In an industry where anyone weighing over 90 pounds in heels and full make-up is considered fat, you must have known that exposing your postpartum curves would come close to causing rioting on Rodeo Drive. Performing at the VMAs in that sequined brassiere and panty ensemble has made me a fan.
When you broke out back in the day, I was too old to appreciate the bubblegum flavor you were selling. Too old and listening to Operation Ivy incessantly. At the time I was working at a preschool, and knew of you only through witnessing the impressions that 4-year-old girls (and the occasional boy) would do of you. Since, I’ve been on the sidelines, cheering while you gave props to Madonna, shuddering while you gave a meandering speech about how we all should just support the president.
At the prime of your career, you managed to enter into a series of marriages–not unlike what the non-celebrity does, just more publicized. I got married at 22 and it sucked just as much. I almost wish there were a spotlight on my mess up because I’d get some sick joy out of hearing a million Americans dis the ex. There’s got to be some therapeutic value in that.
Then you went and got yerself pregnant. Rinse and repeat. Spending more time with your kids wouldn’t be a bad idea, but that advice could be given to many, many other people too. It’s not only former child stars who appear to prioritize career over family. Men in our culture have been socialized to do just that. (more…)
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