Cellulite
There’s a disturbing new trend in supermarket tabloid journalism: cellulite stalking. In an industry based on slack-jawed nosiness, the current fascination with celebrity flab manages to lower a bar that already scrapes bottom. Do tabloid editors assign a phalanx of sleazeballs with cameras to skulk around Malibu, waiting for direct sunlight to showcase a dimpled patch of famous-person pudge? It seem tabloid readers are amazed that celebrities are not exempt from the inevitable physiological aspects of the human condition, which include sagging skin, love handles, and yes, cellulite.
After seeing these photos of body parts with names on I.D. banners next to them- the saggy knee flesh of Ellen DeGeneres, the jiggly thigh of Cindy Crawford, and Janice Dickinson’s dimpled derriere ( which I’m sure is guaranteed to send her shrieking into the plastic surgeon’s office for liposuction and a Brazilian butt lift) not only was I incredibly relieved that I’m just an obscure individual and hence, free from public scrutiny, I was also incensed. There are two sets of morons here- the paparazzi for shooting the photos, and the tabloid-reading public, who has apparently created a market for them.
Fact: The vast majority of adult females have some cellulite. I know I do. So what? It is not shocking or shameful. Actually, it is supremely uninteresting and certainly not something people should be lurking in the bushes trying to photograph. What’s next, a hidden toilet cam? I have a sinking feeling it’s only a matter of time.