We Read It So You Don't Have To: A Bazaar Boost for Lindsay's Mom
Apparently, it isn’t enough for Lindsay Lohan and her pants-less exploits to be plastered across every tabloid and reproduced in high-res on every gossip website. Nope, Lindsay’s mom has to get in on the act, too. Despite a total lack of merit other than her notable offspring, Bazaar features her anyway, in “Lindsay’s Mother on Living La Vida Lohan,” April.
Translation: Bazaar couldn’t get Lindsay (or, obviously, anyone else of consequence). Bazaar 0, Dina 1.
Between her insanely overblown mother-hen persona and Bazaar’s liberal sprinkling of italics throughout, Dina comes off as downright delusional. Which we’d normally assume was the point, except the whole article by Phoebe Eaton is straining for drama—it’s replete with bated-breath sentence fragments and a tone so maudlin as to be stultifying amateurish. For instance:
She wasn’t even supposed to marry [Lindsay’s father] in the first place. “I’d met a gentleman in the movie business,” she says—a grip working on The Cotton Club. Her fiancé. Only then he died in a car crash.
But if that wasn’t enough to make you stop reading (we’re masochists—we muddled through to the end), here are our three favorite bits from the article:
1. “Oh, the party mom, the party mom, the party mom!” she chants. “Whoever said that, my ex-husband or whatever, I’m not the party mom! You throw enough pasta on the walls, some pasta’s going to stick, okay?”
2. “…Paris [Hilton] is a really smart girl, and she’s come really far. They’re the American dream. They’re the Trumps of the little world, these kids.”
And topping those is hands-down the most fatuous statement to appear in Bazaar (or at least in this issue), which combines Dina’s practiced bombast with Eaton’s desperate attempt to make this piece seem at all meaningful.
3. ...Dina won’t let her two youngest [children] ride in Lindsay’s car. “Look at me,” she says, making deepest, darkest eye contact. “Diana will happen again,” she says.
Which is a bold statement, and might even come across as genuine concern if Dina’s very appearance in this article didn’t brand her as an attention whore. Posing with her dress hiked up to her crotch while an assistant applies a spray-on tan? Sure, lady, this is clearly all about your daughter.
Are we being too harsh? Indeed we are, intones Eaton at the article’s close.
Until you walk in her Jimmy Choos, do not presume to judge.
Ooh, burn! If only there were a way for her to avoid negative attention, like, oh, not using her daughter as an excuse to appear in magazines? Try throwing that pasta at the wall, Dina!