"you don't insult MJ!"
- Thread starter caryanne
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Oanadobre: You would get a kick out of reading the thread: Marc Jacobs and his Rentboy Companion.
Jason Preston is pretentious and crazy - making me think that when he did jump to MJ's defence, no matter how admirable, that he's just a drama queen out for his 15 minutes. Seriously, go read the thread, he is not the sharpest crayon in the box.
Jason Preston is pretentious and crazy - making me think that when he did jump to MJ's defence, no matter how admirable, that he's just a drama queen out for his 15 minutes. Seriously, go read the thread, he is not the sharpest crayon in the box.
Heroin_Chic
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Thanks, this post made my day!
mellowdrama
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This is why we must keep the commoners and famous people separated. We do not play by the same rules. Us poor plebes, the really clueless uncouth ones such as this woman & myself, are really not impressed. We don't care who you are. We wear "fvck you", no, "fvck you, you fvcking f*ck" tshirts...every fvcking day. I worked in a restaurant where if you got bad service, you were invited by the waitress to take it outside to the parking lot...and they would! And everybody loved it! And would come back next week, all black eyes and fat lips, for more pizza and beer! And ask for the same waitress!
Really, when was the last time anybody famous b*tch-slapped or slagged-off some other famous person vez a vez? They don't, because they've got to stroke, stroke, stroke, be all sociable, civil and nice, to build the kind of consensus, mutual admiration and power that an entity such as Marc Jacobs requires. Else you don't get invited back to the right parties, you're like Courtney Love, you know, or poor old Capote: your honesty is refreshing for awhile--but soon you just can't be trusted, because you're too damned literal, too real.
The famous work hard to become this monstrous thing that can only be friends with other, similar monstrous things, because the little people, like my hero in this MJ story, are incorrigible and untamed. Else they're paid assistants, or a temporary amusement. Mutual flattery, strutting and cleverness at their dull events, and work hard at staying famous.
They make their gritty, realistic movies of a life no one actually leads, especially not them; they make music about things that used to move them, and might move you, too, but sing it 10,000 times and see if it still feels the same; they design and model clothes that could possibly remind someone of desire. Then they live off the mass-market patronage of millions of plebes who want life to have that movie magic, who want someone to love recognize and love them just for who they are, a soundtrack for an otherwise routine life, clothes to make them fit the current mold of desire.
It's not a bad thing, I like their products, too. I just don't care for them, personally, as they don't care for me, personally. Because I don't know them, and they don't know me. This never was part of the celebrity bargain. However, do not pollute my dive bars, my plebe streets, my low-rent neighborhoods, my underground parties, oh rich & famous ones, looking for the new sound, the new look, the film rights, for you to coopt to keep your bloated empire floating, and expect us to fawn over you and kiss your ***es. Stay in your faux-polite safe world and flatter each other.
Really, when was the last time anybody famous b*tch-slapped or slagged-off some other famous person vez a vez? They don't, because they've got to stroke, stroke, stroke, be all sociable, civil and nice, to build the kind of consensus, mutual admiration and power that an entity such as Marc Jacobs requires. Else you don't get invited back to the right parties, you're like Courtney Love, you know, or poor old Capote: your honesty is refreshing for awhile--but soon you just can't be trusted, because you're too damned literal, too real.
The famous work hard to become this monstrous thing that can only be friends with other, similar monstrous things, because the little people, like my hero in this MJ story, are incorrigible and untamed. Else they're paid assistants, or a temporary amusement. Mutual flattery, strutting and cleverness at their dull events, and work hard at staying famous.
They make their gritty, realistic movies of a life no one actually leads, especially not them; they make music about things that used to move them, and might move you, too, but sing it 10,000 times and see if it still feels the same; they design and model clothes that could possibly remind someone of desire. Then they live off the mass-market patronage of millions of plebes who want life to have that movie magic, who want someone to love recognize and love them just for who they are, a soundtrack for an otherwise routine life, clothes to make them fit the current mold of desire.
It's not a bad thing, I like their products, too. I just don't care for them, personally, as they don't care for me, personally. Because I don't know them, and they don't know me. This never was part of the celebrity bargain. However, do not pollute my dive bars, my plebe streets, my low-rent neighborhoods, my underground parties, oh rich & famous ones, looking for the new sound, the new look, the film rights, for you to coopt to keep your bloated empire floating, and expect us to fawn over you and kiss your ***es. Stay in your faux-polite safe world and flatter each other.
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susie_bubble
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Awww...isn't love grand!
mellowdrama
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oanadobre said:
Give respect, get respect. Be a snide, eye-rolling prick, have it served right back at you. Or go to the VIP room, posthaste.
ShesElectric
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Is this an April Fool's joke?
mellowdrama
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I don't expect the person I'm dating to defend me when I act like an ***.oanadobre said:
A good friend of mine dumped a minor-celebrity musician she was dating soon after he'd expected her to get in cat-fights over him in the bars and clubs. You, know, "dance, puppet, dance".
If I were a nobody dating a fabulous somebody who felt they had to snidely read-out-loud the back of another nobody's obscene t-shirt, and then foul-tshirt-girl had the retort she did, I think I'd have to:
1) have a big laugh (hey, were all human here, and this is silly), or
2) wonder why going out has to mean picking fights with girls in "f*ck you" shirts, and is there more to life than this? or,
3) head to the VIP room where all the other nice, flattering people are, and possibly a nicer sugardaddy.
To each his own, though.
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Sounds to me like somebody has a huge ego. Respect or none,Marc and his toyboy seems to be under the impression that Marc is somehow superior and one has to bow to them. To me,their reaction was typical. Very catty. And if Marc had any kind of maturity he would have never commented at all.
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