Sometimes I like to pretend that in some alternate universe, I could be friends with celebrity moms. And while I certainly enjoy attending art gallery openings and film festivals, there is also a large part of me that enjoys a good barbeque and some Pictionary. There are some celebrity moms with whom I just don’t think I could hang.
I can’t remember exactly when Ms. Gwyneth began showing up on my celebrity radar, certainly well before she became a mom. I think it was when she began dating Brad Pitt, and I had a very Bluth-ian reaction to their relationship. Her? Then she went and won an Oscar for a role in a movie that was cute, but not exactly something that should have beaten Cate Blanchett.
So I think from that point, I was primed and ready to dislike her.
I do have to make the disclaimer that I really know nothing about her other than what she has chosen to put out there in the public domain. And that’s the disturbing part, because what is out there is far from flattering.
Despite being a native Californian, she hates the United States, and in a snooty way. Not good enough to raise her children here, or some such claptrap. Gwyneth, with all the money you have, I guarantee your children would have a nice life no matter where you chose to live.
I profiled a picture of her daughter’s room way back when, and was struck by the lack of whimsy or playfulness. I’m all about the whimsy, and apparently Mrs. Martin, not so much. Witness her TriBeCa apartment. Check Apple’s bed. What Mrs. Martin may call whimsy, I call “prone to inducing nightmares.”
And then, there is GOOP. Oh, where to begin? Her website has been widely pilloried as elitist, unrealistic, and downright silly. To be so self unaware as to blithely ramble about ensembles worth more than some people’s homes, and using only a particular type of pink salt, or detoxing, or hundreds of other “tips” that only people with time and money to spare can take advantage of.
Oh, and the fact that as a person who was a macrobiotic and seems to have food issues, got to eat across Spain with Mario Batali.
Yeah, that’s definitely what put me over the edge. Bitch.
*If you happen to think Gwyneth is the bee’s knees, then consider it a royal “we.” Oh, and ignore the bitch part, too.