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Topic: Letters Sent to Romenesko
Date/Time: 10/24/2007 2:56:12 PM
Title: No, *this* is the worst celeb profile ever
Posted By: Jim Romenesko
 
From MICHAEL CALLAHAN, articles editor, Philadelphia Magazine: Ron Rosenbaum kicked up a suitable fuss earlier in this year when he declared on Slate that Tom Junod had written "the worst celebrity profile ever," a milky profile of eternal ingenue Angelina Jolie in Esquire. Fair enough. But evidently the folks at Men's Vogue felt a gauntlet had been thrown down, and have dutifully responded with what surely eclipses Junod's effort, and not by a little, either: writer Troy Patterson's ludicrous love letter to Denzel Washington in the November issue.

As has often been noted, the term "celebrity journalism" is, in itself, an oxymoron, a label slapped on more-often-than-not pandering puffery where said celebrity and the journalist given the daunting task of making them appear even remotely interesting sit in [lobby of Chateau Marmont/Village coffee shop/European hotel bar] and talk about [new film/new CD/new TV show] but really dig DEEPER to get to [genocide in Sudan/the Iraq War/starving but adorable children], which is what the star REALLY cares about--the rest of this stuff, like the $20 million per film, doesn't matter -- while star breezily dismisses [run-in with paparazzi/notorious temper/bad break-up with other celeb].

As someone admittedly guilty of having done a few of these (as anyone who read my probing, incisive chat with Christina Aguilera in the April 2003 issue of Marie Claire can attest), I understand the limits of the form and, more importantly, that readers are in on the shell game. But we are supposed to retain some illusion of professionalism when it comes to this stuff.

Which brings me back to Men's Vogue. Never mind that the supposed fashion spread accompanying this piece is nothing but a blatant ad for Valentino (one assumes Washington refused to wear anything else, so naturally the magazine kowtowed). That would have been bad enough. But it's the words, not the pictures, that inflict the most pain, 3,500 words of fellatio. Consider:

"One of the prime pleasures of watching Washington over the past two
decades...has been marveling at his self possession." A few sentences later: "So it's an odd sensation to watch him in that familiar situation --lost in thought -- but with his charm on pause. He almost appears to be a regular guy." In the next paragraph: "Then he unleashes a laugh that suggests he knows how to amuse himself and enjoys the abrupt flourish of his charisma."

Wait, it gets worse. "You know the laugh well, a quick explosion followed by a warm and swaying cackle, his easy demeanor enveloping the righteous core of someone raised by a Pentecostal minister."

And that's just on the opening spread. Slog on and you'll be treated to
gems like "Coming from anyone else, such a line would be indigestibly cocky; from him, it's a welcome counterpoint to his humility" and my personal favorite, "...this star deserves a lifetime achievement award for sincerity." (No, I am not making that up.) If you can stagger to the end, you'll find that fledgling director Washington "compares the pleasure of his new job to the vintage joy of coaching his kids' Little League teams." Wow. Amazing.

Full disclosure here: Shortly after its launch, I inquired about a job with
Men's Vogue, thinking it would be a smart, much-needed competitor to
Esquire. I had some brief correspondence with its editor, Jay Fielden, but
it went nowhere. (A bullet dodged.) But lest a critic contend that I am your archetypal, sour grapes-toting wannabe now kicking at the Conde Nast doors I longed to enter, I say simply: Read the profile. And then ask yourself: If this is what passes today as "celebrity journalism," is it any wonder that millions are eschewing such disingenuous fawning to gaze at pictures of Jennifer Aniston hauling her recyclables to the curb "Just Like US?" [Permalink]

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