#celebrity-culture

#celebrity-culture

Of course, those normal things came up. Then on top of it, I was dealing with people commenting on my body at a young age, starting to get photographed, and people asking you how many times you weigh yourself or comparing you to people that were thinner than you or other girls in your line of work.

I've done more books now, I think, than Shakespeare, sort of. I had a right laugh writing my first book, and people liked it, so when the chance to write another came up, I thought why not? I've got even more mad tales to tell.

Billie Joe Armstrong belting out American Idiot during the pregame show under his motionless meringue of fogey-blond hair: were they a sign? A New England Patriots team who were neither favored to win nor widely reviled, then promptly repaid a grateful public by losing: was this the Super Bowl which proved that history really can move on, that America is not fated to remain hostage to the tremors and hatreds of the past?

The story of Heated Rivalry, the gay hockey romance that went from a small-budget Canadian production to a streaming hit and global phenomenon, feels like a fairy tale in many ways. The show, which is based on Rachel Reid's Game Changers novels, has reportedly drawn an average of 9 million viewers per episode on HBO Max in the United States since it debuted last November, making it one of the streamer's top scripted shows of the year.

Paris Hilton here presents us with an unbearable act of docu-self-love, avowedly a behind-the-scenes study of her second studio album, Infinite Icon, and where she's at as a musician, survivor and mom. But maybe there is, in fact, nothing behind the scenes; judging by this, the scenes are all there is: Insta-exhibitionism, empty phrases and show. Hilton's second album no doubt has its admirers and detractors, and her fans are perfectly happy with it.

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

After attempting to make his mark as a footballer, photographer and chef, at last Brooklyn Peltz Beckham appears to have secured his legacy. He will no longer be remembered as simply the nepo-baby son of David and Victoria; he'll also go down in history as a somewhat unlikely/possibly accidental feminist activist. It was when Brooklyn married Nicola Peltz in 2022 that he became Brooklyn Peltz Beckham, an ally who turbo-boosted a quietly growing trend.

President Biden hosted a little get-together to give out Congressional Medals of Freedom to a bunch of fancy people like Bono, Jane Goodall, Magic Johnson, and others. These medals are basically handed out to whoever the President thinks is cool and wants to meet, so I imagine he was like, "Shit, I gotta move out of this place in like two weeks and I haven't even had Denzel Washington and Bill Nye over yet to see my stuff!"

For seven years, straight people let the Queer Eye guys into their apartments. No questions asked by the way. They say 'Come in! Yeah, take my sofa and compost it. It was given to me by my grandmother. She fought for women's rights. I don't give a f*** about her anymore. Yeah, replace it with a slab of reclaimed wood'.

Raya is a members-only dating app. Daters must submit an application to get behind the app's golden gates, which includes linking your Instagram profile. Getting a recommendation from a current Raya member can be helpful. I had all of that: the public Instagram, the referral from a friend, and a willingness to pay Raya's $24.99 monthly fee (or $49.99 for premium features). It still took me months to get accepted.

As a mark of pure intent, going Instagram official has become a firmly entrenched dating marker. To post a picture of you and your new partner on Instagram on the grid, mind you, not hiding behind the cowardice of a story is to not only declare that you are in love, but also that you are confident enough in your future to share it with the world.

It's usually true that putting your phone down and walking away to touch grass is an effective way to weather an internet shitstorm. Unfortunately for Tallulah, it's also true that if you're even quasi-famous in Los Angeles, it's never quite that simple. Paulena's scathing TikTok about Tallulah being a fugly slut thief is an earthquake that shakes Tallulah and Maia to their cores; "Girl's Girl" traces the ripple effect of the aftershocks. For Maia, this is a make-or-break professional crisis.

Johnny Rotten was "a pain in the ass," Chip Conley says. "Sinéad O'Connor, when I babysat her baby, was very nice," he continues, drumming his fingers on the wooden table. "... MC Hammer was nice." Conley is sitting in the bar of the Phoenix Hotel, which he founded in the '80s, scanning through his mental Rolodex of celebrity guests. He rattles off the names casually, as if a run-in with Sinéad O'Connor was an everyday occurrence. Because at the Phoenix, it was.

The beauty writer Jessica DeFino refers often to the "mirror world" inside our phone, the uncanny, glistening selfieverse that's also become more real for many of its devotees than the lumpy, blotchy meatspace where the rest of us live. I thought about the mirror world while watching All's Fair, Ryan Murphy's new creative product-I can't call it a television show, because it isn't one.

Amy Griffin is the founder of G9 Ventures, an investment firm that has backed a slew of cool, woman-centric brands and startups including Goop, Spanx, and Bumble. She's a mother of four; the devoted wife of a strapping blond billionaire ex-hedgefunder; and a fixture in the Instagram tributes of the rich and famous ( Reese, Gwyneth, Mariska: they all sing Griffin's praises).

Alan Carr's days on The Celebrity Traitors looked perilous from the start. Just 32 minutes into the first episode, after the comedian had been selected as a "traitor", his body started to betray him. Beads of sweat began forming on his forehead, making his face shiny. "I thought I wanted to be a traitor but I have a sweating problem," he admitted to cameras. "And I can't keep a secret."

Celebrity news so often serves as a numbing distraction from depressing world events.

Look at Pedro Pascal right now. Two years ago, he's a hardworking, great actor [then] fucking blows up so fucking hard,

You know how I have much more swag than you? You do? Oh, come on. My half of the conversation is long and elegant and stylish and funny, but yours is always gruff and short and lazy. Hmm. See? What we have is a swag gap. I'm the cool one, and you aren't. It's an ill fit, and frankly I think we're doomed.

Asking Cardi B to mind her tongue is like asking an oceanic creature to abandon its undersea home. It's not fucking happening. The Bronx MC lives and breathes controversy, even when she's not intentionally courting it. Since her 2017 breakthrough single, "Bodak Yellow," Cardi B has steadily revealed herself to be the high-profile celebrity of our time, a larger-than-life personality who is just as quick to dress down the average Barb as she is to eviscerate her own peers.

The internet is frothing. This time, over Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce's engagement, a spectacle reminding us how celebrities function as wish machines. Us normies ride shotgun, living vicariously through the highest peaks and, at times, the lowest valleys, making up for our own grayscale lives. But, while Taylor and Travis are about as mainstream as you can get, in the 1990s there was a celebrity couple who catered for the eccentrics, misfits, and outsiders.