Category: Celeb Bratties

Ten ‘90s trends due for a comeback

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Remember the ‘80s? Or rather, our once-collective hatred of the ‘80s? Then American Apparel came along and used that washed-out Polaroid aesthetic to sexify Flashdance shirts, and we bought it, along with some leggings and legwarmers. We thought, “okay, so long as mullets don’t come back.” Then the faux-hawk went emo and everything from the Ziggy Stardust to the Farrah got an asymmetrical, jagged-edged revamp. And we thought, “that’s alright, so long as big shoulder pads are gone for good.” Then Lady Gaga…well…Lady Gaga.

I’m not incensed by any of this. What I find odd is that since the ‘80s went retro, the ‘90s have taken a beating. Thing is, I liked the ‘90s. Possibly because that’s when I was a teenager and life seemed simpler, if disproportionately more dramatic. But I really did have fun then. The grunge scene. Mosh pits. Pop psychology. I miss that whole era, and I’d bet if any of you think long and hard on it, you’ll get a bit nostalgic. So before you go treating the ‘90s like your dweeby kid sister, I want to point out which parts of that decade are worthy of a revisit.

p.s. I’m going to follow this up with a list of things that should have stayed in the ‘90s, and things we mercifully kept.

1. The Sixties

The first thing to mark the ‘90s was a ‘60s revival. It started with the big fat headband, made popular by Lady Miss Kier, followed by flower-power t-shirts, babydoll dresses and chunky heels. Hippy trends eventually ensued, from the long hair to the surprising return of bellbottoms and peace signs, which somehow got intermingled with grunge. Still, I’ll romanticize the ‘60s any day, and if Amy Winehouse and Mad Men are any indication, we can look forward to one swinging déjà vu.

Lady Miss Kier, from Deee-Lite. Is groove in your heart?

2. Beige and burgundy lipstick

In the 2Ks, makeup went the way of the fallacious “let’s look like we’re not wearing any” trend. Not so in the ‘90s. I can even date a ‘90s flick based purely on the shade of lipstick. Back then, wearing makeup meant observing the rite with the dutiful application of noticeable colours. I’m not sure why nobody committed to all-out red, but burgundy was the shade you wore to work, to dinner, or to the club if you wanted your style to say, “I’m a lipstick kind of woman.” For a more “natural” look, women wore beige. A very thick, opaque, heavily lip-lined beige. Resist it if you will, but remember that we long thought blue eye shadow was reserved for theme parties and John Waters drag.

 

Before, when you knew where the lips were.
After, with invisible mouths.

3. Contrasting colours and geometry

When I think of ‘90s fashions, I’m in the early years, when guys tucked silk dress shirts into a pair of baggy Edwins. There were different patterns on the shirts, and I even remember a Mondrian-inspired trend. It was all about very bright colours against white and black. Bold, wacko type came with it too. Before the ‘90s got all grungy, they were really clean-cut. I’m not sure how this could work again, so I’m looking forward to seeing how designers pull it off. And they will, because the revised ‘80s are on the brink of exhaustion.

Yes, it's who you think it is. Before he became the punchline of every joke about the '90s, he had the swoon-factor.

 

It's funny. I don't remember there being less copy on the cover. But come to think of it, that's not a bad idea.

4. Supermodels who aren’t identical to one another

Gemma Ward isn’t modelling anymore, but who can tell? Today’s models look like porcelain dolls: long, strawberry blond hair with widely set-apart eyes, small, round lips and a heart-shaped face. That’s the mould, and the ‘90s would have had none of it. Supermodels had to have a distinct look that almost suggested a personality. They had real bodies, too, even if they were still impossible thinner than you or I will ever be. They were also asked to speak on occasion, which meant we could associate them with opinions and views (vacuous though they were). You even know who I mean when I refer to them using their nicknames: the Chameleon, the Body and the Heroin Addict. Today, people are still fretting about how skinny models are, but I’m more miffed that they all look the same.

Remember when we were on a first-name basis with these ladies? Also note the lipstick.

5. Susan Powter

Fad diets are still around, but where’s the entertainment? Where’s the housewife who starved herself to get into her wedding dress, ballooned to over 200 lbs after popping out a couple of kids, then shaved her head and went all nutty when her husband cheated on her. Many moguls tried to sell their new-fangled weightloss technologies on shopping channels and infomercials, but only Susan Powter thrust dieting into the theatrical realm; rants, raves and all. And if you’ve ever been on a diet, your body will confirm that that’s about right. Sue’s still kicking about, but she’s quieted down, and her vlogs are downright boring. Where’s the anger, Powter? The low-carb trend is insanity! Make it stop it.

