Reality T.V. Overload: Victoria Beckham: Coming to America: I'm Done With All The Colons Now

I did my best to be as cynical as possible as I sat down to watch Victoria Beckham: Coming to America. I really did. With the press she's received as of late, I'm simply dying to hate her. She had her little bit about bloggers being sad and hiding behind their computers (I still haven't been contacted by her people. I'm waiting waiting waiting for the day, because she can question me all she wants about what I've said about her so long as she'll take me shopping.) Just today the headlines screamed of how she was calling the women of Hollywood rather poorly dressed, and I stayed away from that story for a reason: because I don't run out to the store in just sweats, either. I'm rather partial to looking the part when I leave the house. And the part, kiddies, is fabulous. You just never know when the paparazzi are looking. And while I myself don't really, you know, HAVE that problem...I do like to pretend. Try it when you run down to the corner store tomorrow. Duck behind trees, wear dark glasses, look pouty. It's fun, and I won't mark points against Posh for doing it when she is, in fact, inflicted with this actual issue. This is looking to be one of those long posts, isn't it? I'll wait if you want to grab a drink or something.

Right, so this special of Victoria's...if taken for what it is (a well staged run of events to introduce the many faces of Posh to America) it's rather well done. So long as you don't lose sight of the fact that it is, in fact, all staged. Which isn't that hard to do. Because it's all obviously and unapologetically staged. I particularly enjoyed her encounter with Perez Hilton, where he hesitates to honestly tell her what he thinks of her and she then forces her breasts in his face and jokes about her aversion to being photographed with food, lest she tarnish her image. Goddammit, she's amusing. And just like she said about Perez, I hate the fact that SHE made ME laugh. How is this happening? I'm cynical and mean and I don't like celebrities, remember? Even my cat is judging me from across the room. Oh how did this happen? Halfway through I'm asked for my judgment, and I pause in between bites of my Chocolate Lucky Charms and Cookie Crisp (mix your cereals. Trust me) and ponder this: What DO I think?

"I'm not entirely sure. It depends, really. Is she really this obnoxious, or is she funny with an incredible sense of the ironic? And, if I were that filthy rich, would I be as obnoxious, if not moreso?" This was the question I posed in response. And bless my fella's heart, his response draws my final judgment:

"Babe, I say this because I love you...you'd be far more obnoxious."

And there we have it. She's hilarious and fantastic. Sure, she sunbathes in her heels, but SO WOULD I if I had the body of Posh and the exposure of a 24/7 camera crew. And she speaks so much truth! I would die before wearing ballerina pumps, too! I would hire a frumpy and unattractive assistant, as well. I would say "major" as often as Posh if I could pull it off in that fabulous British manner. And I swear by God and all the blessed fishes, I also asked if I might approve my DMV photo. She's amusing in the manner that only a pretty girl can be, saying snarky little things like "Oh, I'm watching you too, Phil" to the gentleman tester at the DMV when warned thrice about cheating on her test. God Bless the Beckhams. I know the UK is good and sick of them, and I'm rather pleased to be taking them on. I rather wish Posh's show would carry on as initially scheduled, even if it were only the five more intended episodes, I have no doubt that they would be fabulous. As Victoria, in my final judgment, is indeed so very fabulous. Have I been duped by her cleverly constructed traffic violations and drunken outings with the aging socialites of Beverly Hills? Eh...probably. But the best thing about having no scruples is that I make no qualms about calling her a bulemic cryptkeeper next week if she does something to merit a good flogging. For now, however, I'll be adding the words "major" and "knickers" to my vernacular and working on my smoky eye technique. Thank you, England!

Update: I'm already receiving texted backlash for this judgment, but I'm not changing a word. Posh is an international treasure. Now if you'll excuse me, me and my impeccable taste as well as keen judge of character are off to watch reruns of Hey Paula!