Zoey Deutch Delivers a Perfect Satire of Influencer Scams in Hulu’s ‘Not Okay’

The year is 2018, there is no pandemic in sight, and the hottest club in New York City is a Brooklyn loft where underpaid twenty-somethings type out under-edited lifestyle blogs. The Cut has just published its takedown of social media scammer Anna Delvy, and, in one year’s time, will publish its infamous “I Was Caroline Calloway” essay, in which a popular influencer was revealed to (mostly) be the work of a ghostwriter. It was a defining cultural moment for chronically online millennials, including the fictional chronically online millennial in the new satirical comedy, Not Okay, which began streaming on Hulu on Friday. It’s a biting satire that both takes aim at, and empathizes with, a generation shaped by social media narcissism, and it couldn’t be more spot-on.

Written and directed by Quinn Shephard, Not Okay offers its own brilliant—though totally imagined—entry into of the Summer of the Scam. Zoey Deutch stars as Danni Sanders, a deeply insecure hot mess whose only claim to originality is her bleach-blonde skunk hair. Danni works as a photo editor at a media company called Depravity, a sort of babe-dot-net website with Instagramable neon signs and its own in-house social media influencer (more on him later). But she dreams of being a writer. Unfortunately, her editor is not interested in publishing Danni’s essay about her 9/11 FOMO. (She was on a cruise with her parents when it happened, and laments missing out on “trauma bonding” with her generation.)

You’ll find yourself cringing with second-hand embarrassment at Danni’s obvious cries for attention, like shouting “Yaaas, queen, slaaaaay!” to her queer co-workers. Not even Danni’s mom wants to hang out with her, and you can’t blame her. It’s not surprising in the least when Danni lies to her crush—the aforementioned in-house influencer named Colin, played by a dirtbag version of Dylan O’Brien—and tells him she’s going on a writer’s retreat to Paris. She’s thrilled when that gets his attention, but is less thrilled when she realizes she definitely can’t afford a trip to Paris, her parents won’t pay for it, and she promised Colin she’d “post mad pics.”

Then, an idea: She’s a photo editor, no? Why not just edit herself into some pics of the Eiffel Tower, take a week off work, and enjoy the social media validation that comes with posting vacation pics? It seems like a harmless enough lie… until a devastating terrorist attack finds half a dozen Paris landmarks bombed, including the Eiffel Tower, mere minutes after Danni posted about being there. Danni wakes up to hundreds of texts and missed calls from people worrying about her safety. She’s ready to come clean, but a concerned DM from none other than Colin the Influencer changes her mind. Instead, Danni posts an Instagram story assuring her followers she is safe, though shaken. As the number telling her how many people have viewed her story ticks up, Deutch’s face shines with a sick sort of glee: Here, finally, is the attention she’s been craving.

Suddenly Danni has everything she’s ever wanted: love from her parents, a Depravity essay that goes viral, respect from her co-workers, and, best of all, interest from Colin. The more she exploits her so-called trauma, the more attention she gets. You hate her for it, but you almost can’t blame her. After all, it works. Does she feel guilty that her new BFF Rowan, an influencer/activist whose sister died in a school shooting, is harassed by right-wingers who accuse her of lying, while Danni is out here actually lying, thereby giving those jerks more ammo? Eh, kinda. But not enough to stop her from glomming onto Rowan like a parasite, pawning off the young girl’s ideas as her own.

You know from the movie’s opening scene that this delicate house of cards comes crashing down. Like Anna Delvey and Caroline Calloway before her, Danni is exposed and savaged online by every Tik Tok-er, tweeter, and SNL cast member. In one laugh-out-loud shot, that dude who recreates tweets with helium balloons spells out, “Danni Sanders is a cunt.” Knowing this, it’s easier to swallow Not Okay‘s tendency to empathize with Danni, even as it mocks her.

We all know someone like like Danni. Not someone who lied about being a victim of a terrorist attack, but someone who, perhaps despite their less-than-tolerable IRL personality, has been richly rewarded for being self-absorbed online. With the Instagram and Tik Tok and personal branding trends of the last decade, it’s more rewarding than ever to be a narcissist, and few of us are immune. Who here can honestly claim they haven’t indulged in the addictive practice of posting smiling vacation pictures online? Isn’t it easy to see, how, under a particular set of circumstances, a particular type of person might be tempted into a lie like Danni’s?

Not Okay is not a movie calling for us to delete our Instagram accounts. It’s simply observing the sometimes-ridiculous, sometimes-atrocious side effects of its existence. And, with its final scene, it turns the shame back on the viewers: If we are so superior to the Danni Sanders of the world, then why are we so fascinated by their stories?