I Wouldn't Trade It for the World, but I'm Absolutely Checking Its Trade-In Value Online
On not being dead nor fictional.
I turned 31 in January, unceremoniously in my hometown. For people close to me but decades older, my 30’s is more of a marker for them than it is for me. As if it were an unimaginable marker, or a fulfilled prophecy. I’m still so young, they say. As if I’m a walking, talking “feel old yet?” meme. Like learning Bowling For Soup’s “1985” if written today would be called “2005”.
Now that the deal is done, he’s seen all the classics, he knows every line; it seems as though I did everything you weren’t supposed to do in your 20’s in exchange for having them. All the coming-of-age movies proved little help, and while most decisions definitely made sense to me at the time, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world… I’m absolutely checking their trade-in value online.
My 20’s are as valuable as my vinyl collection. For so long, I felt caught up in experiencing the life events that my art would eventually reflect, highlighting and dog-earing reference points for the eventual magnum opus. Hoarding trauma in hopes of proving its utility. Yes, that was the point, but now my vagabond Fitzgerald-Hemingway-Bradshaw-Dunham patinaed lifestyle has caught up with me. And I am not dead or fictional.
I’m my own worst critic, and I’m a very fucking good critic.
I see the cracks in a black mirror reflection as I compose myself for the evening, and I dread getting clocked — critiqued to filth — exposed for the fraud I am. Perpetually flinching for a fight that never really comes to blows.
My writing makes me queasy, too, dear reader. It’s openly messy, uncomfortably vulnerable, yet somehow also petulant and arrogant? What’s up with that? Whiny word vomit that sometimes arrives at a thought worth a damn, but only if you’re willing to sift through all the wistful feelings and dreadfully grating altruism. That is, of course, when you get anything at all. There’s a difference between leaving ‘em wanting more and leaving them wanting, Tyler Scruggs.
I often describe my songwriting, for example, as a cyst on me that grows and visibly irritates until it’s out and done. Pop. But I’ve learned to shelve it. My unfinished projects and unseen visions collect digital dust for Someday, which could be any day but not Today.
Today, it feels less like idea hoarding and more like understanding that the time will come and the medium will be obvious. Maybe that’s where the growth is. Living in the moment is easier when it could be your last.
The Inner Saboteur is still here; gaining ground, even. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? Everything is harder. For everyone. Everyone I know, at least. It’s how we’ve found community: through this collective experience of atomization. Or, did.
Survival is the game at this point, even while the game is eating itself. Maintaining what you have — protecting yourself and your own — is what matters now. Right?
No matter how charitable or socialist my heart may be, no, I don’t have any spare change at the moment. Sorry. I was hoping to patina with age and life experience, but I’ve calloused instead.
Even maintaining my burnout-slacker-East-Atlanta-Village lifestyle became untenable. Going outside costs $40.
I don’t write film criticism anymore. For a long time — long enough to write several drafts of Substacks that wouldn’t be — I called every movie a miracle. I still think they are.
The sheer amount of willpower (or uh, financial obligation) needed to concoct a never-before-seen spectacle for the world’s general audience will never not inspire me. Bad films will always be interesting. Especially the expensive ones. Good films will always be acts of God.
It’s safe to say I’ve left “Y’allywood” — Atlanta’s attempt at an almost more sensible film and television shooting location than Los Angeles. Almost. I joined IATSE, a year-long strike happened, I became deeply housing insecure for another year, and now we’re here.
Now I’m a thrift store manager, and soon, a few more titles back in my hometown of Tucson, and the gratitude is meant to outweigh the bitterness.
The aftertaste is still there years later. Not quite “so close I could almost taste it,” because I did. I did taste it. But now the DVDs that I scan for double-digit eBay value and pass through my hands every day have decades-old, deeply personal tangibility to me beyond simply probably seeing them with KRQQ radio promo tickets at the El Con Mall at 15.
When I’m folding donated Black Panther children’s clothing and shelving well-loved merchandise, I remember that my name’s on that thing forever, and for whatever my work was worth (many would argue $12.50), I helped make it happen.
I do not recommend the feeling of waking up to Yahoo! asking for a comment on a tweet you made.
He told Yahoo Entertainment that he’s been keeping track of the backlash he’s received for the post, which now has more than 20 million views, acknowledging that he knows he’s “not Robert Downey Jr.”
“I know he gets butts in seats,” Scruggs said. “Even a low-paying job brought some level of prestige. It looks good on a resume, but I can’t eat or pay for my health care. I’ve never been at such a rock bottom in my life.”
As a self-proclaimed “Marvel fanboy,” Scruggs said that the role was “an honor and a dream” at first. Over the last few years, he’s worked on multiple Marvel sets.
“I knew how much money they were paying me, but I didn’t have any negotiating power,” Scruggs said. “It could have been such a magical experience, but it ended up being a nightmare because the people making decisions at the top don’t consider how they affect the people at the bottom.”
Yahoo! News: Why Robert Downey Jr.’s Doctor Doom payday is inciting backlash
On a couch-surfing Thursday morning in July 2024, I woke up to hundreds of very upset people / Twitter accounts scolding me for a thought that wasn’t totally meant for 20 million people to see. It got picked up. Everywhere. Even Trisha Paytas talked about me on her podcast. Twitter was reliably cruel, Reddit was kinder. When those kinds of things happen (the virality that scares me, even though all I want to do is share ideas), I'm reminded of my remaining fear of the fame I clamor for.
And then I’m in Chicago with Andy and Ross. I took us out to Deadpool and Wolverine on the other side of the city because it was the gesture I could make at the time. Wesley Snipes looks directly into the camera and says, “There's only been one Blade, and there's only ever going to be one Blade." If that’s true, where did my six months go? My career? No one wants a Fantastic Four movie to succeed more than Tyler Scruggs. It’s why I was trying to get into the room, or at least the Zoom calls. My film career in Atlanta was far from consistent and even further from easy. Coming home felt like losing. It keeps proving otherwise.
My last album, Televangelist, didn't perform like I wanted to — like the last two. It put me in debt, and I sometimes cringe at the musical typos present on the final product. Still, it was the best thing I could make by myself. Why wasn’t my best good enough for me? It was good enough the last two times. Then I realize that my pride comes from simply having done it. I was just as frustrated then, only it’s been a decade, and sixteen didn’t feel so dire. I have got to stop putting capitalist metrics and frameworks on myself and my art, or both will die.
…
I’m processing donations — reminding myself of the things that matter. The Arizona sun beams down. Relentless and energizing all at once. Was I always this Kryptonian? My imposter syndrome is just a well-dressed victim complex. I’m exactly who I dreamt of being. Now what?
Now I’m back on Substack. With more consistency in my life, there’s more writing coming as soon as next week. I’m hoping to clear my throat a bit, look at some of these new tools here, and double down on everything I hope to accomplish. I have a new album you’ll hear more about later in the year called In Town For Work, as well as some other things I’m grateful I get to share with you.
The world has nearly ended too many times not to be grateful I still get to sing about it.
Tyler Scruggs is a writer, musician, and thrift store manager based in Tucson, Arizona. His new album, In Town For Work, is coming in 2026.