By Robin Refaela Gould
The fallout from Golden Globes felt like a sign. This will make some people mad, so if you're one of those people, stop here.
To see if you qualify, say the following 5 times fast:
"Hollywood Jumps Trump and Trump Trumps Hollywood."
If you could do that it is safe to proceed.
Let's start with a question.
Remember when Hollywood actors knew their place in society?
Some remember. However, most of these people are long since dead. Let's pick someone from the past (let me clarify; dead but not the dead people who voted democrat in the 2016 election). Let's go with Henry VIII. He had it figured out (Indeed, I've watched The Tudors). The equivalent then of Hollywood actors were the court Jesters. These feckless entertainers would be summoned for their craft, instructed to perform it, and after they did their little thing, they would bow and disappear until they were summoned again. It was a mere diversion from reality and everyone understood that.
The current "Hollywood Elite" has forgotten that they belong next to the box checked "people who perform for our amusement." This mishap crept in when actors started to believe their own press. They forgot that the category of Hollywood Elite was their own manmade pond, stocked with engineered, farmed fish, and appraised using its own auditing system.
The straight A's they gave themselves inundated us as we read tales of their heroic theatrical endeavours. Points were merited based on how many people watched their "work" to escape reality for 120 minutes. And because MANY people like to escape reality for 120 minutes every now and then, Hollywood attributed this to the inescapable fact that they were special people who had special powers. Your mail carrier is NOTHING if not a messenger of Vanity Fair so you can do your daily devotions to them.
They no longer saw themselves as people pretending to be somebody else as a profession. Instead, they started to see themselves as icons of what the "regular Joe" should WISH he could be. What should the "little people" wish they were? According to the ruling class (AKA those with lots of microphones and very little humility), the little people should aspire to be THEM. The little people should desire to eat what they eat, dress as they dress, and wait on tenterhooks for glorious words and ideas from this artificial pond.
Suddenly, almost overnight (1980's, I'm looking at you), this small group of millionaire-hating millionaires decided that they would saturate the culture with their insignificant jesting, but cleverly reframe it as life-altering magic, generated in their demigod benevolence THAT EVERYONE NEEDS.
This voice of pseudo wisdom ubiquitously bestowed upon our Walmart-brand-Q-tipped ears was supposed to move US to elevate THEM. Rather than accepting that they were a temporary escape from reality, they strove to CREATE a reality about themselves that they could sell and we would buy.
They thought they had us in the bag. Cameras everywhere on their every move. MILLIONS of dollars deposited into their bank accounts if they would wear a costume and dramatically portray victims of a social issue, imitate a fictional superhero, or dress up like a cat person. Their opinions MUST be heard! Their instruction MUST be golden! Their spray tan MUST be something to emulate! They eat chia seeds? We must eat chia seeds! Bring me to the nearest teeth whitening center as fast as you can, and I'm talking TOILET BOWL WHITE, y'all.
When challenged in any way, statements from the starlets' "publicists" (that survived a focus group vote) were aimed at chiselling us into the Pied Piper followers we turned out to be. Yes, it worked for a while. We devoured magazines about how they exercise, how they clear up their acne, how they decorate their homes, and for the love of all that is good, they gave us the recipe for the divine avocado. They INVENTED the avocado actually, or at least that is what I read somewhere while I was living my pitiful life bereft of stardom.
But here is what happened when you have a loaded deck;
You overplay your hand.
And then there is Trump.
The Hollywood Elite knew who they wanted the little people to vote for. They instructed us in their late-night interview rounds, on their early morning talk show chattering, and in the mainstream media that iconoclasts them. Their message was made clear, and, seriously, aren't they in charge?
So why is Hollywood so viscerally attacking Trump supporters? It's not because they think he is an ineffective leader. It is because he demonstrated the lack of importance of the ruling class of elites.
When it comes to the regular Joe showing up and thinking for himself, you've got yourself a swamp teeming with hostility. Far from worshipping at the altar of celebrity, regular, normal, everyday awesome people went against the Avocado class. They ignored their opinions. They laughed at their outbursts. They made memes of their hypocrisy. They ate avocado toast ALL ON THEIR OWN.
Gone is the golden globish era of the jester ruling the jested. Done is the tail wagging the dog. Youtube explodes with regular people who are FAR more interesting than the Hollywood Elite. People figured out that they don't need the jesters, the jesters need them!
(That is the sound of the fury falling off the pedestal of fame.)
These wannabe rulers are not finding Trump lacking in success. Quite the opposite, in fact. They see him belligerently flaunting it in their faces. HOW DARE ANYONE NOT OBEY THEM?! The little people are finding that the fruit of Los Angeles was not their placenta after all. The "important people" were right there in the mirrors of their house all along.
Hollywood, we have a message for you. NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR MALIBU MANSIONS WITH 4 PIZZA OVENS, A YOGA STUDIO, AND A BOWLING ALLEY. We care about our own lives. Your role, Hollywood, is to simply entertain us as we summon you per our whims. You are not influencers. You are actors, clowns, jesters... you are merely the people who make pretend for a living. Real life is in OUR OWN HOMES, not at your cinema premieres. I see your limo, and I raise you one Toyota 4-Runner. I win because my hand beats your hand. My REALITY is better than your movies. I am not the deluded one. You are.
Here is some free advice, red carpet walkers. The more reactive you are to anyone who dares to neglect genuflecting to you, the more swampy you are revealed to be. You are no more or less important than any of us. You've been tested and you have failed, Hollywood. You are not the deities you've been portrayed as in those glossy paged magazines that decry glossy page magazine production. You are silly and self-important, and your 15 minutes are up.
That is my Trump theory when it comes to the pontificating elite. I stand by it. I might not have invented the avocado like De Niro’s people, but I live in the real world and I don't require your jesting. What we need is an escape from YOU.
The velvet ropes have been torn down. Deal with it.
(The author of this article, Robin Gould, divides her time between Alaska and Antarctica, and is in the process of moving.)
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