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Celeb-Retard April 17, 2008
 
Who Are These People?
Reality Television Produces Fake Celebrities By Kitty McFarlane Browse author
 
Can you name this blond?
 

There is something wrong in CelebrityLand. More and more often, the glossy rags, the tabloids, the blogs and entertainment TV shows I thrive upon have been featuring people I have never heard of. Protest if you will, but this has absolutely nothing to do with my ripe old age of thirty-something. It has to do with the American public being bombarded with shitty reality television. I donít know who these people are, and I want them out of my infotainment. And it is all MTVís fault.

Many, many years ago, back in the days when MTV still played the occasional music video and wasnít completely unwatchable, the station turned heads with a new, cutting-edge show called The Real World. It was such a hit that MTV couldnít resist doing a second season. But MTV just couldnít stop at five gazillion seasons of The Real World. It also spun it off as the tedious Road Rules, and then held a contest called Wanna Be a VJ. The first-ever Wanna Be a VJ was wrought with scandal. The bland preppy candidate that MTV wanted to win lost out to a crusty hippy who pretended to be homeless. According to Wikipedia, Jesse Campís victory was the result of a hack in which someone illegitimately voted for him 3,000 times. I take issue with that allegation. I remember voting for Jesse Camp, and I remember several other people gleefully and maliciously voting for him just to see what MTV would do if the public was crazy enough to choose the bong boy with the giant pupils. It is what the public wanted. Disappointingly, Jesse didnít last too long and was soon replaced by David Holmes, a Carson Daly clone who came in second place. After that, the only remotely interesting reality TV moment came 10 years later, when Ozzy took out the garbage.

It is probably the Jesse Incident that explains MTVís more recent choice to retain more control by broadcasting a fake reality show. On The Hills, real conversations are allegedly loosely scripted, and viewers are meant to watch the cast attend their fake jobs and experience awkward social situations with one another when they canít remember the plot line mid-shoot. This is popular. People watch it. I donít get it. Two of the main "characters" are Lauren Conrad and Heidi Montag. While the former is trying to get into fashion by "designing" T-shirts and jeans, impressing absolutely no one, the latter actually did recently manage to get herself something akin to fifteen minutes of fame. But that was mostly because everyone was making fun of her super-lame music video.


In addition to dedicating countless hours to attempts to resurrect the careers of Z-list former celebrities who faded from the scene 20 years ago, Americans seem to have a passion for giving air time to repulsive human beings who hopefully have been sterilized as a part of their television deals. These shows don't hold a candle to the Jerry Springer of yore. A woman who goes by the name of New York has had her own show because she was rejected by Flava Flav. I cannot fathom how Flava Flav can even afford to pick and choose, but apparently he can. Then there is Tila Tequila, Internet slut extraordinaire and walking Petri dish. She had her own show because she is bisexual, will fuck anyone, and sheís only three apples high.

Happily, not all faux-celebs get their own shows. Take Kate Beckinsale, for instance. Kate is an actress. She has been in movies — probably even movies you've watched. But you probably haven't ever noticed Kate, because her role seems to consistently be either "that one chick" or "chick number 2," and they don't give out Oscars for that. Kate recently tried to get a little more attention by announcing in an interview that her best feature is her vagina. Itís probably true, too. I bet if her vagina was in a movie, we'd actually know who she was.

Iím next in line — I have a great idea for my own reality show. For one hour a week, my show will reveal my fascinating life to viewers across America. First Iíll have my PR people accidentally leak that cell phone video I took when I was really drunk. It's really blurry and shaky, but I'm pretty sure there's a penis in there at 0:47. (A sex tape is a guaranteed way to get your own show.) Then Iíll share the quirky details of my daily life: slouching for hours in front of the computer, watching Golden Girls on Lifetime Television for Women, ordering cat food online and heating up canned soup. Based on what Iíve seen on the tube the past year, I'm pretty confident my show will be picked up for a second - nay, a third! - season. It worked for Kim Kardashian, and it can work for me, too.

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