Sydney Leathers, of Weinergate fame, has fulfilled the modern, insatiable need for 15 1/2 minutes of fame by going the way of celebrity porn.
Wow, who saw that coming?
It’s not that sexting is rare, millions of people engage in it. It’s not that doing porn is anyone’s business other than hers. Even her sugar daddy lifestyle is between her and the foolish men she ate like Snickers (“You’re not you when you’re hungry.”). It’s not even as if her early claims of Weiner being a hypocritically bad candidate she simply wanted to out soon turned into a “what’s in this for me” orgy. But it is an interesting expression of pop culture.
You Can Tell a Lot About a Nation by What They Watch
You can tell a lot about a nation by what they watch on TV. Americans watch unreal reality shows chock-o-block with spectacular TMI — usually the type of thing a person with perception of your average tree stump would question with, “why the hell would you do that”. It is salacious, but infinitely marvelous, in a flaming car wreck sort of way. Even the most adamant “non-watchers” have their guilty pleasures.
This is a recent phenomena. Sure, there were scandals like Aimee Semple McPherson and Fatty Arbuckle in generations past, but they had a weird sort of decorum that seems positively quaint today. Back in the day newspapers brought news slowly, allowing the heat of scandals to cool as news dripped out. Radio came along but let’s face it, the details of a sex scandal read straight-faced by Lowell Thomas was the ultimate bore — not even audio tapes of all the groaning and dirty talk.
TV, the Internets, and Sydney Leathers
Then came TV and worse yet, the Internets.
Everyone has their secret fetishes and fantasies and there is no shortage of people, intentionally or accidentally, that find themselves in a position to cash in for the pleasure of the proles. Their attention whoring often outpaces those who put them in the spotlight to begin with and once tasted becomes like blood to a shark (Shark Week reference intended).
But it begs a question.
What drives it all, the ultimate narcissism of yelling, “Look at me!” on camera, the appeal of the gobs of money that Vivid shakes after their badonkadonks? Or, the down-home folk who watch the stuff with the insatiability of Mama June awatchin’ the TV machine while eating cheese popcorn and drinking diet Coke?