Summary
Someone please, somewhere, make this insufferable drivel stop. I just can’t take it anymore.
Team Kaylie Part 3 is, inexcusably, the third batch of episodes I’ve had to watch and write about here. Click here for Part 1, and click here for Part 2.
Rare is the show that makes me genuinely consider a new career, but Team Kaylie Part 3 legitimately almost broke me. I waded into the first batch of episodes out of curiosity and in the spirit of fun; I endured the second lot out of professional obligation. At this point, barely two months later, and with nine new episodes for absolutely no justifiable reason whatsoever — up from five in Part 1 and six in Part 2, both of which felt like too many — I’m ready to call it a day. This show might go on forever, never changing, never improving, just spewing new episodes onto Netflix for the viewing pleasure of… well, someone, I presume, though even my own kids couldn’t tolerate this slurry of so-called “influencer” cliches and mindless, stereotypical drivel.
If aliens saw this show they’d wipe us out. And honestly, we’d deserve it. How we got here is anyone’s guess. How contemporary culture became this ceaseless parade of vapidity is also a mystery; it happened so fast we barely noticed. If anything it isn’t just Kaylie (Bryana Salaz) who’s doing community service — it’s me, forced at the whims of some cruel, vindictive creator-God to join Team Kaylie every couple of months and attempt to find new ways of saying the same things about a show that never changes. Team Kaylie Part 3 features a Quinceañera and a sleepover and a wrestling match and the end of Kaylie’s community service; the end, hopefully, of this show.
But I can’t trust it to end. And I can’t trust that I won’t be here a couple of months from now, trapped forever in a cycle of wilderness competitions, fashion transformations, and social media campaigns, clawing desperately at the walls of the Netflix offices for any way to escape this for-all-ages Hell. Bryana Salaz will be fifty, the Kaylie role indistinguishable from her own identity. I’ll be… older than that. And the world will be permanently shrouded in some kind of real-life global Snapchat filter, dog tongues lolling from our gawping faces. I hope someone will still be reading.
