9/29/2004
An Open Letter to Paris Hilton
Dear Paris;
Congratulations on your success. I fully realize the hardships, pitfalls, dead-ends, rejections, struggles, and self-doubts that pave the road to becoming an international sensation with no discernable talents, abilities, or career.
Lesser people may mock your ascent into celebrity. They may natter and cluck about how you have it easy and endlessly question, "Seriously...but what does she do?" But I know better. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to look back at a life lived never having to equip yourself with a "skill set" or "area of ability." Never having to be bothered with a life plan that looks any further than finding an oil-based tanning cream that complements the millions of unearned dollars in your trust fund. Waking up in a cold sweat hoping to God that the style editors at US Weekly choose the photo where your micro-skirted leg is thrust slightly forward to the left and not the right.
Oh Paris, I feel for you. Ridicule all they want, but few know the gut-wrenching agony of skating on your family's hard work and name recognition. Little do they realize that nothing in this life comes for free, but that it must be bought by your father and preferably wrapped in a Tiffany box.
Fashion may be fickle, but you, my dear Paris, show that oddly beaky features, a body that looks like a malnourished stork, a spectacularly vacuous expression, and the willingness to let people take nearly-naked pictures of you will last forever.
God speed, Paris.
Lovingly, Todd Werkhoven
Congratulations on your success. I fully realize the hardships, pitfalls, dead-ends, rejections, struggles, and self-doubts that pave the road to becoming an international sensation with no discernable talents, abilities, or career.
Lesser people may mock your ascent into celebrity. They may natter and cluck about how you have it easy and endlessly question, "Seriously...but what does she do?" But I know better. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to look back at a life lived never having to equip yourself with a "skill set" or "area of ability." Never having to be bothered with a life plan that looks any further than finding an oil-based tanning cream that complements the millions of unearned dollars in your trust fund. Waking up in a cold sweat hoping to God that the style editors at US Weekly choose the photo where your micro-skirted leg is thrust slightly forward to the left and not the right.
Oh Paris, I feel for you. Ridicule all they want, but few know the gut-wrenching agony of skating on your family's hard work and name recognition. Little do they realize that nothing in this life comes for free, but that it must be bought by your father and preferably wrapped in a Tiffany box.
Fashion may be fickle, but you, my dear Paris, show that oddly beaky features, a body that looks like a malnourished stork, a spectacularly vacuous expression, and the willingness to let people take nearly-naked pictures of you will last forever.
God speed, Paris.
Lovingly, Todd Werkhoven
