Prefabricated celebrities. The mobile homes of the talented. I’ll explain.
The marginally talented who possess a look that corporations can use to sell their mass manufactured–whatever. Think Ashton Kutcher selling you the "trucker" look. J-Lo selling you perfume and sunglasses. Britany Spears selling you low rise jeans. Just to name a few. None of these people are talented as in Whitney Houston or Barry White, but sorta as in Karaoke. Nonetheless, all the aforementioned, and then some, are living in embarrassing wealth because they can sell us crap. And they can sell us crap because they have a marketable look. A look that corporations can exploit. We like the way they look. We want to look like them. We want to be like them. A nation full of celebrity clones. Alternately scary and amusing, in a guilty pleasure kinda way. But nevermind that. If you don’t believe me, just take a look around. Wherever you are, I don’t care. Look around, go ahead; I’ll wait. Tell me you didn’t see someone wearing the trucker hat and the attending t-shirt with his ass crack showing. Tell me you didn’t see someone wearing the J-Lo glasses. Tell me you didn’t see someone wearing those low-rise jeans. Suddenly I have a craving for Pepto. Sickening.
When I get home this evening, I am going through all of my clothes. If I find anything that is celebrity inspired, I am throwing it in the trash. Just a little further away from a cliched existence, and one step closer to living an original life.