Shallow Reflections: It's Britney, Bitch
“I'm addicted to you. Don't you know that you're toxic?”
–Britney Spears, “Toxic”
It was just another ordinary day with me compulsively downloading some pictures of a celebrity hottie. In this case that hottie was Britney Spears. I can't even remember what it was exactly that drove me to look her up, but whatever the reason, I figured I'd get a few photos and that would be the end of it. Everything was going fine until I stumbled upon a picture that showed her in a way I'd never seen before. I always thought Britney was cute, but now she'd become absolutely riveting. It was like a long dormant drug had violently kicked-in. I was suddenly able to function on three hours of sleep as opposed to my usual sixteen. It had been ages since I felt so electrified, and never before had this feeling lasted for so long, yet during this weeklong high I was conflicted by other, healthier desires to do something else with my time like read, eat, and stop thinking about Britney. This was a textbook case of Palmeritis in full-effect, and it was this irresistibility that drove me to obsessively catalogue each of Britney's photos and — even worse — compelled me to start reading up on her affairs.
The last time I'd heard about the Pop Princess was back in her adolescent heyday, and since then, my system for blocking out any unwanted nuisances like commercials or celebrity gossip had become so effective that I'd been blissfully ignorant of her two-second marriage, her reality television show, her friendship with Paris Hilton, and her infamous “stoned video,” let alone her two pregnancies. Alas, I now know far more than anyone should.
Like Rachael Leigh Cook without the Glasses
“Well I don't really know her, I only know her name, but she crawls under your skin. You're never quite the same.”
–Genesis, “Invisible Touch”
Her wholesome gaze brings out the Catholic in me.
BACK WHEN she first broke out with her debut hit “Baby One More Time,” she was a pretty face to put on mute while I listened to some real music. I understood the appeal. She had an intoxicating mixture of innocence and coquettishness. She was sweet yet naughty, and unlike other similar attempts at this posture, Britney pulled it off convincingly. So, I cared enough to watch the video of her second hit single, “Sometimes,” which eventually led me to get her debut Rolling Stone issue. Yet, whenever I felt compelled to act on my naughty thoughts in naughty ways I became stymied. There was something about her doe eyed gaze that made me impotent with shame. She was too sweet, and yet, it was that very sweetness that made her so appealing. I mean she was certainly cute, but far from hot. She looked more like that next door neighbor I wish I had, or that semi-mousy lunchtime buddy I could only dream of, rather than an object of unbridled lust. All her positive qualities coalesced in a way that was, to put it lightly, counterproductive. It's a rare person who inspires both lust and shame in equal measure but, Britney — for a time at least — had been amongst the ranks of those Bollywood beauties who, despite their stunning good looks, compel one (even gazing from afar) to remain on his best behavior. This ambivalence, coupled with some other less-than-flattering photos of her, eventually cooled my infatuation, and it has more or less remained dormant in the years since then, until now.
So What's The Fuss?
“She's composition. She's statistical fact. She got it ready for the willing, got it kicking of the back.”
–Michael Jackson, “She Drives Me Wild”
This photo recalls early Madonna.
THE PROBLEM is Britney's gotten considerably more beautiful since '99. I think she owes this either to her pregnancies, the gifts of age, or both. Whatever the reason, the added weight worked in her favor by filling her toned figure out with some much needed curves. Since her debut, she's improved upon her swimsuit abs, perfect dancers legs, elegant neck, absolutely lickable feet (buoyed by her aforementioned gams), and inviting brown eyes — alright, I know her eyes are no prettier than they've ever been, but I still love 'em. Her voice, with its perky girlish quality — whether it be in full southern drawl or region-free bland Americana — completes the picture of a naughty, yet vulnerable ingenue.
Many are quick to point out her declining looks following the dissolution of her second marriage, but I might be one among an ever shrinking minority who think she's still easy on the eyes. Say what you will about the quality of her 2007 Video Music Awards performance, but I, for one, had no problem with how she looked. Hell, I even thought she looked good when she went Sinead-head. To put it simply, she's an angel, albeit a fallen one.
Now You Know, This is What It Feels Like
“I like it when the good girls cross over.”
