
What is the Real Project X on Netflix about? Facebook party invite explained
BACK in 2012, a small Dutch town was turned upside down when a teenager made a simple mistake on social media.
A sweet sixteen party got so out of hand that the notorious night was even made into a Hollywood movie titled Project X.
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What is the Real Project X on Netflix about?
In 2012, a teenage girl wanted to invite some friends to her sixteenth birthday party in her hometown of Haren, Groningen, Netherlands.
She created an event on Facebook, intending for it to be a private gathering.
However, she accidentally set the invitation to public, meaning anyone could see it and RSVP.
What happened next was completely unexpected and soon became a cautionary tale about the power and unpredictability of social media.
Like in the Hollywood movie Project X — released just months earlier, depicting a wild, out-of-control high school party — Dutch teenagers began to share and spread the Facebook event.
In the film, the party quickly spirals into chaos, with hundreds of people showing up, leading to excessive drinking, drug use, property destruction, violence and a full-scale police intervention.
It ends with the main characters facing serious consequences, including legal trouble and financial ruin due to the damages caused.
Project X was reportedly loosely inspired by a real-life event in 2008 in Melbourne, Australia, where a teenager threw a massive party while his parents were away.
He promoted it on social media and over 500 people attended, resulting in property damage and police involvement.
Back in Haren in 2012, the Facebook invite for the birthday party quickly went viral, with thousands of people RSVPing.
Despite being warned about the potential scale of the gathering, local authorities underestimated how big the event would become and failed to prepare adequate security or crowd control measures.
When the day of the party arrived, a massive crowd descended on the small town.
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The situation rapidly escalated from a harmless gathering to a full-blown riot.
There was widespread disorder, vandalism, looting and clashes with police.
The town of Haren suffered major property damage and the event made headlines across the Netherlands and beyond.
Trainwreck: The Real Project X
An episode of Netflix's Trainwrecked documents this extraordinary sequence of events.
Using interviews, archival footage and social media posts, it pieces together how a simple Facebook mistake led to total chaos.
It also examines the role of the Project X movie in inspiring teens to attend the party — blurring the line between fiction and reality.
Episodes of Trainwreck started dropping on Netflix on June 10, 2025, with The Real Project X available for streaming from July 8.
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Daily Mail
43 minutes ago
- Daily Mail
EXCLUSIVE Experts reveal what 30-year-olds should look like now - and why it's changed
Age is just a number - but thanks to beauty treatments, sophisticated skincare routines, the subtle plastic surgery, that number is getting harder to figure out based on how someone looks. Back in the '90s, the face of a 30-something-year-old looked very distinct, but now, age-reducing procedures and modern makeup techniques has made age a lot more ambiguous. Gen Z TikTok users are regularly expressing their disbelief when they discover a celebrity has a '3' in front of their age - such as when fans were stunned to learn Bridgerton star, Nicola Coughlan, was 37-years-old. In March, fans were left stunned over Anne Hathaway's youthful appearance after the 42-year-old showed off her stunning glow at the Moncler Grenoble Fall/Winter 2025 Show, with the actress throwing people into a tailspin thanks to her flawless skin. And in May, Kris Jenner - who is almost 70 - debuted a new look that left fans gushing that she appeared decades younger. Social media has certainly changed the perception of what middle-age should look like. In the past, TV shows like Cheers or Seinfeld very painted a different image of what a person in this 30s looks like, with many of the characters appearing much older than what it is perceived today of people in their 30s. 'The perception of 30 has changed because cosmetic procedures have become normalized, especially on social media,' Dr. Ann Monis, a Clinical and Forensic Psychologist at Medical Anti-Aging told the Daily Mail about the phenomenon. '[Influencers and public figures are sharing] their injectables, skin treatments and surgical tweaks,' Dr. Monis explained. 'That constant visibility shifts what we think is typical for 30.' Dr. Monis added that the shift isn't just cultural, but psychological as well. 'This is happening because repetition changes how the brain sets expectations,' the medical professional explained. 'When someone sees the same kind of edited or altered face over and over, the brain will then start treating that image as the baseline. It becomes the new 'normal' even though it is not natural or accurate.' She said in the past, people tried to dial back the clock all at once, whereas now, due to a combination of accessibility and new procedures, the change is happening slowly and from an earlier age. 