Famous people.
I’m sure you have at least one favorite. Whether it’s some A list actor, musician, comedian, or even just one of those esoterically famous-in-certain-circles types, you probably have at least one person that makes your list for general entertainment or fap material. And now that we have Twitter and Instagram, you can follow these people around like love sick puppies. The would-be fan-mail is now reduced to immediate comment drivel they can directly observe (and still ignore just like they would had you signed, sealed and delivered it on paper in an envelope).
“I’d like to reply to this one fan, but if I do, it will make TMZ news and get twisted into a pretentious statement I’m making… about our mutual love for caramel macchiatos”
However, as I came across one such star’s photograph of a selfie, I began to peruse the god awful commentary with train-wreck intrigue through half closed eyes, and couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at the trend of girls… (and some women… and some men… ) writing these paragraph long comment questions to him about, “How do I get you to notice me?!” or “You’re going to be in my area? Let me take you out!” or “I can bring you here or there and pay for dinner and drinks!!!11”
As if a star is worried about anyone footing the bill.
Now, I’m going to interrupt myself for a moment to reference Louis CK’s most recent gig. He says something to the effect of how hot people don’t fuck “down”; they only fuck “up”. While that might sound like it could have a really funny double meaning about messing something up, really, it doesn’t. What he means is that when you’re of a certain hotness level, you’re not going to settle for some uggo over the hot guy or girl. Why? Because you don’t have to!
The homecoming queen loved you (and everyone else senior year that won her that crown) for your help and support in making her the big sparkly fish with a tinsel tiara in the small pond that was high school. Chances are, though, she would never let you take her out, much less date you. Likewise, Blake Lively or Ryan Gosling love you for making them so very super famous; but they aren’t going to go out with you… unless it’s for one work (interview/photo shoot) or image (publicity/charity)
Now, seriously. Let’s try this exercise.
Just try to put yourself in your obsession object’s shoes:
Imagine that you’ve been famous for a while now. It’s not a big deal. I mean, you’re appreciative of your status, and that your hard work met opportunity and luck; but simultaneously you’re annoyed with the downsides. Sure, your direct posse around you are “yes men” who tell you in so many words that you fart rainbows and shit strawberry soft serve. But then you turn on the T.V. or internet and learn from some gossip blog that you’re apparently fkking the co-star you haven’t even had the pleasure of meeting yet in reality or your director is talking shit about you.
(Former home of Mr. Ledger)
And – yeah – you come home to a spotless and luxurious residence that a maid takes care of; but you worked your ass off becoming a psychopath for a role (that turned you half crazy off set too and landed you a sleeping pill addiction) in order to earn that home and maid. And the bitch of it all is that you probably don’t even get to enjoy it as frequently as you’d like because (if you’re the motivated type who cares about his career) your success makes you only as good as your last project.
So, unless you want to become washed up, you have to keep working your ass off.
That means you have to get to sleep soon because when the alarm goes off, you’ll be ushered off on a red-eye first class (which might seem nice to someone heading off for vacation), but it’s really a means of necessity and resting up – because once you land, it won’t be long before you’re back on it again, heading from one film set location or screen test or studio, or to an interview, or to an event – all the while, faking smiles for a camera and making sure to try and protect your “image” as you do.
Obviously, you have to eat and sleep in between, and pray to get some privacy as you do. And, of course, en route to every last thing you have to do, you’re getting mobbed by paparazzi which you’re all but certain is Italian for “annoying mosquitos with cameras”.
That’s just my educated guess on a bit of how that life goes. I could be totally wrong; but, let’s say I’m not. And that’s you. Busy all of the time, mobbed with dirty camera men getting in your way and cutting you off in traffic, and with most of your socializing being around “work people” (other famous people).
So, even if you’re Johnny A-Lister and you manage to find the time to intentionally slum it across town, where you suddenly meet the most beautiful “nobody” you’ve ever seen, chances are she’ll still pale in comparison to the A-lister you’ve been flirting with back home who does eight hours of pilates and cardio every day and has the best aesthetician and plastic surgeon on the planet.
Joan Rivers: “I asked WHO you were wearing, dicknose! Not what it’s made of. Fkkn kids these days…”
Tell me, then, why would it make sense to date anyone but someone in your social strata who can empathize with the same annoyances that come with fame’s package deal, appreciates the importance of privacy, won’t have trouble realizing who YOU really are, and who harbors the future benefit that after pregnancy, she won’t “let herself go” because her work depends on her body looking good?
Given the unlikely opportunity, why would any “nobody” want to torture themselves with that kind of a relationship even if they had the chance? After the novelty wears off, it’s just another relationship with a living human being who burps, hogs the covers, forgets to flush, and has egregious morning breath. It’s so easy to say you’d be the perfect significant other and never complain, but why would you even commit to that? Do you value yourself that little? If your partner isn’t compatible with you or is being a dick and you’re just taking it for the sake of bragging rights and not-rocking-the-boat, what does that say about you?
That you’re only with him or her because you’re a starfkkr?
Anyway, in conclusion, I can’t help but think that famous people consider the prospect of dating middle class people about the same way you would consider dating a homeless drug addict.
They don’t.
xoxo
<3~A
Velt
There are always rare exceptions. Damon has been married for many years now to a former bartender.
Ashley
Oh, absolutely, Greg! The exceptions are people who can recognize and accept the kind of a lifestyle their significant other would be leading, and who are willing to meet them halfway without sacrificing their own needs. Unless it’s b/c they have kids, people stay together either for the aforementioned reason (the healthy reason) or another less healthy reason – that the physical attraction is just so passionate that they have trouble not being in eachother’s lives. Then it doesn’t matter who you are or what you do; I’ve been there. Passion can really muddy the reality between whether you’re where you should be or not.