–Mark from, Freaks & Geeks
Hold on! I'll save you Britnei...!
BUT, AS it happens, fallen angels happen to be my favorite kind. In her more current photos I still see the same glimmer of sweetness that caught my eye many moons ago, but now there's something else, something dark, sad, and (at times) deranged. Yet through all the pain I can still find that light. If anything, all this has done is make me want her even more. After years of pressure under the spotlight she's become an object of pity and even greater scorn, so much so that I often feel bad for her. This sympathy is somewhat colored by feelings of guilt over my complicity in some of her hardships. After all, if no one paid attention to the endless stream of photos the paparazzi took of her then she might actually have a moment's peace. However, the high likelihood that Britney exaserbated her troubles through her ill-advised foray into reality TV helps assuage a bit of my remorse.
Britney's hard learned experiences have made her understandably wary and cynical, but she might yet open up if only the right person came along... and its at this point in my preoccupation that I cross over from attraction to mild delusion. Such is Britney's charm that I, upon occasion, can delude myself into thinking that I might yet restore her to her former vitality if only circumstance and proximity permitted. This fantasy is particularly misplaced not merely because Britney Spears is a very rich, very public cultural icon, but rather because I myself could probably do with a fair bit of saving.
Chivalry (some might say chauvinism) aside, there's also a far seedier aspect to my fascination. It may be cliché but whether its watching Commodore Norrington transform from a promising naval officer into a bitter scallywag, or Michael Corleone return as a war hero only to eventually join the “family business,” seeing someone fall to the Darkside never gets old; especially with someone as squeaky clean as Britney once was, a long, long time ago, in a decade far, far away. Her life might lack the artistic gravitas of The Godfather or even Pirates of the Caribbean, but it does have a comparable sense of symmetry. Innocence. Rise. Corruption. Fall. Curtain.
Through Britney's many misadventures and endlessly documented moments I'm never quite sure what I'm going get, and this tawdry, overplayed drama is part of what keeps me hanging on. Her life is like an exaggeration of my even more meaningless existence. I watch her with morbid fascination and horror while sporadically congratulating myself for not having sunken so far. But, then again, in my whole life I might not ever see a quarter of what she earned before her eighteenth birthday, so I can only get so smug.
Post Binge Nausea
“I am so dirty on the inside.”
–Nine Inch Nails, “Suck”
Bon Appetit
LOOKING IN on Britney's life has become part of my daily routine, and I occasionally find myself spending an undue amount of time indulging in this habit. Any amount of time is too much, and yet these sprees can sometimes last longer than a mini Law & Order marathon, and when the air clears and sanity finally prevails I find myself overcome by a sudden urge to bathe thoroughly and sterilize everything in the immediate area. Why oh why do I this. For all that I've pontificated upon her, nothing I've mentioned warrants the sheer number of hours wasted. Even Schadenfreude has its limits.
Through The Mirror
“One · two · three I found you out, so easily.
One · two · three I found in you, what I found in me.”
–Gravity Kills, “Guilty”
Hmm. I think I'll go with Jaime Sommers, or maybe Number 6...
THIS INDULGENCE has made me rethink (yet again) what it is I find so appealing about some women and not others. If nothing else, it's brought to light the depths of my shallowness. A pretty face (with a body to match) mixed with healthy doses of seeming sweetness, helplessness and general ineptitude are this cat's meow. I'm reminded of the hilarious Futurama episode, “I Dated A Robot,” and must concede the truth of its message. Soul, strength, character, brains, these are mere spice to the otherwise empty, pretty shells I would ideally dote on. In fact, these qualities often get in the way of romantic ideals. In the end, its not really about Britney at all. She's more of an avatar, the embodyment of an idea through a particular image, rather than a person, and it is in view of these facts that it has now become painfully obvious how I could succumb to a prototypical icon of vapid beauty. In essence, Britney Spears has served as the perfect vessel on which to project whatever feminine ideal I wanted. Has she really lost her mind? No problem. I've lost mine years ago. Is she really a terrible mother? I don't care, I hate kids anyway. Is she really a trashy ditz? Naw, she's just earthy, and if she sometimes comes off as not so bright, well shit, just turn off the light.
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