'What used to be considered early signs of aging is now something people feel they need to erase before it fully appears,' Dr. Monis pointed out. Dr. Joshua Korman, a board-certified plastic surgeon and founder of Korman Plastic Surgery, based in Northern California, agreed, noting that '30 years ago, 50 really was kind of middle age.' 'I think a lot of times middle age may be 70 now,' Dr. Korman, who has worked as a plastic surgeon for 30 years, continued. Dr. Korman claimed the ideal face of a 30-year-old is: 'No pimples and no wrinkles.' '[People are] turning to technologies and medications to make the skin more rejuvenated, even at a young age, like in the 20s and as people approach 30,' he said. Dr. Korman shared that we age in four ways, which can be remedied through various treatments. 'We age with gravity, volume loss, skin texture and dynamic wrinkles, the wrinkles when we smile,' he explained. 'So there's treatments for each one of those things, and surgical stuff really deals with the gravity.' Dr. Monis noted the normalized surgical approach to halting age has resulted in an unrealistic standard being set and normalized - something she personally has noted. 'Patients will bring in filtered photos, not to say they want to look enhanced, but because they believe that's how people their age actually look,' she revealed. Dr. Monis warned this can lead to people constantly aiming for a version of 30 that 'is not even grounded in reality.' 'The constant exposure to curated faces has trained people to see youth as a polished look, not a stage of life,' she said.


The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
‘Have you heard of this BDSM trend?' What I learned recording thousands of hours of teens on their phones
Reactions to Lauren Greenfield's documentary series Social Studies tend to fall into two categories. Young people think it is validating; adults think it's a horror show. After all, the screen of a teenager's smartphone is a shiny black hole to which access is rarely granted. 'Our kids are right there,' as Greenfield puts it, 'and yet we don't really know what's going on in their lives.' Her five-part series, which tracks the online and offline lives of a group of teenagers and young adults – the first generation of social media natives – is being tipped for an Emmy. Under the noses of their parents, she captures teenagers climbing out of bedroom windows to spend the night with boyfriends, posting sexually explicit images, tracking their longest-ever fast (91 hours) and living out their experiences of rape, cyberbullying, whitewashing, the tyranny of Caucasian beauty standards and suicidal ideation. She makes adolescence look like the wild west. 'I really tried to go into this as a social experiment,' says Greenfield, speaking on a video call from the Fahey/Klein Gallery in Los Angeles, which is hosting a Social Studies photographic exhibition until July. Initially she conducted more than 200 mini-interviews in high schools in LA, and then whittled these down to a cohort of about 25, who let her shoot them at home, at school, at parties, and in discussion groups over the course of the 2021-22 high school year. Crucially, they agreed to screen record, thereby sharing their online lives with Greenfield in real time. The result is a frenetic, immersive collage of a documentary, in which screens are overlaid on in-person lives. It is sometimes hard to keep pace, and hard to know where to look – but that is the point. Greenfield started out in anthropology; her first commission was for National Geographic, photographing Maya people in Mexico. Her mother, Patricia Marks Greenfield, a psychologist, was the writer. But after the project was dropped, she turned her gaze closer to home, to LA, where she grew up. Since her first monograph, Fast Forward: Growing Up in the Shadow of Hollywood, her work has focused on consumerism, extreme wealth, addiction and youth culture. The idea for Social Studies partly came from observing her youngest son Gabriel's phone habits. He was 14 when she started filming the series. 'We had constant battles about screen time.' Arguments? 'Yes,' she says. 'I never could control his access or see the content on his phone. He was super private about his phone, which is probably why I was so obsessed with getting into phones and really seeing what was in there.' Alongside about 1,000 hours of documentary footage, Greenfield also captured 2,000 hours of screen-recorded content. Her son 'helped to figure out the tech'. He was a year younger than most of the young people featured – and filming was personally confronting for Greenfield as a parent. Not least when she ran into him at a party she was filming. Making Social Studies has triggered her own evolution as a parent. 'I was blaming my son for his screen time,' she says. 