Welcome to Midweek Madness, our Wednesday self-hating celebacchanal ritual. In which we "read" the weekly tabloid magazines. So you don't "have" to.
The celebrity media exists to cover what we call "First World Problems" because we feel powerless and guilty reading about real problems and we need to focus on people who are like us but shallow enough to make us feel better about ourselves. But celebrities are not, you know, so much really like us. Their babies are more spoiled and precocious and smart in that spooky, worldly way child actors are smart. Their pregnancies are more leisurely and their pregnancy wardrobes much hotter. And their violent outbursts and reckless driving are more bizarre and disturbing for the protective layers of bodyguards and flaks and assistants and agents that come along with being a famous person. But their eating disorders are a First World Problem we all share! After all, anyone who has ever considered ketchup a meal, or faked a gluten allergy, or swallowed dipping tobacco in hopes of puking after downing a box of SnackWells (we date ourselves, our ED happened in the Olestra Era) (also: the tobacco? not so effective!) knows just how effective an Eating Disorder is at making the epic, sweeping tragedy that is millennial American society so totally personal. It's like, here we are, nothing to complain about, and this is our problem. And this week, it's Kelly's and Jessica's and Angelina's problem too. Dig in, guys!
