Gwyneth — she's not just like us!

Sadly, it was not to be. A few years ago, a reporter asked Gwyneth to give her candid opinion on the relationships of her ex-loves, particularly Ben Affleck (It was the time of the Bennifer). Once again, I remember pulling for Gwyneth and hoping, for her sake, that she’d take the low road just this once, perhaps say something pithy and disparaging, maybe even call J-Lo, “J-Ho”. Heh.

It would have been like the last day of school before a long vacation, when your strictest teacher does something uncharacteristically cool — lets you listen to music or sit next to your best friend. You know that teacher is going to be the same tight-lipped drill sergeant next semester, but you’ll always remember this day and secretly like her a little more because of it.

But no. With Gwyneth it’s all “discretion” and starting sentences with “my husband and I” and “wishing everyone the best.” (Except when she is tut-tutting Brad and Jen for being too public with their relationship, and thus incurring an Angelina Jolie-shaped misfortune which — in ancient cultures — was the typical punishment for hubris.) I bet Gwyneth pronounces “hubris” as “yu-bris” because “h”s are so common.

Fact: Gwyneth Paltrow is the teacher who says, “This is the last day of school, not the first day of summer vacation.”

It feels downright cruel to pick on Gwyneth on the birth of her first son — especially if you prefer her quiet self-righteousness to the recent antics of certain loud, needy, attention-seeking celebrity breeders. She hasn't jumped on a couch, she hasn't cluttered my US Weekly with third-world photo ops and she's generally eschewed publicity and made good on her professed desire to maintain a low profile.

Damn you, moderation!
Still, at the end of the day, I like my celebrities like the band Confederate Railroad likes their women: just a little on the trashy side.

How I would love to see Gwyneth rip up a hotel room, flash innocent children at the Kids’ Choice awards, have regrettable relations with the help or, just once, forget that Apple’s car seat is on top of the car, and then get home and be really embarrassed about it and hope that no one saw — because, really, that’s just a terrible thing to forget. (Celebrities! They endanger their children!)

But alas, as the years go by, Gwyneth continues to offend me with her moderation and restraint — two qualities I inherently distrust in celebrities. Two qualities that send a message: ”I don't need your money, or your love,” a message which seems, well, sort of insincere, particularly when it is conveyed through highly publicized interviews or photo spreads in Vanity Fair.

Fact: Gwyneth Paltrow knows your Prada bag is fake. She won’t say so to your face, but she’ll laugh about it the next time she sees Madonna.

I’ve tried to like you, Gwyneth, I really have. But you’d do well to take a page from the books of Simpson and Lohan. There is still time to become a woman of the people. Get loaded at Scores. Name your next child Jamie-Lynn. Who knows, a show of pathological neediness could even persuade me to see “Sylvia: The Sequel.”

Paige Ferrari is a freelance writer in New York City. She maintains a Gwyneth-free blog at make-you-hmmm.blogspot.com.

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