Celeb-brattys

All celebrities must kind of be assholes brats. I mean, unless you’re the bestfuckingpersonever, I don’t see how all the endless adoration doesn’t go to you head. (It wouldn’t go to mine, of course, since I’m so great, but I digress.) People dedicate hours to making fan pages for you, they cry if they meet you, they spend $10 to hang a poster of you over their bed. You are larger-than-life to the average person, and if that’s not enough to make you a raging narcissist, all your people–agents, friends, directors, show hosts, journalists–fall all over you to give in to your every need.

But probably the most brat-inducing thing about being a celebrity is that people. Fucking. Love. You. I don’t mean all the stuff written above–that they love seeing you, and your work, and blah blah blah. In addition to that, they love YOU. The human. They want to know every little thing about you–your favorite color, how much you weigh, what your childhood was like, what you eat for a midnight snack, what movies are your favorites. They love you so God damn much they want to crawl inside your skin and be you. And that’s a lot of power for someone like, say, Lindsay Lohan.

It’s also the thing that I think (besides the free clothes) would be the best about being a celebrity. You get to talk about yourself all the time and answer stupid questions–that’s fun! Why the hell else would everyone take an hour back in 2003 to fill out those 300-question surveys on MySpace? WE LOVE OURSELVES. So, that shit would be cray.

And so I’m gonna do it! You should too, my regular-ass readers, because let’s face it–we’re all pretty and talented and interesting enough to be famous, we just don’t have famous parents or a coke habit (I hope). So feel free to fill out the Celebratty Full-of-Yourself Questionnaire in the comments–I promise, it’s almost as fun as having the paparazzi stalk your every move.

1. Place of birth. I’ll never tell. What?! I’m not the famous one here.
2. Number of tattoos, and meanings. One–freedom, beauty, and love.
3. Favorite food. Spicy tuna roll.
4. Pets? One kitten.
   
5. Worst thing about being famous. Free drugs.
6. Best thing about being famous. Free drugs.
7. Favorite designer. Bags, Balenciaga. Shoes, Louboutin. Dresses, Oscar de la Renta.
8. Favorite childhood memory. The lake.
9. Inspirational quote. “C’est la vie.”

This is dumb, now that I wrote it. I’m going to post it anyway. C’est la vie!

Why Women Hate Samantha Brick

(Hint: it’s not because she’s beautiful.) I’m not sure if any of you have had the pleasure to read Samantha Brick’s columns in The Daily Mail, but she came out with a doozy, titled, “There are downsides to looking this pretty–Why women hate me for being beautiful.” This is Samantha, by the way.

I’ll just let that sink in. Now, in the interest of fairness, Samantha is British, so the semi-busted teeth are not her fault. And besides her mouth (and looking slightly like Sloth from The Goonies if you look at her really fast then look away), she is really not ugly. She’s pretty, even–look at this picture.

But holy mother of pearl, is she delusional. You really have to read the article, but I’ll spare you and just pop in some highlights.

“While I’m no Elle Macpherson, I’m tall, slim, blonde and, so I’m often told, a good-looking woman. I know how lucky I am. But there are downsides to being pretty — the main one being that other women hate me for no other reason than my lovely looks.”

“I’ve been dropped by countless friends who felt threatened if I was merely in the presence of their other halves. If their partners dared to actually talk to me, a sudden chill would descend on the room.”

“Unfortunately women find nothing more annoying than someone else being the most attractive girl in a room.”

Um…yeeeeeah. Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think people hate you because you’re so ridiculously beautiful that their husbands would fall at your feet and your smile makes them want to rip off their own faces in jealousy. I’m pretty sure the reason people actually hate you is that you’re more conceited than Kanye West.

Loving yourself is just ducky, and thinking that you are a hot motherfuckin’ tamale is also totally kosher. Even kind of secretly thinking you look better than everyone in the room is sort of acceptable. BUT YOU CAN’T ACT LIKE IT. That’s the cardinal rule. There’s confidence, and then there’s swaning around complaining in a newspaper about how tough life is when you’re sooooooooo beautiful. I mean, you just sound like a twat.

On one foot, I sort of feel bad for ol’ Sammy Brick, because she really isn’t ugly and the whole Internet has just gone insane with comments about how hideous she is. Her personality isn’t cute, but her face is–she’s just not drop-dead, knock-’em-over gorgeous, which is how she writes about herself. I mean, has she ever seen a model? Or a celebrity? Or, you know, someone with white teeth (stupid question, she’s English)? But still, she writes in the article about how “not one girlfriend has ever asked [Samantha] to be her bridesmaid.” She obviously attributes this to the fact that she’s so stunning, the bride’s husband would inevitably veer over to Samantha and give her the ring instead. But, tragically obviously to the rest of the world, it’s clearly because she’s annoying as fuck and has no real friends.

On the other foot, come on, Sammy. You get free champagne and have doors opened for you and all that, so shut the fuck up and enjoy it.

Let’s Hate Ourselves

If you live in America, you probably hate yourself. Don’t feel bad, it’s just a thing, like knowing the Pledge of Allegiance or owning Levi’s. (I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all! Is that right? I typed it out of memory, okay?)

