It is not me. It’s you.
I’m sick of hearing about you. I’m sick of hearing your pretentious, self-righteous, pseudo-messianic blather. You are not a monster, you are not anyone’s mother, you are not going to save the world, and you need to crawl out of Andy Warhol’s overblown asshole.
I used to like you, I really did. I thought you were cool. I found your satirical take on the pop music industry to be amusing, and even almost insightful. I wish you had allowed me to keep liking you, but I cannot continue to do so in good conscience as a person of taste.
When you first came on the scene I liked you for no other reason than that you wore strange clothes and made bad pop music. Since I love strange clothes and bad pop music more than anything, I was putty in your hands from the get-go. Then you made Paparazzi, and that wonderful video for it. I thought, “Here is an artist who makes bad pop music, wears strange clothes, and has some sort of artistic merit! Amazing!” No, you were never the most original artist. It was clear from the beginning that you stole liberally from David Bowie, Madonna, Grace Jones, and Marilyn Manson among others, but it was okay, because there was a certain tongue in cheek quality to your appropriation of their styles. It was cute, and it made me love you more. I was even able to excuse your tragic little relationship with Perez Hilton, since it seemed more like your were using him to climb the ladder of success than that you would actually deign to waste any real feelings on him.
After Alexander McQueen died though, something happened to you. You decided to go into mourning for him. What exactly this was supposed to mean, I have no idea, since you didn’t seem to change your attire or behaviour in any noticeable way. I began to grow annoyed with you, but if you had continued to make the kind of catchy, fun, empty-headed music I had come to expect from you I would have forgiven even that ridiculousness; but you didn’t, instead you just started calling yourself ‘Mama Monster’. Please. You are no such thing.
You released ‘Telephone’. Despite the fact that you went so far as to feature the Pussy Wagon in the video, I was unimpressed. The video in no way matched the song, and the Tarantino references were clumsy and heavy-handed. Despite all this, I still would have forgiven you though, had you cleaned up your act then; but again, you didn’t.
Your next single and video, ‘Alejandro’ sounded like Ace of Base, and looked like Manson. I know you’re friends with him and everything, but did you really have to rip off his aesthetic? It’s been done! While you were always derivative, it was clear that you were just directly copying. I gave up on you, and simply started ignoring you.
But then you had to go and make ‘Born This Way’. I understand that you think you’re like a lady Jesus and all, but are you so dim as to think that you can set out to make an anthem of acceptance? Anthems aren’t made, they just sort of happen to otherwise unassuming songs. The idea that you can make a ‘let’s all be tolerant!’ anthem, and have it stick for more than a few months is laughable, and that’s not even touching on the shameless bandwagon-jumping that is that song. Society is deciding that “bullying”* (a perfectly natural phenomenon that developed as a means of weeding out the weak) is not cool? Oh! I was born this way! I’m oh-so-tolerant! I’m so tolerant I can use the word ‘oriental’ in a song about acceptance, and it will not only make sense, it won’t be offensive!
Then you released ‘Judas’. I have nothing to say about that song and video, except for the fact that they are equally horrible.
Even then, Gaga, I did not hate you. I thought you were stupid, yes. I thought you needed to shut up, yes. I thought you were really, really fucking pretentious. I thought you were a privileged little snot (and since it has been co-opted by the PC crowd I hate, hate, hate using, or even thinking the word ‘privileged’), but I did not hate you.
I didn’t hate you until you wrote that ridiculous column for W. I cannot believe I used to think you were smart. That whole column sounded like something I would have written at age fifteen. At fifteen, one can sound like an asshole and it’s okay, you’re still learning about the world; you, on the other hand, are twenty five years old and so have no excuse.
Not all fashion was stolen from French painters, most of it wasn’t. I have never heard of Mark Bolan, if you want to refer to someone you supposedly admire, you might want to spell Marc Bolan’s name correctly. Rico The Zombie Boy never had that conversation with you, because Bazooka gum never came with tattoos. Fruit Stripe gum has tattoos, Bazooka has comics. I could go on, but I doubt anyone is even reading any more. I suggest that a certain ‘glam librarian’ take her narrow little ass back to library school before she mispronounces “Lacroix” again.
At least when I thought I knew everything, no-one paid me any mind.
*I use quotes, because it seems to me that the current definition of bullying is really no such thing at all. Saying something that others don’t necessarily agree with is not bullying. Saying something that might be hurtful is not bullying. Bullying is when someone who is somehow stronger, whether that be socially or physically, victimizes someone who is weaker for no reason other than the fact that that person is weaker than they.