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April 1, 2005 > Arts & Entertainment > Enough: My J.Lo-induced overdose

Enough: My J.Lo-induced overdose

By Jonathan Schumann | Thresher Editorial Staff

I think too much about Jennifer Lopez. I think about what she wears, what she eats, where she lives and who she is sleeping with. And here’s the crazy thing: I really shouldn’t care. I recently discovered that I have become a victim of a vicious network of information systems known as tabloid culture. This epiphany came in the most brutal of circumstances. Picture me in bed, painfully hung over, restlessly fidgeting under the covers. Normally, my nemesis on mornings like this is the sun, but this morning, it was a much more formidable opponent. From the other room, I heard the arrogant, too-cool-for-her-own-good voice of Jennifer Lopez.

She was berating a fashion designer about her new J. Lo clothing line. It seemed that the designs were not ‘uptown’ enough for her. I shuffled from my bed to see what was going on. Why was J. Lo on TV? Could this be true? Does J. Lo have a fashion line?

And there she was, Jenny from the block, in a diamond-studded beret no less, scolding fashionistas left and right. Her minions scurried off-camera, undoubtedly to go weep in some corner. And then J. Lo strutted off, leaving desperate, poor and insecure personal assistants in her wake.

Certainly nothing is worse than waking up to one of J. Lo’s diva fits. And J. Lo is not going to fondly recall such bombastically bitchy behavior, either.

But then, it’s really not for her. It’s for us. This special, broadcast on VH1 — a channel that seems determined to create as many reality shows as it takes to see big stars without their makeup on — is representative of a bigger problem.

As a society, our celebrity-watching obsession has reached a dangerous level. We are content sitting on our couch, watching Ashlee Simpson get her hair cut. At the same time the following night, we sit and watch her sister, Jessica, eat a hot dog while husband Nick, who looks more bored and sad by the episode, sips a beer.

For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed celebrity culture. The tacky, newsmagazine television shows that keep us up-to-date with who’s dating whom have always been a frivolous escape for me. To celebrate another’s glamorous life seems understandable enough. There will always be a certain thrill in soaking up the dresses at a red carpet premiere or basking in the sheer overindulgence of someone else’s nightlife.

But these days we have begun celebrating other people’s mundanity and — even worse — their wholly negative qualities. We watch J. Lo because she’s a self-serving diva, and we watch Nick and Jessica to see how they spend their downtime. Surprisingly, sleeping and eating seem to be very popular at the Simpson-Lachey house.

The Truman Show, director Peter Weir’s underappreciated satire about how media invades our daily lives, could not have been more ahead of its time. In his film, Weir suggests that a person would have to be lied to and maliciously tricked to go on camera 24/7. Yet now this seems to go exactly what some celebrities want. We appear to have a handful of voluntary Truman Burbanks floating on the airwaves.

Another film, Woody Allen’s Celebrity, sends a similar message. At the end of the film, the anxiety-ridden Robin (played with lovable neurosis by Judy Davis) says, ‘You know, you can tell a lot about a society by who they celebrate.’

And she’s absolutely right. We celebrate Jessica Simpson’s fierce dim-wittedness (Buffalo wings, anyone?) and Jennifer Lopez’s sheer self-involvement.

Yep, that’s us.

Jonathan Schumann is a Baker College junior and arts and entertainment editor.

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