Celebrity PR 101
So, you're a famous pop-tart a few years past your sell-by date. Your last hit song was in 2004 - and that was a cheesetastic remake on a greatest hits album.
It's been a rough ride since 2004. There's the quickie marriage and annulment. The knee surgery and tour cancellation. Luckily, you meet the love of your life - the man of your dream - a knight in low-riders and wife-beater. He already has a girlfriend? And a kid? And the girlfriend is pregnant again? Well, naysayers be damned - it's true love and that's all that matter right? A few make-out sessions on public beaches and hotel balconies and the world will forget all about his old family.
Next marriage, then a baby of your own. Then it really hits the fan. Your husband parties. A lot. He makes an "album" while you're home changing diapers. He's accused of leaking personal stories the tabloids. Just as you start work on a comeback album comes word that you're pregnant again. But the real problem is that the media sets out to portray you as the world's worst celebrity parent (and given that Tom Cruise was promoting a movie halfway around the world just seconds after the birth of the alleged Suri, that's a high honour). You drive with the baby on your lap (to "flee" the terrifying paparazzi). You almost drop the baby on a New York street (do to uneven cobblestones). The young tot takes a tumble from a high chair and makes a visit to emergency (damn nanny). You change his diaper on the floor of a lingerie store (well who doesn't?). And the media gleefully document and dissect every moment.
It's all way worse than that time you were photographed leaving a public bathroom in bare feet (by the way: ewwww). It's a PR crisis. The world thinks you are Bad Mother(TM). What to do, what to do?
Well, if you are Britney Spears, you launch a full-on media blitz asking for the media to leave you alone. You sit down with Matt Lauer to explain what a good mom you are. You project a wholesome maternal image by wearing a low-cut top, short skirt, scarecrow hair and lots n' lots of make-up. You cry. You defend the state of your marriage. You defend driving with a baby-cum-projectile of your lap by explaining that "we're country." (Way to get the red states on your side Brit; imply that they all endanger their children a part of their rich and wonderful "country" culture).
Then, you pose nude in the pages (and on the cover) of Harper's Bazaar, projecting your very best Demi Moore. You, Brit, are no Demi Moore. The shots come out looking like rather strange quasi-porn as opposed to a celebration of the pure beauty of pregnancy and the joy of motherhood. It's something about the vacant eyes. At least your false eyelashes stayed in place for the whole shoot.
Best of luck on getting the world to leave you alone Brit. But I gotta ask: how can we miss you if you won't go away?
It's been a rough ride since 2004. There's the quickie marriage and annulment. The knee surgery and tour cancellation. Luckily, you meet the love of your life - the man of your dream - a knight in low-riders and wife-beater. He already has a girlfriend? And a kid? And the girlfriend is pregnant again? Well, naysayers be damned - it's true love and that's all that matter right? A few make-out sessions on public beaches and hotel balconies and the world will forget all about his old family.
Next marriage, then a baby of your own. Then it really hits the fan. Your husband parties. A lot. He makes an "album" while you're home changing diapers. He's accused of leaking personal stories the tabloids. Just as you start work on a comeback album comes word that you're pregnant again. But the real problem is that the media sets out to portray you as the world's worst celebrity parent (and given that Tom Cruise was promoting a movie halfway around the world just seconds after the birth of the alleged Suri, that's a high honour). You drive with the baby on your lap (to "flee" the terrifying paparazzi). You almost drop the baby on a New York street (do to uneven cobblestones). The young tot takes a tumble from a high chair and makes a visit to emergency (damn nanny). You change his diaper on the floor of a lingerie store (well who doesn't?). And the media gleefully document and dissect every moment.
It's all way worse than that time you were photographed leaving a public bathroom in bare feet (by the way: ewwww). It's a PR crisis. The world thinks you are Bad Mother(TM). What to do, what to do?
Well, if you are Britney Spears, you launch a full-on media blitz asking for the media to leave you alone. You sit down with Matt Lauer to explain what a good mom you are. You project a wholesome maternal image by wearing a low-cut top, short skirt, scarecrow hair and lots n' lots of make-up. You cry. You defend the state of your marriage. You defend driving with a baby-cum-projectile of your lap by explaining that "we're country." (Way to get the red states on your side Brit; imply that they all endanger their children a part of their rich and wonderful "country" culture).
Then, you pose nude in the pages (and on the cover) of Harper's Bazaar, projecting your very best Demi Moore. You, Brit, are no Demi Moore. The shots come out looking like rather strange quasi-porn as opposed to a celebration of the pure beauty of pregnancy and the joy of motherhood. It's something about the vacant eyes. At least your false eyelashes stayed in place for the whole shoot.
Best of luck on getting the world to leave you alone Brit. But I gotta ask: how can we miss you if you won't go away?
posted by Jen @ 7:07 a.m.
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