'And I ended up feeling that's like blaming an opium addict for their addiction. Social media is made to be addictive – purposefully, for maximum engagement, and without any concern for the consequences.' Social Studies 'brought me together with my teenager', she says. Greenfield has previously said that she went into her 2002 monograph Girl Culture with an open mind 'and came out a feminist'. (She later directed the #LikeAGirl Super Bowl commercial.) Was the experience of filming Social Studies transformative too? Did she come out an activist? 'I definitely came out thinking that we were giving a very unsafe environment to our young people and we needed to do something about it,' she says. 'I did come out of it wanting to spread the word, raise awareness. It's about collective action.' She hadn't planned to include parents, which is interesting because those who do feature come off pretty badly. 'All of the parents?' she asks me. All except Vito, who lovingly supports his children through transition and alternative education. But others come across as missing in action or nonplussed. A mother, whose daughter films thirst traps in her bedroom, says: 'I really don't want to look at Sydney's TikTok.' A father stops his daughter using the app – by paying her $50 a day. 'But they really represent all of us,' Greenfield says. 'And not in a way where we can point a finger at them, but in a way where hopefully we are urged to reflect on ourselves. I mean, I didn't know a lot of the questions to ask my own kids until I did this project.' When working on the project, she would go home and ask her sons – the eldest was 20 and already at college – 'Have you heard of this BDSM trend?' For all the devastating revelations, there is humour here, too, as when one female participant says: 'We don't judge each other for [foot pics] but we also don't feel super-empowered.' It is hard to tell if the teenagers are incredibly worldly or incredibly naive. 'You start a TikTok to be in that TV show, movie-type life where everything comes easy for you,' says 17-year-old Keshawn, who soon after becomes a father. The shadow of Kim Kardashian looms large. Fittingly, her career tracks the arc of Greenfield's own, since Greenfield shot a then unknown 12-year-old Kardashian for Fast Forward. In Social Studies, to nods of agreement, one girl announces: 'I would release a sex tape if it made me viral.' Into the vacuum of adult regulation young people step, such as 20-year-old vigilante Anthony, who collects evidence from victims of assault and outs the perpetrators on social media. As he says, wisely and dispassionately: 'I'm part of cancel culture. It kind of works. It kind of doesn't work.' Greenfield implicates herself in the dynamic of absent adults. She asks the teenagers questions such as 'Who here has been sent a dick pic? Who has gone viral?' (Pretty much everyone.) Dressed in unobtrusive navy, she is a peripheral presence, and the only adult hearing, receiving, capturing revelation after revelation. She initially thought about casting a therapist or teacher but 'I realised it had to be me.' Though, she says: 'I don't like being in an authoritarian role at all.' Indeed, her presence sometimes feels like an absence, as when Sofia recounts her experience of being raped. Anthony helped her to gather evidence, but she hadn't felt heard and validated by adults. In the most moving scene, Sydney reaches out and hooks Sofia's fingers with her own. I wonder how Greenfield felt hearing a young woman share her experience of rape. Her attentive silence, while Sofia weeps, is notable. 'Don't I say, 'Are you OK?' and she says 'Yeah, I'm OK'?' she asks. Greenfield does ask 'OK?', but as check-ins go, it's pretty minimal. Given that she's a parent, did it feel hard not to step into the space of the circle? 'I mean, I think that felt very natural. If I could have avoided being in it altogether, I would have,' she says. So she didn't go home burdened by the emotional weight of the stories she had documented? 'It's an interesting question.' She pauses. 'I really love doing this work. It is so hard to get access and gain trust. When I'm hearing the stories, I'm so … fulfilled. My frustration is often if I can't tell the story. When I can actually tell it, I'm so happy. A lot of the young people participated because they wanted to tell a story. And they got to tell that story.' Greenfield has also documented her own addiction to work. At one point in 2018's Generation Wealth, her 16-year-old son Noah tells her she's a workaholic and a 10-year-old Gabriel holds up a piece of paper to the ever-present camera that says: 'You have a problem.' In Social Studies, there is a sense in which Greenfield is present as a person who intimately knows, and was herself a childhood victim of, the addictive comparison culture she documents. In Girl Culture, she writes about her experience, aged six, of looking in the mirror and 'realising that I was unimaginably ugly, and crying hysterically. I understood the pain and shame of not measuring up as a girl.' Maybe this girl, too, is in the circle in Social Studies. 'That was also when my parents were splitting up,' she says. 'So I think that was … maybe my origin trauma.' She would have found social media very hard as a teen. 