What is performative activism vs. real activism?

Not all activism is created equal. The line between real activism and performative activism has never been more important to draw. One strengthens movements. The other drains energy, spreads misinformation, and fractures solidarity.

TL;DR

• Performative activism = optics over impact. It looks good and sounds good, but doesn’t generate real change.

• Real activism shows up in many forms, from public comment campaigns to protests, parenting, art, and community organizing.

• Everyone has a different role to play. We cannot expect every single person to behave and engage the same way because all have different circumstances, privileges, educations, identities, and situations that dictate what's realistic (and safe) for us.

• The harm of performative activism is that it distracts, erodes trust, and undermines those doing the actual work.

• Accountability is different. It’s valid to ask people with power, platforms, or privilege to step up in meaningful ways.

• We don’t all have to do everything. Specializing in one area deeply can be just as powerful as touching on everything superficially.

• Everyone starts somewhere. Sometimes, the most impactful work that you do won't be visible to others, and that's okay. All that matters is we keep trying our best and keep moving forward.

In other words: The difference isn’t about how loud you are or how polished you look. It’s about whether your actions move us closer to justice or just make you look like you care.

⚠️ A note on perspective: I want to acknowledge up front that I’m writing this from my own perspective as a white woman, a creator, and someone with immense privilege. That means my experiences aren’t universal. Black, Indigenous, and other people of color have been naming and critiquing performative activism for decades, long before hashtags or infographics made it trendy. Other people (again, specifically Black women) have already laid the foundation for these conversations. My goal here isn’t to replace or overshadow those voices, but to share what I’ve learned in my own journey, and hopefully make these ideas more accessible for people who might be just starting theirs.

👉 What is performative activism?

Performative activism is when someone participates in social justice work more for appearances than for actual impact. There are also a bunch of subsets of performative activism, such as infighting, that are important to name.

Performative activism is characterized by:

• Low effort, high visibility actions like posting hashtags or changing profile pictures without doing deeper work. (Think: The people who posted black squares on Instagram in 2020)

  
  

• Policing others’ activism instead of contributing to the cause yourself.

  
  

• Centering optics over outcomes, focusing more on looking radical or righteous than making tangible change.

“Performative activism is attractive because it takes low commitment and effort, but still makes us feel satisfied when we join in on it.” — The F-Word Journal, University of Pennsylvania

😬 Examples of performative activism 

Performative activism isn’t new, and we’ve all seen high-profile examples that made headlines. They remind us how easy it is to confuse optics with real change.

• Blackout Tuesday: Millions of people posted black squares on Instagram during the George Floyd protests. While intended as solidarity, it clogged protest hashtags and drowned out urgent organizing information. It also was a perfect example of looking like you're doing something without actually doing anything.

  
  

• Kendall Jenner’s Pepsi commercial: Jenner handed a can of Pepsi to a police officer at a protest, which magically resolved tensions. The ad trivialized protest movements like Black Lives Matter, reducing systemic oppression to something a soda could “fix.”

  
  

• Celebrity “Imagine” video: Gal Gadot and other celebrities sang John Lennon’s Imagine from their mansions during the pandemic. It was widely criticized as self-centered, highlighting their privilege instead of helping people suffering in real time.

  
  

• Rainbow-washing during Pride Month: Corporations and celebrities roll out rainbow logos or merch in June, only to disappear (or even donate to anti-LGBTQ politicians) once Pride is over.

  
  

• Greenwashing: Oil companies, fast fashion brands, and even luxury labels market “eco-friendly” lines while continuing business as usual. A $100 “sustainable” T-shirt doesn’t offset systemic exploitation.

  
  

• Celebrity “activism” merch: Luxury fashion brands like Dior sold $1,000+ “We Should All Be Feminists” T-shirts, commodifying feminist messaging without real labor reforms behind the scenes.

  
  

• Co-opting movements: Remember when the "Protect the Dolls" T-shirt Pedro Pascal wore broke the internet? It wasn't even a few hours later that a bunch of wannabe "activists" were creating their own versions of that T-shirt. "But they're spreading a good message!" you might cry. The problem here is that they took money from the original creator that would go to a good cause. They stole the idea, profited off of it, and did more harm than good.

  
  

• Performative land acknowledgments: Institutions issue polished statements about being on stolen Indigenous land but stop short of returning land, making reparations, or materially supporting Indigenous communities.

