I swear to god, I think some of the rich assholes I've come across in my life, would, if they were sentenced to die, end up requesting a bespoke chair like this. They wouldn't DARE touch another filthy heathen's death throne let alone sit in it without it being a brand name. The people I've seen come and go throughout my life have been so superficial that when I couldn't measure up to their spending habits, they judged me not for who I was as a person, but who I was when I got dolled up or knew the right people. As soon as my credit card got maxxed out, so did our friendship. I keep falling into the trap of meeting these people partly because on the outside I look a certain way, but also because of the profession I'm in. This is why I keep my distance from people. Because at the end of the day, these fuckers will die peacefully in the electric chair as long as their shackles have shiny brass LV hardware emblazoned on them. The worst part is, they aren't even deep enough to care that they are about to sizzle. They'll just be pleased as punch to be going out in style.

Dear Ethers,

 My pal, uber celeb shoe gal is having a party tomorrow night and English gent cannot come. He’s about 2 weeks behind on a project that he’s doing freelance work for in the UK and it’s due Monday.  He simply doesn’t have an hour, let alone an evening to spare.  I’m really nervous about going alone.  Shoe gal has on her guest list people like Angela Basset, Johnny Depp, Halle Berry (and hopefully her man….grrr), Annette Bening and Warren Beatty.  She also has a lot of Beverly Hills elite (blechh) and very chi-chi designers, business people and friends (hopefully the normal people) coming as well. 

I really like shoe gal.  She’s fun to hang out with—alone.  But when she is in her element amongst the rich and fabulous she acts her role and it makes me uncomfortable.  I also don’t know a single person going and feel like I’m going to be the poor schmuck who is unemployed, not wearing Cartier and living at home with her parents.  

I’ve felt like this a lot in my life.  I went to extremely expensive and elite private schools from 12-21.  The kids were all children of directors and actors, CEO’s of major companies or huge real estate guru’s, or people that were serious investment bankers.  I always hated becoming friends with them because even though by global standards I was doing pretty damned well financially, in their circle I was always the poor girl who could never keep up.  I was never able to go out for $15 drinks, take taxis, shop at Barney’s, give expensive gifts, buy the pricey make-up.  They made me feel insecure and embarrassed.  And to be honest, it really wasn’t my fault.  I was proud of myself for putting my foot down, not spending money I didn’t have and never pretending to be someone I wasn’t.  They were the jerks who couldn’t understand the concept that maybe there were some people who didn’t fly in their Concord lifestyle.  By then, they dropped me—I supposed it was a good thing because they probably weren’t nice enough people anyway.  But, it always hurt because the process in dumping me was humiliating. 

My shoe gal knows that I’m just a freelancer but I think she assumes I have money.  I wear very expensive handbags (all bought for 50% off when I worked as head of copy and content at a very exclusive department store in the UK).  I wear expensive clothes (again, either bought on sale and then again marked down with my discount, or through my clever eye at TJ Maxx, outlet malls, mega-sales and savvy shopping).  I don’t think I’ve bought anything full price in years.  I’m starting to get the problems I have with her that I’ve always had with the other rich friends I’ve acquired.  She wants to go out to eat to places where the bill comes to $120 because she ONLY drinks Champagne and sparkling wine.  She shops on Rodeo Drive (she lives about a block from there) and she never even looks at the price tags at Chanel (she has a personal shopper there who knows her by name and brings her, yes, her favorite bubbly while she tries on $5,000 puffer jackets). 

Here’s what you should know about her.  She is 43, so almost 14 years my senior.  She was first and orthopedic surgeon and then became one of the top shoe designers, at least in America.  She came to this country at 8, fleeing from war and speaking no English.  This woman is brilliant and has made the American dream happen for herself.  She is a successful businessperson and she has worked damned hard.  She should reap the benefits of this—I’m not taking that from her.  But, it’s just getting hard to keep up.  I don’t want to lose her as a friend.  But when she calls me up and says let’s meet for a drink, she’s not talking about the local pub.  She means The Four Season’s Hotel. 

