The Fallacy of Celebrity Worship

kill your idols, worship your friends and mentors

I worshiped Lindsay Lohan when I was a kid.

To me, she was the template: the not-like-other-girls-girl, the “cool rocker girl” of the Disney teen starlets. She had a rebellious, captivating glow that grabbed my attention in Freaky Friday, and I further fell in love with her with Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen and Just My Luck. She was divine.

I listened to her Speak CD on my stereo, replaying it during late-night reading sessions until I dozed off with a Series of Unfortunate Events book slipping from my loosening grip. As a young girl I never knew more of Lindsay Lohan than her creative output, but the image of that effortlessly beautiful woman laying down on that CD jacket with a guitar strapped across her blooming chest was God enough for me.