celebrity gossip, academic style

Why do magazines put celebrities on their covers? Why does the interview with that celebrity become the center-piece of the magazine? With what expectations do we buy that magazine? And what makes the interview “good”? I’ve been thinking about these questions for awhile, but before we get to them, I want to offer a little context on the celebrity profile.

From Vanity Fair to Architectural Digest, from Esquire to Bon Appetit, the maxim holds: a celebrity on the cover sells more than a non-celebrity on the cover. Of course, this wasn’t always the case. The original Vanity Fair was a much more highfallutin affair, but folded for various reasons during the Depression. When Conde Naste “rebooted” the magazine in the early 1980s, it was part of a generalized “People effect” across print and broadcasting, and took a notably different form.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s go back to 1974, when People, a product of the mighty Time Inc., became an immediate success. Its *first issue* had sold more than a million copies — this is and was UNHEARD of. People‘s readership and ad rate only continued to grow over the course of ’70s and early ’80s, inspiring a raft of imitators combining the interest in “personalities of all kinds” — celebrities, sports figures, best-selling authors, human interest stories, etc. etc.

Entertainment Tonight, USA Today, the first iteration of US Magazine, and the reboot of Vanity Fair were all part of this trend, variously referred to as ”personality journalism,” “entertainment news,” and “infotainment.” VF has always been on the glossier side of the spectrum (and also, for what it’s worth, actually has some really good investigative journalism — but that’s the other part of the magazine). The combination of gloss, longer-form articles, intended audience of upper-middle/upper-class readers was also shared by GQ and Esquire, both of which have served as “gentlemen’s magazines” for nearly a century but had theretofore focused more on fashion and “how to be a man” than celebrity profiles.

Around 1992, Martha Nelson, the founding editor of InStyle (another Time Inc. product), used her magazine to popularize the notion that celebrities could sell fashion (and fashion magazines) more effectively than models. This idea not only helped make InStyle into a leading magazine, but rubbed off on the likes of Vogue, which used the ’90s and ’00s to transition from supermodels (Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford, Kate Moss, Christy Turlington, Claudia Schiffer, etc. etc.) to celebrities and actors. (Which is not to say that models don’t still make the cover of Vogue: it’s just that now, those models also have to have some sort of “extratextual” life, such as Gisele. In other words, the model is usually also a celebrity).

The success of InStyle, the decline in print sales, and the generalized spread of celebrity/reality culture encouraged publications previously unassociated with either to start putting celebrities on the cover. (Quick aside: when a magazine is struggling, it needs to up its newsstand sales, because those, not subscriptions, are what make money. In fact, most subscription deals make the magazine little to no money). A person who wouldn’t think of subscribing to Bon Appetit but, oh, well, likes cooking, and likes Gwyneth Paltrow, would certainly be more likely to buy it on the newsstand than another cooking magazine with a roast on the front. Same with an Architectural Digest promising a look at Jennifer Aniston’s home, or Brad Pitt modeling electronics on the cover of Wired.

So why didn’t magazines use this strategy all along? For one, it seemed cheap and un-journalistic. Does an architectural enthusiast really care about the construction of a celebrity’s house? If it’s designed by a really interesting architect, sure, but other than that, isn’t it just window dressing? And kind of a sell out? Sure. Yet the spread of the web — and the concurrent decline in magazine/newspaper readership — made those concerns secondary.

* * * * *

That’s how celebrities became the primary means of selling magazines. But what makes us buy a particular magazine? What sort of celebrity do we want to read about?

To state the obvious, you usually buy a magazine to read about someone who in some way interests you. Now, this can be broadly construed — you buy a magazine with someone infamous (such as one of those People magazines with the horrible story of some entire family killed by a mother or father), someone who’s your girlcrush, someone who’s your eternal star boyfriend, or someone who was just in a movie that you really loved.

You purchase the actual magazine in order to possess the two overarching things that a celebrity profile can offer:

1.) PICTURES.

