The Lost Files: The Sordid Saga Of Celebrity Books

Dec 7, 2009 by winjaw

The Lost Files were weekly columns written back around 2001-2003 while I was running a newspaper in the Midwest. They seem to have disappeared from the Internet, probably after some redesign of the newspaper’s web site. So, from time to time, I’ll report some of my favorites from saved hard copies (that’s paper to you new media types).

It is time we set up some rules about so-called celebrity autobiographies. I simply can’t hear about one more sordid saga detailing the life story of someone who just turned 25.

Think I’m kidding? Name someone who doesn’t have an autobiography. It seems to be some rite of passage. You get famous, you allegedly write your autobiography.  I think the contest is to see who can do the definitive work at the earliest age. The rule should be you must be at least 75.

Among the latest are Destiny’s Child, the singing trio with a combined age of 30. And then there’s Posh Spice and Ginger Spice – no, these aren’t things you put in your food, but rather; well, I’m not sure what they are.

They are/were part of the Spice Girls, a British group of five girls famous for one album, one movie about their lives, and coining the phrase Girl Power.  Guys know them best for the clothing or lack thereof, they wore onstage. 

Like every single autobiography, Posh wrote hers to set the record straight about what it’s like being idolized by an entire country and married to one of the best football – read soccer – players in Britain. I think Ginger wrote hers because she broke up with the band, put on a dress, took a shower and made a presentation at an awards ceremony and no one recognized her.  The book was the only way to prove it was really her; I guess.

The best one I’ve heard about is by the diminutive actor on Fantasy island, you know, the one who always started the show with, “Da Plane, Da Plane!” Oh goody, and why do we care?

Meatloaf – the singer – not the stuff you make with hamburger; has one; Celine Dion has one. Now, I don’t want all the Dion fans busting my chops because I’m busting hers. My point is, she’s not even 50 and already has her autobiography out?

Let me save you all some time and money. Here’s how every autobiography, with a couple of bizarre exceptions, goes:

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They all grow up in some small town, got to the big city with 37 cents in their pocket and get discovered as a waitress/busboy or walking down the street or in a mall. They skyrocket to fame, and then can’t handle the fame. They can’t understand why people just won’t let them be, and have to hire all these handlers to handle themselves.

Sprinkled throughout are their childhood memories, memories of not being liked, being ugly/fat/thin/too tall, whatever.  They were either the class clown or class idiot.

And lo and behold, once they become famous, we get to hear all about how they got addicted to whatever the drug du jour was.  They then check themselves into some $10,000 a day clinic, clean up and write their life story. Oh, and they’ll be sure to let you know everyone they’ve slept with, which is probably the only reason anyone reads the book anyway.

My point of all this is that too many people put celebrities on a pedestal, idolize and try to copy them. Too often people forget celebrities are people too. They are no better or worse than anyone else.

Instead of trying to be someone else, maybe we should try to improve who we are, and quit leading our lives through someone who’s famous for, well, just being famous.

I’ll let you in on a little secret.  Celebrities put their pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.

And that sets the record straight.

Until next time.