It’s awards show season and I’m pissed. No, not because The Squeakquel is getting shut out. It’s not the “In Memoriam” montages and laundry-list acceptance speeches, either. It’s those damn swag bags.
Does Kate Hudson really need a makeup case chock-full of some fancy-pants line only found at Fred Segal? What's Jennifer Lopez gonna do with another candle? Let’s be honest—she’s just going to give it to her nanny anyway if it’s not white. Does Johnny Depp want a free trip to Atlantis Paradise Island Resort & Casino? Cap’n Jack owns an island, for fuck’s sake!
Then there are the bottom-feeders like Paris Hilton and Tara Reid, who always seem to bluff their way into gift suites at Sundance or the Independent Spirit Awards so they can gobble up trampy low-rise denim, free Botox, and the newest gadget or handbag.
Fuck yeah, I’m jealous. I could use the hell out of Oliver Peoples sunglasses and some Paige denim (even if I can’t get my ass into a pair). But I can’t afford this stuff—Nicole Kidman can. Nic Cage once could. These stars, the ones who CAN pay for a phat dinner at Katsuya and an impromptu trip to Bali in their private plane, need to step away from the swag and leave it to those who really will appreciate the booty, namely me. If you don’t back away, I’m going to beat you with a fully loaded Tumi duffle bag. Take that, Drew Barrymore.