Add Superior Court Judge Michael Sauer to the list of event planners, clothing designers and assorted other publicity-seekers who shower freebies upon filthy-rich product-placement opportunity Paris Hilton: Her latest coup is a six-week, all-expenses-paid stay at the Graybar Hotel in Lynwood, California. For 45 days this summer, she’ll enjoy the glorious, zen-like tranquility of a 12-by-8-foot luxury suite equipped with toilet, sink and cinderblock walls so thick no paparazzi telephoto lens can penetrate them. Even the institution’s other guests will be kept at bay—Paris is getting exclusive VIP treatment, all at the expense of California taxpayers.
Technically, Hilton is headed for the slammer for driving with a suspended license. And not just driving, but driving badly—and rudely—with little consideration for the tabloid photographers who’ve made her famous. Indeed, after she pleaded no contest to charges stemming from a drunken-driving arrest in September 2006, she kept driving anyway, even though this violated the terms of her probation. In February 2007, police witnessed her racing down Sunset Boulevard at twice the speed limit without her headlights on, and, really, how can even Hollywood’s most skilled paparazzi get a decent picture of her when she’s employing such evasive maneuvers?
So, sure, lock her up! What’s somewhat peculiar, though, is how many of her detractors seem less interested in punishing her vehicular sins than her general lifestyle. Twice as sleek as a purebred Siamese cat, but not even half as articulate, she infuriates those who believe that cellulite and hard work are the pillars of virtue.
Apparently long-term exposure to femur-y wannabe Nicole Richie is not a severe enough punishment for anyone fortunate enough to be that rich, that pretty, that pampered: Actual jail time is required.
At the very least, though, Hilton should get credit for her industry. After all, she wasn’t born with gorgeous blond hair extensions, metallic blue-flake peepers and a lustrous, weather-resistant bronze finish that seems to be just as durable as it is beautiful. It took work to look so good, and once she did, it took more work to get so famous.
So while Hilton may be party dressing, she’s deceptively high-functioning party dressing, already boasting the multidisciplinary resume of a middle-aged workaholic. At only 26, she has starred in more than 50 episodes of The Simple Life, acted in 18 movies and TV series, recorded a not-unlistenable pop album and participated in the creation of a New York Times best-seller and two other books bearing her name. Her perfume line is a hit, and her ad for Carl’s Jr. set a standard for wet-humping Bentleys that will never be equalled. (Even her unauthorized porn tape, released by a former boyfriend on the Internet, could not top the sexiness of that performance—ironically, she was far more alluring blowing a hamburger than she was performing actual fellatio.)
But if her unusually rigorous work ethic is the secret to her stardom, it’s also her tragic flaw. Indeed, after her initial driving misadventures, why didn’t she simply hire a chauffeur, or better yet, hang out by the pool until her license was reinstated? Apparently ordering Hilton to lay off the licensing deals, the event appearances, the TV cameos, even for only a few months, would be like ordering Picasso not to paint—the girl is just not programmed for idleness or letting others spirit her around like royalty when she is perfectly capable of driving herself. Alas, because of her diligent, can-do attitude, she’ll be spending at least part of the summer in jail.
According to newspaper accounts, Hilton is pumping iron in hopes of beefing up before doing her time; one wonders if her incarceration will inspire a mental transformation, too. Eldridge Cleaver, Malcolm X, Sean Penn—they were all somewhat aimless young men until prison politicized them, so who knows what effect the Big House might have on Hilton. With her looks, her wealth and her family connections, she’s like a young George W. Bush, albeit with sharper business sense and a greater appetite for work. So watch out, France, watch out, Italy! We have legitimate handbag interests in Old Europe, and come 2034, we may finally have a president who is not afraid to use military power to protect them.