Maybe it’s because when I read the news about celebrity robberies carried out by a gang of teenagers it was something I reasonably remember, or because I loved the Vanity Fair article that was later the basis of Sofia Coppola’s film, I’m always amazed by the crimes of the gang that became known as the Bling Ring. Literally, a year ago (a few weeks ago), I did an analysis in my CLAUDIA column about the Netflix documentary series about the group, with first-person testimonies by them, which deeply outraged me, Bling Ring – The Story Behind the Thefts. The only one of them who had not spoken out publicly was the one they accused as the leader, Rachel Lee. Well, now she has a documentary to call her own, shown on HBO, called The Ringleader: The Case of the Bling Ring.

Unsurprisingly, Rachel exempts herself from the leadership role, even though, unlike the others, she at least maintains responsibility for what she did. Still, she tries to contextualize her and her companions’ actions, always highlighting where the narrative is most interesting to her and inverting the contextualization of the crimes reported by them. She takes longer than the others, but yes, she also takes ownership of the truth and argues that “her truth” needs to be made public. Incidentally, I’m obviously being sarcastic, speaking out puts her in the spotlight just when the relevance of what they did is being forgotten. The disease of social media and reality shows is not symbolized by the Kim Kardashians of life, it is by these lost, empty, and dangerous teenagers. And, paradoxically, important for us to evaluate.

Rachel’s narrative, effectively the only one in the Bling Ring who wasn’t from a “rich” family, is well constructed because she has a gift for clear and effective communication that is rare. It’s no surprise that she says more than once that she’s manipulative and that she lies frequently. If she knows and warns us, how can we believe what she says? It doesn’t matter, we’re talking about ‘her’, we’re putting Rachel Lee where she always wanted to be: close to fame.

In this documentary, which is a direct response to the Netflix one, there are other frightening testimonies such as that of the friend who was the first to have his house robbed by the Bling Ringers and who, in tune with Rachel, accuses Nicholas Frank Prugo of being the main one in all crimes, not the supporting character. Do you know what scares you? Today with a YouTube channel, the boy is able to say that he “doesn’t forgive Nick” for the pain he caused his family, but that he could meet him “for sushi”. Do you understand the problem?

Everyone complains precisely about what made them known. The Vanity Fair article and the 2013 film, directed by Sofia Coppola, portray them as superficial and irresponsible, exactly as they are. With documentaries, where they speak without an editorial filter, they speak of “their truths” and “narratives” as they become better if we try to take them seriously. These Bling Ringers are clear examples of the disease of fame, how far from a cure they are, and how harmful it is to give a voice to those who don’t want help. Every time I hear them, I have physical reactions of worry and irritation, watching powerless to a self-feeding monster factory.

Netflix and HBO documentaries bring audiences to the platforms more than any proposal to study the crimes or harmful behaviors of these criminals. There is no analysis of professionals contesting the basics of right and wrong, we practically hear what they want to say without any critical contextualization. The crimes that happened 20 years ago have already been “judicially paid for” and what is clear is that none of them demonstrate even a remote chance. They claim that they are victims of a society that fuels consumption and seeks immediate fame, which is exactly what they are still chasing. They are the best symbols of everything that is wrong in today’s society. An emptiness that no amount of gold or success can fill. A frightening, apparently incurable disease.

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