This is your 13-year-old self speaking, and he/she really wants to be some photos of Joey from New Kids on the Block looking super cute so you can tear them out and put them next to your mirror. This is your weird macabre self who shamefully wants to see photos of the crime scene. This is your college-age lack-of-self-confidence self saying you want to look and see how good this celebrity looks and judge yourself against him/her. This is your super lusty self who wants to look at this person LOOKING SMOKING HOT without people in the grocery store line watching the drool accumulating at the corner of your mouth.

Because the celebrity profile very rarely includes paparazzi or otherwise unsanctioned photos, you do not buy the magazine in hopes of finding out that the celebrity looks “Just like Us.” Your desire for these pictures stems from a belief in the celebrity as some sort of superlative: best looking, best body, most glamorous, etc. The drive to look at pictures of him looking perfect (even if you know it’s with the help of a team of make-up artists, a great photographer, Photoshop, etc.) also means that, at least for the time being, you want to revel in, rather than debunk, the idea that stars are demi-gods.

Like this. Exactly like this.

2.) DISCLOSURE.

The release of information that was previously hidden. Information you covet. Information you covet because you find yourself drawn to a star — or, more precisely, to the combination of the star’s physical image (the way he/she looks) and figurative image (what he/she seems to stand for or mean) — and want to know more. The more you know, the more meaningful this star can become. The more seemingly intimate details you know, the more reasonable it seems that you are drawn to this person and feel like you two could be best friends/hook-up buddies/adopt a dog together. And when the profile offers some sort of revelation, it also holds the potential to profoundly strengthen (or weaken, depending on the tenor of the revelation) your connection to the star….and your desire to purchase other his other products (magazines, of course, but also the star’s real source of income, i.e. the films, television shows, music videos in which they appear).

These details — positive and negative — are all gossip. The more unknown, illuminating, revelatory, and conversation-worthy details, the more gossipy (and interesting) the profile. When you hear that a profile is “good” or “juicy,” what people are actually saying is that it’s offering disclosure.

The problem with disclosure, of course, is that it’s difficult to control. Disclosure offers access to the seemingly “real” star, but sometimes that “real” star can be ugly and unbecoming. January Jones, for example, comes across horribly in profiles. So do any number of other not-that-intelligent or charismatic stars. These profiles aren’t necessarily “bad” — you still read them, mostly because they tell you that a star is a certain way, a certain way not necessarily suggested by the rest of his/her physical image and picture personality. That’s good gossip, it’s just not the sort of gossip that a star would hope for. It’s good for the reader (and for the magazine itself), but bad for the star’s image. (You might argue that John Mayer’s Playboy interview from last year treads this line — that was a FANTASTICALLY juicy interview, but it caused so much bad publicity that Mayer seems to have retreated almost wholly from the public sphere in the aftermath).

Now, a good publicist recognizes this potential and coaches the star to be as boring, bland, and vanilla as possible, offering very little by means of compelling statements. Because you’d much rather have a profile that simply reinforces your existing image than one that sends your star stock plummeting.

But at the same time, even these bland stars need to titillate in some way, otherwise it’s the interview will seem like it’s written for Teen Beat, which can sometimes behoove the stars (Zac Efron circa 2007) but usually is neither in the interest of the star or the publication. Therefore, the star, the publicist, the interviewer, and the editors work (not necessarily collaboratively) to come up with some small tidbits that will a.) read well as soundbites and thus b.) make the interview seem more interesting than it actually is.

Sometimes, the “hook” can be manipulative: “So-and-so tells us what men keep her up at night.” (Her dogs). This is a tried and true trick that dates to the fan magazines’ “scandal” period in the 1960s (which they, in turn, stole from the tabloids and scandal rags). Alternately, the hook can be some sort of actual disclosure, like when Jennifer Aniston admitted in an otherwise blah interview that, well, okay, Brad Pitt might “have a sensitivity chip missing.” That’s GOLD. And that’s all that profile needs — the rest could just be following Aniston as tries on little black dresses and jeans with white t-shirts, whatever. One small disclosure and suddenly the profile becomes a window into Aniston’s mind, her life with Brad Pitt, and the way she was coping with his current involvement with Angelina Jolie.

