I’m On To You, Hannah Montana Achy-Breaky Ray Cyrus
If you’ve been exposed (ha!) to any sort of news coverage this week, you’ve undoubtedly heard about America’s newest Lohan-in-Training, Miley Cyrus, flashing her 15-year-old goods for Vanity Fair. Pretty classy, no? Honestly, before I even read all the evidence to back me up, I felt the strong urge to call hot, steaming BULLSHIT on the whole “I was taken advantage of” defense from the Miley Cyrus camp. Bitch, please. You were at a photo shoot. With a FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHER. For a MAGAZINE. That is distributed WORLDWIDE. And you expect us to believe that, oh, gee, I had no idea these pictures might, I don’t know, circulate into the media! Heavens! I don’t sport a bedsheet and call-girl makeup for just anyone!
Uh, although I DO flash my bra on trashy, MySpace-esque amateur photographs on the internet. I have standards, you know.
Look, I know she’s just a stupid 15-year-old, but please – she knew exactly what she was doing. And the adults around her should have stopped her. But then again…
I would not trust the judgment of anyone who thought that hair was a good idea.
Miley Montana-Ray Cyrus (or whatever the fuck her name is) pretty much sums up everything that fills me with terror about possibly having a little girl to raise one day. For starters, the last thing any little girl needs is a role model who’s really only interested in selling her thousands of dollars worth of officially-licensed plastic shit at Target, only to have that same role model turn out to be kind of slutty when it’s all said and done.
Someone’s already doing that quite well anyway.
And then there are the underlying body image issues. I’m not saying I fault HannahBananaMontana up there for happening to be a cute girl, but…I don’t know. It just feels like it starts the whole body-comparing, how-do-I-measure-up, why-don’t-I-look-like-her shit waaaaay too early, and trying to shepherd a young girl through those kinds of issues is absolutely terrifying to me. My message of “you’re perfect the way you are” would surely get drowned out by the chorus of “you’re not quite good enough” that girls – and women – are bombarded with every day.
What’s your “sexy weight?” HINT: It’s definitely not whatever weight you are right now, you disgusting sexless cow.
Finally, Mileytannah Achy MonCyrus bothers me because…what if I have a daughter just like her? You know, some talented little shit who is just DYING to be in show business? Because oh HELL no, I am not raising America’s Next Top Cokehead – and although I hate thinking of myself as the kind of evil, dream-crushing parent who drives the poor darling into therapy to deal with her enormous resentment of me, I’m certainly not going to sacrifice the kid’s childhood to stints on the Mickey Mouse Club and contracts with Nickelodeon.
We all know how well that turns out.
I guess I just don’t want the Achy-Breaky hand of girls like Milly Ray Cytannah anywhere near the already-challenging (and totally hypothetical, in my case) situation of raising a girl. Sorry, Possible Daughter of the Future, but if you end up loving the Mannah Hiley Myrus of your day and sobbing inconsolably until I cave and buy you (fucking expensive) tickets to her brain-numbing concerts, I’ll do it just to make you happy…but OVER MY DEAD BODY will you ever become an “Oops, I’m Half Naked in Vanity Fair!” superstar yourself.
You’re just going to have to wait until you’re 18, and then you can embarrass me on late-night cable television commercials, like normal people do.
Entry filed under: Gobble-gobble.