Justin Bieber. Over the past few years, he’s provided me with great irony and outrage and eye-rolling and expletives — mainly via his Instagram account.
There have been naked buttocks, wanna-be mustaches, and in-flight tattoos. There was that time he egged his neighbors’ mansion and that time he got me sued.
We’ve enjoyed quite the journey, The Maple One and I, delving into celebrity culture, contemplating who cares about what and why — and most importantly, how to make fans click.
But it’s over now. At least for me.
No more Googling “Justin Bieber Instagram.” (I had refused to bookmark it in the spirit of extreme self-care.) No more knowing whether he is or isn’t following or friending or liking Selena Gomez. No more hair-cut outrage. No more cars that don’t belong to him. No more facial cross tattoos that resemble a killer’s permanent tears.
To quote Winnebago Man, “No more!”
Yes, dear readers, I am breaking up with Justin Bieber. And, though it pains me to say it, I am also breaking up with The Juice*. But fear not, for I can only assume a far more witty and informed replacement soon will be crowned. And plus, I’m still on Twitter @LydiaHarvey. (Shameless plug: My very own blog to come.)
Come Monday, I will be a marketing professional with a Fortune 500 company that has contractually agreed to make it do something between drizzle and rain.
And while I’m eager to embark on this new journey, I’ll miss being a part of a Pulitzer-winning team. I’ll miss my co-workers. And I’ll miss all of you (except the ones who sent me death threats and hate emails about my socialist celebrity agenda.)
Most of all, though, I’ll miss living my lifelong dream of writing for a newspaper.
On that note, I’ll leave you with ten lessons I’ve learned while covering and scrutinizing celebrity culture as well as its place in society:
> Think long and hard before naming your child Otter.
> If you can not grow a mustache, please stop trying to grow a mustache.
> Screengrabs are real, and Snapchat is not immune.
> Keira Knightley and Natalie Portman are the same person. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
> Boycott Azealia Banks.
> Living in your ultra-famous family’s Calabasas compound does not equal happiness.
> Once a Chris Brown, always a Chris Brown.
> Vaginas are not meant to be steam cleaned.
> Do unto others.
> Beyonce does it best.
Now excuse me while I wipe the teardrops from my guitar, er, keyboard.
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