Ja’mie: Too Close for Comfort

Last night, I watched the first episode of Ja’mie: Private School Girl, expecting lots of guttural laughter. After all, the whole "man parodying a female archetype" premise seems very Saturday Night Live. Thus, you can imagine my surprise when all I produced were a few intermittent giggles and general sense of discomfort.

Perhaps it was a little too real, which usually is not an issue.  On SNL, the reality portrayed is endearing. Mike Meyers’ Linda Richman represents 75% of the sweetest, kindest Jewish women in Brooklyn, the ones who put a smile on your face, warmth in your heart, and food in your belly. However, Ja’mie’s reality is a character rotten to her core. Watching all thirty minutes, I was traumatically reminded of the shallow girls who littered my high school, teasing me and many others, completely insensitive to the insecurities of those around them, and most certainly out-of-touch with their own. 

As an adult, I have learned that they never truly change. Those gossipy, cruel girls dating attractive gay-bashing boyfriends transform into competitive Wall Street-marrying soccer moms who sublimate their depression with Neiman Marcus charge cards. Of course, there are exceptions, but some stereotypes exist for a reason. More often than not, they are true.

Part of my problem with Ja’mie is MYSELF! Around these types of women, I am a person I loathe. I become fake and nasty in an attempt to fit in with the girls who would never accept me in my adolescence. For the longest time, I wondered why, and most recently, I have come to understand. I mimic them, seeking their approval, my rationale being that if I gain it, they will not attack me. Thus, my feelings will not get hurt like they did so deeply years ago. This awareness provides me with a bit more power over my behavior, but I am still a work-in-progress. The Ja’mies of the world bring out the worst in me. I do not need a comical impression; I have lived the real thing, and it was not funny. It was torture.

Unapologetically,

Barry

Kim Kardashian: The Christmas gift that will keep on giving, even if you'd prefer she not

A Kardashian Christmas, by David LaChapelle

I love this Christmas card. As usual, David La Chapelle bridges art with pop, creating something beautiful. I’m tired of the “they’re famous for nothing” argument against the Kardashians. As Kanye said, Kim is famous for being beautiful (and whether it's real or not, who cares?). I’m sure she works as hard as Cindy Crawford ever did. Yes, maybe Kim didn’t have to pay her dues, but good for her. Can she teach me how to do the same?

I know what you’re thinking, “Barry, if that's what you want, then make a sex tape.” I have no issue with the fact that Kim did. What bothers me is that she never owned up to it in the way I wish she had. She allegedly filmed and leaked this video with someone who was then-current, after which she and her mother allegedly pitched a reality show with Kim at the center. If this was truly the case, then a smart move they did make, lighting many flames from just a spot of oil, like the Maccabees. As most us know, this one little sex tape ultimately turned into a pop-cultural and merchandising empire. A Happy Hanukkah, indeed!

THE Modern-Day Marilyn

However, I would have preferred that Kim be what some call a post-feminism feminist, a la Madonna or Sex and the City’s Samantha Jones (although, according to Gloria Steinem, no such phenomenon exists, as feminism is a fight yet to be won). Kim could have said, “Yes, I used sex and my body to become famous and make a lot of money, and there is nothing wrong with that, because I was the one in control. I made that decision, using my sexuality to empower MYSELF.” This would have been rad. Instead, once Kim began to ascend the entertainment industry ladder, she claimed regret. In my opinion, this was a tactic Kris Jenner allegedly decided would solidify Kim’s A-list status, because sex, in the explicit sense, is still considered unbecoming of a true Hollywood siren. A classy star is supposed to insinuate sexuality, without ever truly acknowledging it. How regressive?

Regardless, Kim’s star does shine as bright as those of her famous-because-they’re-talented peers (see: Beyoncé, Katy Perry, etc.). She has entered an elite league that so many famous-for-nothings before her, including Paris Hilton and Zsa Zsa Gabor, longed to join. She is the first A-list reality star, and to not put this woman, who draws more intrigue than boring Reese Witherspoon or Charlize Theron, on Vogue’s cover seems a surprisingly out-of-touch move for an editor who was, at one point, so ahead of the curve as to replace cover models with Hollywood stars right as celebrity culture was gaining steam. That’s Anna Wintour's loss, though. Her time at the top may be dwindling, but whether you like it or not, Kim K. is here to stay.

Unapologetically,

Barry

I just want to say something brief about GaGa...

