In general, celebrities are so wildly alluring that I run toward them, anxious to soak in their worldly wisdoms and radioactive charisma. I positively adore anyone famous! But there are exceptions. A handful of celebrities are so scary to me that they act as human talismans, warding me off and making me want to run off somewhere where there’s no Internet, TV, fame or interaction of any kind.
Here are my most dreaded icons of all:
All that bravado would be welcome if it served the right kind of politics (you know, like mine). But it usually serves to further hideous agendas that oppress people who need a break, so I can’t cotton to the Donald’s bloviating and PR-generating machines. Naturally, this write up will help fuel his legend, which will make him even scarier to me, so I’d better stop now because he’s already more terrifying than anything in “Saw.”
Such angelic features. Those narrow little eyes, that puckered-up butterfly mouth, the tousled blond strands. And it’s all used to advance the scariest shit in musical history. Even when he’s getting behind the right causes, Eminem scares me to death because he seems like something out of a Hammer horror film, but with a real sense of rage, self-involvement and impatience that makes him the person I’d least want to sit and have tea and crumpets with. Though I’m the first to admit the guy’s kind of brilliant. Scarily so, in fact.
Do I really need to explain this one? The man is trouble, a human rage machine with unsolved anger-management issues, and he tends to be a walking catalyst for bad news. Even when he’s not the one doing the abusing, his being in the room seems to encourage other people to do so, and the reality is, if I ever came face to face with him, I would run screaming while rubbing aloe vera into my pores for safety.
The Olsen twins
These little monkey faces captivated the world as child stars, then Mary-Kate and Ashley emerged as a conjoined franchise, not to mention unexpected fashion icons, but they’ve always seemed otherworldly to me in their surreal aloofness, their creepy relationship with their mother and the things they must know about Heath Ledger. I know this is unrealistic, but I’m more afraid of them than anyone from the Manson gang.
We have such history. We started around the same time and even shared a gig back when she was up-and-coming and I had a Motown cover band. I’m still dining off the story about what a primadonna (or, perhaps, pre-Madonna) she was even then, while she’s gone on to change the world, alter sexual politics and forge new avenues for mature lady rockers. She definitely wins — and I’m scared of that.
Everyone has a LaBeouf with this guy, who’s a walking explosion waiting to happen, a constant reminder of the importance of anger-management training. Whether he’s melting down in person or on social networks, it’s all the same, as Shia rages against the machine in between turning out some terrible movies. When Alec Baldwin thinks you’re a mess, you know you’ve got a problem!
The latest British export to make it big here, Jessie is tall, exudes a steely beauty and can write and perform a fusion of pop styles with elan. There’s nothing really wrong with her except that her blinding drive and robotic way of immersing into a number scares the living daylights out of me. Kindly keep her far, far away.
She’s just so darned perky! The woman definitely has the gift of gab, and clearly it doesn’t even matter who she’s seated next to; whoever they place there, she would just go on chirping and prattling. But she reminds me of the gabby girls in high school who were filling the air with chatter as a distraction from panic about the larger things. I have the good sense to keep my nonsense to myself (except for my writings, ha!).
Gay people should always be peppy, happy and fun. This guy is a bonafide moper who can’t seem to stop singing about the dark side of love. If I want a gay man moping through love ballads, Adele is good enough, thank you. And this guy admits not only that he’s British (eek), but that he was in love with a straight guy who didn’t return the favor. Ugh. Self-loathing, unrequited love! Again: This is not a good image for gays. Bring back the happy, peppy ones and make them dance a cha-cha.
GP’s a fine actress, mind you, but there’s a joke in “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” in which the lead transsexual has to explain that to the audience, while adding that nowadays she’s a doctor or something. I’m all for stretching or reinventing, but I find her Goop stuff to be icky and downright disturbing. I think any lifestyle advice is intrusive, especially when it’s organic and macrobiotic and unrealistically pricey and coming from someone who’s so perfect — like a Kelly Ripa who talks less, but goops more. I’m scared, uh-huh. I might even have to make a conscious uncoupling from her product.
Michael Musto is a contributing journalist for TheBlot Magazine.