Paris Hilton: Celebrity Culture Superhero?

It would be simplistic and unimaginative to call Paris Hilton a publicity whore. She really is so much more. And through her own weird and bizarre genius, she maintains a stranglehold on our collective psyche.

Most adults over the age of 30 just don’t understand her, nor the power she wields over celebrity culture. But make no mistake: her demigod status is a collaborative effort driven by her, her handlers, the media and the public.

Surprise! Now there is yet another lastest tidal wave of evidence illustrating the depths of stupidity, depravity, life of excess, and an ineffable lack of inhibition that is Paris Hilton: this time, in the guise of a website called ParisExposed.com.

The story here isn’t the contents of the site or even the endless amateur footage of Paris Hilton being Paris Hilton. Most of America saw quite enough of the “private Paris” with her first sex video with ex-boyfriend Rick Solomon creatively titled, One Night In Paris. Even if you haven’t seen the video, which certainly most of us haven’t, no one can deny the “scandal” of that tape and the media frenzy surrounding it made Paris Hilton a household name. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

No, the real story here is how and why the purveyors of the ParisExposed.com site came to obtain these very personal items of Ms. Hilton’s.

The men behind the site are Bardia Persa and David Hans Schmitt (the sleazebag who peddled One Night In Paris), and the contents in questions are from a 6,000 square foot storage unit containing Paris Hilton’s personal items of a varied and bizarre nature. The manner in which these “gentlemen” obtained Hilton’s belongings was quite startlingly easy and cheap (insert Paris joke); so easy in fact, it would seem as though they met the kind of resistance one meets when they are being aided by the victim themselves.

As the story goes, while moving from one posh residence to another, Hilton put her items in storage. A “third party” failed to pay the storage bill and after repeated attempts to collect on the debt, the storage facility, as is their right, auctioned off Ms. Hilton’s items. Suffice it to say, there were probably some unethical shenanigans going on in terms of privacy and the like, but essentially this stuff happens all the time to regular folks who don’t pay their bills.

So, what kind of famous person allows so many squirmingly personal and damaging items to fall into the hands of avaricious ne’er-do-wells? A person with a pathological need to maintain her place in the public eye at most any cost – that’s who. Even if you lost track of your items through innocent means, surely a reasonable person with loads of cash and influence at her disposal would go to whatever means necessary to retrieve said embarrassing items.

Unless of course, you WANT these items to fall into the “wrong” hands.

The contents of this storage unit weren’t the glamorous goods one might see at a Christie’s auction, but rather the kinds of things a sweet young lass might keep in her cedar hope chest: a private collection of “home videos” (and we aren’t talking about cherished Christmas memories here); discarded prescription bottles for medications like Hydrocodone (a narcotic painkiller), Ambien (a sleep aid), and Valtrex (herpes medication); and receipts, including one from a LA clinic for a “miscarriage” in 2003 for a woman name “Amber Taylor,” love letters received, love letters never sent, fake ID cards, official papers, personal journals, diaries and endless scraps of paper containing endless checklists of “to-dos.”

This is the stuff of paparazzi/tabloid dreams. I can almost picture these men as they poured over the treasure trove of goodies, like Captain Jack and his cursed Aztec gold. Titillating, incriminating, and utterly none of anyone’s business.

Lest I remind you, this isn’t just anyone, this is Paris Hilton.

The amazing thing about Paris Hilton — and hate or love her, she is amazing — is her utter unflappability, which turns the most negative, damaging, tawdry, grotesque coverage into pure celebrity-status gold. She can’t be damaged and shamed, because she is so damaged and has no shame. As long as she is in the headlines, no matter the reason, she is right where she wants to be.

I am almost willing to believe it mostly occurs on a subconscious level. Her publicist, Elliot Mintz, states that despite the Groundhog Day-like repetition of finding herself again and again defending her image, she is once again “incredibly upset and angry” and feels “victimized” by the blatant invasion of her privacy.

I am sure initially, on the surface, this is true. But it’s all part of Paris’ game: portraying herself as hurt and victimized while secretly enjoying the delicious, salacious attention it all brings. Much like the role model Paris claims to fashion herself after, Marilyn Monroe, Hilton seems to find herself most comfortable playing the pained victim, while coquettishly batting her eyes at the adoring public, “Poor me, all my dirty little secrets are secret no more, feel sorry for me, but look at how hot I am.”

And she’s right, she is hot. But not in a Marilyn Monroe sort of way. Paris Hilton is hot in an impervious to humiliation, embarrassment and shame sort of way. It’s like she’s a superhuman, superslut, celebrity culture superhero, whose ability to glamorize STD’s, illegal drug use, promiscuity and vapidity challenge the very fabric of time and space.

Can no one stop her? Someone better call the Justice League, stat.