Gwyneth Paltrow Doesn't Like When We are Mean to Her

In a new interview with Harper’s Bazaar UK, Gwyneth Paltrow talks about how people are mean to her because of her (out of touch with reality) blog, GOOP. The only thing worse than a “sincere” Fishsticks (as someone so aptly named her once) is a “sincere” Fishsticks whining about being Fishsticks.

“Any time you do anything with any degree of sincerity, people make fun of you. That’s totally fine. I don’t care. I don’t read any of it. My thing with Goop has always been, if you don’t like it, then don’t log onto it. There were a couple of times when I thought ‘I’m just gonna stop doing it. People are so mean to me. I don’t want to do it.’ But then I was like, ‘Who cares what some lame person out there says?’ I was in Italy once, and this old man came up to me and said, ‘I had the best time in Nashville because of Goop.’ And that is so worth it to me.”

Celebrities get made fun of Fishy. Which is a true fact of this terrible, blog-ridden, cynicism-dominated current world of ours. (One that I’m well aware of my somewhat heightened place in, so this is me acknowledging that I, the pot, am also black.) People do tend to mock sincerity because it is such an easy target. But I think in the case of Ms. Paltrow and Goop, it’s not really any sense of sincerity that people are teasing. Rather it’s a wildly out-of-touch perspective couched in a faux-Everymom tone. As an example she suggested to people an $80 leather flyswatter as a Christmas gift, and then she expects people not to make fun of her? AN EIGHTY DOLLAR FLY SWATTER, GWYNNIE.

I can just picture what an average night in Gwyneth’s 117 bedroom castle must be like:

“Nobody understands me!” Gwyneth sobbed, dabbing her perfectly-lined eyes with a silk handkerchief embroidered with thread spun from gold. “I’m normal! Just like everyone else!”

Sighing, she shut her diamond-encrusted Apple MacBook Air ™ that Steve Jobs had sent her as an early birthday present last fall and rang for Edwin, her butler.

“Edwin, I’m a normal woman, aren’t I?” she squeaked, holding back tears.

“Madam musn’t cry, lest she stain her new angora sweater with mascara tears!”

Producing a tissue from his pocket, he wiped her eyes tenderly.

“Madam, the children are ready for their lunch. Shall it be steamed lentils again?”

“No, no. Something different, I think.” She paused, thinking.

“Would it be too much trouble to ring up the butcher for some veal? I know how much the children love their fine meats.”

Dear Ms. Paltrow: I pre-emptively pledge, here and now, to never make fun of you or your unborn children, Apricot, Plum, and Kumquat, ever again. Although I can´t speak for the evil spirit who lives in my head.