  
  

• “Thoughts and prayers” after mass shootings: Politicians repeatedly offer condolences while refusing to pass meaningful gun reform, a pattern now widely recognized as performative.

  
  

Each of these cases had the same problem: they created the appearance of caring while sidestepping the harder, riskier, or more material actions that actually create change.

Personal example 1

Performative activism often also shows up as shallow critiques of people who are doing the work. This is also called infighting, which I explain a bit more in-depth later in this piece.

For example, after I shared an in-depth, heavily researched post on public comments for the Roadless Rule (work that took me around ten hours of unpaid labor), someone replied in my comments: “Do something that actually matters, like organize a protest.”

Textbook performative activism

Here’s the thing:

• I have organized protests, including two National Parks protests at Mt. Rainier National Park.

• The most important direct action right now is submitting public comments, and my post was driving people toward exactly that. In fact, 10,000+ people have clicked through my link, and literally millions of people have seen my posts. So, I am “doing something that actually matters.”

• I’m currently seven months pregnant, meaning protests just aren’t something I’m comfortable doing (physically or mentally), but I’m still showing up and using the very slim energy I do have to use my platform to mobilize tangible action.

When I pushed the person criticizing me to share what they have done to help, they ignored the question.

That kind of dismissal is performative activism in action. It’s textbook: Tearing down others without contributing, demanding “more” for the sake of optics instead of impact. Keyboard warriors like this contribute nothing, and, actually, cause more harm.

Personal example 2

Performative activism also shows up when people hijack someone else’s labor and repackage it as their own “activism.” A recent example: Dave Asbery (yes, that Dave Asbery) took my content about the Roadless Rule, stripped it of the caption I carefully wrote, and reposted it without linking to resources or including the call to action.

Here’s why that matters:

• I had invested hours of unpaid labor into researching and writing that post with a very specific purpose: mobilizing people to submit public comments (the actual direct action that matters most in this fight). 

• By removing my caption and replacing it with his own spin about biohacking and “nonpartisanship,” he not only erased the point of the post but actively distorted the message. He perverted it and used it for his own gain.

• Without the link to submit a public comment, the action he encouraged led nowhere. His “activism” created the appearance of engagement but delivered no tangible results. Visibility without action doesn’t mean much. 

He saw a post that was going viral, and thought, “How can I get in on this?” That’s classic performative activism: Taking the optics of a movement, removing the substance, and using it for personal visibility.

And this isn’t a harmless mistake. It directly undermines effective activism. When someone misuses content this way, it wastes momentum, misleads audiences, and silences smaller creators doing the hard work of building trust and mobilizing real action.

Real support looks like amplifying content as it was intended. That means with credit, with links, and with calls to action intact. Anything else is performance.

🤔 Why is performative activism harmful? What’s the difference between that and accountability?

Calling out performative activism doesn’t mean we should never hold each other accountable or ask people to do more. Accountability is a cornerstone of strong movements. The harm comes when critique is shallow, misdirected, or rooted in appearances rather than outcomes.

• It drains energy from real work. Instead of channeling momentum toward action, it diverts time and attention into defending against bad-faith criticism.

  
  

• It erodes trust. When people consistently posture without substance, it creates cynicism and burnout within movements.

  
  

• It spreads misinformation. Repackaged content stripped of context (like in the Dave Asbery example) not only fails to mobilize action but can distort what’s actually needed.

  
  

• It undermines solidarity. Critiquing allies who are doing the work (just because it’s not flashy or public) fractures movements instead of strengthening them.

  
  

• It creates burnout. When every piece of research, every organizing effort, and every call to action is met with “do more” or nitpicking from people who aren’t contributing themselves, it makes the work feel endless and thankless. Activists burn out not just from fighting systems of oppression, but from constantly defending themselves against shallow criticism.

  
  

• It makes labor invisible. When someone strips away context, erases captions, or dismisses “unseen” work like research and mobilization, it erases the hours of unpaid, often emotional labor behind the scenes. That invisibility makes people question whether their contributions even matter.

  
  

• It fractures solidarity. Movements rely on trust and collaboration. If people doing the work feel like they’ll just be attacked by supposed allies, they may pull back, stop sharing resources, or retreat from public spaces where they once made an impact. This is why we talk about infighting as a huge issue a lot of the time.

