How We Fail as Humans--"Frankchella", Gen Z, and Parasocialism

Photo: Twitter/Frank Ocean Updates @blahnded

April 16, 2023. Palm Springs at 10 p.m. PST. A disaster of monstrous proportions struck.

Frank Ocean was late to his Coachella set.

When he finally did arrive, his performance was far from groundbreaking—but rather “the weirdest show I’ve ever seen,” says TikTok user @caitlynraee, along with a deluge of disappointed comments calling it “so disrespectful” and nothing more than “a listening party”.

The catastrophe broke the hearts of Frank fans everywhere, from those watching through unofficial social media livestreams and the attendees who paid anywhere from $500 to $1,000 for the headliner.

A musical legend, Frank’s appearance was the most anticipated, having not performed since 2013.

Grossly overlooked, is the fact that his younger brother, Ryan Breaux, died only three years ago in 2020 by car accident. He was only 18.

During the set, Frank paused to talk about Ryan. Visibly torn up, he mentioned how Ryan dragged him annually to Coachella, despite hating the experience. In the midst of this, people left incensed and “feel[ing] very scammed”.

The debate is heated, but the majority leans towards fury. As @eres_rara, summarized it: “If you’re an artist…there’s no excuse.” She “understand[s] grieving” but he should have “put on a hell of a show for his brother”.

Entitlement towards those we idolize is nothing new. The advent of social media has created a type of relationship that is entirely “parasocial”—where one is deceived by the illusion of friendship. We believe we are owed something from the people we put on a pedestal. We think we know them. Gen Z is particularly guilty of it, in the ways we cannot separate fantasy from actual interpersonal connection, as seen in our obsessive celebrity culture fueled by Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok.

The tragic irony of it all is the whole appeal of Frank’s music is its relatability—the raw humanity of his lyrics and how the listener can feel every gut wrenching and soul twisting word he sings. His music is his gift to the world, completely irreplaceable.

How can we adore a human for whom we cannot afford the same humanity?

Grief has no timeline. Grief is anything but pretty. Grief is grief. We cannot expect mourning to cease. One can recover a couple hundred dollars, but you cannot bring a loved one back.

This is how we fail—when we lack the compassion to look beyond ourselves, when we cannot empathize with loss, when we attack a grieving man for not putting on a show.

We cannot claim to be a progressive generation when we are unable to understand, however radical that may seem. We cannot preach mental health until those beliefs are applied.

Maybe it starts with this. Maybe it starts with forgiving Frank, and letting him grieve.

Maybe it starts with seeing a human as a human.