We’re in the Cavinder Twins’ apartment eight floors above the sun-dappled sprawl of South Florida. A blender whirrs, mixing kiwi-yogurt-almond butter smoothies. A photographer takes pictures. A representative from the Twins’ sports-marketing agency, always scouting for content, takes pictures of the picture-taker. And the Twins, a tornado of blonde ponytails and crop tops and selfies, talk to or past each other—a high-pitched swirl of voices woven together in a strangely cohesive harmony.
Their apartment is sleek, generic, devoid of personal detail. There are no photographs of parents or siblings, no refrigerator magnets, no books (except for quarterback Tim Tebow’s latest meditation on God and the quest for personal meaning).
Read Full Article »