FYI Lauren: Buttercup (aka Robin Wright Penn) called from The Princess Bride -- she wants her hairdo back.
Show of hands of those who caught The Hills last night. Don't lie. All right, even if you "don't watch" (liar) this vapid farce of a true TV drama that also happens to double as the guiltiest of my pleasures, there was a scene last night in which Spencer Pratt's sister, Stephanie, an aspiring (I use that word loosely) fashion student (also, used loosely), interviews with People's Revolution for a fashion intern opening. The scene culminates with a befuddled Stephanie, barely able to string words together in a coherent sentence, obvi illustrating that this interview is probably one of the first interviews this blonde LA FIDM student has ever actually partaken in. Sad.
But what's more sad? When People's Revolution owner Kelly Cutrone asks what her objective is, Stephanie blurts out: "I want my own handbag line." Don't be fooled by the way it's typed. It wasn't said with an assertive confidence, as if the girl had always wanted to design bags her whole life. It was said with trepidation...a hesitancy that suddenly made millions of us viewers (me included) painfully aware that this girl has never truly thought about what she wants to do for a "real" living...you know, in the "real world" outside of The Hills. What's even more sad is that (and maybe I've just become a curmudgeon in the ripe days leading up to my 27th birthday), it seems like there are more "Stephanies" out there than usual these days, wearing tiaras of entitlement as if the world owes them any semblance of a clothing line (ahem, L.C.), commercial gig touting Yaz birth control (ahem, Lo), or some pathetic handbag line (ahem, Stephanie).
I read an article a few months ago that examined the career aspirations of "Generation Myspace," and guess what the takeaway was? Essentially, a decade or two ago, when youngsters were asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, you'd get the token answers: Doctors, astronauts...you get the picture. When that same question was recently asked of an up-and-coming group of pre-teens, the answers were starkly different. The overwhelming response was that the herd wanted to "be like Paris Hilton" when they grew up. And can you really blame them? We've made it seem like winning a spot on America's Next Top Model, slutting it up in Rock of Love, or sunning on Roberto Cavalli's Mediterranean yacht after a botched boob job and three stints in rehab (a la Tara Reid) are all viable career options. That's what's mostly sad. I'm all about following your passion, but placing your chips on Mtv-produced dreams just because you or someone you know (sorry, Paris Hilton doesn't count) was born with a silver spoon in their mouth doesn't make you a handbag designer, a "real" novelist (LA Candy? C'mon) or a perfume whiz (Four words: "Dashing" by Kim Kardashian). What has happened to the real value of work? Oh wait, India is calling, let me ask them.
I think Gawker summed up my sentiment perfectly in their latest Hill's recap, touching on Stephanie's ill-fated interview:
"The thing about the handbag thing... Didn't Spencerina just seem so dumb at that moment? Like, the thing always seems like a hopping idiot, but this was special. Dumb because, really, this girl has clearly not taken one fucking honest hour's worth of her time to just sit down and think about what she wants to do with her life. So here's dumb, fattened, aimless youth, everyone. This hideous thing yipping about handbags as if that's a job. It's not a job. Neither is "I'm going to have my own skin care line," idiot on Real Housewives of Orange County. None of that is real. But more importantly, don't act like anyone owes you these ridiculous non-jobs. You aren't owed shit. You owe us. You, Spencerina the Brave Mumbling Idiot, you owe us."
Touche, Gawker. Touche. I don't think it's going out on a limb to say that I fear for the future.