'I was super insecure as a teenager about my body, about fashion, about fitting in. And I was really looking to other kids. So I zeroed in on this [in Social Studies]. I think the 24/7 comparison culture is not just the end of innocence but the end of joy. You're never happy with yourself.' 'What keeps me honest in my work is really coming from things that have affected me,' Greenfield says. Honesty is her medium – but not for too long on the subject of herself. When I ask about her arguments with her son, she says: 'I feel it's a trap to blame the parents. Really, the tech companies could make this completely different if they wanted to. These [apps] are made by humans, engineered to do exactly what they're doing. They know so well what kids love, what will addict kids, they even know brain science, which I think used to be unethical – to use brain science in the creation of products for young people. We know from the TikTok research that was leaked that [the app] is addictive in less than 35 minutes. 'And I was really struck when I saw last year the Jim Henson movie, Idea Man,' she says. 'The founder of Sesame Street – Joan Ganz Cooney – is talking about how they brought together artists who knew what kids loved – like Henson and the Muppet people – with educators who knew what kids needed to learn, and knew what was good for kids. And I was so moved by that,' she says. 'It almost makes me want to cry.' Given her unflinching calm in the most emotional documentary scenes, I am surprised to see that her eyes are pink and she looks as if she really might cry. 'Because it's another time. When people cared about what young people were getting.' A few weeks ago, she went to Sacramento with some of Social Studies' protagonists, to talk to senators. She has taken the series into schools. 'I do feel [making Social Studies] has activated me,' she says. She mentions how the Australian government has banned social media for under-16s, and Common Sense Media's campaign for health warnings on platforms. As Sydney points out in the series, once governments knew the dangers of smoking, they applied warnings. 'In the US, it is unlikely that [regulation] will be done by government or tech, but there is a critical mass of parents and educators who are getting concerned,' Greenfield says. In the final episode of Social Studies, the group reflects on the experience of taking part. For many, holding a conversation without a phone – they had to leave them in a different room – was a rare liberation. 'We all need to delete social media!' someone says – to the biggest round of applause. But the handclaps falter under existential questioning: 'How do you get off social media without people forgetting that you exist?' 'That really resonated with me,' Greenfield says. 'They are showing us there's a problem. They're giving us a roadmap for how to solve it. But they can't solve it on their own.' So what's the roadmap? 'We've given our communication to companies that not only don't have our best interests in mind and are just thinking about their own profit but maybe have a political agenda. And that is terrifying. We need an independent form of communication where our information is not being marketed, sold.' Some kind of public platform, like a public utility? 'Exactly. It's a radical move to just say, 'I'll be off of [social media].' As a person in the world, I can't be off of it, either.' A public-service communication platform sounds like a pipe dream. Is it possible? 'I feel like my job is to let people know what's going on. I'm not a tech entrepreneur so I don't know if it's possible,' she says. But she is too invested to leave it there. 'I do think it's possible, actually,' she adds. 'I absolutely think it is possible.' Social Studies is streaming on Disney+


Metro
2 hours ago
- Metro
We would never have got together if our partners hadn't died
Standing in our hotel room in Colchester, my girlfriend Emma and I should have been excited for our weekend break. Unfortunately, she was in tears instead. Something I'd said on the journey earlier had clearly upset her and while I can't remember the exact words I used, I do know that it concerned my previous partner and how she did things 'differently' when dealing with close family. Bringing up, let alone comparing, a former lover to your new partner is taboo for any relationship for this exact reason. But for us it was a bit more complex… Emma and I are both widowed. Emma's husband had died of a brain tumour in 2006 and I lost my wife Vikki to breast cancer a year after that. So, though we never mean it to, sometimes the past has a habit of coming back to haunt the present. Love had been the furthest thing from both our minds when our paths crossed in 2008. In fact, it happened completely by chance. Our children were in the same class at school, and we initially met at her daughter's birthday party. Our first conversation was very direct – we talked about other people's reactions to grief and we seemed to click straight away. Love reading juicy stories like this? Need some tips for