Outside of the In-Crowd – I don’t know why you’re famous

Courtney Enlow

A few weeks ago, I waxed hate-osophical about reality television stars and how generally worthless they are. But I have wronged you, gentle reader, because I made no mention of the worst enemy to the thinking person, even worse than the scourge of scripted TV those Hills and Jon and Kate people could ever hope to be, and that is people who are famous for nothing. Literally. They are famous for doing nothing.

I can fake a fairly solid explanation for why the Kardashians and the Duggars and all those other people have attained notoriety. But there are some for whom I cannot even muster that. These people show up places and are photographed, and I’m somehow supposed to know who they are and why they’re important and frankly it’s just not fair. It’s rude really.

It’s well known that I have a bit of an addiction to the celebrity gossip world. This shit is like sports are to you man-people. I’m fascinated by the whole circus in a deeply watching-the-aftermath-of-a-car-crash capacity. But I cannot read about what amazing new drops of sparkly knowledge Kanye West is spilling all over our lives in his blog, or what amazing new reason Katherine Heigl has given me to hate her, if the publications and websites must find the time to devote to these nothing-people.

It’s just hurtful and unfair is all I’m really saying here.

For those of you blissfully unaware and confused by what I am saying, I’ve helpfully selected by top three most hated nothing-people and why exactly they want us to believe they are somethings.

It should be noted that as much as I detest these wannabes and everything they stand for, I’d gladly invite them all into my home for milk and cookies if it meant Heidi and Spencer could find themselves in some sort of swampy alligator-filled area.

3. Victoria Beckham

I loves me some Spice Girls, as we all do, don’t lie, but that was 10 years ago now. What has Vicki B. given us since then? Nothing. She always seems to be at airports and walking around being unexpectedly photographed, and always wearing five-inch heels and perfect hair. Her husband seems to be the object of desire for 99 percent of all women, so she must have done something right. As weary as I get with Posh, the anger level is nowhere near what it is for the next two.

2. Katie Price, a.k.a. Jordan

Katie Price is what the Brits call a “glamour model.” That term basically means that she took slutty pictures and showed her big fake breasticles a lot. Other than her former modeling career, I don’t believe she does anything, except apply eyeliner and divorce her semi-obviously gay husband. I think she wrote a book. And yet, her picture is everywhere.

1. Pheobe Price

Phoebe Price has found a way to get under my skin the most and cause me to hate her with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. Phoebe Price insists upon referring to herself as an “international model.” She apparently did so by looking exactly like a younger, gingerer version of this fellow. She can often be found at gas stations and walking up and down the streets of downtown LA desperately looking for someone to photograph her holding up magazine photos featuring her, usually in a terrible light and very mockingly. She just loves the attention of it all. And that makes me sad.

The vast majority of people in this country have never heard of those bottom two and that makes me happy. But not for their lack of trying. And in Phoebe Price’s case, she’s not really doing anything besides walking up and down Robertson posing like she’s at Fashion Week. And those are just the three that bug me most. I didn’t even include the really random people like professional hipster jailbait Cory Kennedy.

So obviously I’ve designed my own plan for fame.

Step 1: I shall adorn myself in tattered homeless people clothing and refer to myself as a model to anyone within auditory distance. No one seems to be able to prove or disprove the “international model” title of Phoebe Price, so apparently it’s really easy to get away with. I mean, James Frey can’t get away with lying about some fucked up rehab stories, but apparently anyone can totally fabricate themselves into being Kate Moss. So despite my hobbitt-esque stature, I am a model. I AM A MODEL, DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?

Step 2: I shall demand entrance into popular and exclusive locales and when denied, I shall pull the epic “Don’t you know who I am?” I shall do this often enough that someone will eventually passingly wonder who, exactly, I am.

Step 3: I shall stumble drunkenly around Los Angeles. What I’ve gathered is that if you’re dressed sluttily and you fall down a lot, it doesn’t matter who you are, someone will take your picture.

Step 4: I shall develop a trendy coke problem, maybe heroin, just for a while, have sex with superstars like the dad from Alf and that guy who sang “Key Largo”, get clean, and tell my story of redemption to everyone, while also dropping the word “model” and the sentence “Don’t you know who I am” mid-story, at least seven or eight times.

Step 5: Sex tape. I’ve chosen “Taking It To Court” as my title, now it’s just a matter of choosing the right partner. I’m strongly considering Steven Weber or Ian Ziering.

See you guys? It’s just so easy.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.