There's a lot to admire about Oprah Winfrey. She's the definition of a self-made woman, rags to riches, female empowerment. All that good stuff.
She has accumulated admirers across the globe and demographics. She sets the bar for fame, and she can do pretty much whatever she wants, or get someone to do it for her. Probably without paying them, because being able to grovel in her presence is enough for most earthly beings.
Frankly, she annoys the crap out of me. I'm glad that she helps people and donates to charity and yells really loud, but I don't want to hear about it. Her self-love has turned into self-obsession bordering on self-stalking.
Now, one could ask if I really have the right to complain if in the end, she's helping all these people. We could go into a whole ethics ends vs. means or whatever debate, and you'd probably be right. But I don't want to, and it's my blog so I don't have to.
I've gotten off track. All I really wanted to talk about was her magazine, O. I know for a fact she has is photographed alone on the covers of the last six issues, and undoubtedly more than that. We all know that empty frame above your bed is anxious to devour December's cover shot of you giving a reindeer a lap dance, but please, give someone else a turn.
No comments:
Post a Comment