Exploring Britney's Lack Of Fame

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When I was a young girl, I watched Britney Spears grace the public with upbeat songs about being “more than just friends.” I then watched her shave her head and attack a paparazzi with an umbrella. Poor Britney serves as a warning to anyone hoping to achieve fame. It is hard to gain and all too easy to lose. I have been waiting for fame my whole life. I paraded around my home in sunglasses so big they would make Britney jealous and attempted to write intricate and meaningful novels about the life experiences I had yet to actually experience. I sat around in my grandmother’s garden hoping that I would get my fifteen minutes of fame. After all, you do not choose fame; fame chooses you. As I stroll down a sidewalk in my gloriously quaint hometown, …show more content…

It is then that I realize that the moment I have been waiting for it here. My fifteen minutes begins now. I let out a loud cheer and begin posing for the camera and attempting my best pouty face. If gazes are honey then the paparazzi are flies and their buzz, buzz, buzz is music to my ears. One Minute In- The flashing lights from the cameras are giving me a headache. I have to elbow my way through the throbbing, aggressive mass. The paps’ (I am famous, so I refer to paparazzi as “paps” now) shouts blend together in a horrifying, collective moan as they attempt to recapture me. I slip into the limousine waiting for me at the curb. Five Minutes In- A Hollywood executive approached me about turning my hit novel into a movie. I agreed thinking that I would be the one writing the script, but he just handed the book off to someone else and bid me adieu. The studio has chosen its vivacious cast already and I am disappointed to see that none of them look like the characters they are …show more content…

Of course, I have had an opportunity to view the film already. I was horrendously disappointed to find the scriptwriter and cinematographer slashed my tale down until it lost all of its deeper meaning. It is a shame, but I will continue on. My date to the premier is the scrumptious piece of man who played the lead in the film. He is dumb as dirt, but makes up for it with his godlike body. Ten Minutes In- My agents have become frustrated. I am unable to produce the volume and quality of work that they desire. My creative reservoirs have dried up and I am too distracted by the rockiness of my relationship with my darling beau to focus on my work. I am considering trying songwriting as it is the only thing that I think I could use to communicate the achy-breakyness of my heart. Twelve Minutes In- Devastating news: I wrote my beautiful ballad in the hopes that it would encourage women in my situation, but they have revolted against me. They call me a “fame chaser” and say that I am “blind to the real issues that ordinary women face.” My chest aches from these words as if a wrecking ball had swung through

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