  
  

• It sets impossible standards. The expectation that you must protest, organize, donate, post about every issue, and never make mistakes is unrealistic. And when people are shamed for not meeting that impossible bar, many give up entirely rather than risk constant public critique.

  
  

Performative activism doesn’t just fail to move the needle. It can push people out of movements entirely. And losing experienced, committed voices is a loss none of our movements can afford.

💡 How accountability is different from performative activism (usually)

Accountability comes from a place of wanting our movements to be more effective, inclusive, and powerful. It asks people with privilege, resources, or platforms to use them responsibly.

For example:

• It’s absolutely reasonable to expect someone making money off our National Parks (using them as the backdrop for brand deals and influencer content) to speak up when those same parks are under attack.

• It’s fair to ask companies profiting off sustainability branding to back that up with real climate commitments.

• It’s fair to expect outdoor brands that market to diverse communities to also invest in equity, accessibility, and inclusion.

The difference is intent and impact. Performative activism tears down without building anything. Accountability builds power by raising the bar and demanding that those with influence contribute meaningfully.

“Solidarity is about more than visibility; it’s about doing the work and showing up in ways that matter.” - Activist Mikki Kendall

🗣️ Calling in vs. calling out

• Calling in is about inviting someone into a deeper understanding. It often works best when you believe the person is acting in good faith but simply doesn’t know better. It might look like: “Hey, I know you care about this issue. Here’s why it’s important to include resources with your post.” Calling in preserves relationships, reduces defensiveness, and can build long-term allies.

  
  

• Calling out becomes necessary when harm is ongoing, intentional, or public. If someone is spreading misinformation, erasing others’ labor, or profiting from harmful behavior, calling out ensures accountability and signals to the community that this behavior won’t be tolerated. Sometimes the stakes are too high for quiet corrections.

  
  

Both approaches have value. The key is knowing which one will push the movement forward. We can (and should) call people in when it builds solidarity, and call people out when harm needs to be addressed clearly. Either way, the goal is the same: Stronger, more effective movements.

"In many ways, holding each other accountable has come to mean punishing each other. Sometimes it feels like we’re all competing on a hardcore game show, trying to knock each other down to be crowned the movement’s Best Activist." — Maisha Z. Johnson

🙅‍♀️ Infighting can be harmful and performative, too

Disagreements within movements are natural. In fact, they're healthy and honestly, they're necessary (when done right) because debate can sharpen strategy and push us toward greater accountability. But when critique turns into constant toxic public infighting, it often slips into the same territory as performative activism.

• Purity tests: Too often, activists are judged on whether they’re “perfect” rather than whether they’re effective. This creates impossible standards and sidelines people who may be contributing in meaningful but less visible ways. We see this a lot in the environmental space, for example: Climate activists being discredited because they drive a car or eat meat. It's just not helpful to nitpick in this way.

  
  

• Virtue signaling through critique: Sometimes people call others out not to strengthen the movement, but to boost their own credibility (“look how much better I am than them”). This shifts focus from collective goals to individual branding.

  
  

• Public shaming vs. private accountability: When disagreements are aired solely online for spectacle, they can fracture solidarity and erode trust, especially if they could have been addressed through a direct conversation (see the section above for a bit more nuance about calling in vs. calling out).

  
  

• Exhaustion and silencing: Constant infighting discourages people who are doing the work from continuing. It makes movements feel hostile, draining, and unsustainable.

  
  

Infighting that is rooted in ego or optics weakens movements. It’s a form of performance. It's less about building power and more about proving who is “right.” True accountability is about making us all stronger, not tearing each other down for the sake of appearances.

Now, I want to be super clear:

• Infighting = shallow, clout-driven callouts

  
  

• Necessary critique = people demanding equity and being heard

Both exist, and we shouldn’t conflate them.

We saw this a lot around the election in 2024. There were a lot of "leftist" creators who worked really, really hard to get people to not vote for Kamala Harris. Now, maybe some of them genuinely thought they were doing the right thing. But a lot of them (mostly white creators) were spreading this rhetoric willly-nilly without any regard to the negative impacts and realistic outcome it would cause. A lot of these creators were reveling in the attention these "hot takes" got without any care for the consequences (specifically to those in marginalized communities).

