Today, or yesterday, or probably both, someone meeting exceedingly narrow current “standards” of attractiveness, and perhaps with a fair bit of money, but almost certainly exhibiting little or no real talent, behaved in a way sufficiently rude and/or crude that were the perpetrator a friend or coworker, some degree of anger or even temporary ostracism might have occurred.
However, because the offender is a “star,” she was lionized instead. Oh, not literally. Of course the behavior was roundly condemned. But cameras flashed, microphones were thrust, and People magazines and National Enquirers were eagerly snapped up all the same. Doesn’t make a damned bit of difference whether what the urchin did was noble or appalling.
Why do we as a society celebrate these bratty kids? Why does it lead the news that some pathetic hotel fortune heiress used racial slurs? Who gives a shit? Spoiled little children can be redneck trash too; film at eleven!
By far, the sexiest trait in a woman is self-confidence. All of these children (and you know who I’m talking about; just leave any young people with actual talent out of your mind) seem to me to be pathetic and bottomless baskets of need who continuously crave the perceived validation of those camera flashes and microphones. Moreover, as often as not, they’re physical freaks: heroin-addict thin and already having their bodies hacked on in their early 20s. Oh, and good luck getting a complete sentence expressing a coherent thought from any of them.
It wasn’t always like this. I suppose part of my reaction is fuddy-duddyness. But really, have young celebrities ever been so thoroughly and uniformly vapid before?
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You may not agree with me, but I think Farrah Fawcett was pretty much the same way back when. She was a ditz who looked good in a bathing suit.
No, I’m sure there’s merit to that, though I think maybe today’s hyper-connectedness makes it seem worse. I’d love to hear what Marshall McLuhan would have to say about the ubiquity of the Internet, and particularly the World Wide Web.
Or maybe I’m just becoming a grumpy old man at 35.
35 ain’t old, grasshopper. If my brain cells weren’t dying off, I am sure I could come up with more useless media icons from the 70s. We did have pet rocks, too, and mood rings. We were the generation of stupid and meaningless. These youngsters got nothing on me.