What Would Jennifer Do?

I have been a fan of Jennifer Aniston's for many years. Over 20 judging by the date on the essay below. This week she took to social media to put to rest the latest rumor about her personal life, basically sharing with the world, "I am not pregnant." Like it's any of our business. That's the conclusion I came to over ten years ago when I wrote the following. I will not help perpetuate the insane and dangerous invasion into these people's private lives. Anyone's private life for that matter. Because even in this world of tweeting, posting, sharing and commenting on instant information, there are some things that are just none of our business.

WWJD

Sunday, November 20, 2005

So, I’m in the gym trying to literally work my ass off. It’s a nice gym and I go there lots of times during the week. It’s not full of hard bodies or 16 year old nymphs with writing all over their bottoms advertising either their availability or naiveté- I’m never sure which – so that we 40-somethings don’t have to feel too uncomfortable red-faced and gasping on our 2.5 mile treadmill hike to nowhere. To make the trip more interesting, I grab a couple of well-thumbed magazines from the revolving rack near the cardio room. I set up my water bottle and towel on the right, my mags on the left, punch in the appropriate data into this fancy, electronic treadmill and “push start to begin.” As I ease into this regimen, I place the first magazine on the little ledge in front of the odometer so that it covers up how slow I’m going. There’s Brad and Angelina walking on the beach. That’s nice – they have the kids with them. I can’t tell if it’s an actual photo or a composed one, but they seem like they’re having a good time. And that’s when it occurs to me…What Will Jennifer Do?

For a few months now, I admit, I’ve been pretty captivated by Jennifer Aniston’s life. I don’t know her, really, but I watched all 10 seasons of Friends and we share a birthday. None of that gives me access to her actual life, but I am interested anyway. Why? I don’t know…let’s not delve into that right now. But anyway, here she is, pictures of her sprinkled through the magazines I pick up from the rack to make my treadmilling go a little faster. And week after week, I read…
     . . . Oh, cool – she’s in Chicago filming a movie.
     . . . Awww, there she is at little Coco’s christening.
     . . . Hey – look – she and her friends are out on her back deck having a little party. Is she smoking?
     . . . Oh, looks like she could use a rest – aren’t those bags under her eyes?
     . . . Isn’t that nice, she’s signing autographs for those cheerleaders – right there in the street.
     . . . See? I knew she liked Vince…they’re so cute together – and look – it’s kind of blurry, but I think they’re even kissing behind that potted plant on the deck of their hotel room…

Eeeyyyyuuuuuu…what am I saying?!

That’s the photo that stopped me. The photo that I was squinting at to make out, because it was so hard to see, was Jennifer Aniston and someone sharing an inarguably private moment. And here I am – me and millions of other people – looking right at it as if it were a photo in our own family album. Suddenly I felt as if I had begun flipping through some stranger’s personal belongings. I felt like I was intruding on a stranger’s private moment…and I was. What Would Jennifer Do?

It felt kind of innocent for awhile. Celebrities just invite that kind of interest. Who do they like, what do they wear, what do they eat, do they workout? I live thousands of miles away from Jennifer or Britney or Jen and Ben so what does it matter that I am reading a magazine with pictures of their grocery shopping trips, their quick dash out in slippers to get the paper, or a candid shot of their unkempt appearance as they enter the doctor’s office? I used to think that celebrities just whined too much. “Wahhh…get that camera out of my face”. Whatever. What did they think was going to happen when they chose a profession in which not only their faces, but their voices, their interviews, their pets and their work would be plastered all over billboards, television, movies and the internet? Beamed into homes across the world every week. Making millions of dollars and spending it on $500,000 airplanes, $1,000,000 weddings, $4,000 handbags and $900 shoes. If they wanted to go to the nail salon without 25 photographers following, they should have gone into banking or real estate. Am I right? Could I summon any less sympathy at all for the celebrity who complained about getting too much attention while parking their Bentley out front of the Starbucks while they run in for a latte? Nah. There is a certain amount of attention one would have to just deal with, I think, when one chooses a career and lifestyle that just begs attention.

On the other hand…when I find myself squinting at a blurry photo of a man and a woman sharing an intimate moment and wishing that the photographer had moved a little to the left before snapping the picture…well it’s time to say, “enough.” I have lots more feelings about celebrities and who deserves the acclaim and who doesn’t. Let’s just say that when I hear “the last time I saw Paris” I’d rather it refer to old women selling flowers in markets at dawn on the Champs d'Elysees. There’s a lot of inequity in a country where actors make tons of dollars and teachers don’t – but that’s a whole other commentary. But no matter how much we make, we are all accorded the unalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And when there’s a big nosy photographer standing on your balcony as you pursue that happiness, well that’s just wrong.

So, I guess I will pick up the Time magazines that are also on the revolving rack of periodicals at the gym. I am definitely not ready to browse through those awful “Women With Great Looking Bodies and How They Barely Do Any Exercise At All To Get Them” issues. It won’t matter that I stop picking up the gossip magazines as I head to my treadmill. Legions of photographers will continue to follow Jennifer, Vince, Angelina, Brad, Jen and Ben and whoever is next in line in that hit parade. My one woman boycott of those publications won’t make a dent in their business, but at least I’ll feel better by not contributing to it. That’s What Cindy Will Do.