So Hot Right Now!
Photo courtesy of Ruper Grint.net
They say that the first step to overcoming any addiction is to admit that you have a problem. So, I'll admit it – I'm addicted to celebrities. There, I've said it, it's out in the open, and I think that if most people are honest with themselves, they'd admit that they have a problem as well.
I can't honestly say when this crazy obsession and preoccupation began, although it's probably safest to say around 2001, when the first instalment of Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings trilogy was released. Elijah Wood's gorgeous baby blues captivated me, and from then on I have relentlessly pursued useless facts and photographs of my favourite celebrities (who are all male, if I'm being honest). It wasn't until last year, before the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 that I really noticed how ridiculous my obsessions have become. I was surfing around some random fan sites when I stumbled upon a thread which asked if Rupert Grint's “carpet matched the drapes”. Now, I don't feel I need to go into that here (if you're confused, just look it up on Urban Dictionary or something), but that comment stopped me cold. Actually, I was repulsed, to tell you the truth. I sat there in my chair and just seethed with anger – why is that important? Does it at all affect his acting ability or his portrayal of a beloved character? Would it change your opinion of him if they didn't match? All of these questions and more raced through my brain as I began berating and harshly judging the girl who asked the question...
Until I realized that, at one point or another, I've cared about stuff like that (but not anything that trivial and inappropriate, come on now). But I have cared whether Zac Efron prefers chocolate or vanilla, and whether Orlando Bloom wears boxers or briefs, and this realization made me really, really sad. There's no other way to explain it – I was sad, because I've always liked to think that I respect people and appreciate them for what they do, not what they look like or what kind of underwear they wear. And I really think that's what society's main problem is these days.
Take the Toronto International Film Festival, for example. For the past two years, I have picketed outside theaters all over the city with thousands of other people, all hoping to catch a glimpse of some good-looking celebrity as they head into a theater. Why do we line up like this? Some people genuinely care for and respect actors, and wish to pass them on to them. I, for one, have told Carey Mulligan that I think she did a fantastic job in Never Let Me Go and have congratulated Andrew Garfield on being cast as the next Spider-Man. However most people just want to manhandle the celebrities as they walk past, and if the star in question doesn't look at them they take it personally and freak out, publicly declaring that they “are not going to support them anymore because they don't even have time for their fans. Like, oh my God, what a douche!” Excuse me, but they have been going to things like this all week, probably, and their feet probably hurt, and their suit is probably really uncomfortable in this heat, and all they really want to do is go home to their Mom and get a back rub and eat some soup while watching reruns of The Cosby Show just because they can, not cater to your every stupid beck and call.
I think society forgets that celebrities are people, and that they, like us, have needs and wants that can't always be met in their lifestyle. And as an adoring public, we need to respect not only their privacy but their needs, and allow them to have off days, and to be in relationships, and to maybe look ugly once in a while because goodness knows we do.
Now, will this change how much I love Benedict Cumberbatch after watching Sherlock or how eagerly I await the next Spider-Man movie because of the tight suit situation involved? No. But I do hope that I'l remember that they're people just like us, who have lives and families and all that jazz, and who like to sleep in Saturdays. The only difference is they're potentially better looking...and have bags of money...and probably three cottages and twenty tigers that just chill in a pool in their backyard because it's the cool thing to do...but who's counting? Seems legit.
I can't honestly say when this crazy obsession and preoccupation began, although it's probably safest to say around 2001, when the first instalment of Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings trilogy was released. Elijah Wood's gorgeous baby blues captivated me, and from then on I have relentlessly pursued useless facts and photographs of my favourite celebrities (who are all male, if I'm being honest). It wasn't until last year, before the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 that I really noticed how ridiculous my obsessions have become. I was surfing around some random fan sites when I stumbled upon a thread which asked if Rupert Grint's “carpet matched the drapes”. Now, I don't feel I need to go into that here (if you're confused, just look it up on Urban Dictionary or something), but that comment stopped me cold. Actually, I was repulsed, to tell you the truth. I sat there in my chair and just seethed with anger – why is that important? Does it at all affect his acting ability or his portrayal of a beloved character? Would it change your opinion of him if they didn't match? All of these questions and more raced through my brain as I began berating and harshly judging the girl who asked the question...
Until I realized that, at one point or another, I've cared about stuff like that (but not anything that trivial and inappropriate, come on now). But I have cared whether Zac Efron prefers chocolate or vanilla, and whether Orlando Bloom wears boxers or briefs, and this realization made me really, really sad. There's no other way to explain it – I was sad, because I've always liked to think that I respect people and appreciate them for what they do, not what they look like or what kind of underwear they wear. And I really think that's what society's main problem is these days.
Take the Toronto International Film Festival, for example. For the past two years, I have picketed outside theaters all over the city with thousands of other people, all hoping to catch a glimpse of some good-looking celebrity as they head into a theater. Why do we line up like this? Some people genuinely care for and respect actors, and wish to pass them on to them. I, for one, have told Carey Mulligan that I think she did a fantastic job in Never Let Me Go and have congratulated Andrew Garfield on being cast as the next Spider-Man. However most people just want to manhandle the celebrities as they walk past, and if the star in question doesn't look at them they take it personally and freak out, publicly declaring that they “are not going to support them anymore because they don't even have time for their fans. Like, oh my God, what a douche!” Excuse me, but they have been going to things like this all week, probably, and their feet probably hurt, and their suit is probably really uncomfortable in this heat, and all they really want to do is go home to their Mom and get a back rub and eat some soup while watching reruns of The Cosby Show just because they can, not cater to your every stupid beck and call.
I think society forgets that celebrities are people, and that they, like us, have needs and wants that can't always be met in their lifestyle. And as an adoring public, we need to respect not only their privacy but their needs, and allow them to have off days, and to be in relationships, and to maybe look ugly once in a while because goodness knows we do.
Now, will this change how much I love Benedict Cumberbatch after watching Sherlock or how eagerly I await the next Spider-Man movie because of the tight suit situation involved? No. But I do hope that I'l remember that they're people just like us, who have lives and families and all that jazz, and who like to sleep in Saturdays. The only difference is they're potentially better looking...and have bags of money...and probably three cottages and twenty tigers that just chill in a pool in their backyard because it's the cool thing to do...but who's counting? Seems legit.