No, I’m not a mean hearted son of an asshole (I’m a daughter actually and I’m sure you could trace my lineage up to find an asshole somewhere and it probably won’t take long either). At least I don’t think I am. I get pleasure out of seeing the Britney’s, the Nicoles, the Paris’s, the Fiftys fuck up. It’s not because I want people to fail. I just want everyone to see that these people we’ve put in a pink glass box, following their every move, buying all of their shit and believing their hype, are actually just like us.

Flash back to high school. You were a:
a) jock
b) princess
c) nerd
d) rebel/loser
e) weirdo

Pick one (thanks to the Breakfast Club, that was an easy multi choice). You fit in one of those categories. You can get up in arms about your specifics and you may even bleed over into another category but in your heart, you know what table you had to sit at. Princess and Jocks, take a backseat for a moment. The rest of you, remember how it was to walk past the table full of cool kids and have them laugh and joke and look so effortlessly joyous about how easy things were for them. How did you feel? Did you conjure up shit bombs for lockers? Did you spend hours in the mirror deconstructing your body? Did you write your name and Fill-in-the-blank-popular kid over and over? Are you recognizing a pattern? If yes, congratulations and cancel your Us Weekly subscription immediately (go online. It’s free and you can get snippets while juggling between that site and some real news like BBC – ying and yang, buddy. Ying and yang). If no, please continue.

I will cut myself open here for the sake of evangelism. Not Jesus or anything. Just trying nip this fake magic star power in the bud a bit so we can get back to focusing on people who do real stuff for a living (I am not counting celebrity entrepreneurship. Paris’s perfume is NOT an acceptable burden of proof. You wouldn’t buy her piss water if you didn’t know who she was. Therefore, no business.). When I was in grade school, I felt like an oily round Ewok-cousin. My legs were short and stocky (ahem, now they are “shapely” for you Judy Blume “Blubber” fans – good ole “shapely legs”). My hair felt more like Miss Celie’s pre-Shug Avery visit. My acne gave my mother nightmares. My teeth were bigger than any Warner Brothers cartoon character’s chomp. When I looked in the mirror, all I saw was a female Fat Albert.

Enter Kelly Thompson and Dealie Luckett. Ask me why I remember these names and I could probably go deep and tell you that they represent the first time I really ever felt like I was never going to be good enough. And it has absolutely nothing to do with them! All they did was come to school with the latest Cabbage Patch Kid (including the stroller and baby carrier – please believe), the newest Guess Jeans, the longest hair, the newest Lottos (various velcro colored logos included), the lightest skin, the newest dances, the richest parents (so I thought – Kelly and I got to be friends later and that always helps demystify the dumb stories you tell yourself), the funniest jokes…in other words EVERYTHING. They walked down the hall like they were the astronaut crew for Apollo 13. People got out of their way. Boys desperately tried to find something to make fun of about them (boys are good like that). Girls just felt bad…well, this girl did. I desperately wanted their long legs and Guess jeans, to put on colors they could wear without looking like I’d escaped from the orphanage, to be without care or effort. Why oh why did I have to look like an Ewok when they looked like Princess Leah?

For those who didn’t see the connection before, I beg you to see it now. We have never really left school. There are always Cool Kids or In Crowds that we all need to feel like we can belong to. Celebrity-ism just a big old high school superimposed on the world. When you give In Crowds enough power, they believe their own hype and you continue to give them the story to pump up. That’s why I’m glad Britney bombed on the VMAs. How dare you come out, after all that hype we gave you, and do your worst? Do you think we buy your albums for the minimal effort you can do? Hell no. You are not that fresh. There is always somebody after you to slide into that In Crowd (see the movie “Heathers”) and do the damn thing. Do I feel bad that Lohan is in rehab? No! I wish my Uncle Tony was in rehab more than her. I wish he would get his life together and stop riding dirty since he has kids now. Never mind Uncle Tony, MOST OF MY FAMILY NEEDS REHAB. So while Lindsay drives drunk and crashes shit and runs people down, I’m too busy thinking about whether or not we give her chances to other people. And that’s a quick answer of, “hell no.” So, Dina Lohan, I’ll not give your daughter some alone time. She didn’t ask for it when she was riding high. She asked for more attention. Just like any member of the In Crowd.

Which brings me to…

Princess and Jocks (don’t think I forgot). Learn your lessons here now. That insatiable need to feel fulfilled through the undying attention and devotion of others will definitely get you on a reality show if you’re dumb enough but will not ever make you feel secure enough. There is always a balance for what you desire so be ready for the downs that will for sure follow the ups. No need to take it out on those of us with less charisma and slightly less symmetrical facial features. Find something real instead of bullshit. Don’t call yourself a role model until you really can define your own role. Read a damn book for crying out loud instead of letting your stylist pick one out for you in case the paparazzi catches you.

With age I know that Kelly Thompson and Dealie Luckett did not forever lead the life of a Disney character, with birds and animals following behind them while some fairy plays a flute. I was lucky to find that out though. Can you imagine how many Britney wannabes or Nicole stalkers would never find out that being in the In Crowd has consequences? I say continue to fall, Famous People. It’s a reality check for all of us.

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