Sunday, 24 January 2010

Subject-change Sunday: Awful Celebrity Crushes

Sometimes I feel like I get so caught up in beauty that I need a little respite in other types of frivolity, or something completely unrelated. So, I'm making Sunday a day to talk about something a little different, a day where I can talk about myself, the things that have been bothering me, a completely trivial outpouring of thoughts. Whatever it may be, if you're only here for the beauty then feel free to skip over.

This week's post is inspired by ridiculous celebrity crushes, for no reason other than that Sundays are my day for frivolity unlimited. And because I wanted to share my potentially embarrassing celebrity crushes with you and seek assurance that I'm maybe not the only one in the world.

In my head, there is a little file of awful celebrity crushes, neatly stacked away between 'acceptably attractive people', and 'men who people think are the most attractive man alive but they're not really because they have x, y or z wrong with their face and I don't like it.' Brad Pitt fits in the latter category - there's something so unintelligent and Neanderthal about him... And something so obvious.

SO NO I DO NOT FANCY BRAD PITT.


Brad Pitt: Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200.


When I was eleven, I read those types of magazines aimed at pre-teens; the ones in the UK that existed in my small teenage universe were Mizz, Shout, Sugar, Bliss and the slightly more mature 17. After several terrible teen movies where the guy always gets the girl, I arrived at my first real crush (after Stephen Gately, after whom I girlishly lusted for years). His name was Freddie Prinze Jr.


Oh, Freddie. Your poster was pritt-sticked to my expensive wallpaper, much to the chagrin of my parents. You took pride of place next to my desk so that I could sit and gaze lovingly into your eyes. You always knew exactly how I was feeling, and felt the same too...

Next came Kavana. For the uninitiated, Kavana is a popstar of the 90's hailing from the UK. Even back in his day, he was the CEO of the Male Popstars who clearly wear lipstain Conglomerate and we all wanted lips just like him. He had an angelic face and a pretty voice. And his dreamily smiling face adorned my wall, even though he wasn't a touch on Freddie.

At this point in my life, I hit the age of 14 and I am sad to report, developed slightly more generic crushes; Johnny Depp was high on my list, and more attainable skater boys, or band boys were residing just below. However, there is one man who I wanted to bang a bit, and it pains me to say it was...

David Schwimmer.

All I can say is: I'M SORRY. DEAR GOD I'M SORRY.

I had a slightly better crush of Orlando Bloom at this point in my life, but this by no means makes up for the trainwreck of David Schwimmer.

There is no excuse for any of this.

My crushes waxed and waned over the years, but recently I've noticed a worrying (and perhaps disturbing) little trend in them: They're mostly over 40.

Now, Tom Felton aside (I'm 23, and I have to admit he's just not that into older women), who heads up the last of my recent crushes, the humbly delicious man who tops my list of most nommable man ever is:

Alan Rickman.

Alan Rickman is the owner of the most mellifluous voice in the world. There is no fact truer than this. I can't even say what it is about Mr. Rickman which makes him the paragon of male attractiveness in my eyes; it could be the cloak and evil attitude, but could equally be the breeches and forlorn look in his eyes.

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Oh Alzy, whisk me away.

I would dump Kiwi if this man asked for my hand in marriage.


Other honourable mentions at this point may have included Jason Isaacs and the googly-eyed Robert Downey Junior.

And here ends the ridiculous post about my embarrassing inner-psyche. I'm sure Freud would particularly enjoy the last crush admission.

Anyone else got any heinous crushes?




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