Until I started writing this column, I could not have told you what the Johnny Depp-Amber Heard trial was about.

I knew it took place in Virginia, not too far from where I live, because my friends would tell me about the crowds that would gather outside the courthouse every day. I knew young teenagers and adults — many of whom could not have told you who Kate Moss was before this trial — had become obsessed with coverage of Depp and Heard’s testimonies on TikTok. I knew Depp wrote cryptic messages on the walls of his house with blood from a finger that had been allegedly sliced off during one of his heated fights with Heard, that Heard allegedly defecated in his bed and tried to blame it on her dog, and that the one thing I have in common with Depp is that we both enjoy a “mega pint” of wine on occasion.