My referrer log tells me that my blog here gets a lot of hits from people looking for nude pictures of Amy Wynn Pastor, who’s become sort of a cult figure lately. She’s the talented, cute, and amiable carpenter from TLC’s Trading Spaces show and she apparently gets a lot of Google traffic from people trying to see her boobs. Such is the price of fame, I guess.
I can’t help but be a little saddened by this. It’s not like she’s a model who is earning her living based on the attractiveness of her body. Sure, Amy Wynn probably had to have at least basic good looks to make it into her TV role, but her body is not her currency. She builds cabinets, y’all. Why do you need to see her butt?
Is it a bunch of horny teen boys? Maybe. But I have a hunch that something more insidious is at work.
Could it be that we Americans love our celebrities and resent them at the same time? So we sit and gawk at them in their glamour on TV and in magazines and then rush to the Internet and the Tabloids for some tidbit of gossip or trashy picture that will give us a titillating thrill? Could it be that we like our famous people occasionally laid bare, exposed, stripped of as much dignity as possible? Topless photos are great but a beaver shot would be better cause the more we invade, the deeper we intrude, the more dignity we take, the more power we can convince ourselves we have over them? We want our celebrities to pay a price for their fame. We put ’em there, we can take ’em back down again by gum.
Heck, watching ’em on the way down is the majority of the fun, right? Once the has-been actress/singer/model does the desparate “Playboy spread” attempt at a comeback, we can all wait giddily for the drug arrests and the eventual messy overdose. And if we miss something, we can live it all again on a celebrity “True Story” special!
Man, I’d really prefer to think it’s just horny teenage boys.