Monday, 21 May 2012

Shit a Brick

I'm going to come right out and say it: "I can't stand Samantha Brick."

Fish in a barrel, I know. But hear me out.

I don't hate her for her appearance. So what if she's labouring under the misapprehension that magic mirrors have her in mind when quizzed about the fairest in the land? And it doesn't matter is she's convinced that other women are jealously sniping about her mythical beauty, even when they're elbowing their mates, saying "It's that Aggie off of that show about loppy houses." 

At best, she's the face that launched a thousand shits, and at worst, she's the reason kids are afraid of the dark. But that's no reason to hate her. She can cover her camera lens with enough Vaseline to squeeze a cow through a keyhole, and it'd be no skin off my nose.

I don't care if she thinks she's a trophy wife, as she confidently argues in her latest article for the Daily Mail. Maybe her husband feels like he won the big prize, even if all he pulled out of the bran tub was an over-ripe banana with bad highlights. 

It doesn't even bother me that she speaks like an Apprentice contestant, when describing the early stages of her career when she was bringing home a 'six figure salary.' That £250 a month she's given to spend on clothes might make her "feel like a princess", but the sad reality is that a real royal would struggle to squeeze a gym outfit out of her annual budget.

What I hate is her craven trolling. The willingness to say absolutely anything, as long as it generates hits for Mail Online, and ensures that she'll get asked back on the This Morning couch to talk about it. 

For instance, she argues that she only works occasionally in order to keep her wits about her, so she can spend her days pampering her husband. Then, in the next breath, she tells us that she has her own income and career, and would therefore be able to cope perfectly well if she found herself alone.

Similarly, she demurely refers to her husband's "amorous advances" just moments after describing herself as a professional in the bedroom. Then again, maybe she is a pro on her back. At least that explains why she only gets £250 for a month's work.

I hate the fact that she proved how easy it is to go out of your way to irritate millions of people, in search of viral ignominy, and then claim to be bullied for voicing her opinion. I hate the fact that the internet is full of witty, incisive, carefully-composed articles written by amateurs, that struggle to amass a readership in the double figures. And yet she can fart out 1,500 words of inconsistent, poorly argued dross and score millions of hits.

If this would-be trophy wife genuinely believes that she's in the same league as Melania Trump, Georgina Chapman and Penny Lancaster, more power to her. But she doesn't. Instead, she's simply churning out more of the same bullshit that gave her internet fame in the first instance. 

Like the Big Brother contestants who re-enter the house, suddenly aware of the thing that got audiences talking about them in the first place, she's cranked her insanity up to eleven. And despite her calculated awfulness, it's hard to dislike someone like her without being accused of misogyny. Even though she's the one willing to sell out her entire gender for the sake of an editorial commission and another 15 minutes of notoriety.

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