🥴 Real activism isn’t always easy (or comfortable)

Activism isn’t supposed to be comfortable or easy. It takes more than words, trending hashtags, or a singular Instagram carousel. It requires effort, consistency, and (often) sacrifice. That doesn’t mean perfection (no one can get everything right all the time), but it does mean committing to doing the work.

Take the example of a creator who jumps on a trending issue like defending our public lands. They throw together a post, get half the facts wrong, put some cutesy text over pictures of themselves, and then post photos of them breaking Leave No Trace principles two weeks later.

That’s not activism. That’s optics. If you’re going to speak on an issue, you have to do the research, tell the truth, and model the behavior you’re encouraging. You don't have to be perfect, but you do need to at least try to walk the walk.

Or consider a BookToker who says they don’t condone homophobia while simultaneously building their platform around Harry Potter. That’s a franchise authored by J.K. Rowling, who continues to use her massive platform to spread transphobia. You can’t both denounce harm and profit off the person perpetuating it. Real activism in that space may mean letting go of the thing that brings you followers, money, or comfort.

Or let's look at some of the other small acts of "resistance" often called performative. Wearing red lipstick, pink pussy hats, wearing a rainbow pin or a safety pin, etc. These acts alone don't mean anything and are performative. When paired with impactful, meaningful work? Sometimes they do work. It's all about context and nuance.

But this is where the gap between performative and real activism becomes clear:

• Performative activism is a singular post, a caption, a momentary nod to an issue, and then moving on to the next thing without doing any real work (either internally or publicly).

• Real activism is ongoing. It’s correcting mistakes, centering the cause (not yourself), and being willing to sacrifice when your comfort, income, or image conflicts with your values.

You don’t have to be perfect to be an activist. But you do have to be accountable. And sometimes, accountability means walking away from the easy option. Because in the end, you can’t just talk the talk. You have to walk the walk.

And you need to be open to learning when people call you out on this. If your first instinct when someone points out harm is defensiveness (“I didn’t mean it, why are you being so harsh?”), you’re probably leaning into tone policing. That’s different from asking someone with influence to use their platform responsibly (like speaking up about National Parks when they profit from them).

When someone tells you that a comment you made was harmful or rooted in bias, and your first response is, ‘Well, I just wish you had said it more nicely,’ you’ve already shifted the conversation away from the harm and onto your feelings.

💡 Read more on tone policing, white saviorism, and why discomfort is a critical part of anti-racism work here.

Discomfort can feel threatening, but it’s also where change happens. 

“To refuse to listen to someone’s cries for justice and equality until the request comes in a language you feel comfortable with is a way of asserting your dominance over them in the situation.” — Ijeoma Oluo, Author, So You Want to Talk About Race

🤝 Activism looks different for everyone

There is no single “right” way to be an activist. Fighting fascism (or any systemic injustice) looks different depending on your identity, privilege, and circumstances.

• Privilege and risk: If you’re Black, Brown, Indigenous, queer, trans, undocumented, disabled, or otherwise marginalized, your risk of violence or harassment (both online and in real life) is significantly higher. Especially in the surveillance state we live in today, everyone needs to protect their health and safety before they can consider anything else. Your identity shapes what actions are safe for you.

  
  

• Health and capacity: Maybe you’re disabled, immunocompromised, or, like me right now, pregnant. That doesn’t mean you’re not contributing; it means your activism looks different. You might not be able to physically show up to a protest, but maybe you can help spread awareness online.

  
  

• Family and care work: Parents and caregivers have limitations as well. They may not always make it to marches, for example, but raising children with justice-minded values is activism, too. And it’s important as hell (if not the most important) work. We need to celebrate the people raising the next generation of thoughtful, intelligent, empathetic people.

  
  

• Financial resources: Not everyone has money to spare. Many are simply surviving day-to-day. The ability to drive somewhere, donate, or even give the invaluable resource of time is impossible for many because we’re in survival mode. Everything has a cost, and some folks have more to spare than others.

  
  

You also don’t know the full picture of someone. This comes back to that point about how there's no such thing as perfection when it comes to activism. We can't expect everyone to do literally everything. For example, you might criticize someone for working at Amazon because you think they’re supporting “the man” somehow, but you don’t see that the stability from that job allows them to:

• Raise compassionate children who carry justice into the next generation.

• Hire household help so they have more time to organize locally.

