When Choosing Sides Becomes a Cultural Obsession: Why We Can't Stop Picking 'Teams' in Pop Culture
There’s something bizarrely thrilling about watching an actor publicly declare allegiance to a fictional TV show faction. Ella Rubin’s recent Tonight Show appearance—where she finally answered the burning question of whether she’s “Team Rory” or “Team Ellis” on Sterling Point—felt less like a promotional segment and more like witnessing a modern cultural ritual. Let me unpack why this matters, why we’re obsessed with it, and what it reveals about how we consume storytelling in 2024.
The Curious Case of Team Rory vs. Team Ellis
For those unfamiliar with Sterling Point (which streams on Peacock, by the way), the show’s writers have clearly studied the Gossip Girl playbook: create two magnetic, opposing forces and let the audience’s dopamine receptors do the rest. Team Rory and Team Ellis aren’t just characters—they’re brands, lifestyles, and personality tests disguised as fictional camps. When Rubin chose her side on national TV, she didn’t just satisfy fan curiosity; she accidentally exposed how modern audiences treat art as a participatory sport.
Personally, I think this phenomenon is fascinating because it’s the logical endpoint of a culture addicted to binary choices. We’ve moved from asking “Who’s your favorite character?” to demanding “Which team are you on?”—as if our identities now require allegiance to made-up corporate rivalries. What’s really happening here? We’re not just watching stories; we’re auditioning to be part of them.
Why We Crave These Artificial Divisions
Let’s dissect the psychology. Humans are tribal creatures by nature. But in an age of algorithm-driven content saturation, studios have weaponized this instinct. By engineering clear “sides” in narratives, they create ready-made communities for viewers to join. It’s low-effort social bonding: You don’t need to share political views or life experiences with fellow Team Rory members—just a shared aesthetic appreciation for a character’s leather jacket.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how this mirrors real-world polarization. The same platforms that host think pieces about “Team Rory vs. Team Ellis” also host debates about “Red States vs. Blue States.” The mechanics of tribalism are becoming indistinguishable, whether we’re discussing fiction or policy. Is it any wonder younger audiences struggle to separate the two?
The Dark Side of the ‘Pick a Side’ Economy
Here’s where my skepticism kicks in: This isn’t just fun and games. By encouraging viewers to “choose teams,” content creators are essentially training audiences to think in binaries. Nuance disappears. Characters become symbols to rally around rather than complex beings. And let’s be honest—this strategy works because it’s great for engagement metrics. Twitter/X thrives on hot takes; Netflix thrives on completion rates. We’re all just fueling someone’s algorithm.
What many people don’t realize is that this dynamic creates a feedback loop. The louder the fanbase screams about Team Rory, the more the writers will double down on black-and-white character arcs in Season 2. It’s the entertainment equivalent of fast food: addictive, profitable, and nutritionally questionable.
Could This Ever Be a Good Thing?
I’ll admit—there’s beauty in how passionately people engage with art. When fans argue about Team Ellis for weeks, it means the show has tapped into something primal. But what if creators used this energy differently? Imagine a show that forced viewers to constantly switch allegiances, or rejected team dynamics entirely. Now that would be revolutionary.
From my perspective, the future of storytelling lies in subverting these expectations. Until then, we’ll keep getting asked to pick sides—not because it’s artistically necessary, but because it’s a cash register’s dream.
Final Thoughts: The Day We All Become Neutral
Ella Rubin’s choice matters less than the fact that we demanded she make one at all. This raises a deeper question: When did choosing between two options become the default mode of cultural participation? Maybe the real rebellion isn’t picking a team—it’s rejecting the premise entirely. But let’s be real: Until someone invents a streaming service for gray areas, we’re all just playing the game we’ve been given.
If you take a step back and think about it, the next time you’re asked “Team A or Team B?”, consider responding with “Team Me.” Stranger things have happened in 2024.
