Once upon a time, in a suburban home with a decent sized backyard but sadly no full-time maid, there lived a teenage girl. She had always been a somewhat happy child who had been reared on the mentality that nobody in the entire world could possibly be more fabulous and special than she was by a mother and a father who had neglected to take even a single parenting class about the dangers of inflating a child’s ego. When she walked into school each day, she could feel the envious eyes upon her. She knew their adoration was clearly due to how shiny her hair looked underneath the glow of the fluorescent lights in the cafeteria and so she would gaze out at her minions from beneath her lashes because they thought she was important and she knew it was true.
Back at home, she would climb the stairs to her bedroom and lie atop her probably-canopied bed and hold a pink pillow that had the word “DIVA” embroidered on it in rhinestones close to her heart and she would gaze up at the pictures on her wall that she’d carefully cut from the glossy pages of US Weekly. Like deities, Lauren and Heidi and Paris and Nicole hovered above her and she would lock eyes with all of them, especially with that one wonky eye of Paris Hilton’s, and she would sigh deeply and allow herself to think about her future.
One day, she swore to herself solemnly, I too will be famous for absolutely nothing at all. I will wear low-rise jeans and get photographed outside of a place like Hyde and maybe a Bling Ringer will even try to rob my home to steal my clothing and my blow. And no matter what happens, I will lean on my dear friends for emotional support and I will call every single one of them “slut” or “bitch” because that will illustrate my undying devotion to them and one day we will all star on a series together where we will destroy one another. One day…
Then this pathetic version of a fairytale princess would gently put her DIVA pillow down and go online so she could send IMs to her crew about just how fat some girl looked in Gym class that day and she would laugh her throaty laugh and roll her eyes when her mother called her down to dinner because the only thing lamer than sitting with your family is having to ingest calories, but she knew that if she wanted a car the second she turned sixteen, she’d better put her time in now. And later that night as she pulled the duvet tightly around her hungry frame in bed, she would close her eyes and dream of the bright and sparkly future where she would be an Adderall-addicted waitress at a restaurant where, on some days, diners would have to sign a release form to enter the place. She would work there for years! She would date at least one bartender! She would fight with every single person in the restaurant at least once, including her boss! She would expose the secrets of others and have her own secrets exposed to the world and she would cry bitter and angry tears and then she would come back for more.
She would be the lowest version of a star ever registered by the naked eye.
She would be one of the cast members on Vanderpump Rules.
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