Of course, a star might do something totally crazy or awkward or inappropriate or offensive in an interview, and the magazine might want to use it because, well, obviously, that’s a great bit of disclosure. But if the magazine prints something unbecoming — even if it is juicy and puts that star’s name on everyone’s mind — it could still piss off the star and his publicist so much that they’ll never do an interview with that magazine again. Most somewhat glossy magazines cannot afford to alienate stars (or their publicists, who might refuse to let other clients interview there as well). As a result, the vast majority of profiles tread the line between disclosure and non-disclosure, seemingly steamy and actually steamy, actually fun and adventurous and the signifiers (lots of beer, meeting at a bar, going snorkeling) of something that’s fun and adventurous (but actually, in all likelihood, not).

As a result, the vast majority of celebrity profiles are SO SO F-ING BORING. Like WHY-DID-I-THINK-I-SHOULD-BUY-THIS-FOR-THIS-INTERVIEW boring. They’re great on the pictures front — especially the ones in Vogue and Vanity Fair — but piss-poor when it comes to disclosure. Last Fall, I spent an entire blog post breaking down the banality of the Vanity Fair profile of Penelope Cruz. Since then, I’ve read dozens of additional profiles, each time punching myself in the forehead when I realize how bad it is.

* * * * *

Is it possible to find a good celebrity profile? Of course. Angelina Jolie’s interview with VF always offer some sort of disclosure (“Shiloh wants to be a boy!”) Long-time readers of the blog know of my admiration for the Brangelina publicity machine, and her deft handling of the profile further reinforces that judgment. The lady knows how to disclosure juuuuust enough make a really good profile….even as she holds enough back to make her life with Pitt and Fam seem somewhat mysterious and tremendously compelling. There’s a reason Vanity Fair puts her on the cover every year: her exquisite face on the cover sells, but readers have also come to expect a certain type of interview, a certain melange of beguiling imagery and equally beguiling disclosure.

 

The profile that offered this picture also offered the tidbit that Jolie sometimes absconded with men for no-strings-attached hotel sex, since a single mom still needs pleasure.

Other places for good celebrity profiles?

The writing of Chuck Klosterman. “Bending Spoons with Britney Spears”, originally published in Esquire, might be the apotheosis of the genre. I feel similarly towards his profile of Val Kilmer. But a Klosterman profile is as much about Klosterman as it is about the subject; when you see his name on the byline, you know you’re getting a very specific sort of profile that doesn’t focus so much on what the celebrity says as much as how the writer himself interprets it. He’s writing analysis — a narrative about this person and how he came to be important, but also what that says about us, the proximity of the apocalypse, etc.

But I don’t read a Klosterman profile because I’m interested in the celebrity. I seek out a Klosterman profile because I want to hear what he has to say about a celebrity.

Which is why I also read the recent GQ profile of Chris Evans, the star of the upcoming Captain America and, up to this point, a virtual unknown. But the studio and his handlers are gunning for him to become a bonafide star, and a GQ profile/cover is part of that equation. Still, the man does nothing for me: he’s bland looking, he doesn’t dance like the Tatum, he’s not even dating anyone interesting. If this magazine arrived in my mailbox (which it does every month, thanks $10 yearly subscription rate), I would be like blah blah boring new superhero dude blah. But this particular profile was written by Edith Zimmerman, who also happens to be the editor of The Hairpin.

Now, many of you have happened upon my site via my writings at The Hairpin, so obviously you know that I think this site is basically the best thing to happen to smart, educated, maybe a wee bit esoteric women. I also think that Edith is basically the funniest person in the universe. If you need proof, go no farther than How to Make a Doll Into a Wine Glass in 23 Quick Steps. You can imagine my thrill when I saw that she had written a celebrity profile, that it was somehow about her getting wasted with this not-quite-a-star, and that it was lead feature in a major national magazine.

