French Obsession
By Sally Bishai (03/16/06)
Actually, today’s jaunt has nothing to do with the most elegant and fashionable people alive, and everything to do with society’s sick obsession with someone who may dress well, but doesn’t have a classy bone in her body: Paris Hilton.
Now, as everyone knows, I generally stay away from “entertainment” and “celeb news,” merely because I have the least amount of respect possible for these “people.”
I say “people” because they aren’t really the same in real life as they are to Barbara Walters and Joan Rivers.
They can’t be, they have an image to watch out for, and to be honest, I can’t blame them. (This is not to suggest that anyone who is NOT a celebrity is automatically genuine and non-image-conscious.)
But this isn’t about the Plastic People.
This isn’t even about the sick national obsession with Jennifer and Brad’s divorce, with Brad’s subsequent fling with Angelina, or even Britney’s failing marriage. I’ll spare you a sermon on why I think it’s ridiculous to follow the life stories of people one doesn’t even know, although I’m sure you can guess that I think it’s, well, ridiculous.
Rather, this is about a sick national obsession with a “celeb” whose chief talent is looking good and being bad.
Seriously. WHAT has Paris Hilton even done to merit fame?
At least with people like Britney and N*Sync (who’ve been accused of being “products” rather than viable music-makers, for the record) we have a tangible thing—their records—to hold up in justification for their fame.
Ok, so maybe they didn’t write the songs, but they dance semi-well and produce a musical sound that isn’t unpleasing. (Ok, you caught me, I’m a closet N*Sync fan.)
At least with Angelina and Jennifer (and whatever young starlets are en vogue now) we have DVDs that prove to be mildly entertaining (you’ll notice I left Brad out of the equation), and which may even cause the viewer’s positive feelings for whatever characters are being animated by these actresses to transfer TO said actresses, creating an interest in their personal life.
But Paris!
What has she done?
Here is a list of her pre-fame accomplishments:
1. Was born to a good businessman.
2. Used to be a striking adolescent, a bit gawky maybe, but elegant.
3. Had plastic surgery and wears blue contact lenses and skimpy outfits in public.
4. Wasn’t happy with her lack of fame and then staged “the sex tape fiasco,” after which she rose to fame.
Oh, sorry, you don’t know what I’m talking about?
Well, she apparently recorded an overnight (or just-over-6-minutes, actually) encounter with some guy, then ended up suing him for releasing it, even though she was behind the release of the video in the first place. (Why would an heiress need the small change of a few million dollars, by the way?)
The video’s title? “1 Night In Paris.” (Classy.)
Then people knew who she was, and began putting her on best- and worst-dressed lists everywhere.
Then she got some TV show (“The Simple Life” which I’ve never had the, erm, pleasure of watching), as well as a racy endorsement for a hamburger chain.
She’s been in films as “herself” (her key line in Zoolander with Ben Stiller: “Derek, you RULE”).
And magazines are tripping over themselves to report her latest exploits with her own (and other women’s) boyfriends. (You’ll forgive me if my timeline is confused, I have better things to do than following the life story of a girl whose fame is partially based on blue contact lenses.)
Now she’s even “written” a “book” and has gotten an Orlando nightclub named after her.
In all this, I am distressed by two main things (although, as the owner of several businesses, I’m not unhappy with her skill for “hustling” business deals and endorsements):
The first is the fact that the lass is obviously nothing more than talentless eye candy (although I would have to pass on this calorie-free and not-so-bonne bon).
This, however, I can forgive; Hollywood is filled with dolts who have naught more than fine bone structure to recommend them.
The second, and more distressing thing is the role that society has taken in this sick obsession.
I know that some of you are thinking “Sally, darling, speak for yourself, or at least, keep me out of it. I HATE Paris (in the Springgggtiiiiime. Sorry, couldn’t resist.)!”
That’s fine. However, magazine sales and the proliferation of articles like “What DID Paris order at Spago last Wednesday??” can only mean that people are paying attention (whether positive or negative, and dollars are dollars, no matter which way you slice it), or else the media-savvy (if nothing else) magazine execs would never waste the capital on covering this “Simple,” simpering and “Simarik” city-slicker.
To sum up, today’s fun and games have less to do with my disdain over the antics of one sartorially-splendid slattern (sorry, alliteration..!) and more to do with my distress and depression over society’s perverse Parisian preoccupation.
Ps- Let’s all boycott any magazines that have “Celeb news” or “Star Tracks” or “They Take Out The Trash, Too!” in them.
Ps again-“Simarik” is a Turkish word that means “Spoiled.” There’s an excellent song of the same name by delici-Turk Tarkan. For more information, or to do your ears—and eyes—a favor, visit http://tarkan.com/
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