how to spice things up in the bedroom? Sign up to The Hook-Up and we'll slide into your inbox every week with all the latest sex and dating stories from Metro. We can't wait for you to join us! I really liked her – she seemed clever, funny and fearless – and I thought she was gorgeous, too. I could immediately envisage a deeper relationship – it really was in that instant – but I dismissed it because it seemed too easy. How could a lovely, amazing woman who understood me, be a widow, too? On reflection though, it was my own cynicism and confidence that was the problem. After having a tough time for so long, I had to allow myself to accept that something wonderful could happen to me again, that I truly deserved a new and happy life. When we finally did get together, other people were so clearly pleased at our 'Hollywood ending' that they'd take me aside at parties to express how delighted they were. Of course, we were happy too. While grief was obviously a large part of what brought us together in the first place, we were also wrapped up in the newness of the relationship. It was such a relief just to share with someone again, have fun, be normal – simple things like going to the cinema, enjoying coastal walks, playing board games with the kids – it was all such a change after years of hospital treatments, scans and test results; of feeling like your life was on a permanent cliff edge. And yes, it helped that she and I both understood each other in a way our friends and family couldn't – there was nothing wrong with that, on the contrary, it was great. We knew what it felt like getting through those painful early anniversaries – the birthdays and Christmases. We understood how it felt to just get up on an average day and for no apparent reason, feel the sudden crushing weight of loss again. However, a year or so in, an agitating, niggling voice began to rear its head. From there, the inevitable complications, doubts, worries, insecurities – which I suppose had always been there – became more prominent. Was our attraction just a smokescreen? Did we really share more than tragedy and pain and a pretty good feel for the relative merits of oak versus oak-and-copper funeral caskets? Or was death such a big part of our relationship it was all we really had in common? In both cases it wasn't our choice to end our relationships with our previous partners, so how could we ever properly love a new partner when we'd never decided to stop loving the previous one? Then there was the fact that, though we avoided the untidiness and sense of bitterness that clouds some divorces, there was something else just as potent that we had to contend with: The deification of the deceased. You can't compete with a dead person. They don't make mistakes and it's a natural tendency to edit the past – the untidy bits, the poor bits – to paint those gone in a rosy hue somewhere in the region of perfection, and that's exactly what I did in that moment of thoughtlessness in that Colchester hotel room. My Life in a Garden: Love, Loss and Mulch: A Single Dad Seeks Answers in Nature by Carl Gorham (Ireton Press, £8.99) and available from all good book retailers Thankfully, I recognised what I'd done immediately and apologised, and she accepted and we moved past it. One of the things that we've both carried forward from our shared past is the inability to hold grudges. To this day, Emma and I rarely argue and, if we do, one of us stops it almost instantly – not because we're saints but because after everything we've been through, we know this time together is so precious and we'd rather not waste it. That's one of the reasons why in the end we haven't let our double bereavement overwhelm us. That, and the fact that there is so much more to our relationship than our common experience of losing a partner. We make each other happy. We make each other laugh. We're interested in each other, engaged by each other. We miss each other when we're apart. More Trending So, while it's true we wouldn't have got together if our partners hadn't died, we also certainly wouldn't have survived this long if we hadn't shared a lot more. In fact, our relationship, far from being weakened or undermined by our shared history, has in some ways, been strengthened by it. We have a better perspective when everyday things go wrong; we have a sort of measure against which we assess things and once you've looked on helplessly while your partner slips away, it turns out that bar ends up being pretty high. Life is very short, and we don't want to let any more of it slip by. We want to live. We want to flourish. We want to have fun. And that, for everyone, whether widowed or not, is surely the ultimate goal. Do you have a story you'd like to share? Get in touch by emailing Share your views in the comments below. MORE: Map reveals UK areas with highest rates of erectile dysfunction MORE: I was burned by 'check-in chicken' – heed my warning MORE: I'm desperate to lose my virginity but have a panic attack whenever I come close Your free newsletter guide to the best London has on offer, from drinks deals to restaurant reviews.