Britney Spears: Proof of How Gullable We Are

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I was reading a post on one of my favorite bulletin boards this morning and found myself laughing because it was all about how Britney Spears is lame.  There were posts complaining about the quality of her nether regions after photos of her getting out of a car panty-less were published and virtually every news service on the web decided this was a good time to talk about her crotch and what it means for her career and tells us about who she is as a person.  There were complaint that she’s a mom and should be at home with her babies.  One person even claimed that her ex is probably a better parent because she is partying with Paris Hilton.  I guess they didn’t read about his affair with a porn star.

Anyway, the result of all this got me thinking the following:

I love the perception of people in the world. You know, Britney was a terrible singer, an average performer and essentially an average-looking girl whose producers just happened to know how to push the right dirty-old-men buttons by having her sing less-than-memorable songs dressed up in skanky outfits all the while knowing that she’d flash that Mickey Mouse club schoolgirl smile and people would drool.

She turned into this lusted-after icon, when, in reality, she’s just a poor southern kid who wanted to make babies.

She made some dumb choices – the kinds of dumb choices we all made under the age of 25 – divorces one of those dumb choices and is crucified by the media because, as a young, divorced woman who probably isn’t that bright, she wants to do what all young, not-so-bright women want to do when they have a lot of money and are pissed at their ex’s: party. And who better to party with than the Queen of Parties, Paris Hilton?

She also wants to try and resurrect a career that ain’t coming back because no one thinks she’s cute and innocent anymore. Meanwhile, the industry has passed her by and she’s become more sideshow than performer.

All of this done under the scrutiny of an ever-invasive, gossip-mongering media that photographs every public moment and does their best to be as salacious as possible – long lenses capturing topless sunbathing in the backyard of a private home, cameras positioned to get shots of women as they get out of cars and expose themselves.

And guess who is to blame for all of this: we are! We are so fixated on celebrities and what they are doing, that we demand to see this crap 24/7. People who shouldn’t have a single shred of interest are debating the career of a pop star with no artistic merit and debateable looks in offices, schools, homes and across the internet.

We’re worse than a bunch of gossipy 50’s-era grandmothers sitting around the bingo parlor talking about how disgusting it is that women wear skirts that reveal their ankles while they tear through the pages of Look Magazine to see the latest bathing suit photos from their favorite starlet.

There is this constant droning of complaints about the media, yet they completely have our number. Their brilliance is so deceptive, even we think that making fun of Spederline is funny when, in reality, it’s just helping them sell papers, driving blog ad revenue and keeping Nancy O’Dell from having to work as a weekend anchor in Columbus.

We’re so completely gullable.

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