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A young man in a pink tutu and stained t-shirt kneels in a messy, dimly lit room, intensely looking at his phone. Empty cans and trash litter the floor around him. A poster with a photo and the word "REPUTATION" is on the wall behind him.

A young man in a pink tutu and stained t-shirt kneels in a messy, dimly lit room, intensely looking at his phone. Empty cans and trash litter the floor around him. A poster with a photo and the word "REPUTATION" is on the wall behind him.

A disheveled young man—wire-framed glasses askew, acne scars visible under harsh fluorescent lighting—wearing a pink ballet tutu several sizes too small over his stained graphic tee. He kneels on the floor of a dimly-lit bedroom, surrounded by crumpled energy drink cans, desperately tap-tapping at his cracked phone screen with greasy fingers. The glow of the display illuminates his trembling lips mid-mutter, revealing a half-composed text to his unrequited crush: "u would look so pretty in my arms i promise im nice." Behind him, a pinned-up printout of his high school yearbook photo floats ominously, the word "REPUTATION" scrawled beneath it in red marker like a bloody verdict. Mehr sehen