6. The electric piano riff

You know the one. It was in “Freedom,” “I’m too sexy,” “Good Vibrations,” and even EMF’s “Unbelievable.” I don’t know why recording studios chose this instrument to compel us to dance, but there it is. I’d love for it to replace the god-forsaken vocoder that’s become the conceal-my-terrible-voice device of choice for will.i.am, Kanye and co. In the meantime, here’s a video that combines a few of my favourite ‘90s things.

7. Masculine dance moves

Before grunge, many guys got all preppy. They dressed well, were more or less groomed, and really dug rap and soul. This usually meant they had a few cool dance moves to show off. There was the Running Man, the Hammer Dance, and that thing Kid ‘n’ Play did where they’d kick each others’ feet. But then grunge came, and suddenly your shirt was tied around the waist, your jeans were (sometimes intentionally) ripped, and each sentence expressed some form of disdain. And the dancing? The idea was to sway your body incoherently back and forth, keep your head down, make sure your hair was long enough to cover your face, and whatever else made you look stoned, if you already weren’t. Guys dance now, but only if they wear skinny jeans. Otherwise, they’re a little awkward, and it’s not right! We need decent moves for non-ironic non-hipsters. Now.

8. Raves

In Montreal, every Sunday afternoon means the Tam-Tams. Here, a bunch of people bring their djembes to Mount Royal park and jam it out while Montrealers dance, lie on the grass, have a picnic and/or smoke pot. When I moved to the city in 1997, the tam-tams were split into two parts: the tribal drums, and the drum ‘n’ bass. They’d found a way to work techno into the thing, and it wasn’t altogether inappropriate. I knew a lot of ravers when I came to Montreal, but I didn’t join in the fun. Now I wish I had, at least once. Sure, I’ve been to afterhours clubs since then, but it’s not the same. Lots of raves were about bringing the party out of the club. The spirit of the thing is gone, and so are the cargo pants. But I’d still love for a group of people to decide on a secret location, find a couple of DJs who are willing to spin it out in some abandoned field on the South Shore, and dance until tomorrow afternoon.

Trippy.

9. Movie or TV shows about a bunch of friends just, y’know, hangin’ out, talkin’ and stuff

When Aaron Spelling created 90210, he actually wanted to create another Degrassi, minus the ugly, acne-covered kids, of course. But we liked our people unattractive and riddled with angst. Maybe that’s why we craved entertainment that reflected what we thought our lives were like. Gone was the comedy of errors à la Three’s Company, and in were conversational classics like Seinfeld, Friends and Reality Bites. Today, authenticity comes in the form of reality shows. And the only thing that’s real about them is the writers. A weird shift.

10. The unbranded coffee shop

Remember those smoky, wooden, disorganized cafés with mismatched furniture, vegetarian menus and bohemian staff? Yeah. Neither do I.

Inside the old Café Calactus in Moncton, NB. I love their new restaurant and menu (and especially its popularity), but I kinda miss the vibe of the old digs.

What I learned about John Lennon

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It’s impossible to visit a place like Liverpool and completely avoid the Beatles. Not that any of them live there anymore, but the little world that begat them still does.

On the thoroughly enjoyable Beatles taxi tour, our knowledgeable guide Kevin sometimes seemed embarassed to admit some of the trouble John Lennon got into. For a person who preached peace in his latter years, he sure was a little crap-disturber during part one.

Here are some of John Lennon’s most notable trespasses.

  1. When he was 5 years old, he was kicked out of school for punching a boy who suggested young Lennon’s mother was a harlot.
  2. Apparently, the punch was more like a straw; the last one, in fact. The school’s headmistress had long been seeking a final strike on little John’s record to put an end to his brand of schoolyard terror. Among his offenses were pulling girls’ braids, pushing schoolmates, and generally disrupting class. Again: he was only 5.
  3. When he was a little older, John Lennon was kicked out of the church choir for stealing money from the parish.
  4. He flunked out of the Arts College in part because of poor grades, but mostly because he kept skipping class to smoke pot in the alley. Sometimes he even smoked pot in class. To be fair, George and Paul were usually with him.
  5. He and soon-to-be-wife Cynthia Powell did the nasty on the cathedral grounds.

