Back in the day, I was big on celebrity gossip. Every week I would buy OK magazine and pore through its pages. I would say it was my guilty secret, except that I didn’t feel guilty about it, and it wasn’t a secret.
It always amused me that so many people would sidle up to me and ask to ‘borrow’ the magazine, because God forbid that they would be caught buying it, but the desire to stare at perma-tanned soap stars in luxury bathrobes in borrowed houses was so strong that they couldn’t quite feign the disinterest they thought their highbrow ways warranted. Borrowing it was alright. That way it was my shame that I had bought it, and they were just filling in idle moments flicking through the pages.
I don’t read it any more. There are several reasons for this:
The price started to make me wince a bit.
As I watched less and less television I knew less and less of who the people were, and consequently they might as well have been my plumber. Strangely this does not hold the same allure. Although it is interesting isn’t it? If my plumber were to land a job on telly and start sporting an orange tan, would I be more interested in his vacuous answers to spurious interviews? Almost certainly. Shame on me.
I stopped buying all magazines and newspapers eventually, in a fit of environmental conscientiousness. After all, the internet has all my news/gossip needs should I wish to scratch the itch without chopping down a forest full of conifers to do it.
In recent years I have discovered The Daily Mail online. This is a very bad thing. I loathe the Daily Mail. Loathe it. Yet much like a scabby knee I cannot help scratching at, I find myself logging in to it on a daily basis to see what absolute bilge it has unleashed on the world under the vague and gauzy veil of ‘news’. I seethe at the comments section, froth at the main stories and then stare at the gossip side bar for far too long.
It is what they call: ‘The Side Bar of Shame.’
Funnily, where I have absolutely no guilty feelings about my past addiction to OK magazine, or my continuing delight in poorly written celebrity autobiographies, I do feel I should apologise for reading the Daily Mail. I want to shout: ‘But only online.’ I feel this should be qualified by: ‘I never pay for it.’ And: ‘I get really outraged by it.’
Except that I still read it.
I did try to break myself of the habit about two years ago. It didn’t really work. It is just too easy to be lured by someone being scandalised by it on Twitter, or simply to open another tab on my Mac when I should be doing serious work.
I apologise for my salaciousness and the peculiar need to use it to feed my sense of being a better person than a Daily Mail reader. Even though I am technically a Daily Mail reader.
Oh the irony.
Today though I must just say this:
What the fuck is it with these Kardashian people?
Who are they?
What do they do?
Why do we care?
I have literally no idea who they are. None. I do not watch television unless it involves Kirsty Alsop or Danish knitwear. I do not even watch Game of Thrones. I presume these Kardashian people are on the television?
As far as I can tell, from my brief skimming of the DM, they are famous for falling out of their clothes, falling out of other people’s beds, falling out with each other, and falling out of the pages of the Daily Mail.
Have I got that right?
So. I am aware that the Kardashian patriarch (I think?) used to be a man called Bruce, and is now probably somewhere on his way to being a lady called Caitlyn?
Even deaf/mute/blind aliens from the planet Thrall could not fail to be aware of this given the number of column inches this has racked up, not just in the DM.
Today, when I clicked over for my daily bout of wrestling with my conscience, I was frankly amazed to see that apart from the lead article about the tragic death of Charles Kennedy (which could hardly be ignored), 95% of the paper was Kardashian related. In particular, transgender Kardashian related.
You know what? Fair play to you. Be whoever you want to be, as Bugsy Malone once paraphrased in song, before splattering everyone with custard pies, but for goodness sakes, please let this finish being news now.
I have every respect for people who bravely and boldly go where no man or woman has gone before. I’ve always been a fan of William Shatner, but enough already. I don’t care that he/she looks wonderful in a cream bustier on the front page of Vanity Fair (he doesn’t. It is very ill fitting in my opinion. A shift dress would have been a better choice for the cover.)
I can only imagine how hard it is for a multi millionaire celebrity in the public eye who has the world’s press fighting to champion their cause to come out as transgender. My heart aches for the thousands of hours of counselling he/she will be able to afford, and fancy only being able to manage to deal with the world’s best surgeons. Goodness it is hard.
My tiny violin is quite worn out.
I’d be more impressed if they championed the cause of ordinary people who either can’t afford to go through treatment, or who get hounded and bullied for their life choices.
Interesting that the DM seems to be hailing this man/woman/person as a hero. I suspect if they were my plumber, they might be decrying them as a deviant dole scrounger.