Celebrity gossip saved my life
What do you reach for when shit gets hard?
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When we’re flailing, we’re a lot less picky about what we grab hold of to stay alive. — Jessica Dore
I keep saying I’m going to write about celebrity gossip, but I keep avoiding it.
My hesitation is probably a form of self-protection. I want to preserve my safe spaces (JustJared.com and LaineyGossip.com) and keep them sacred. I don’t want new episodes of Who? Weekly or Eating for Free to feel like homework to complete. You know that cursed millennial impulse to monetise every single hobby? I refuse to do that with celebrity gossip. I cannot, will not ruin this.
Truth is, reading about the lives of famous people has been a genuine comfort of mine ever since I tore my first Britney poster from a Smash Hits magazine and stuck it up above my bed. Celebrity was a world I latched onto early in life through my love of pop music, glossy magazines and going to the movies. What I loved about celebrity was that it was always in motion but it was also reliable. The flow of this world soothed me; it felt like knowing there was always a tasty snack being prepared for you in the next room. When shit hit the fan, celebrities and the stories woven about them were there to catch me. When my cat ran away, when I pissed myself in the canteen, when I found out Heath Ledger died moments after my boyfriend dumped me…there was always some secret diva behaviour or mystery man revelation to distract me from my misery. As a teenager I watched the Oscars and SNL religiously, I observed Australian Idol and Big Brother TV nights like holy days, and I didn’t just read Girlfriend, Cleo and Dolly—I studied them. When I really needed to dissociate (from catholic school / the bush administration / cystic acne) I’d flick through the red carpet looks of In Style, Vanity Fair or Vogue at the newsagents down the street, dreaming of the day I could wear and buy and be and say whatever the hell I wanted.
I still think of pop culture as the best kind of sport. This is a game of mind-numbing stupidity and Shakespearean-level drama, full of cute couples and ugly exes, insane marriages and defensive nepo babies. There are bombshells and divas and toxic stan accounts and pop-girl rivalries. There are great gowns and evil publicists, red carpet malfunctions and tacky formulas. I love the fake-high stakes, I live for the freaks in costumes. There is always something new to unpack, roll my eyes at, judge, or delight in. I love celebrity gossip as a tool of escape and a form of expression.
In 2018 I became a Wholigan. And by that I mean I subscribed to Who? Weekly, a podcast about niche celebrity obsessions by culture writers Lindsey Weber and Bobby Finger. By now there were no magazines left in the world and while I still paid attention to the Oscars race, my celebrity culture intake had all but dried up. My thirst for it, however, had not. Who? Weekly quickly became my #1 listen. It dissected the gossip machine with an actual sense of humour, merging genuine celebrity fascination with journalistic insight and absolute silly nonsense. New episodes dropped every Tuesday and Friday, injecting a steady flow of comfort and joy into my veins.
The thing that got me to sleep the night the sonogropher said I’m sorry we can’t find their heartbeats was an episode of Who? Weekly. I don’t remember what episode it was, I don’t remember who they talked about (I think maybe Ben Affleck and Ana de Armas had broken up?). I just remember thinking this is the only thing I can stand to let in right now. It was 2am, and Dom and I had just returned home from the hospital, puffy and trembling and numb with the shock of discovering that everything was fucked. My body carried death, and I would have to birth that death the very next morning. Life was utterly changed. But this one thing remained the same. This stupid, soothing world of celebrity was still there, untouched by my personal tragedy. I held onto it like a life raft.
The day after the stillbirth I made a request to my friend Dior and my cousin Nina: for the next few weeks please send me all the good memes and tik toks you find. nothing about pregnancy or twins, anything involving animals or celebrities. the stupider the better. this is urgent tbh - we need laughter to survive this. i trust you. thank you!!! It was one of the most impactful acts of self-care, sending those texts. Dior and Nina delivered (ofcourse they did) and their respective curations of memes and funny videos brought me the laughter I so desperately needed to stay alive. Alive enough to scream, alive enough to rest, alive enough to breathe, alive enough to begin again. ★
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❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥 you are such a star, girl !
So relate to the deep comfort of celeb + pop culture gossip - love your writing💕