I don’t believe in role models, I don’t have any heroes, and I treat fame like it’s a fucking venereal disease. Ask anyone in this town with real money or power, and they’ll whisper a dirty little truth — privacy has a higher street value than fame.
Aside from a few superficial novelties, being famous offers little in the way of real benefit. Notoriety is just a marketing tool, and at the end of the day if you’re not selling anything that makes the world a better place, then you’re just clogging up the drain.
I’m not talking about girls with an overt talent. Certain professions come packaged with fame, and if you’re a gifted artist then good luck and go with god. I’m talking about scene-queens, “it” girls, and fameballs who crave any hollow attention that can be found in front of a lens.
Whenever I see a new fame-hungry girl pop onto the scene, my emotional reflex is pity. It’s like watching somebody slam heroin for the first time. No matter how happy they look, you know they’re totally fucked.
My next instinct is to peer through the heat, look past the pretty, and find out who the real genius is behind the style. For every attention whore, there is always a smarter, more talented girl quietly making the fame possible — Audrey Kitching has Evey Rothstein, Cory Kennedy has Charlotte Ronson, and Julia Allison has David Karp.
When it comes time to get down and dirty, the girl-behind-the-girl is always the one you want to party with. They’ve got better stories, better drugs, and better things to do. These are bitches who manipulate fame like carnival fire-breathers, and yet they respect the value of personal privacy.
And don’t get me wrong — I’m not a hater. Audrey, Cory, and Julia are just off-the-top-of-my-head examples. I find them entertaining as hell, and I have nothing bad to say about any of them. Audrey seems to have parlayed some junior-level starfucking into a pretty decent gig, Cory is a total sweetheart, and I think Julia will eventually find her true path by settling down with a bald Jewish lawyer and adopting a Chinese baby in the series finale.
My larger point is simple. In an era where style is substance in and of itself, check your sources before you get enamored with the window display.
Don’t confuse the mannequins for their maker.