I, for one, have always been of the mind that we are invariably, and perhaps even inextricably, influenced by the world of celebrity. This is not simply because I rush to imitate every phase Madonna/Esther goes through-including, but not limited to, her geisha moment, the cyber cowboy chic, the Patty Hearst-like rebel and the BoyToy in lace teddy (oops, have I revealed too much?).
What I suppose I mean is, for every substrate of the human species-let’s take the college campus for our anthropological purposes (misappropriation of scientific terms can be fun!)-we can find celebrity exemplars that guide the way and, perchance, show the pratfalls of any given clich‚, er, lifestyle. Let’s commence our evisceration of your way of life, shall we?
Our friends (or yours perhaps) the stoners, with their celebration of that day in April, and their slowed speech and impaired judgment call, need only to look at Snoop Dogg as their deity of drug. Frankly, the man is so doped up that he has invented an entire language-which my father once used in front of polite company, not only embarrassing himself but leading me to question his paternity. The unfortunate side of this choice, of course, is that you might one day choose to trade your thrift store T-shirts and shaggy hair don’ts for (gasp!) Snoop Dogg’s quite regrettable pimp attire. Before you hang one piece of bling around your neck, I implore you to ask yourself two things: Is that really you, and do you have any right to force us to see it?
Forging ahead, we consider that most ubiquitous of types on our, or any, fair campus: the average party girl. Here, we have many icons who these chickies are aspiring to be: Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, or, for those slow on the uptake and lacking in good judgment, Tara Reid. The latter, of course, now claims to be changing her ways, but that’s about as likely as anyone seeing her recent movie in which she plays (wait for it) a brainy anthropologist.
Take a moment to collect yourself; I had to. At any rate, these bimbos with bucks flit around in barely-there outfits and make general fools of themselves, all the while looking like a parrot exploded all over their faces with hair sticking in the makeup they so hastily applied between shots during pre-gaming. Got all that? Sound like anyone you know? I didn’t think so.
Of course, there are those who prefer their party to be a bit more, shall we say for the sake of argument, intellectual. If you’re wondering which celebs make their way to wine and cheese soirees, then only one name comes to mind: Britney. Wait, that’s only if Cheetos and Big Gulps are on the menu. Rather, it is folks like the supremely detestable Julia Stiles and other got-into-an-Ivy-because-I-made-a-crappy-movie-or-two twits like Natalie Portman, or Ms. Stiles’ partner in crime, Leelee Sobieski. I ask you, do you really want to associate yourself with anything Julia or Leelee are doing? Have you heard them speak? Have you been able to suppress the bile?
Though I have always been comforted that in being true to myself, I am being true to the star that I idolize, others may not find this thought so warm and fuzzy. But the facts are the facts, kids. So pick your star wisely or you just might end up drawing comparisons to Corey Feldman or Haim.