I have NEVER allowed ANYONE to treat me as a charity case.  I’ve had these rich friends offer to pay for me and I have always said no.  There are two reasons why.  1: I never want to owe someone because then they feel that they own you in some way. 2: I feel it has to damage the relationship somehow because the friend might start feeling resentful that they are being used for their cash.  

I had a terrible incident happen to me in London.  I had an extremely rich girlfriend of mine who came to visit from the States and wanted to go to the Light Bar in London.  A drink there is 15quid.  She was staying with me and wanted to take a cab and I told her that it would cost 40quid and the tube was free.  She was really angry and offered to pay for the taxi.  I finally gave in but was really uncomfortable.  She then got us into the Light Bar and kept ordering us rounds (there were two other friends she knew from London there as well).  I said to her that I could not afford more than one drink, but she kept ordering anyway and told me she’d pay.  I was gutted and miserable the whole night.  When the bill came, it was almost 1000 pounds.  All 3 of them took out their credit cards and I was the only person who couldn’t pony up the cash.  My “friend” explained, in a stupid, drunken manner, that I didn’t have the money to afford the drinks and could the three of them cover me?  I was devastated.  I didn’t speak to her for the rest of the next day and thank goodness that evening she flew home.  She and I speak on occasion, but the friendship really died on that night.  I swore NEVER to let that happen again. 

The problem with the business I’m in is that I’m either interacting with people who have large expense accounts or who are very wealthy.  I don’t actually hang out with fellow journalists all that often.  It’s not easy NOT having the green.  I want to be friends with my shoe gal, but I don’t want to have the talk with her that I’ve had with so many that has made me turn crimson—that I just can’t afford to go out with her.  

Again, the irony is that I come from a well-off family, and I would certainly not be considered poor.  But to these people, I am broke.  A hindrance.  So, I’ll go to this shoe gal’s party, put on a big, smiley face and pretend that all is hunky-dory in my life.  But inside, my heart is thumping and all I’ll want to do is get the fuck out of there.  Can you now understand why I don’t want to be broke with English gent and why I want so badly to be a success in a career and make money so that I’m not embarrassed anymore?  I know I should be confidant in myself regardless of what others think—but realistically, the world doesn’t work that way.  You’ve got to be able to pay the bills, not matter how lovely a disposition you have or how happy or in love you are.  I NEVER want to be someone’s charity case or anyone’s poor relation.

I’ll give you guys the details about the party as soon as………..

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Celebrity is all a bit blurry. The girl in the picture has a stunning figure and stands out in a red dress, but where she's standing and what her emotions are seem fuzzy. What goes on behind the scenes of the rich and famous is an odd one. They will never fully be just like you and me. But when you get close enough and things become clearer some of the fantasy goes away and it takes the magic with it.

Dear Ether,

So, I covered a red carpet on Thursday night.  I can’t tell you anything (yadda, yadda…the close lipped contract….) and this entry isn’t going to be about the party itself, but about the vulnerability of the celebrity.

My job went as it should.  I did the normal carpet chit-chat.  Some celebs were better interviews than others.  The waifish ladies did their poses for the cameras looking confident and gorgeous.  And then they sauntered off into the affair itself.  After I was finished doing my interviews, I went into the party for observations, to grab a drink and take some visual notes on what the event looked like because sometimes cameras aren’t allowed in.  Also, you might get a chance to chat with a celeb a little more in-depth and get something juicy.  It’s also a fun perk (though I find it a little awkward because I don’t know anyone and hanging out with famous people for the sake of it has never been my thing).  You might also walk away with a goodie-bag and you are guaranteed amazing food and cocktails.  My favorite perk of going to V.I.P. shin-dig’s has always been that I get to explore a club or a hotel that you would normally never be granted access to.

But Thursday I had the strangest epiphany. As I was observing these make-up clad women and trendily dressed men that I had seen on the big and small screen, I realized that they were vulnerable.  I think all my life I’ve always thought of celebrities as being super men and women.  That they were touched by fairy-dust and were infallible.  I think some of these people think they are too.  Look at the classic case of James Dean.  But, I think as the walls are crumbling with privacy between the media and the public, stars are starting to realize that they actually are just like “us” with a bit more cash and possibly more problems (though don’t get me wrong, I’d like to have the problem of what dress to wear to the Academy Awards or what movie to choose from instead of how the hell I’m going to pay my water bill….).

