If you’re a hominid and you’re mostly alive, you probably don’t want to read this. I probably don’t want you to read this. I mean, I like my mostly anonymous life, the one in which I’m not chased by angry villagers waving pitchforks and lit torches.
But hey, I’m living on the edge. So, get out your lighter fluid and your Bics, here goes:
Jennifer Lawrence is kind of getting on my nerves.
(If you want to punch me, can you start with my right side? I just got a crown on my left.)
Yes, I know Jennifer Lawrence is more than America’s Sweetheart. I know she is Adorably Real. I know she’s everyone’s Best Friend If-Only-I-Knew-Her. And, I mean, she just charmed The New York Times‘ Manohla Dargis; maybe I should just give this up. JLaw Forever!
I get it, she can do no wrong. (For real, a friend of mine just went to a sketch comedy performance here in L.A. and one of the pieces was about a future universe in which Jennifer Lawrence took up a new mass-murdering hobby and we loved her more than ever. )
But, with the Oscars® upon us, I have to wonder, how is Lawrence going to make the Internet vibrate and hum and almost explode with posts about how AWESOME SHE IS AND OMIGOD ISN’T IT AMAZING SHE JUST DID THATANDHOWREALCANACELEBRITYBEWHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?
Seriously, she pops up in other people’s photos, interrupts interviews, flips the bird and prattles on about her “armpit vagina.” Come March 2nd, is she planning to give Meryl Streep a super-wedgie on the red carpet and recount with infographics each of her colon’s spasms?
Maybe it’s just me but I think it could only serve Ms. Lawrence well if she’d rein in her photobombing, oversharing, laying-it-all-out-there-ness.
Don’t get me wrong. She’s super talented. I think the kid’s due for big things. (I can call her a kid since I have a decade-plus on her and this whole column is very “kids-these-days” of me.)
In many ways, I think it’s great that she’s supposedly just being herself and we all love her for it.
And I’m happy that someone who’s admitted to battling social anxiety has figured out how to make this super-public profession of hers work.
But, Jennifer, I want you to have a long career. And all this oversharing might be the surest way for us to chew you up and spit you out. Right now, we’re having fun with you, but how many times can you up the ante on how real you are before we grow tired of hearing that you want to pound twelve cheeseburgers and melt on your couch, just like the rest of us?
One, you’re not like the rest of us, you beautiful, successful creature. Two, it’s only a matter of time before the tide turns and the public decides all celebrities should be just like Marnie on Girls.
I don’t want you to go that far.
You can be funny, clever, even candid without resorting to a philosophy of TMI or saying every single thing that pops in to your head. Without always making yourself the star of someone else’s photos. Without talking about maybe-knocking Taylor Swift down the stairs. (Really, watch out for that girl. Kanye still catches flak for getting up in her business.)
Having secrets isn’t a bad thing. Telling a white lie? Even better. Calling the media out on their garbage red-carpet questions? Love it! Just think about the way you do it. While known for being brash and a spitfire, Katharine Hepburn never admitted much of anything deeply personal about herself and tweaked her personal details just to have things that were her very own. (And no one can accuse her of not being real: Check out this interview with Morley Safer if you don’t believe me. )
Just, keep some things to yourself. Share wisely. It’s advice I’ll give my own son, though by the time he’s of age for social media, the Internet will probably know what to share about us before we do.
That’s gonna suck.
Or, in the more bon-mot way Kat Hepburn put it, “Life is hard. After all, it kills you.”
It’s also, if you’re lucky, pretty long.
Be a legend, not a trend.
Keep your armpit vaginas to yourself.
I’ll be over here, putting out the fire Manohla Dargis set to my hair.