The Lady during her creative and cultural peak in November of 2009

From an outsider’s perspective (a.k.a. MINE), it looks as though Gaga is allegedly drugged up all the time - shaky, facially bloated, and unfocused (IMO). Contrary to how she was from about 2008 to 2010, Gaga seems completely unaware of how people perceive her. People can defend the Lady all they want, and she does indeed deserve much praise for pop-cultural domination so great, it hasn’t existed since the days of Michael and Madonna. Furthermore, her stellar work for the LGBT community should not go unnoticed, and to that, I say, “thank you, Gaga.” However, something is clearly off when one parts ways so publicly with so many:

1.  Troy Carter, management
2. Perez Hilton, pop-cultural blogger
3. Nicole Formichetti, stylist and designer
4. Laurieann Gibson, choreographer
5. Rob Fusari, record producer

This look: Breakfast at Tiffany's in '80s Paris

Upon first arriving onto the scene, she really understood what she was doing. Gaga GOT it. The preeminent pop-cultural theme was twittering messy starlets with long blonde hair a la Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, and Lindsay Lohan (a part-time blonde). Gaga fused this look with the advent of modern computer technology, pairing light-up sunglasses with a pleather leotard and gloved concoction most gay men dream of wearing. She was so on point that Beyoncé’s Sasha Fierce and Rihanna’s Rated R personae seemed completely derived from the ‘60s princess/‘80s drag queen Gaga had brought to life. She truly was a walking, breathing Warholian portrait, hair bow and all.

When one analyzes people who have so deeply penetrated the pop-cultural landscape for so long, one should know how these types operate. I can’t say with certainty, but I’m almost positive that Madonna and Warhol, upon realizing their ambitions, recognized that they could not touch drugs if they wanted to have the stamina and levelheadedness necessary to grow into long-term pop icons. I believe both took much inspiration from the trips and highs of those around them, but they realized that in order to capitalize on creativity, they needed to be clear-minded enough to mean business. You can’t be in a haze and run your company successfully for three decades. Even the most functioning of addicts would eventually collapse.

This brings me to the Born This Way album and look. The songs were so incredibly

This look: MESS

overproduced that all the layers jumbled together into plain old noise, with lots of loud, unnecessary rock guitars. The aesthetic, composed of this weird blonde and black hair combo, was a total mess. The only person who can pull off skunk hair is Daphne Guinness, point blank period.

We all hoped that Gaga would redeem herself with Artpop, but honestly, where are the SONGS? Most of the tracks sound like exactly that, DJ beats upon which Gaga sprinkles some singing. Where are the great melodies? This girl can write a killer chorus – have you heard Aura? It’s the rest of the song that sounds like an Arabian Western nightmare. Yes, I’m talking to you, Infected Mushroom. You snobby idiots don’t want to be associated with Gaga? You should be so lucky. Go make some good music.

Anyway, Gaga, I used to say, “Well, at least she’s doing what she wants, completely unadulterated,” but even I don't believe myself anymore. If you were sober (assuming that you’re allegedly not), you would hear this pile of poo you’re making.

Peace out.

Unapologetically,

Barry

Status Update

Thanksgiving. It is the mushiest of America’s mushy mushy holidays, one on which we’re supposed to congregate with friends and family and rejoice in one another’s company. Blame my self-centeredness, but as much as I love this holiday (which truly is my favorite), I always dread it, because in my eyes, it represents a status update. No wonder there are people who discuss off-topic topics before the big day; none of us want to feel judged, especially by those closest to us. Their judgments hurt the most, more often than not containing modicums of truth.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend, Cousin Greta. I know, so, so sad. Yes, yours is gorgeous. Uhuh, yes, I have seen his six-pack and his LinkedIn. ”

“Oh, Mom told you that my career STILL hasn’t taken off after four years out of college? Yes, Aunt Janine. Thanks for cluing in all 17 people at this table.”

“No, you’re not hallucinating those twenty pounds, Grandma. I did INDEED gain them. Mmhmm. Yes, I’m getting more stuffing.”

For those of us who are deeply insecure, these holidays take us to our default mode: glass half-empty. We may joke with our friends about tindering & grindring our way around town, but the reality is, we’re so lonely, we’ll risk meeting a serial killer just to be touched. We feel like such failures, that we’ll talk up any aspect of our jobs to feel validated by people, some of whom we see only once a year.

I suppose it is what it is, but perhaps the solution is to just be honest with one another. We spend all day on Facebook and Twitter misleadingly portraying ourselves in the most glamorous of ways in order to impress, but instead we ignite bubbling springs of bitterness and jealousy. Thus, our friends/followers feel the need to do the same, creating social media facades in hopes of bolstering their low self-esteem with likes and comments. If we tore these glossy walls down, we’d all be able to see each other’s messes, and hopefully, have the time, focus, and consideration to provide a shoulder to lean on and a hand (a.k.a. advice, networking connections to help us climb the corporate ladder, or a perfect pair of pants that highlights our curves) to lift each other up. At the end of the day, that’s what most of us need. Fortunately, most of you gentiles have Christmas to try it all again. ;)

Unapologetically,

Barry