Over at The Urban Woo, Clair makes another excellent post. There's so much to be said about the subject of hateful celebrities, that I may burst into flames before I can say it. So let me rant it down.
Suffice to say, the likes of Paris Hilton finding God after five minutes of jail hell, or the ludicrous 'Posh', looking like a Supermarionation project in her awful clothes, make me want to run through Bluewater with a machine gun. I'm so cross. I'm sick to death of this lot taking up airtime, column inches, my time. It's not news that Paris Hilton is in jail, out of jail on death row.
Let's take Posh. When I look at her I'm aghast. What DOES she look like? Somewhere a fashion designer is tittering into his clutchbag at what he's put her in. Surely no one wants to emulate this automaton? What do other celebs make of her? Don't they think she's bizarre-looking? And what does she talk about to other people? You see these pics of her meeting Cameron Diaz, who I think of as a down to earth jolly good laugh. What does she see? What can they possibly have to talk about? And what is Posh doing at all these dos in LA - what is she there for? What is she for, exactly. And her husband's no better. These are not real people.
But then real people are just as bad. A gaggle of heat-reading wannabes enter the BB house, with heads full of magazine covers and newspaper deals. This what real people are like now. Everyone's on the Z-list. Every no mark behaves like a star. Well I've had it!
God help us. It's enough to make your turn to religion.
6 comments:
I can't argue with any of that. But I can answer the question: "What are they for?"
I'm sure you can too: it's a five-letter word starting with 'm' and ending in 'oney'. Loadsamoney. Not just the money that the useless celebs themselves make from anyone gullible enough to pay them to make a record/appear on TV/wear a dress, but the money that flows on down to their armies of stylists, hairdressers, dog-walkers, nannies, security men and general hangers-on; the money they spend with estate agents, dress designers, car salesmen and whoever sells private jets and yachts; and the money that photographers, journalists and the publishing companies that employ them make from featuring the useless celebs.
The trouble is, as long as all these people have a vested interest in keeping these useless celebs in the public eye (and it doesn't really matter which ones, as long as there's a steady supply), they're not going to go away. And meanwhile, it's become accepted that this is what we, the public, want, and even non-moneymaking concerns like the BBC are too scared not to feature them because they don't want to look out of touch.
A few years ago I thought celeb-mania was bound to burn itself out, but now I'm not so sure. So I just try to ignore them instead.
If I could ignore it I would, but they're everywhere. I'm moving to the Isle of Bute.
Wouldn't recommend it F-C - you'd have peace and quiet, but the Lena Zavaroni souvenirs would be everywhere....:-)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lena_Zavaroni
*VS adopts Zen-like calmness*
Ignore 'em is the only way I'm afraid. Mme S loves BB and has a fondness for the type of magazine on which Gladys Beckham (I'll never call her Posh)is often found. Mme has every right to watch and read what she wants. But I'm here in front of the computer for the next month hiding from the TV.
One quick comment on BB and the Apprentice. Isn't the media and the viewing public rewarding these wankers for behaving badly. It's like me giving my dog a biscuit for shitting on the kitchen floor. Wankers.
*re-adopts Zen-like serenity*
PS, F-C - Congratulations. You've become the comment king of blogland !
I'm following Val's lead and going Zen. If I think too much about being rewarded for bad behaviour I'll implode.
However, the Zavaroni souvenirs idea I like, Pam.
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