I can’t drink heavily when I attend these parties for 2 reasons.  1: I’m on the clock so it would be unprofessional.  2: I drive and so I have to be sober come time to leave and go home.  But a lot of these celebs either come with PR people who drive them home, they have drivers or scarily, they might even take the risk of the road themselves.  So, if you’ve ever been to a party where everyone around you is drunk and you’re sober, it’s like walking through a madhouse of slanted eyes, cockeyed grins and loose limbs.  And that’s what I saw straight and clear with these well-known folks.  It was like a weird party at college.  Their eyes were darting around if they were standing around without anyone to talk to looking desperate and embarrassed.  They used the old texting on the mobile phone trick if they were sitting alone so they “looked busy” and they seemed jittery and had uncomfortable silences just like you and I would have at a party if we were in their position.  I was really surprised.  You always think they have a zillion people to chat with and are the king’s and queen’s of the balls.  Not so!

You know, when I went to parties for my previous line of work, very few of them were celeb functions.  They were mainly cozy press affairs so most of the people who attended were PR’s and fellow journalists.  Also, Hollywood is a whole different kettle of fish than London.  People are star crazy here.  The people who are reporters are so hungry for some sort of claim to fame that they froth at the mouth when they see any celebrity.  It just doesn’t do it for me.  Do I smile or chuckle to myself when I see someone famous?  Of course!  But these people—they will literally stab you in the neck if you get in their way of a possible meeting with anyone recognizable.  I find it really pathetic and it actually made me feel sorry for them.

But I digress.  When I saw the vulnerability and the desperation in many of these celebs eyes, and the look of being lost and not having anyone to talk to, I actually felt depressed.  I felt sorry for them.  I know I shouldn’t and I’m probably reading WAY too deeply into this, but it just felt like the barrier between audience and stage had fallen and I had seen the actor through their make-up.  It was kinda ugly.  I grew up in Los Angeles and my dad, as mentioned in earlier posts, was a TV writer.  I also went to a school that was laden with celebrity parents.  I used to go on studio lots and see famous people daily.  Fame is not anything terribly shocking or heart-stopping for me (except for Sienna Miller—and I keep meaning to explain that one—but alas, it will have to wait for another post).  But I can understand how people who aren’t jaded like I am are crazed when they see someone they adore in the flesh. A couple of the other reporters wanted to stay and try and see if they could hang out with some of the famous folks.  But as soon as my revelation came, I wanted out.  I busted a move, handed the valet my ticket and thankfully got in my car and was pleased to leave and get on with my work.

Look, I’m sure I am over-analyzing.  But, it really is weird when you see the mask fall and underneath isn’t the glorious face of Dorian Gray but the plain visage of John Doe.  These people get pit stains, spill on themselves, step in shit, and get lonely and lost at a party.  I guess the reason it made me feel so bad is because somewhere in me was the dream of wanting to be famous. The perks are great—the money, the opportunities, the chance to play roles in locations that are exquisite.  But a the end of the day, they go home and check their e-mail where they delete their spam about Viagra, open up the fridge and stare wondering what they want for a snack and cry when they have a down day.

Funny how one stupid event can just remind you of that, eh?

I love the magazine I’m working for.  I’m grateful for the opportunity and I adore the inside chances I get to experience and the interesting people I get to speak to.  But for some reason on Thursday something hit a bad chord in me and I had to share it.  I don’t know, I’ll let you know if the next one brings out these emotions in me.

In conclusion, flashbulbs and canapés, there will always be famous people.  And there will always be fans.   But there are very few people who actually get to see what goes on behind the curtain.  And you know what, a lot of their life is a big old set.  A fake reality.  Their truth is no different than ours.  So next time your eyes are darting back and forth wondering “why isn’t anyone talking to me” or “shit, I don’t know anyone here, I’m nervous,” just know your favorite celeb has been there too.  She’s just been wearing a designer dress that’s more expensive than you have on while doing it.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365