Before the Beatles, John Lennon formed a band called The Quarrymen, an allusion to the nearby quarry. I asked Kevin if our blue-collar hero had ever worked at the quarry. With his head down, Kevin humbly replied, “Sadly, no. Mr. Lennon wasn’t too keen on…labour.”

Who am I kidding? He’s still my favourite.

Boo-Hoo Against the Machine

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Look, I know this is a bit of a delayed reaction. In my defense, I’ve been seriously bogged down by things like packing as much of the life that I think I’m going to live in one year, in one and a half suitcases; followed by some serious vacationing in Florida with the in-laws and taking as much of this eternal sunshine in until circumstances take the husband unit and I to Europe for the next year.

This response has been brewing inside me all this time, and it hasn’t come out until now because I just haven’t had a moment to write it all down. Or at least, not to my liking.

I want to talk about an Internet campaign to beat that poor X-Factor kid in the charts by getting people to buy Rage Against the Machine’s “Killing in the name.” (To those who don’t know, you could say that X-Factor is the U.K. version of American Idol.) Much to my distaste, Tracy and Jon Morter, who started the campaign, were successful in their pursuit, and here’s why I think Rage are a bunch of phonies who duped the lot of you that helped them…

Here’s the thing, because there’s always a thing: no matter what your values may be – left-leaning or not – you can be sure that they’re for sale, somewhere, for a low price…maybe even at Wal-Mart in the music aisle (where, incidentally, you can purchase a censored copy of any Marilyn Manson album).  You can be an advocate of anything Al Gore, and you might even argue that his filmed PowerPoint presentation passes as cinema. The point is that no matter how righteous you believe your opinion may be, you probably have it because at some point, it was bought and sold somewhere, which invariably made it available to a larger audience, who could then propagate that view and bring it to various discussions.

I’m not saying any of this to discourage people from having beliefs or aligning themselves with particular movements. I’m only trying to illustrate that any opinion, even a good one, is not something you acquire because you’re an original (keeping in mind that I don’t exclude myself from this equation). Ideas are formulated in a constant traffic of incoming and outgoing information, and somewhere in there, your own narrative is formed. That part of it is yours, but the things that feed it are borrowed from a bunch of borrowers. As a result, someone like Kurt Cobain would never have existed without an ample amount of exposure to things that he both liked and disliked. More importantly, he wouldn’t have been successful (to the extent that he was) without the support of a record label.

When the “Killing in the name” campaign was launched to boot X-Factor winner Joe McElderry off the number 1 spot in the U.K. singles chart, the motive was to challenge the hold Simon Cowell and his ilk have on the machine that manufactures things like “charts.” I know what you’re going to say: “but Rage said proceeds would go to a charity; but Rage is going to play a free concert in the U.K.” I get it! I’m just saying let’s call this what it is: free press. And with the amount of money Rage already has, it’s a lot like Angelina Jolie donating a cool million to World Vision when she’s worth 100 times that, isn’t it?

We can’t lose sight of who’s ultimately benefitting from this: Rage Against the Machine. Not you music lovers. Not Joe McElderry. And certainly not today’s alternative musicians, who didn’t get to cash in on the “alternative” movement of the early ’90s the way Rage did. And today’s alternative musicians who are musically talented – but not politically inclined – have to gain their acclaim in a way that’s much more organic than how it was done in those glorious early ’90s. They actually have to play live shows as much as they can (regardless of the venue size), they have to update their own Myspace page, they have to produce as much merchandise as they can because every little bit adds up (and might even pay for gas to get to the next show), and they actually have to reach out to their fans by personally answering e-mails and maintaining blogs and websites. Unless they have the great fortune of being featured in an iPod commercial, today’s alternative musicians develop their fan base in a way that’s probably to their disadvantage, though it’s nevertheless fair: democratically. Most don’t benefit from the marketing mechanics that drive label-backed artists, so they just do it all themselves, amassing fans that like what they do despite a lack of radioplay and advertising. And if these musicians eventually get signed, they still have to keep at it. Case in point: Lady Gaga.

