Dear Heidi Montag,
No, seriously. Who are you? I’ve read about a million stories about your FFF-cup fake boobs but I’m still not entirely sure why they were newsworthy. Unless the story was titled “Stupidly Big Fake Boobs and the Women Who Have Them”.
What I’ve been able to piece together without giving in and watching The Hills, something I don’t want to do for fear of instant and irreversible brain atrophy, is that you are on a semi-reality show about your life, if your life had been organized by television producers for maximum appeal to 18-34 year olds. And not even really your life; it was actually about the life of your roommate, who was an established reality tv presence, and you got pulled into it. Sort of a reality tv sloppy seconds things. Then you married a guy who is also on the show, and you’ve spent every penny they paid you for being on that show on plastic surgery to transform you from a moderately attractive young woman into a Barbie doll. What I have not been able to ascertain is whether you have any actual talents. I may be forced to conclude that you don’t have any.
So, why are you on tv and in lots of tabloids?
I think I’m missing some vital step here. Like, the missing link of reality stardom. What is The Hills? How did people wind up on it? In most reality shows there’s a contest going on and people want to win it or it’s about people who are already sort of famous, like the Kardashians, and people want a window into their lives. The Hills, from what I hear, is neither. You and your fellow Hillies are just…pretty-ish people who are on tv. Yeah. Um…why? Are you all really interesting? Smart? Pursuing cool lines of work like the designers on Project Runway? Do some of you give up and go home like on Survivor? Do you sing? Dance? Have catfights?
Oh. Is that it? Catfights? Really? Oh.
So Heidi, what we’re saying is that you decided that your American Dream involved a low form of fame built of being dramatic where people could see it – and not the good Meryl-Streep-gifted-actress kind of dramatic, the middle school kind. And when the attention to that pursuit started to fade, you blew up your boobs.
I’m sort of appalled. Or rather I would be appalled if I could muster up the kind of emotional energy needed for full-on appalled, but really? You don’t inspire that kind of feeling. I was able to sustain enough mild interest to look at your before and after shots in some magazine or other and I was inspired to look at your Wikipedia page once I decided to blog about you but basically…I got nothing for ya. At least with Britney Spears I could manage a righteous indignation at the wild inapproriateness of a very young girl dressed in a school uniform using sexual euphemisms. Or with someone like Carrie Prejean I could decry her for having reactionary views on human relationships. But you, Heidi? You’re one step up from being a non-entity. You don’t even really arouse my curiosity, much less passion.
I am aware that I’m not who you’re trying to impress. You’re trying to get an agent. Or a better agent. Or a husband. Or a better husband. Or something like that. You’re also telling thousands of women and girls that they look bad and should be surgically altered because doing so will make them famous and for that? You pretty much suck.
Anyway, Heidi, far be it from me to tell you how to live the rest of your life because, apart from the plastic surgery and all, I haven’t even really paid any attention to how you’re currently living you life. I just wanted to say that for all the work you’re doing to try and make an impression, you haven’t made much of one.