It only takes about three minutes for a character in The Bling Ring to invoke The Hills. Smoking weed on the beach with that kind of self-conscious, cultivated boredom unique to medium-rich kids in macrame vests, Rebecca drones: "I just have to graduate so I can go to the Fashion Institute of Design. It's where all the Hills girls went." Oh, lordy. Of course she wants to follow the Hills girls on their weird, shambling shortcut to fame. Of course she wants to pursue fashion not for the sake of making things but to make herself into a magnet for the fashionable. Of course she confuses visibility with significance. The Bling Ring is all about shortcuts.
In case you're not familiar with the backstory, Sofia Coppola's film is based on a spate of high-profile burglaries that took place in Los Angeles between October of 2008 and August of 2009. (The names and certain specifics are changed, and the characters troublingly whitewashed, but the overall arc is identical.) Victims included Lindsay Lohan, Orlando Bloom, Paris Hilton, and The Hills's very own Audrina Patridge. The mysterious culprits lifted more than $3 million in furs and rubies and Louboutins and pills and scepters and goblets and opals and Arkenstones and Balmain bandage dresses from the homes of various celebs—and THEN blew everyone's mind by turning out to be a bunch of snot-nosed high schoolers instead of reluctant hobbits or slender Frenchmen in Zorro masks and catsuits blacker than the night. Just kids. And they would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for the fact that kids are fucking dumb as nuts. (I've never burgled professionally, but I feel like "don't brag to 200 teenagers about your perfect crime" and "don't post Facebook pics of yourself in Paris Hilton's boudoir" have to be in the top two Perfect Criming Don'ts. Ding-dongs.)