Enter 18-year old Joe McElderry, this year’s X-Factor winner. Would he have been discovered at all without the aid of a singing competition? My guess is that he wouldn’t have, even though he has a beautiful voice. Having won X-Factor, what’s next for him is a lame pop record that’s sure to please teens and their grandmothers. At worst,  he’ll be a one-hit wonder (a fate reserved for many singing competition winners). At best, he’s got 4 albums in him, followed by a stint on I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here…

Between the two musical acts, I prefer Rage Against the Machine. But I also believe Joe McElderry needs his one-hit-wonder ride more than Rage needs to be on the charts. If anything, sentiments towards “the music industry” are misplaced, especially when Rage is brought into the discourse. In many ways, Rage are no different from Joe McElderry. Without a label, they would never have reached the level of fame that afforded them their fortune (thus allowing them to play free shows). While they don’t have to look like polished pop idols as do most X-Factor winners, you can bet they work just as hard at maintaining their fist-raising revolutionary image. And for alleged leftists, they sure didn’t mind profiting from Che Guevara’s effigy with their “Bombtrack” single (something that would have raised Guevara’s eyebrows). In fact, their leftist construct served them well enough to convince millions of people that a vote for them – a group of signed artists – was a vote against the music industry.

Ultimately, the campaign served Rage rather well. It’s a shame because Rage stole votes from a working-class boy who needed your help more than they do. It’s odd, considering what Rage writes about. You’d think they might have stood up for a working-class hero themselves.

More importantly, the exercise proved how easily it is to sway the public to do anything. I don’t care how this impacts the musical charts, but it’s sad to admit that this happens all too often in the political arena. In that light, I’d like to throw the following out there: instead of voting “against” the person we don’t want, why don’t we make an informed choice about the person we want to vote in? Don’t stand behind Joe McElderry or Rage Against the Machine. Support the person who hasn’t been signed yet.

Think Lizzie

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The following is something I submitted to Bitchin’ Kitchen for consideration. It didn’t quite make it, but I still think it’s a good read. Enjoy!

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Guilty Crush of the Week: Elizabeth Berkley

If we’re measuring guilt by the number of times “just awful” has been used to describe my crush’s acting, then I’m doomed to haul brimstone with the adulterers and coveters.

Here’s the thing. Despite the efforts of a respected indie film director, Elizabeth Berkley’s acting is really that bad. There are no two ways about it. Sure, we can blame it on the writing (like when she sings “I’m so excited” and starts wailing “I’m so scared” on that don’t-do-drugs episode of Save by the Bell, where her character, you know, does drugs). But at the end of the day, it’s about the choices she makes as an actress (come on, Showgirls, do people really throw fries in a huff when their rescuer just wants to help?). When she was paired with David Caruso on CSI:Miami, playing his character’s ex-lover, you had to wonder if the producers were secretly betting on who’d win the subtlety war.

So why is Elizabeth crush-worthy? ‘Cause girl got gumption! Despite one epic fail after the next, Lizzie keeps marching on. You have to admire that in a person, especially if there’s a chance that delusion is the mystery ingredient holding the recipe together. Plus, she has a sense of humour about herself, even when interviewed about the things she’s (in)famous for.

And this is where it starts to smell of Suzanne Somers. The next time her attempt at serious drama makes you chuckle, remember that Smirky Berkley is laughing all the way to the bank! Her turn on CSI is nothing short of cringe-o-matic, but her episodes are among the highest rated (maybe it’s a train-wreck thing). Perhaps realizing the limitations of her acting chops, she turned to reality TV to take on the gruelling yet rewarding life of professional dancers, winning over a comfy niche. And last we heard, her Ask-Elizabeth self-help program was being parlayed into a show on MTV. They say no one will hire her, but somehow, she’s still on the payroll.

All I know is that if ever I’m on the cusp of obscurity because of a monumentally horrible performance, I only hope I can sashay some of Elizabeth Berkley’s sass all the way to the next gig.

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It is my earnest opinion that few things are funnier than a Bitchin’ Kitchen video. If you haven’t watched any yet, it’s about time you did.

Reality got punk’d

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A few years ago, reality TV became an official genre, and a legitimate format for almost any type of scenario: matchmaking, job interviews, talent competitions, home renovations, and even plastic surgery. For a while, it was a staple of summer TV programming when nothing else was on. Not even repeats!

And it was during the summer of 2004 that I caught an episode of For Love or Money, apparently in its third series. At the time, I couldn’t believe that this kind of show existed. I mean, really? A matchmaking show that asks people if they’ll hook up with someone in the end, or take money instead? It’s a fair question, I’ll grant. But what an awful test to put people through. Of course, it seems more awful that people are willing to put themselves through it just to be on TV.

