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Tuesday, 16 July 2013

The Bling Ring

I have a crush on Sofia Coppola. I fell like a tonne of bricks for her after Lost in Translation and Marie Antoinette. I think maybe it's the colours in her films, and Bill Murray. So it was somewhat inevitable that I would wind up in a multiplex with an extortionately priced packet of popcorn to see The Bling Ring.

I have an odd relationship with celebrity culture. I almost feel ashamed for buying a copy of Glamour, believing instead that I should spend my time better employed, like knitting, reading stoic philosophy or charity work, but I do buy them. Call me Mary-Sue. These magazines spend pages, made from some poor unfortunate tree, to tell me that I should love my body and then have a larger number of pages with adverts for the liposuction that would allow me to keep a boyfriend, get that job and the happy self-respect I truly deserve. I don't like myself for it, but I could see why those kids did it: a celebrity and their life is already public property so why not take their private property too. You're almost entitled to it, they have so much already. And besides they're famous so they aren't real people. It really is a tale of greed. Greed and consumerist fantasy, where objects positively define you and you allow yourself also to be defined and thus objectified by them. Yet theft is theft and stupidity is stupidity. But seriously who leaves they house habitually unlocked...

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