Belinda having sex, etc.

But then there’s other things hyper specific to you and your special breed of complexes, stuff that would be so fundamentally disruptive to your ego and identity, it should stay far, far away.

Evidently, to the people in Montana, I am one of those things.

I’ve been absent on this blog for, like, 4 years, in favor of doing my ranting on YouTube and even more so on The Shallontourage but I miss writing. Since I’m also knee-deep in my third book, going back to my writing roots in this smaller version seemed like a smart way to keep my skills sharp and remind myself that oh yes, I can put words on paper in a coherent way despite what my manuscript tells me most of the time.

But one thing that’s kept me busy for the last few years constantly pretending I don’t notice how much the good people of Bozeman, Montana despise me and everything I stand for.

Portrait of a Douche.

I never thought I totally fit in, but it genuinely didn’t occur to me that this was a major problem. So I dressed up more than some people…ok? Who cares? I was fascinated by Montanans and adored them.

I never assumed this was exactly mutual but I didn’t need it to be. After 15 years in New York, uhhh you pretty quickly slay the dragon of needing people to like you. You have your bubble of besties and fuck everyone else right? Live and let live.

On the surface, this is precisely the ethos of a libertarian state like Montana. In practice, these good vibes have an extremely hard upper limit.

In the summer of 2022, I made the catastrophic mistake of doing an interview with Business Insider magazine saying—yikes prepare yourself—I really loved living in Montana. It’s amazing. If you move to a small town, assimilate. Do not change the town. Adopt local customs, politics, hobbies.

For Montanans, this apparently fell into the category of horrific things to behold.

I got death threats, my address posted, and for weeks and weeks on the official Bozeman Reddit thread moderated by the board of tourism, vitriol so mouth-foamingly unhinged that tourists started cancelling trips and the town itself had to tell people to STFU with the anti-Shallon talk because outsiders were horrified.

Because I said I liked living here. Liked.

A creature like this walks amongst us. Well it’s more of a strut, really.

The issue wasn’t what I’d said, it was that I existed at all. A Californian. An influencer. A woman. In one person, in OUR town?! It was just too awful to consider. That someone like me would dare to exist in real life in their backyard.

Belinda had sex and they saw it.

I could perhaps accept that random losers who’d never met me (and realized I AM FUCKING NICE OKAY) would hate me. People hate influencers I get it, we are useless blah blah whatever. Fine.

But when my actual friends turned on me, now that…well, hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it. I have experienced all manner of betrayal in my life, to the point that I turned myself into a coquette warlord of self protection. This vibe of mine, it didn’t just come out of nowhere, nor did yours.

It’s been over two years and I still can’t quite fathom why my 90% of my friends—I’d held their babies, held their hair back, held their hearts in my strong hands when they couldn’t find faith in themselves—turned on me the second public opinion told them to.

“Those girls could not handle the contrast,” my (actual) friend Megan explained last week. “They’ve never seen anything like you.”

A sweet thing to say but “Oh they’re just jealous” is the go-to platitude for a douchebag. Why be jealous of me when our lives are so different? And besides…

“How can this be true when the Kardashians exist?” I countered. “These friends are on the internet, they know what models and rockstars and actual cool people look like—and yet somehow I’m the threat?”

“Yes but to your friends, those celebrities live in celebrity land—they don’t actually have to see see them. They had to really see you, day to day, up close and personal, and see that holy shit, cool people walk among us. They don’t need the bar suddenly moved.”

Typical outfit I wear to church

Tears stung my eyes. I don’t care what my friends do—have your god damned Birkenstocks, great. Be a trad wife, amazing. Do you, boo! If it makes you happy, rock on.

“Well Shall, they’re not happy, that’s the issue,” she shrugged. “Me, Christine, Kristin, Aly, Abby—we’re happy and we love you. They’re not and they don’t.”

I’ve decided to call this phenomenon The Kardashian Continuum. And if you have had any sort of similar experience to mine—family that holds you down, guys who neg you, frenemies, coworkers who gaslight you, any manner of social rejection because you are not like everyone else—you need to find your particular “Kardashian.”

Here’s what I mean. Those of us who have experienced this tribal rejection have “a Kardashian”: something that throws contrast on the tribe. Maybe we’re fitter than our family and they relentlessly chirp our food choices. Maybe our pHd stirs up resentment in our coworkers. Maybe our single friends roll their eyes bitterly when we shrug and say, “Yeah James and I are great!”

Actual footage of me heading into Target

What is your Kardashian? And there may (like the family itself) be a few.

Like I said, my peevish quality is not just being a Californian—if I’d been a nurse and given the same interview, no one would care—but I am the confluence of many irksome “Kardashians.”

And look, whether you flaunt your Kardashian is irrelevant. It’s almost worst if you don’t, your humility and coolness will driven them even more crazy, provoking more cognitive dissonance: not only are you [Kardashian] you’re nice?! Unbearable.

So that’s one end of the Kardashian Continuum: rejection from the haters.

But the other side might be worse: draining and obsessive friends.

In that same conversation with Megan, I continued my Shallon Pity Parade by moaning over a thrice-rescheduled phone date with an absolutely exhausting friend from college. She was a sweet person, but a harvester of my energy.

Vampirically, she would want rehashed dating stories, breakdowns of travel sagas, exhaustive detailing of my other friends’ lives and foibles.

Her life was pretty bland and mine was a show she couldn’t binge enough of.

Ok fine yes I’ve worn almost this exact outfit

And that’s fine if your life is actually a show that you film once and people can watch over and over. But when you have to live the show then reenact the show to each individual viewer, Jesus fucking Christ.

It’s flattering to be someone’s source of glamour and entertainment but not when it requires the constant real-time demonstration.

And then the therapist portion of the phone call began, where I was bled dry of my advice.

"You know,” I said once, sounding far more exasperated and desperate than I meant to (not that she noticed), “you could just watch my YouTube channel, I literally talk about my life and give advice…”

“Yes but as your friend I want a VIP Shallon experience, I need to be told it all first hand!”

IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE? A KIDNEY PERHAPS?

(And by the way, it’s this exact response that makes me 0% worried that she will stumble upon this blog)

Some people hate your Kardashian, some will harvest your Kardashian. Your greatest flex is your greatest target.

What we all need are friends like Megan—they see the Kardashian within merely observe it with benign appreciation, not attaching their own ego to it in any way, for they have their own Kardashian to nurture and protect.

Make your fucks to give as small as Kim’s waist

So, look at the haters and the ones who obsessively drain you—I guarantee the flashpoint is the same. If you can only pinpoint one—maybe people take advantage of your empathy—your frenemies are somehow wrapped up in that same big heart of yours.

At the end of the day, your Kardashian—the thing that makes you shine—isn’t the problem. The problem is people who don’t know what to do with it. And that, darling, is not your burden to carry.

Tell me: what do you think your Kardashian is? How can you guard against the hate and the harvesting?