Well the hardworking staff was cleaning up some of the piles of reading material scattered about the Global Worldwide Headquarters when we came across this recent piece by The Weekly Standard’s Matt Labash.
Hero worship in our time.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been ignoring Bruce Jenner. As a child of the ’70s, I ignored him in the cereal aisle, where his Olympic-champion mug couldn’t entice me to pick his terminally bland Wheaties over more healthful Sugar Smacks. I ignored him in the ’80s, during his star-turn in Can’t Stop the Music, a disco-tinged Village People biopic that saw him nominated for a Golden Raspberry Award for worst actor. In the ’90s, I don’t recall Jenner at all, as I was rather busy ignoring him.
By the mid-2000s, however, Jen-ner had become much more difficult to ignore. He’d plighted his troth to the Kardashian clan, America’s First Family of publicity tapeworms, who are as long on fame’n’money as they are short on talent, unless you consider leaked sex tapes and Instagram butt-selfies a talent.
And etc. Pretty much Standard-issue Labash. But it was the illustration (by Jason Seiler) that struck us as really, er, below the belt.
C’mon – was that necessary? Vanity Fair might have gone overboard with the photoshopping of its Caitlyn Jenner cover shot, but this just feels . . . gratuitous.
The hardworking staff has studiously avoided passing judgement on the highly choreographed rollout of the new – or real – Jenner, not to mention the overcaffeinated reaction to it. But we couldn’t pass this one over in silence.