Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously coaxing Chloe Sevigny to get over herself, so you don’t have to.

When we use the term “social life”, it’s natural for others to assume that we’re talking about the lighter, more pleasant, more fun side to existence … which is daft, of course, because the difficulty with life is that we are not here alone. We must interact to thrive. Our quality of life depends on how we deal with others - family, etiquette, politics. To lead, or to follow. To conform, to rebel. Life, on one level or another, is social. It’s a truth so obvious it’s almost stupid. Like calling Bob Geldof pompous.

Most of us don’t have to worry excessively about how we interact with those in our sphere of influence; we see our loved ones often, our colleagues even more often than that, and it’s rare you’ll put a foot wrong without being well warned about the consequences beforehand, or admonished for a long time after. Celebrities, though? Well, those they influence and interact with are plentiful and bothersome as locusts, aren’t they? And so, celebrities often get the social stuff hopelessly wrong. Perhaps we should be more understanding than to take the mickey out of them, then?

No?

Well, I tried. Fodder as follows, so.

We all know celebrities flock to Twitter like flies to shite, it being a tool that allows them to muse and pontificate at “their people” without actually having to look at/listen to/acknowledge the presence of said people. Twitter can be a great and sterile ego-stroker … if you use it correctly. Examples of ultra-famous folk who quickly got the hang of Twitter include Ashton Kutcher (who posts photos of Demi Moore’s arse), or Jessica Simpson (who perpetuates the useful “cute, dumb blonde” nonsense with tweets about doggies in distress, or, more recently, Billy Corgan “braiding her prayers”). But then there are those who don’t quite get the whole rigmarole, and that’s much more gratifying for a bitter harlot like meself to focus on.

There’s Ricky Gervais, who recently quit Twitter thusly…

That Ricky didn’t see the point isn’t surprising, since he didn’t follow anyone himself, and so probably felt like he was shouting at dead space, which, let’s face it, you’d think he’d be well used to. What was somewhat more arseholey was his follow-up statement on his blog, where he called Twitter “undignified”, but added that he was sure it was “fun for teenagers”. I would have thought playing the same character for the last ten years was somewhat less dignified than engaging with those who admire and respect you, but there you have it. How can you argue with someone who publicly mocks Mel Gibson’s alcoholism? He crazy, man! You just don’t know what he’s going to do next!

Someone equally annoying who’s having even less luck getting to grips with the live chatter is everyone’s favourite inflatable, Jordan! Apparently, the Heat-seeking missile is upset that the twittering massive ain’t always so awe-struck and adoring. In fact, they are utter ruffians, or, as a source put it, “mindless idiots who bombard her with crude, abusive comments – which are there for all the public to see.” Makes a change from Jordan bombarding us with her crude bits, which are there for all the public to see, too. Or her crude comments about rival glamour models, or her love life, or her exes, or her …

For future reference, disgruntled ‘sleb tweeters could always do a Robert Pattinson and say a quiet and gracious hello via a “first and last tweet”. Pointless, but classy, always more agreeable than pointy and classless. Watch and learn, Gervais.

If celebs think it difficult getting to grips with the broad and democratic shoutathon that is Twitter, they should spare a thought to poor old Dappy from N Dubz, who can’t even get the hang of texting. Dappy is in hot water for copying down the phone number of a randomer who sent a poor appraisal of his hat to the Chris Moyles show, and later phoning her up and texting various threats, including the delightful, “Your gonna die“. Do you know how much it pains me to have to type Your insted of You’re? I’ll tell you. Almost as much as it pains me to post this picture of Dappy + hat.

Nice eyebrows. Anyway, Dappy has since apologised for this ridiculous public relations gaffe, especially as N Dubz recently campaigned against cyber-bullying. He has not, however, apologised for the hat.

Someone who claims to be much more media savvy (although in fairness, I’ve known tablecloths more media savvy than wee Dappy) is Heidi Montag, a reality tv moron from that time MTV stopped playing music and started feeding hope to chinny heiresses the white world over. Heidi and her appropriately-named husband, Spencer Pratt, are on a mission to become so famous they make everyone else puke in jealousy. Y’know, because if you criticise talentless hawkers of ass, tit and tooth, you must be only doing so because you’re madly jealous of them. Anyway, Heidi’s latest play for exposure involves harping on about how she’s addicted to plastic surgery (because addictions are fun!) and also that her debut album compares to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Favourably.

“The songs will make an impact in pop history,” swooned the vacuous one, who then went on to say that she knew she’d earn her investment back because she has a million followers on Twitter and they were all slavering at the gummy gum gums to buy the album.

Now. I did say that Heidi claimed to be media savvy, did I not? It’s true that she’s certainly good at drawing attention to herself (suckered to the twat Pratt, waved boobs around, posed for lots of “paparazzi” photos, got ears pinned back, waved boobs around some more), but I’m not convinced that comparing your over-produced, footpath-bubblegum album to the much loved Thriller is going to persuade anyone to hand over their scanty disposable income. Yapping like an infant will get you attention, it’s true. But who’d want to be universally derided for a few pages in National fucking Enquirer every so often? Surely money can only cushion you so much? Anyway, should Heidi’s album turn out to be a seminal piece, I vow to eat Dappy’s hat.

And lastly, as an accompaniment to Heidi’s knobbery, the very slim TV presenter Alexa Chung has appeared in a “self-deprecating” ad for the Bing search engine, in which she pretends she doesn’t know what eating is and has to get help using the search engine to find some nosh. Because eating disorders are hilarious. Mock the anorexics, Alexa! Sure even a lighthearted joke that normalises eating disorders and turns them into cute quirks for cool chicks might just be the kick up the arse a young fan with a dangerously warped body image needs to begin recovery!

Media, communication, lives lived in public. It’s a different sphere to what plebs like us are accustomed to, and allowances have to be made. But holy moley, beautiful people! You’ve got to do better than this!