Anyhow, by the time I caught the show, two ladies were fighting over some bloke. One of the ladies was identified as Rachel Veltri, and the other as “Event Planner” Andrea Langi. A couple of weeks later, I rented episodes from Sex and the City’s season 5. During the last episode of the season, I was struck with an actual instance of the uncanny. In the episode, called “I love a charade,” Samantha takes over her ex-lover’s Hamptons villa and discovers he lets random young women stay there as they please. One of them seemed incredibly familiar. Then it struck me: it’s Andrea Langi!

My next stop was IMDB, and sure enough, there she was. Bloody event planner is an actress. (p.s. Most recently, she played the random blond girl who has a bathroom romp with Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler……..p.p.s. Rachel Veltri is an actress too.)

This isn’t so unusual. After all, most of us thought it was a brilliant idea for Jerri Manthey to join Survivor in its second season. Best screen test ever, we thought. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that there was a touch of dishonesty in identifying Ms. Langi as an “event planner.” Sure, it’s a vague enough description, and while it could mean “plans her next audition and hopes it’ll be an event,” the term very much implies that she organizes parties.

I didn’t think much of it until I got caught up on season 5 of The Apprentice. I’ll be honest: I used to love this show. I especially used to enjoy how people always screwed up the most basic marketing tasks. That season, Sean Yasbeck earned what I thought was a richly deserved victory. Though I always found it odd that a real estate mogul would actually hire a CEO based on how well they did on the show’s series of rather unfair, if rinky-dink challenges. I never gave it a second thought until I decided to google Sean Yasbeck. Naturally, his first entry was an IMDB page. I checked it out even though I only thought I’d find Apprentice-related info. To my amazement, it seems Mr. Yasbeck is also of the theatre arts. He’s an actor. And not just in b-movies. He had a role in EastEnders!

And another one: Heidi Mueller, one of the kids on Who Wants to Marry My Dad?, ended up in a leading role on Passions.

I can understand why producers would rather work with actors. When they improv, actors turn out better than real people off-the-cuff. Fair enough. Still, the “reality TV” packaging needs a revise.

But then, other clues emerged. It dawned on me when I saw an episode of Gene Simmons Family Jewels. Okay, okay, you’re allowed to judge me. I can take it. In my defense, he’s immortal.

Anyhow, in this episode, Mr. Simmons is on his way to Las Vegas and his car breaks down. He gets out of the vehicle, stands in the middle of the desert, and, in his frustration, lets out a primal scream. From three different angles. You know, like they do for explosions in action flicks?

This added another dimension to the reality realm: direction. Maybe Mr. Simmons didn’t take three cameramen with him on his trip to Vegas, but even if there was just the one, they got a cue from someone to film one moment from three different angles. For effect.

Reality shows have often been criticized for altering the truth through cunning edits. This is a more complex version of the same critique. In documentary movies, we’ve often accepted that once “a” reality is filmed, it’s already slightly altered. Other than the passage of time, editing is another factor that creates a cinematic filter.

But this is entirely different. This is staging a scene so that it’ll end up looking a certain way once it gets on screen. This is making sure a shot is perfect. This is drama. This is fiction.

Then I started to see it everywhere. The Hills. The Osbournes. Hogan Knows Best. Celebrity Rehab.

Truth be told, some of the set-ups always seemed absurd. Meeting the love of your life by a process of elimination, whereby you barely get to know the people in the running. Choosing your best friend based on ridiculous competitions. Following celebrities around as they do mundane things, like buying a toy for their chihuahua. But I guess I was able to accept a certain amount of contrivance, provided that some of it was real. That’s what made it compelling, right?

Well, it turns out that what really makes reality TV interesting is what makes any program work: show business. Writers giving actors their cues. Producers making decisions that will sell the product to a captive audience. Directors creating drama where there is none. Editors turning it all into TV magic.

Do I feel duped? Yes, but mostly by myself. The good news is that I can stop feeling guilty for watching Paris Hilton’s New BFF. When it was reality, it was trash. But now that it’s drama, it’s okay.

Paris-TV is neither in Paris nor television

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I like to think I don’t have an addictive personality. I can do most things in moderation…Except when it comes to television.

In the presence of cable TV, I get lost in an entertainment vacuum. So back in 2001, I got rid of cable. In fact, I’ve lived without it for most of my young adulthood. It’s been a good exercise. I’ve had an antenna for the past few years and life with 7 channels has worked out pretty well. I still have access to the CBC, the CTV, and a homegrown treasure, Télé-Québec. On weekends, there’s seldom anything on until Sunday evening, so I can keep busy doing other things.

