I shouldn't know this stuff

It's bad enough that the media and pop culture have created an absurdly unrealistic and grotesquely skinny idea of what women's bodies are supposed to look like, but what I really can't get over is how much they love to jump on little speckles of cellulite visible when they shove their zoom lenses where they don't belong.

I was flipping through a magazine the other day and saw pictures the 49 year old Sharon Stone rocking the hell out of a bikini. But just when I was thinking that I'd love to have a body half as nice as this woman who is almost 20 years my senior, I noticed the accompanying caption was actually poking fun at her for having a few dimples on the backs of her thighs! Seriously? Is she really not allowed to have a couple of dimples? Is it even possible not to have them after the age of, say, 22?

I know unrealistic expectations of beauty in Hollywood are nothing new, nor is our society's tendency to adopt those same expectations for those of us who have jobs that don't include "Pillate's/yoga/kickboxing/nutritionist" as a part of our responsibilities. But with new technologies that enable a greater invasion of privacy than ever, coupled with our ever-growing insatiable lust for the intimate details of these people's lives and bodies, it seems as if the expectation for perfection has become inhumanly unforgiving.

Now, as I write this I realize that the frustration and perplexity that I originally aimed at the media and our culture in the beginning of this post is giving way to a lot more questions about why it is that we've taken this direction. I started this post as a rant about unachievably high standards set by picking apart even the most perfect physical specimens, but really that's giving the whole problem a pretty superficial and pat interpretation.

First of all, I think it's safe to say that though picking apart said perfect specimens for flaws makes the flaws on our non-expertly constructed bodies seem even greater in comparison, it is equally the case that finding flaws in bodies we think of as perfect make us feel better about our own. Nothing is more reassuring to our physical insecurities than to hear that goddesses are flawed as well. So while on one hand we create what I earlier referred to as an "inhumanly unforgiving" expectation of perfection, on the other hand we find forgiveness for our imperfections in the fact that no one is perfect, not even Angelina Jolie.

The equally disturbing issue is just how much access we have to the intimately private details of people's lives and bodies, and just how much we devour it. There is something terribly wrong with the fact that CNN interrupts their coverage of real news for a long lens shots of Paris Hilton's driveway as we wait to catch a glimpse of the heirhead's tear soaked face getting into a police cruiser. (I'll admit, I did a Paris Hilton post, but I felt dirty afterward.) Even creepier are the pictures surfacing everywhere of celebrity crotch shots and nip slips. The genital shaving habits of a 20 year old starlet should not be something we are familiar with. Ever.

Now, ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you I've never been one to shed a lot of tears over the plight of celebrities being followed by paparazzi. The way I see it, these people lead lives of extraordinary privilege, and forfeiting a regular private life is a part of their job description. Moreover, it's pretty well known that the relationship stars share with the paparazzi is much more complex than the one sided feeding frenzy of photographers one imagines when we hear the likes of Scarlett Johansen complaining about not being able to leave a restaurant without her picture being taken. There is a far more interactive dance going on there than we know about, and it's being choreographed as much by publicists as it is by the editors who buy the stories.

There is a line, however, and it's not all that fine, between a public figure opening up their life, and inappropriately intimate details being splashed all over the place.

What really baffles me is why we eat it up. And when I say we, I count myself in there. In all honesty, I love this shit. I know it's horrible, and I can practically feel a brain cell wither away with every time I find my interest piqued by a dumb tidbit of gossip about some overpaid vapid celebrity. It's not even a matter of liking these people or wanting their lives. Frankly I think it looks pretty miserable to be constantly being picked apart and judged by your looks and your ability to sell an image of yourself before your time is up and you become a has been by the age of 35. I really couldn't tell you what it is that makes them even remotely interesting, and yet here I am, able to tell you who Justin Timberlake is dating, and whether Cameron Diaz has issued a death warrant for her. I am well educated, a voracious reader, have lived all over the world, am able to talk at length about international and domestic politics, and I know my Hume from my Husserl. So why, pray tell, is it that I give a rat's ass about the fact that Brittney Spears shaved her head?

I have to conclusion to this post. It's an open ended question. I have lots of theories, some of them simple (they're pretty!) and some of them a little more involved (in a world of increasing anonymity and decreasing community, we use the community of celebrities to fill the void) but for now I have to get back to work. I'd love to hear your thoughts ...