An Ode to It Girls and Sociopathy: Charli XCX’s “360”

In Madonna’s seminal 1990 hit, “Vogue,” she talks about how Rita Hayworth “gave good face.” That’s at least eighty percent of the “job” description of being an it girl (or “internet girl,” the apparent updated version of that term). The other twenty percent seems to be a mixture of wearing over-the-top couture and being photographed at all the right parties. As a self-appointed party girl/internet obsession, Charli XCX knows all about combining the analog and digital elements of what it means to be “it.” And she pays homage to that at the beginning of her latest video, “360” (yet another single that will appear on Brat).

Directed by ​​Aidan Zamiri, the scene opens on Charli walking down a hallway as she texts back and forth with fellow it girl Gabbriette, who chastises her for being (five hours) late to a place called Skyferrori’s (is that supposed to be a Sky Ferreira reference?) Trattoria. Traipsing into the restaurant, she’s met with the eyes of Rachel Sennott (who technically “collaborated” with Charli on Bottoms) and Chloe Cherry. It’s Rachel who tells her she can’t sing her song just yet, with Gabriette further explaining, “We have to fulfill the prophecy of finding a new, hot internet girl. That’s literally why we’re at dinner.” A little expository, but sure. Chloe Cherry then adds, “Or else our kind will cease to exist…forever.” Annoyed, Charli tries to speed up the process by suggesting, “What about…her?” as she points to the girl at the end of the table—who happens to be Julia Fox. Obviously, that’s a no go as it girls who are already it girls can’t be chosen. Charli then lands on the waitress (if that word is still permissible) and the others at the table aren’t opposed to it. 

“What do you guys need me to do?” she asks gamely, even if nervously. Fox explains, “See, you actually need to have this, like, je ne sais quoi.” Charli affirms, “Yeah it’s, like, definitely a je ne sais quoi kind of situation.” In other words, no one wants to admit that it’s pure luck and, often, a little bit of nepo baby clout (as Paris Hilton knows from her late 90s/early 00s it girl days). Or, as Gabbriette describes it, “I would say it’s about being really hot in, like, a scary way.” Fox approves vehemently of that definition. With that “sorted,” Charli declares, “I’m gonna do my song now.” So it is that the A. G. Cook-produced notes begin and Charli delivers the manifesto, “I went my own way and I made it/I’m your favorite reference, baby/Call me Gabbriette, you’re so inspired/Ah, ah I’m tectonic, moves, I make ’em/Shock you like defibrillators/No style, I can’t relate.” Just as Sabrina Carpenter can’t relate to “desperation.” She, too, is something of an it girl at this moment, and her song, “espresso,” exudes the same kind of sociopathy that Charli and co. champion in “360.” Complete with the first proper visual from it outside of the “holding court” restaurant setting being Charli atop an elderly man on a gurney in a hospital. 

Mounting him with her legs spread apart so that his midsection is between her thighs, other it girls soon gather around her (with Gabbriette blowing cigarette smoke right in his face) in between scenes of Charli in the gym jiggling about with a glass of red wine in hand as Sennott and Fox stand on either side of her (the former texting on her phone and the latter vaping while disinterestedly lifting a dumbbell). 

In another cut back to the restaurant setting, Charli struts toward the table and gets on top of it so she can walk it like a runway. When she runs out of table, the waiters in the restaurant quickly scramble to provide her with more (a maneuver that smacks of this particular 1990 performance) so that she never has to worry about falling or looking foolish for not being able to continue her strut. Not that she ever would worry—because worry is a sentiment that is entirely out of the it girl’s vocabulary. She knows everything she wants will fall right into her lap not just because she’s “hot,” but because it always has before. For anything else to occur would signal some kind of cataclysm in the universe…at least in the it girl’s internet-speak-fueled mind. And when Charli wants to keep walking once the room itself ends, a waiter knocks out the wall for her so that she can. It’s just, like, the rules of what “little people” are expected to do for beautiful and rich ones. 

The knocked-out wall leads into a room where an ordinary family sits on the couch as the likes of Richie Shazam (in a cone bra corset) and Chloe Cherry pose in the background while Charli keeps singing her song, declaring, “That city sewer slut’s the vibe/Internationally recognized/I set the tone, it’s my design/And it’s stuck in your mind/Legacy is undebated/You gon’ jump if A. G. made it/If you love it, if you hate it/I don’t fucking care what you think.” Ah, that old chestnut that only sounds authentic when Joan Jett says it via the chorus, “I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation.” 

Charli continues to cement her own “bad reputation” as she stands before a pair of crashed cars (she is, after all, the creator of an album called Crash) in the middle of an L.A. street where who should eventually appear but none other than L.A.’s number one hater, Chloe Sevigny. A woman that some might call the original it girl if they’re not aware of Edie Sedgwick’s existence before hers (and yes, it’s almost surprising that Edie wasn’t AI-generated at some point within the context of this video—but maybe Charli decided to limit her poor taste to gyrating atop a hospitalized old man). 

Charli and Chloe then strut down the road together as a random dumpster on fire shows up in the background. Joining their fellow it girls up ahead, the nine women stand together and throw various poses for a nonexistent camera as the fire keeps raging behind them. Perhaps an ultimate metaphor for the fact that, no matter what kind of chaos or tragedy is happening in the world, you can always count on an it girl’s vanity to totally ignore or disregard it. What’s eternally most important is how fierce she looks.