Papa–Paparazzi Madness

I don’t know one person who would openly admit to despising Lady Gaga.

Mother Monster has some darn catchy lyrics, to say the least.

Her song “Paparazzi” was undeniably big in the United States and, as such, I know most of the lyrics by heart. The ones I don’t know, I kind of fumble over muttering my own rendition as if the people in the car with me won’t notice. Usually they don’t, since they’re also stumbling over the less audible parts of the song.

There’s one line that’s always stood out to me:

“Baby, you’ll be famous, chase you down until you love me–Papa–Paparazzi”

Talk about your run-o-the-mill stalker line! It’s almost as bad as this gem of a song by The Police.

Is the Paparazzi really that bad, I’ve always wondered.

Since I moved to LA, I’ve seen one or two Paparazzi walking the boulevards searching for a target, but I hadn’t truly seen them en massé.

I do recall seeing pictures of Brittany Spears back in the day stuck in a situation like this:


I think she should be allowed to plow them down at this point

but I hadn’t seen anything like that in the 4 months I’ve been here.

Until this morning.

I was exiting a meeting I had in Brentwood, a posh neighborhood northwest of Beverly Hills, when my path was blocked by a huddle of men. They all seemed to be staring in one direction–kinda strange, right?

Then I saw a humungous black and white lens protruding from the crossed arms of one man and noticed that they all had cameras.

Quick as a bolt of white-hot lightening, they all sprint into the parking lot abutting the shopping center I was heading towards.

I knew they were going in for the kill. I kept my distance but saw a blonde haired woman emerge from the car, wearing sunglasses, and pointedly talking on a cell phone.

A BMW came screeching to a halt in front of me, blocking the entrance to the parking lot. A man hurriedly got out, pulled a long-lensed camera from the trunk of his car, and eagerly joined the pursuit.

Someone was obviously  late to the party.

Everything happened so quickly that I hardly got a look at her face because they swarmed like a bunch of bees whose hive had just been demolished.

I knew who it was, though, she has an unmistakable look.

I didn’t want to linger at all, out of respect to her and because I thought that would be incredibly rude. And NO, I didn’t snap a photo, in case that was your next question.

I went to grab some coffee and upon my return, the paparazzi were just milling about. I could tell they were lying in wait for her to come out of the shop.

“Who is it that you’re all waiting for?” I ask the nearest man, just to check my suspicions.

“Reese Witherspoon,” he replies in a thick Middle Eastern accent.

Nailed it.

I walked back to my car thinking about how absolutely jarring it was to see a pack of men race toward this woman, walking by herself.

I know a lot of people say things like “it comes with the territory of being a celebrity” and I agree to some extent.

However, I think it’s their human right not to be horribly stalked, which is what the paparazzi has turned into the last 20 years. I can’t imagine how absolutely terrified I’d be to see grown, aggressive, burly men all advancing toward me with a look of determination and desperation for the shot glinting in their eyes.

No boundaries at all.

How did all of those men know she’d be in that parking lot at that time today? The answer: someone obviously had to be following her car from the moment she left her house.


The scariest part of all of this is that she has children. I can understand Julia Roberts’ major freak out a couple of years back when a paparazzi gaggle got too close to her kids. Total Mama Bear response.

Where does that leave my career aspirations?

Have I chosen the right profession on which to focus? Don’t get me wrong, it’d be a LONG SHOT if I were to achieve that kind of fame. However, I think it’s important that I stop and consider the loss of all anonymity should I succeed in the acting profession.

For now, I’m going to go with ‘yes’ and start saving up for my legal fees when I inevitably mow one of them down with my luxury vehicle.


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