Then, the boyfriend and I decided to move in together, and he insisted on cable TV. We got a satellite installed earlier this week, and since then, I’ve had a chance to fully grasp how the televised landscaped has morphed into its own version of 2.0.

Not that I haven’t been exposed to cable in the past few years, but the breadth of it is something I haven’t had the opportunity to consider much. In short, it’s a vast and veritable desert of “reality,” populated with rootless Joshua Trees in the form of Dr. Firstnames and long-supernovaed stars. I could take the snooty approach and call it a wasteland, but isn’t that beating a dead horse? That’s what we were saying about TV back in the pre-Survivor days of Who’s the Boss and even Friends. Anyway, how could I possibly look down on anything that’s this fascinating.

Granted, the term “celebrity” can be used a little more loosely than before, but you have to love how some people are perfectly willing to live it out in front of cameras. In Madonna’s Truth or Dare, the queen’s then-boyfriend Warren Beatty commented on how she didn’t seem to want to do anything unless a lens was following her. Back then, we called Madonna an exhibitionist. Today, we’d never so much as hear her voice over the phone on a reality show. Funny, innit?

Still, some of the world’s biggest stars aren’t so reserved. Take Gene Simmons’ Family Jewels. A compelling, if somewhat contrived, take on the Osbournes’ format. If anything, it’s more of a Gene Simmons infomercial (he’s a businessman first, a star second), but I still enjoy the bits where his kids take a few loving jabs at their dad. Then there’s Paris Hilton’s New BFF. Okay, so people might question the validity of her stardom, but girl got gumption! I can understand how people would participate in The Apprentice for a shot at working alongside a real estate mogul, but going through a series of “challenges” to see if you’re fit to be someone’s friend? That’s just crazy talk. Until Paris Hilton turns it into a show…that people watch!

Has TV turned into a barren landscape? Maybe, but that’s the nature of the medium. It doesn’t produce offspring very well (name 5 successful spin-offs; yeah, didn’t think so). It’s not the kind of thing you can cultivate or grow, and you’d probably have an easier time training a Siamese cat. When you think of it, it’s a lot like Las Vegas: a mirror that reflects what we want most and where we are as a society. What does reality TV tell us about ourselves? Our curiosity about real life is as important as our need to escape through fiction. Also, it’s quite possible we all have A.D.D.

Sure, I miss the days when MuchMusic was about music, but you have to love how your next job interview could well be televised. Now there’s a revolution.

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Fabulous footnote: Has anyone noted the progress of Nikki McKibbin? According to her IMDB page, she’s had more appearances as her “self” in her career as a performer. She first came to TV in Popstars, ranked 3rd in the first season of American Idol, participated in Fear Factor, Battle of the Network Reality Stars and All-Star Reality Reunion (aired in 2005, a mere 3 years after her American Idol not-so-victory), before ending up on Celebrity Rehab and Sober House. Her entire success depends on being a fuck-up on TV. At least she’s always had cool hair.

She’s not fat, you’re just bored

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A couple of weeks ago, or was it just last week, online media (followed by gossip rags and entertainment shows) had a conniption over Jessica Simpson’s alleged weight gain.

The girl probably put on a few pounds over the holidays, and now she just has to get back to her gym routine. So what? She’s still thin, just not wearing the right outfit for a curvy girl. Is that any reason to turn this into headline news? Or rather, is this really news? I actually felt sorry for the poor girl. I usually don’t feel any sympathy for celebrities, but here I did. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have my weight scrutinized to that level, and to have it splashed all over the Internet and magazine pages. Worse still: over 10 pounds. Actually, I do understand what it feels like, but at least my humiliation was private.

And here’s the thing about our celebrity-related obsession with weight: the reporters feeding it are completely inconsistent. Remember when Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton had a reality show, The Single Life? The media ruthlessly picked on Nicole for being a little chubby, especially next to stick-thin Paris. Then when she lost weight, it was apparently too much. Take out Nicole Richie and insert another celebrity’s name in her place. Let’s try Lindsay Lohan or Ellen DeGeneres. Same deal.

I don’t know to what extent media coverage of celebrities’ weight gain (or loss) affects us mere mortals, but you have to wonder how we subconsciously react to constant dissatisfaction. As for celebrities, it seems to affect them the most. After hounding them for being too fat (at a frumpy 140 pounds), the same reporters wonder why they become anorexic. It’s unfortunate, really. Celebrities (with the exception of Gene Simmons) are human too. It must be difficult to have to atone for your eating sins all the time.