And you guys, this profile is amazing. (If you want to see some great fan-girling over Edith and the profile, please check out the Hairpin comments). I’m not going to excerpt because you really just need to read it. It’s relatively short, it’s got spark, some lovely turns of phrase, a wonderful line about “HELP ME CALIFORNIA,” and, well, some spectacular drunkenness. Plus a great ending.

Now, Sarah over at Lainey Gossip has a lot to say on the subject. She did not feel as….charitable.

Her take:

I noticed it a few months ago in a cover profile of Robert Pattinson. The journalist kept mentioning how beautiful he was in between sound bites from her subject. I’ve seen Pattinson and he is a very good looking guy. Even allowing for a moment to be taken aback—if those sorts of things take you aback—there’s really no editorial need to keep harping on it. Toss it off once: It’s hard to believe that yes, Pattinson really is that good looking, and move on. Dwelling just becomes, well, embarrassing.

So imagine my horror, my overwhelming second-hand embarrassment, when I read this new cover feature on Captain America star Chris Evans. Generally I like Evans, though lately he’s on some kind of perverse quest to revolt me, so at first I was content to pick on his ridiculous sound bite about waterfalls. But then I read the whole piece and by the end I was so horrified that I had a rage-induced blackout. This article is so unprofessional, so EMBARRASSING, that as a female writer, I was ashamed on behalf of women everywhere. If you haven’t read it yet, the article consists of the “journalist”, Edith Zimmerman, recounting a drunken night spent with Evans which included her getting so loaded that Evans had to fish her out of his gutter, and lots of reflection on whether or not Evans was sincerely flirting with her, or just fake-flirting. I’m calling this behavior “the Tween Treatment”.

Granted, Zimmerman isn’t solely responsible for this mess. I looked her up—she’s a comic writer. So when GQ hired her for this piece, she delivered pretty much what they asked for. I put the burden on Zimmerman, but her editor is culpable, too, for ever thinking her profile was fit for print. But I also think back to that Pattinson article from a few months ago. Is this going to be a thing now? Embarrassing puff pieces written by women going full-tween on a handsome moviestar? Because if it is, let’s kill that right now.

What does this approach accomplish? A celebrity profile is supposed to do two things: 1) give the reader the illusion of intimacy with the subject, and 2) promote whatever movie/show/project the celebrity is hawking. Zimmerman’s piece on Evans failed, miserably, at both of those things. There’s very little of Evans in the piece. There’s that silly comment about waterfalls and sunsets helping him to “get out of his own head”, and then there’s Zimmerman’s speculation as to whether or not he’s sincerely flirting with her. (My take? Evans is just a flirty dude and he’s mostly harmless—flirting with no intent, if you will.) But this is Evans’ big moment, the last best chance for a guy who’s been On The Cusp forever to take it to the next level, and his major-magazine cover feature has been reduced to drunken giggling.

You know how I know this is a bad profile piece? There’s too much “I” in it. This is supposed to be an article about Chris Evans, not “Edith’s wild night out”. Zimmerman isn’t a bad writer per se, and if she had been commissioned to cover a celebrity event and she turned in something like this article, it’d be fine. There’s a place for Gonzo but a profile isn’t it. Evans was there to sell himself and Captain America and instead I ended up thinking that Zimmerman might have a drinkingproblem. For comparison’s sake, consider Jessica Pressler’s profile on Channing Tatum. She goes out to a remote desert town with Tatum and drinks to the point where they sleep in bushes, yet the profile lacks the tweeny tone of Zimmerman’s because Pressler doesn’t fawn on Tatum; she makes him sound like a big dumb kid who likes beer and “real people”, and he remains the central focus of the article. There’s a lot less “I” happening.

I just can’t believe the editors at GQ thought this was acceptable, that it’s okay to go full-tween on Evans, or any cover subject. Maybe I’m being oversensitive. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. But GQ’s main readership is male and this isn’t the first time they’ve sent a woman out to interview a male movie star and the result has been less than stellar. So am I to understand men think it’s funny when a woman embarrasses herself like this? Where, exactly, is the joke here? I find it hard to believe that the Tween Treatment is an acceptable journalism style. The alternative then is that men find these setups funny. And that disturbs me.

