The lip gloss chain of command

humiliation objects and the carrie-fication of us all

There is a certain kind of object that has become increasingly common in our influencer economy. Things that are only ever flattering when worn by the chosen few, and absurd on everyone else.

Lip gloss waist chains. Micro-microbags. Skirts the size of belts. Balenciaga’s trash bag pouches. MSCHF’s Big Red Boots. Pre-destroyed clothing. Loewe’s balloon bra’s.Croc heels. Lip gloss holding phone cases. Fendi’s baguette bread pouches. Split-toe tabis. Prada’s paperclip-shaped clips. Supreme’s clay bricks. Paper shopping bag bags. Chanel boomerangs.

I call them humiliation objects. Because, at a certain point, we have to admit that these products aren’t just impractical or satire, but humiliating on purpose.

And, recently, Hailey Bieber has become the face of humiliation objects.

It was bad enough when she made the lip gloss phone case. A “silicone, bubble case” that looks strangely vaginal-like being paraded around by thousands of girls who haven’t noticed or maybe just don’t care. It’s “not just your average makeup accessory” but the “epitome of style and functionality combined.”

And now we have the Rhode waist chain. A tiny, delicate chain with a tiny, delicate pouch to hold your $18 tube of lip gloss. It’s likely to launch just in time for the summer, for all the beach girls who desperately need a more elegant way to carry lip gloss across the sand.

Yes, it sounds ridiculous. Because it is. It makes no sense functionally. Who’s walking around needing to wear their lip gloss like jewelry? It doesn’t even look like you could pull it out of the bag without struggling. But that’s obviously not the point. It’s not about functionality. It’s a purely symbolic product.

Buying the waist chain means buying into a logic where practicality is a failure. Where function is proof that you live in a different world. A world where you have to carry your own keys, or navigate public transportation, or be worried about dropping your thousand dollar phone (which now has a $38 phone case with an $18 lip tint in it) on the ground.

The impractically of humiliation objects is a reflection of its function to prove that the wearer doesn’t need a function. If your life is frictionless—if you have someone to hold your bag or drive your car—then function is irrelevant. The object is truly pure ornament. In this way, humiliation objects signal to others that your day is so insulated by money and image that you can wear shoes you can’t walk in or carry a bag that holds nothing. The absurdity is meant to signal: I don’t live in your world. I live in a world where things don’t have to make sense.

That’s why, when you put it on, it suddenly feels very silly. Because you’re missing the invisible infrastructure of wealth that makes these things make sense. It’s not about owning the lip gloss on a chain, but about owning the body that comes from owning the lifestyle that comes from owning lots and lots of money.