#realityhigh

The 2017 "influencer" was a very specific creature: a cocktail of Valencia filters, unboxed sponsorship deals, and a terrifyingly curated sense of "authenticity." Released right when the term was transitioning from a niche internet oddity to a legitimate (and often loathed) career path, #realityhigh captures a weirdly specific moment in our digital evolution. It arrived just before Netflix cracked the "Teen Rom-Com" code with To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, making it something of a fascinating, slightly awkward older sibling in the streaming giant's massive family of high school flicks.

I watched this recently while my phone was buzzing incessantly with notifications for apps I don’t remember downloading, and the irony of seeing the protagonist struggle with digital sensory overload was not lost on me. It’s a movie that feels like a time capsule from the exact second we realized that a "like" could be weaponized.

The Instagram-Era Makeover

The plot doesn't try to reinvent the wheel, but it does give it a new set of rims. We follow Dani Barnes (Nesta Cooper), a brilliant, vet-volunteer-extraordinaire who has spent her high school career successfully avoiding the radar of the "cool" kids. When she finally catches the eye of her long-term crush Cameron Drake (Keith Powers), she inadvertently starts a war with his ex, Alexa Medina (Alicia Sanz).

The twist here isn’t that Alexa is just a mean girl; she’s a brand. She’s got millions of followers and a ring light that follows her like a holy halo. It’s basically Mean Girls if Regina George had a TikTok strategy and a better understanding of engagement metrics. The film does a surprisingly decent job of showing how the "nerdy" girl doesn't just get a haircut and contacts—she gets a digital identity. Dani starts chasing the high of being seen, and watching her trade her genuine passion for animals for the shallow approval of a comment section is the most relatable, cringeworthy part of the experience.

Performances That Punch Above Their Weight

What keeps #realityhigh from falling into the pit of forgotten "content" is the cast. Nesta Cooper is immensely likable; she has a grounded energy that makes her descent into the vapid world of Alexa feel like a genuine tragedy rather than a plot point. She has great chemistry with Jake Borelli, who plays her best friend Freddie. Borelli is a standout here, bringing the kind of "best friend" energy that feels lived-in and real, rather than the usual trope of a sidekick who exists only to deliver quips.

But the movie belongs to Alicia Sanz. Playing a character like Alexa is a tightrope walk; you have to be monstrous but also explain why millions of people would actually want to watch your 15-second clips. Sanz plays the villain with a "live-laugh-love" toxicity that is genuinely unsettling. She nails the fake-sweet tone of a social media star who would sell her own soul for a better sponsorship deal on protein powder. It’s a sharp comedic performance that understands the specific narcissism of the late 2010s.

A Streaming Relic with Soul

Director Fernando Lebrija (who previously gave us the rowdy Sundown) brings a saturated, high-energy look to the film. It looks like a high-end YouTube vlog, which is clearly the point. Interestingly, the film was part of the early wave of "Reality High Productions," a sign that Netflix was testing the waters of creating its own internal "universes" of teen content.

There’s some fun trivia buried in the production, too. You’ll spot Anne Winters, who would go on to be a fixture in other teen staples like 13 Reasons Why, and Keith Powers, who was fresh off his breakout in The New Edition Story. At the time, this was just another "dumped on streaming" Friday release, but looking back, it’s a graveyard of talent that went on to much bigger things. It’s also one of the few films that captures the aesthetic of 2017—the specific choker necklaces, the "millennial pink" overload, and the dawn of the "influencer house"—without it feeling like a parody. The wardrobe choices in this movie are a terrifying time capsule of "peak Instagram" fashion.

While it hits the expected beats of a teen comedy—the big party that goes wrong, the misunderstanding with the boy, the "I’ve changed" realization—it manages to be more than the sum of its parts because it actually has something to say about how we perform our lives for strangers. It asks the question: if you didn’t post it, did you actually have a good time?

#realityhigh isn't a masterpiece, and it won't replace the 80s classics in the pantheon of teen cinema. However, it’s a breezy, often funny, and occasionally biting look at a culture we’re still very much stuck in. It's a perfect "rainy Sunday" watch that reminds us that even with a million followers, high school is still just a bunch of people desperately trying to fit in. If you can stomach the 2017-era slang, you'll find a comedy with a surprising amount of heart and some genuinely sharp observations about the digital cost of being "cool."