• Donate consistently to mutual aid funds, grassroots groups, or nonprofits that desperately need it.

A disabled activist might run the logistics of a campaign from home. A student might design graphics instead of donating money. An elder might mentor younger organizers when they can’t be on the frontlines.

The road to revolution is paved with many different actions. Some big, some small. It’s on all of us.

💙 You also don’t have to do everything all the time

Another myth about activism is that you must weigh in on or be an expert on every single issue to be taken seriously. You'll often see nitpicking people in the comment sections being like, "Why didn't you say anything about X?!" and they're referencing a completely unrelated issue. The truth is, specializing in one area and going deep can be just as impactful (if not more) than touching on everything at the surface level.

For some, that focus might be climate justice. For others, it might be racial equity, LGBTQ+ rights, disability justice, or immigration reform. By digging into one area with depth and consistency, you build expertise, credibility, and community trust. You create resources people can return to. You help shape the narrative in a sustained way.

This doesn’t mean you can’t stand in solidarity with other causes. It certainly doesn’t mean you lack the ability to think intersectionally. Choosing to specialize isn’t a weakness; it’s a strategy. Movements thrive when we all play different roles, focusing on where our skills, knowledge, and lived experience are strongest.

• A lawyer specializing in environmental policy doesn’t need to also be an expert in prison abolition to make a difference.

  
  

• A parent who is raising three kids might not have the capacity to join every protest, but their local focus is critical.

  
  

• A creator with a platform rooted in the outdoors can (and should) speak out when public lands are under threat, but they don’t have to post daily about every single political issue.

No one person can carry it all. And we should never expect that. But when we each go deep in our lanes (and link arms across movements), we cover more ground, more effectively. That’s what collective action is all about.

✊ Ways to resist that go beyond donating money

Money matters, but it’s not the only way to contribute to the causes you care about. Some of the most impactful contributions cost nothing.

• Protesting and direct action: Showing up in the streets when you can.

  
  

• Community organizing: Building mutual aid, running local campaigns, supporting unions, etc.

  
  

• Raising the next generation: Teaching kids empathy, justice, and resilience.

  
  

• Having hard conversations: Challenging bigotry, ignorance, or climate denial in your own circles.

  
  

• Offering skills: Design, accounting, writing, caregiving, etc. Movements need all of it.

  
  

• Sharing knowledge: Breaking down complex policies into accessible, usable information.

  
  

• Volunteering: Phone banking, canvassing, mentoring, or providing childcare for activists.

  
  

• Creating culture: Art, music, film, storytelling, etc. Shaping the narrative is also resistance.

And honestly? Sometimes fighting fascism just looks like showing up and taking care of yourself. Because if you're not doing that, you're not going to be effective elsewhere.

Each action is a piece of the puzzle. Together, they create a movement.

Here's a great post from one of my mutuals sharing ways in which they participate in activism that are realistic. 👇

📱 Online activism and visibility still matter

It’s also worth saying: Not all online activism is performative. In fact, social media has been one of the most powerful tools for modern movements, helping spread information quickly, mobilize people at scale, and shine a spotlight on injustices that mainstream media ignores.

Sharing resources, explaining complex policies, or posting calls to action online is often dismissed as “slacktivism.” But the reality is:

• Visibility has a cost. Speaking out publicly can put people at risk of harassment, doxxing, job loss, or even physical harm, especially for women, BIPOC, queer, trans, and disabled creators. Choosing to be visible isn’t risk-free; it’s labor and vulnerability.

  
  

• Information distribution is critical. Online posts have fueled historic movements. Think about how videos of police violence during the civil rights era, or livestreams from protests in 2020, shaped public opinion and spurred real-world action.

  
  

• Online efforts create offline action. Posts don’t exist in a vacuum. They can lead directly to protest turnout, fundraising spikes, public comment submissions, and policy pressure. My own Roadless Rule campaign is proof of that: Awareness posts turned into thousands of comments submitted to the USDA.

  
  

• Marginalized voices need amplification. For people shut out of traditional media, the internet is often the only platform available. To dismiss their work as “performative” ignores the barriers they already face to being heard.

The problem isn’t with posting online. The problem is with posting only for the appearance of caring, without pairing it with action, resources, or risk. Online activism done with intention is not performative; it’s essential.

