Gwyneth Paltrow’s annoying. It’s a universal truth, like a single man in possession of a good fortune etc. But here’s a secret shame: I’m also kind of fascinated by her. I watch films that she’s in, and if a magazine runs an interview with her, babes, I’ll read it. I liked that she said she enjoys living in England because people talk about smart things, even if it was a bit smug.
But this also makes me feel dirty, and now I’ve admitted it for the whole internet (well, 24 people a day, and rising!) to see. Because she
is smug, and wet, and self-satisfied. Her Oscar acceptance speech remains the most excruciating moment in the history of entertainment, and that’s including the entirety of
Sylvia, the worst film ever made (who’d have thunk, a film about suicide less appealing than its subject matter).
Up until this week, I was OK about it. Gwyn had gone away for a couple of years, churning out Biblical babies and saving the world one Coldplay dedication at a time. I’d dealt with the uncertainty, with the confused feelings, with the pangs of guilt and shame, and I’d put her to the back of my mind. But she appears to be on the counter-attack.
Yes, Gwyneth Paltrow is back.
1. She’s on the cover of W, looking like a medieval tranny robot painted by Picasso.
2. In said magazine, she talks about motherhood: “I have a dream version where I think, maybe in four years I'll have two in a row really quickly again—how fabulous to have a whole bunch of them!" Ugh. You know that smart comment? Whatever.
3. She’s going to host a Spanish cooking show, even though she doesn’t eat meat. Has she been to Spain? They love vegetarians there. She definitely won’t be eating chips and salad for a month. Nope, no chips for her.
Oh, Gwyneth. Why do you keep letting me down?
Anyone else got a love-hate secret star shame?
As promised in penance yesterday, Yo Majesty are today’s Song Of The Day.
