I have this habit of putting the cart before the horse, which is why, having recently dusted off my grandiose High School ambitions of fame, I feel free to act like I’m already a star. This is much easier than actually accomplishing anything that would earn me fame and explains why (as you’ll come to see in this weekly column) I’m so eager to critique just about everyone and everything.
This act, however, has proven to be a disappointing substitute for the real deal; much to my chagrin, I’m still not receiving the real-life tabloid treatment I feel my ego so deserves. Fortunately, though, if 2011 has taught me anything, it’s that the only equipment I need to achieve celebrity status is a penchant for alliteration and a lack of shame.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but was it not the year of Kardashian dominance? I know their Kult has actually been around for quite some time now, approximately since the world collectively decided to forget that their surreptitious cosmetic surgeries and musical forays were fueled by OJ’s blood money. But this was the year it really reached a turning point.
Despite all of the taut-faced Kris Jenner’s efforts to claw her way out of the peanut gallery with those manicured talons of hers, the krown of 2011 undoubtedly goes to Kim. This was her big year: an opportunity to step into the limelight and prove that she could earn her own paychecks. This was the year that Kim Kardashian got a divorce.
In all fairness, the Armenian heiress’ empire conquered territories other than that of sacred matrimony. She and her sisters collaborated on Dollhouse, a fiction novel about three celebrity sisters making it in Hollywood; she graced the covers of journalistic hallmarks such as Star and Us Weekly; she even took the music industry by storm with her robotic party anthem “Jam (Turn It Up),” which features her lyrical prowess in the thoughtful refrain “They playin’ my jam.” So while it isn’t necessarily 100 percent truthful to say that all Kim got out of 2011 was a 72 day-long betrothal to Kris Humphries, it definitely provided her with her largest payday to date.
In a way, Kim and her failed marriage represent what I like to think of as the American Dream’s spoiled granddaughter: the lifestyle that everyone from the Hills of L.A. to the Jersey Shore fantasizes about having. It’s opulent, fast and flashy, not to mention exorbitantly profitable. So much so, in fact, I fear the Kardashians may one day have the power to declare a copyright on the letter K.
Kim and her family have, essentially, made a living doing what any person who’s born with a fortune is capable of — the only difference being they have a memorable gimmick and a camera crew. We might hate them for making money by simply living in front of cameras, but it’s because we watch them at all that they continue to expand their dominion. We the viewers have assured that inheritance is no longer their greatest source of income.
Personally, I think this is a plus; I’m thrilled that networks cared enough to syndicate Kim’s multimillion dollar ceremony — almost as thrilled as I am disappointed that the divorce proceedings weren’t developed into a four-hour special. Not only does this mean that Kim will have $18,000,000 worth of bills with which to dab her post-nuptial mascara streaks, but it also teaches starry-eyed Americans like myself that fame is only as far as the camera’s lens.
As a matter of fact, at this very moment I’m conjuring up ways to spin a reality show out of my everyday life. I can’t get pregnant and I don’t have an eight-pack, so that rules out my chances with MTV, but maybe I can really run with this whole gay thing. If I acquire a taste for Diesel and adopt a subtle lisp, then maybe I can trick TLC or Bravo into penning a contract with me. And after that, who knows? All I’m saying is that even reality show socialites like to have their token sassy sidekicks. A guy can dream.
Peasants feel free to e-mail DYLAN GALLAGHER at dylaaaaan@gmail.com before he gets too famous to respond. For his reality blog, follow cleverblog.tumblr.com.