❤️‍🩹 Imperfect activism still matters

Your activism doesn’t have to be perfect to matter. We’re all going to make mistakes.

What matters is that you're:

• Listening when we’re called in or called out.

• Learning and adjusting.

• Knowing when our actions unintentionally cause harm, even if they were well-intentioned.

• Holding ourselves and each other accountable. And not to perfection, but to effectiveness, honesty, and care.

Because yes, there is such a thing as ineffective or harmful activism. Calling someone out for not “doing enough” while doing nothing yourself? That’s one of them. Most of us are trying our damn best, and we need to celebrate that.

But also remember! Sometimes what looks like nitpicking is actually people from marginalized communities pointing out harm we don’t see. That’s different from performative pile-ons.

🌱 Where and how to start your activism journey

Everyone starts somewhere. Nobody wakes up one day fully equipped to donate, organize a protest, or launch a grassroots campaign. Most of us begin with smaller, quieter steps, and that’s okay.

The pink pussy hats and the Women’s March in 2017 are often pointed to today as an example of exclusionary activism (sometimes called “white woman feminism” and for good reason). There’s truth in that critique. The symbolism centered cisgender womanhood in ways that excluded trans women and nonbinary people, and the march itself didn’t always represent the full spectrum of those most harmed by systemic injustice.

But here’s the other truth: For many people (myself included!!) the Women’s March was a first step. It was the first protest I ever attended. At the time, it felt groundbreaking! It was a way to step off the sidelines, join with others, and raise my voice. It mattered because it helped me realize I could be part of something bigger. I wouldn't be where I am today if I hadn't attended that first protest.

Women's March 2018 in Seattle, WA

Nearly a decade later, I’ve learned and grown. I’ve immersed myself in different communities, listened to perspectives that weren’t centered at that march (i.e. the "plight of the white woman"), and come to understand the limitations of that kind of activism. Was it the most impactful thing I could do at the time? Yes! Is it the most impactful thing I can do now, with more knowledge and lived experience? Absolutely not. There's a lot more I can do.

We see similar critiques of Glennon Doyle’s book or her podcast. They are often criticized by people with a more in-depth understanding of intersectional feminism for centering white womanhood and lacking nuance. And those critiques are valid. But it’s also undeniable that for many, many people, Doyle’s work is their first entry point into feminism, personal growth, or even activism.

Should that be the endpoint? No. Absolutely not. We should always push further, toward intersectionality and toward centering the most marginalized voices. But dismissing or tearing down these entry points entirely misses the point: People need approachable starting places. If we make every beginning step seem invalid, fewer people will ever take the first step at all.

The goal isn’t to stop at the pink pussy hats or Glennon Doyle. The goal is to start there, and then keep going.

“The process of empowerment cannot be simplistically defined in accordance with our own particular class interests. We must learn to lift as we climb.” — Angela Davis

Activism can start with small steps. That doesn't mean they're worthless.

• Learning and unlearning. Reading books, listening to podcasts, following educators, and challenging the narratives you’ve grown up with.

  
  

• Changing what you consume. Diversifying the media you watch, the voices you follow, and the stories you amplify.

  
  

• Practicing courage. Maybe the first step is posting something on social media, even if it feels scary. For a lot of people, that’s an important leap into public solidarity.

  
  

Don't be discouraged. The reality is that most activists’ journeys are layered and iterative: Private learning leads to public sharing, which can lead to deeper engagement like volunteering, donating, or organizing.

The important thing is to start. A single social media post isn’t the end of the journey, but it can be the beginning of a much longer, more impactful path.

Real activism grows over time, and no two paths look the same. What matters most is that you keep trying your best and moving forward.

➡️ The bottom line

Real activism is about action, not appearances. It’s about putting in the work where it counts, whether that’s organizing, educating, amplifying, fundraising, or creating. 

If you ever feel the urge to tell someone to “do more,” pause and ask:

• Am I doing the work myself?

• How do I know they’re not doing enough?

• Am I supporting the people who already are doing a lot?

• Or am I just trying to look like I care?

That’s the line between real activism and performative activism.

And if we want to win (against fascism, against environmental destruction, against injustice), we need all of us, in all our different ways, pulling together on the side of real action.

“You have to act as if it were possible to radically transform the world. And you have to do it all the time.” — Angela Davis

✨ Bonus reading/watching