So here’s the thing. First off, Sarah and I clearly disagree as to the main purpose of the profile. For her, promoting a film should be part of the equation. But people don’t buy a magazine because they’re interested in a project — unless that project is somehow more important than the star him/herself, as in the case of, oh, say, Harry Potter. And, granted, some buyers of this GQ are probably fans of the comic who want to know more about the way it was filmed, etc.

But here is what I have to say to that: THAT SHIT IS BORING. I can get that shit from a million junkets. I can get that on Entertainment Tonight, I can get it through the Flip-Cam interview that every industr reporter is posting on his/her blog, I can watch him in a banal and no-cussing interview on Jay Leno. If you want the details — if you’re a real fan of something — you don’t go to the celebrity profile, you go to the behind-the-scenes un-sanctioned reports from the set. Anything that Evans could tell you about the making of this film — and the final project — is bullshit, because half of the thing was done in post-production in the first place.

The only reason to buy this profile is, as noted above, for pictures, for potential disclosures, or for the author.

So.

1.) Pictures — check.

2.) Potential disclosures — inconsequential, since he’s not really even a star yet, although I do like all the stuff about his mom.

3.) Author — Obviously check.

So when Sarah takes issue with the lack of Evans in the piece, I’d contend that THAT IS THE POINT. Sure, this interview is all about Edith getting wasted and doing funny things. Sure, it’s more about appreciating the deft construction of the article (and the humor therein) than Evans himself. Indeed, in some ways, this is as much a profile of Edith, comedy writer, as much as it’s a profile of Evans, recipient of comedy treatment. And yes, GQ knew exactly what it was getting into when they hired her. This is her style. This is what they sought: a different type of celebrity profile.

Is she acting like more of a fan than a journalist? Okay, but that introduces a second, equally pleasing element, namely, identification. I like this profile so much more than the slick, self-serious ones in which the reporter disappears behind the purple prose of the star’s beauty because I, too, would probably accidentally get drunk and leave my leather jacket behind while hanging out with a demi-star.

Maybe it’s not the best in the history of profile-dom. Maybe it doesn’t provide any insights or goos gossip. I mean, if anything, it shows that he’s actually a pretty kind, if somewhat vacant, guy, with a seemingly normal relationship with fame.

But the profile — the style, the structure, the blase way it treats actually saying anything about his upcoming film, the way it obliquely invokes our own contemporary relationship with celebrity - also says something interesting about what GQ believes of its readers.

That they like drunk girls?

Girls making a fool of themselves?

I don’t think so, at least not exactly. Sure, Edith got drunk. Or maybe she got tipsy, and this was embellished for effect. But I don’t think she comes across as having a drinking problem so much as she comes across as being fucking hilarious. The profile acknowledges that GQ readers aren’t Maxim readers. That they’ve been reading Klosterman for years, that they been buying high-end fashion accoutrements and ask “The Answer Man” questions about ascots. That they read serious think pieces on the military, the economy, and politics. Or that they’re women like me, a subscriber for nearly 10 years, made refugees from women’s magazines because they were sick of being addressed as nimwits.

And that when there’s a celebrity on the cover of a magazine with this sort of audience, there’s an expectation that the story about this dude will offer something that isn’t mind-numbingly dull or a simple variation on a tired theme every month. In other words, this profile shows that GQ doesn’t think its readers are dumb or satisfied with the insipid, and that a profile the does more will be embraced.

Not every profile should be this one. Not every profile should be written by Edith. But I do wish every profile would do something different — whether by offering a juicy bit of disclosure, by crafting a broad-scale analysis, by making me laugh ’til I spit out my coffee, or by providing a point of identification — and, well, okay, maybe just pair it with a pretty picture of the celebrity. Is that too much to ask of the celebrity-industrial complex?