on the [peltz-]beckhams

we love a second-hand family feud, don't we?

You should know that I was fully planning on another subject today. Like, I’ve been threatening to write about Chiara Ferragni for years, and now that the Italian justice system finally decided she’s not a pandoro-related criminal … I don’t have the strength to stay away.

But then Brooklyn Beckham, a person I’m only aware of due to the twin powers of alliterative names and famous parents, decided to open his little Notes app and call a shockingly loud j’accuse on his family. And you know what, I’m not too proud to say that I sat up. I did! Like all of us, I’ve been despairing as ICE has fully assumed its Gestapo identity and wreaked havoc on Minnesota and the rest of the country; waking up every day wondering what nation America will be attacking or threatening to attack today; and losing my mind as public health continues its downward slippery slope led by RFK Jr’s wormed-out brain.

So yes, when a low-stakes scandal makes its way into my algorithm, you best believe I’m gonna be paying attention. A family feud made up, on one side, of a former footballer who’s been much better at branding than he ever was at footballing¹ and on the other, his first-born son (I’m the eldest boy!) who at 18 years old released a photography book and unironically captioned one of said photos “i like this picture – it’s out of focus but you can tell there’s a lot going on” and his billionaire heiress wife whose Instagram bio reads “actor/writer/director” and “dog activist.”

Here, by the way, are Brooklyn and Nicola Peltz Beckham, and I am begging you to open the post so you can fully appreciate the outfits Express saw fit to dress these two in:

@brooklynpeltzbeckham

@brooklynpeltzbeckham on Instagram: "👩‍❤️‍👨"

I mean. Absolutely. No chaser required. Straight into my veins. Call me Niles Crane’s brother because babes, I’m listening.

“dinner.” You don’t understand … Since 2018, this photo and its caption have been popping into my mind without warning once a month. That being said, I got myself a film camera back in December and it’s taking all of me not to go full Brooklyn over it.

Call it what you will (mental illness), but I do love a pop culture event that sets my group chats aflutter. Can’t help it. I grew up reading the first half of every tabloid magazine to kill time at the grocery store checkout line and I’m afraid one never outgrows this particular penchant to stay current on insignificant matters. After all, if I had to pinpoint the exact genesis of this newsletter, I’d be hard-pressed to find a more accurate one than the Publix checkout line circa 2004.

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Anyway. After briefly disassociating and spending 1-7 hours immersed in Beckham World earlier this week, I remembered that I’d written about the family back in 2023, a few weeks after their Netflix documentary had come out.

And I was mostly complimentary!

“Quite organized,” says Beckham as he shows Fisher his meticulous closet and planned outfits for the week. A reminder that anyone successful in a highly competitive field is at least a little bit insane. They have to be.

Mostly. I did spend quite a bit of time extolling the virtues of their brand-building, which, fittingly enough, now seems to be the target of Brooklyn’s criticism.

There are few celebrities, in my view, who have been able to pivot and curate their brands as precisely as they have. The sheer existence of this documentary, about a footballer whose contributions to the sport were arguably more (I say this with love) exogenous than anything else, is proof enough of the Beckham brand’s strength.

Would it be going too far to call me prophetic? I leave that up to you. What I mean to say is: I was ready to meet this moment.

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Here are a couple of Brooklyn’s stories:

I was going to add all of the screenshots, but there are six stories, and frankly my laziness/pride runneth over. Needed to get Marc Anthony in there, though … I just know he’s having the time of his life as a side character in this saga.

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There’ve been rumblings of an intra-family feud for years now, but this is the first time they’ve been confirmed by a primary source. And therefore, as the huge fans of journalistic integrity we all are, this prompted a proper outpour of theory-building, some of it naturally verging on the conspiratorial. What are we if not human?²

I am utterly entranced, possibly bewitched (body and soul), by the very notion of airing one’s family’s dirty laundry out in public via Instagram story. Whatever the truth might be, to the extent a single truth exists, there’s a certain absence of charm to revealing your version of it on social media to people whose interest in you could best be described as morbid. The exact opposite of a je ne sais quoi, I fear. I say this understanding that nowadays there are fewer and fewer alternatives to social media when it comes to breaking news (“breaking” “news”) of the personal sort, and yet! The possession of fame and fortune should afford one the means to at the very least affect, if not actually master, a wee bit of discretion. No?