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Britney Spears shaved her real and extended locks over the weekend. Cry for help? Publicity move? Head lice? |
By MICHAEL ZITZ
Britney took it off. She took it all off.
Her naked pate is big news. It's huge. Not her skull. The story. And everyone's saying that shaving her head speaks volumes about her mental state.
If Britney's shears could talk, what a story they'd have to tell. Those electric clippers would be booked on "Larry King" in a heartbeat.
"Personally, I think she's on the verge of a nervous breakdown," the clippers would tell Larry. "She just can't get a good man and hang onto him. But you know what I say, honey? You're better off without them. You know what I always say: 'Cut him loose, honey. Snip, snip!' "
But maybe our fascination with Britney's new 'do tells us more about ourselves than about her.
The breaking story about Britney's hairdo--or lack of one--almost pushed the U.S. Senate debate over the troop surge in Iraq off CNN.
War? What war?
Possible motives:
a) Calculated publicity stunt.
b) Cry for help.
c) Moral equivalent of the fake mustache in the disguise kit O.J. Simpson had when he went on the lam in the Ford Bronco.
d) Head lice.
e) One beer too many at the end of a bad week.
I'm personally voting for "e."
At this point, a paradoxical disclaimer: Here I am, disdaining the rest of the media for jumping on the bald Britney story like it's, well, important--and what am I doing? Like I said, the reaction says more about us than about Britney's baldness.
Years ago, circa "Baby Hit Me One More Time," I got call after call from Britney's press people asking if I wanted to interview her.
This was during the sweet, innocent, "I'm waiting till marriage" stage of her career. She was not only on the verge of stardom, she was a virgin on the verge--a squeaky-clean former Mouseketeer with an endearing smile.
I wasn't the least bit interested. The further away she went from being perceived as a nice girl, the more interested we all became--even those of us who savaged her for turning her tours into long, bizarre pole dances for throngs of prepubescent girls.
There was also the famous Pepsi commercial in which onetime Viagra-pitchman Sen. Bob Dole watched Britney shimmy and sing about the joy of cola, then said wryly (to his dog?), "Easy, boy."
Her live shows became creepy, like a very long table dance before crowds made up of very young girls and their mothers.
Problem was that Britney was more interested in a potential career as a movie sex symbol than in her music. Now I worry about Britney herself.
The paparazzi images of her shorn head have made it clear just how vulnerable she is--and how unhealthy our nation's obsession with celebrity has become.
Michael Zitz: 540/374-5408
Email: mikez@freelancestar.com
