Celebrities are the spinner hubcaps of society. They are flashy, entertaining and easily noticed, but when it comes down to it, basically useless. So why do I know more about Paris Hilton’s dog, Tinkerbell, than I do about the policies of half of my elected officials? Why is it that the criminal activities, wardrobe malfunctions, and scandalous sex lives of the rich and famous draw as much, if not more, media coverage than genocide in Sudan, political upheaval in Haiti or even the measures we voted on last Tuesday to decide the future of regional and national legislation?
The argument has been made that airing the dirty laundry of the stars reminds us that they are not perfect, that they are “people just like us.” Right. The truth is that most people just like me have never had a birthday party hosted by the King of Morocco. Most people just like me would not make international news for appearing in an amateur sex video. Being the particularly covetous and childish person that I am, I find that my interest in the lives of the social elite is less motivated by a desire to relate to the stars than it is by a petty hatred for people who have more than I do.
Watching a snotty musician or actor get publicly humiliated provides me with the kind of warmth and satisfaction generally reserved for a daytime television program about a former gang member trying to turn his life around. As far as I’m concerned, Ashlee Simpson’s recent lip-synching mishap on Saturday Night Live is ironclad proof that there is an omnipotent God. Of all the performances at which the talentless little faux-delinquent’s ruse could have been revealed, it was on one of the most well-known live television shows in America, and not long after she had denounced other performers for doing the same thing. How’s that for a divine bitch-slap?
All too often the true reasons for outrage over celebrity indiscretions are overlooked in light of more conventional objections such as morality and social expectations. When I heard rumors that Britney Spears’ most recent marriage may have been the result of an unexpected pregnancy, I was not in the least bit upset by the thought of the teen icon being impregnated out of wedlock. What horrified me was the realization that if the rumors were true, Britney Spears would be raising a child, and that disgusts me far more than does the violation of unrealistic social morals. During Britney’s career as a talentless void, she has managed to inflict irreparable damage on an entire generation of preteen girls and yet no concerns have been raised about the results her parenting might yield.
Normal people go through messy divorces, have drinking problems, raise children, take stands on issues and develop eating disorders, but are lucky if members of their own family take much notice. For whatever reason, if these same people starred in a movie or performed a hit single, they would be hard pressed to break wind without making headlines. I suppose I should insert a little diatribe here about the dangers of celebrity worship, but I’d rather get home and watch “The Simple Life.”

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