Anyway, people react to this whole society-makes-us-hate-ourselves thing in two ways: they either pretend they love everything about themselves and that their every flaw is a precious adorable diamond, or they keep a secret mental list of everything they would change about themselves if they could. An easy way to find out which type of person your friend is is to ask one simple question: “If you could get plastic surgery, what would you get done?” Absolutely everyone is going to swear they would never get it and they don’t want it, but the fine folks in sector two will then say, “But if I had to…” and then launch into their I-Suck List.

I am fully aware that this is kind of depressing and sad and blah blah blah, but it’s also totally fun if you still generally like yourself but have some things you would like to change. It’s like a game, except you can never win! Me, for instance: I would have thicker hair and perfect skin with a perennial tan and a ten-digit bank account. You just have to be careful not to play too much, or you might find yourself sobbing on the floor and slowly cutting off sections of your eyelashes.

This uplifting message has been brought to you by the WildHearts! And, big disclaimer, whatever you hate about yourself, someone else probably stalks you taking photographs of and wants to lick (your big feet, for instance). So just roll with it like our hippie-dippy friends in Sector One!

Don’t Debbie Down

I just watched The Truth About Cats and Dogs yesterday, by which I mean I fell asleep forty minutes into The Truth About Cats and Dogs. Before you immediately X out of your internet in fear of reading a whole post about an Uma Thurman movie, don’t worry. It just made me think of a stellar (read: stupid) blog topic for the day: Unconfident Debbie-Downer Type People!

Now, everybody knows someone like this. Maybe you are someone like this, but since you’re amazing enough to be reading my blog, I doubt it. You know the type: they complain constantly about themselves/how life hates them/how they have such bad luck/how nothing good ever comes their way. Usually, they attribute these complains to some personal trait. This probably generalizes to a whole bunch of Debbie Downers in a variety of situations, but I have most often encountered the Unconfident I-Am-So-Ugly-That-Life-Will-Never-Be-Good girl.

Take Janeane Garofalo from the Cats and Dogs movie. For the entire forty minutes my brain managed to focus on the TV without spontaneously combusting [note: if you typo this "cumbusting," which I did, it's a lot funnier], Jenny does nothing but bitch and complain about how she knows she is sooooo plain and hideous that the mere sight of her face turns men into eunuchs. In one scene, she drops salsa on her top BECAUSE SHE IS BEING A FUCKING SLOB AND WAVING AROUND A SALSA-COVERED CHIP and just says something to the effect of, “Oh, that would happen to me,” with such self-pity and desperation I think even the TV cringed.

I have, tragically, encountered this type of person more than once. Usually, they live on Tumblr, and churn out things like this. If you’re too lazy to click the link (no shame in that, man), it says, “If all girls started wearing no makeup and comfortable clothes, guys would have no choice but to fall for girls because of natural beauty.” I’ll give you a moment to swallow your vomit.

Now, that might seem a tad unrelated to the whole Uma Thurman movie, but the Unconfident People weave a tangled web, my friends. For the specific sub-set of Debbie Downers I’m talking about, their internal thought process apparently goes something like this:

“I do not think I am attractive.” –> “Good things happen to attractive people, but not to me, because [see previous].” –> “My life would be so much better if I was more attractive, but [see first statement].” –> “Therefore, I will hate everyone who I perceive to be attractive because [see second statement].”

As you can see, this complicated flow chart reflects the inner mind of an Unconfident Debbie Downer. Hate yourself, blame everything on earth on the thing you hate about yourself, and then hate everyone who has the trait you feel you’re lacking in. If I’m coming off a little harsh, it’s only because I want these people to SNAP OUT OF IT. Everyone has a good quality, and I am a firm believer that anyone can look attractive with proper care. For some reason, girls who long to be pretty but think they are ugly would rather bitch and complain about “slutty” girls with their whorish, eeeeevil makeup than slap some on themselves. News flash, Debbie Downers: that so-called tramp you’re hating on out of obvious jealousy probably looks exactly like you before she goes to the time and effort of making herself look better.

Don’t mistake me–girls do not need makeup. If you genuinely don’t like makeup, don’t wear it. But also, don’t bitch that you’re ugly, because God floated down from his cloud and make Revlon for a reason. And don’t call other girls sluts because they chose to do something you don’t. Oh, and as for that idiotic little Tumblr quote–any guy who wouldn’t date you because you don’t wear makeup is a massive douche, and not worth your time anyway.

My rant is nearing its close, so if you’ve hung in here this long, don’t think I’m a crazy. Everyone feels bad about themselves from time to time; it’s all a natural part of life and blah blah something holistic blah. All I am saying is that there is absolutley no reason to hate any part of your sexy self so think about that the next time you’re about to call someone you think (think! That doesn’t mean it’s true!) is prettier than you a fat, pig-faced whorebag.

This rant brought to you by the Coalition For People Who Are Sick of Hearing People Hate On Other People For Stupid Reasons Because We’re All Just Beautiful Flowers Anyway, Man.