Blending a couple’s two names together is not cool, it’s stupid

Kim Kardashian and Kanye WestRight, let’s have a really cool quick-fire round of pointless questions about pointless people. Ready? Okay, who is more useless than Chantelle Houghton? A: Alex Reid. Who is more arrogant than Alex Reid? A: Kanye West. Who is more annoying than Kanye West? A: Kim Kardashian. Kudos if you got them all right, a slap on the wrist if you didn’t. Yes, in CelebLand, where the sky is forever blue and residents even glimmer when given a parking ticket, all the useless people in our society come together and create a harvest of manufactured personalities, falsely enigmatic personas and self-deprecating relationships, all for a few columns mentioning them in the morning paper. And, if you really are wet behind the ears and have been living under a rock for the past few months, you’ll have noticed the pairing up of celebrities whom take shared custody on a range of vices, of which exist in the couples of Alex Reid and Chantelle Houghton, and Kim Kardashian and Kanye West.


Whilst these couples may stand at decidedly opposing ends of the A-List/Z-List spectrum, they do however find a devastatingly happy medium on the annoying scale. Chantelle Houghton is up there for, well, just being there for no good reason and coaxing the press into paying for her unbecoming set of lead balloons on her chest, but pair her up with attention-hoarder and repulsive transvestite ‘lothario’ (yes, you read that right) and this is like the anti-Power Couple that we all love to hate. Of course, separately they are irreparably abysmal, but as an economical society we lump our loathings together like an excitable pensioner in Costco. The same can be said for Kimye (don’t ask), although they’re less like normal people like you and I, rather they’re walking, talking embodiments of our very own unlovable characteristics that manifest in our magazines and on our screens. Just awful when you think about it, aren’t they? Kim is nothing more than an arse with a neck and eyelashes and Kanye has an ego the size of Altrincham. I think if it were up to that man he’d permanently wear a Sheriff’s badge on his lapelle, with the title ‘world’s greatest ever human being’ on it, before getting it tattooed under his shirt on his bare chest so that even when he’s stripped down to his skivvys he can constantly remind himself of his excellence, lest he were to forget.


But whilst ranting about regrettable simpletons could legally be determined a day job for me, the real issue to be made is that these loved-up celebrity couples embody an exaggerated version of ourselves, in unbecoming ways. Unconsciously the singletons are chipping away at all that was good about them before (or along those lines), and handing it over until their personality becomes about as exciting and useful as a wet cardboard box. If you thought Kim was bland before, have you seen her now?! And at least before Chantelle, Alex was a little bit eccentric, to which now he is just an annoying leech of a man that probably idolises Tony Blair. And this happens to most people when they find that ‘special someone’, even regulars like you and I, who generally as an individual don’t grate on that many people, but give us somebody to care for – heaven forbid – and we’re just another Kimye, reduced to putty and crafted into a version of ourselves which we can’t bare to admit to. It’s almost like boarding an aeroplane, conscious of the turbulence that awaits, of momentarily losing control, but saving face regardless of the altitude, knowing you’re doing it for a worthwhile cause, whilst merrily sucking on a travel sweet.


So many friends I’ve seen come and go, where they’ve lost all senses of themselves, grown out of who they spent years to become, like your friendship with them was merely a chrysanthemum at the seams. It happens a frightening amount of the time, even to the most robust of friendships. The term ‘bros before hoes’ like any other well-known phrase was coined due to popular occurrence – i.e. of hoes coming before bros, respectively. And whilst we might dwell on what the friendship might have been, it can turn stomachs to see what it is now, and what is staring bald-faced in front of you – the old friend reformed before you. The jokes you both used to cry with laughter at make no sense to them unless shrouded by baby talk, the excitement to go out with the group is suffocated by cuddles and movie nights in on the sofa; the ability for them to see sense is devastatingly absent. But what we don’t require, as human beings, is over-exposure. ‘Too much of anything will make you sick’, elegised our Cheryl, and her song-writers were only bloody right, weren’t they! To analogise, to live hoes hoes hoes and no bros is like eating an insurmountable amount of sticky toffee pudding – whilst at first it makes you feel great, soon after comes the realisation that if you’d just have stopped before, you wouldn’t now be lolling on the sofa, arms flailing in the air, praying for a bucket of salt.


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