#hollywood reality

[hrrtshape]

FAME DR — weird, little problems

⋆  forgetting where i last put my designer sunglasses almost every day, which means my assistant has 7 extra pairs on standby – and half of them aren’t even mine. i think.

⋆  chipping a perfectly manicured nail right before a photoshoot, then having to hide that hand in every single shot. it’s not diva behaviour if it’s just a matter of survival, okay?

⋆  getting the cutest, keeeeeewlest gifts from fans, but they’re wrapped like fort knox!??!! i end up spending 15 minutes trying to carefully open everything without ripping a single bow or little note.

⋆  that eternal (sisyphus mentioned) inner struggle of “is the vintage dior too much for buying soy milk? what if i get spotted?” and realising it’s already 7 PM and i’m still in that closet, no closer to getting groceries.

⋆  finding a way to stuff a giant PR package from hermès into my handbag while also managing keys, phone, and fan mail that i promised to keep safe.

⋆  putting on the most basic hoodie and jeans (and even a cap….) to blend in, but the cashier still goes, “wait. wait, wait, wait. aren’t you that famous actress? OH MY GOD!!!” so much for being “low-key.” i just wanted soy milk, hello?? 

⋆  walking into an event in the perfect lightweight dress only to find out the AC is set to antarctic levels, and now i’m shivering while trying to look composed.

⋆  trying to angle my face for selfies with fans because of that one side i’m convinced is my "best," and they never seem to choose it. so much for scripting “i look divine in all angles……..”

⋆  having a full lineup of glorious, beautiful, fantastic, bewitching lipsticks to choose from and still somehow going with the same one every day. guess that signature look isn’t so much a choice as it is reality.

⋆  saying "thank you" to fans in a raspy post-performance voice, only to have it crack halfway through like i’m in middle school. cute. also a bit pathetic, but i hope nobody noticed it (it’s already on twitter. okay. fml). 

⋆  catching a glimpse of myself before an interview and realising i lost one of my statement earrings somewhere in the makeup chair. so it’s off with the other one, and fingers crossed no one notices !!

⋆  stumbling into clouds of fans’ perfume that just won’t leave, so now i’m a weird medley of their scents instead of my signature one. WHO’S WEARING DIOR SAUVAGE, GET THEM OUT.

⋆  thinking i’ll just take a “few quick pics” after an event, but that “few” turns into 70 fans waiting in line and smiling with them all. i’m happy to do it, but babygirl….. those cheeks start to hurt by #27.

⋆  walking the red carpet in sky-high heels and reminding myself NOT to look down because one glance and it’s wobble central and then god knows i’ll be crying off sheer embarrassment, guilt and shame and then sticking that heel into my neck (medieval girl with sword in neck recreation, well yes!).

⋆  trying to sneak a snack in between takes but terrified of crumbs, so i’m eating chips with the slow precision of a surgeon.

⋆  constantly having that goddamn phone on 5% because i forgot to charge it while on set, so now it’s a frantic hunt for a charger before the next event.

⋆  pulling my hair out at night only to realise my hoodie has taken a chunk of it with it. fan photos the next morning with that bald spot are just not the vibe, i fear.

⋆  jet-setting for events means my phone calendar is permanently confused, and i’m somehow late to things happening in my home time zone. 

[laundrybiscuits]

Eddie’s doing some dumb trick with a couple of wooden spoons, clever hands making them move through the air in improbable ways, and Steve’s about to bite his whisk in half. 

He’d thought for sure that Eddie would be going home the first week; Edward Munson, 29, bartender/musician from Brighton with mismatched tattoos and wild hair, seemed like exactly the kind of pretentious asshole who would flame out early with some ill-advised hipster experimentation. If Steve (28, social worker from Indiana, USA) had been a complete asshole, he’d have said that Eddie didn’t have the fundamentals. That he was all sizzle, no steak. 

It’s a good thing Steve’s not a complete asshole, because Eddie’s been blowing the technicals out of the water so consistently it’s actually pretty fucking embarrassing. His signatures and showstoppers are making a very respectable showing too, except for the time he tried to incorporate some fresh pandan extract and fucked up the liquid ratio, leaving him with a dripping mess that Mary’d declined to even try. 

Afterwards, Steve had seen him leaning against a tree and struggling to light a cigarette. Steve went over for no particular reason, flicking on his lighter and holding it out like a peace offering. Eddie looked at him warily, but bent over the offered flame. 

“Can’t believe I made it through this one,” Eddie said after a moment, white smoke curling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I feel like that every week.” Steve leaned against the tree next to Eddie. It was a big tree, the kind that’s probably been growing in this field since before England was even England. 

“Nah, but—c’mon, you know what I mean.”

“You had some bad luck with your showstopper. Happens to the best of us, man. Your signature hand pies looked sick as hell.” Steve’s own hand pies had turned out pretty well, so he was feeling generous. It had only been the third week; plenty of time for Steve to snag Star Baker, though even by that point, Steve had been getting the creeping feeling that he was being a little too American about the whole thing. Everyone else seemed to think competitiveness was some kind of deadly sin. It was—actually kind of nice, to get the same kind of nerves he’d always gotten before high school basketball games, but know that he wasn’t really fighting against anyone except himself in the tent.

Anyway, the very next week, Eddie had done some kind of kickass gothic castle with a shiny chocolate dragon and gotten Star Baker for the second time. Steve had clapped him on the back, appropriately manly. Eddie had pulled Steve into a real hug, arms tight around Steve’s shoulders and his whole lean body pressed up close and warm. It had only lasted a moment, and then Eddie had bounded over to Mel and Sue, both of whom he’s been thoroughly charming since the get-go. 

Steve thinks that when this season—or, uh, series—airs, no matter where Eddie places, the entire country is going to be just as charmed. Eddie’s going to get whatever kind of cookbook deal or streaming show he wants. Sponsors will take one look at that handsome face and charismatic grin, and a whole world of possibilities is going to open up for Eddie. 

Steve’s not in it for any of that, of course. He’s here kind of by accident, because Robin pushed him to apply, and it’s a goddamn miracle he’s been holding his own. Hell, it’s a miracle he’s in this country at all. When Robin had started looking at the Cambridge MPhil program in linguistics, she’d said wouldn’t it be great if and he’d snorted, yeah right, like I could ever get whatever job I’d need to move to another freaking country, but then—well. Things had happened the way they’d happened, and now Robin’s almost finished with her degree and Steve is taking time off from the London charity he works at in order to be on Bake Off. 

He’s told all this to the cameras, plus the stuff about how baking started as a way for him to connect with the kids he used to babysit in Indiana, blah blah blah. He thinks it’s probably too boring for them to air, but he gets that they have to try to get a story anyway. 

Eddie Munson, on the other hand, is probably going to be featured in all the series promos. Steve is rabidly curious about what Eddie’s story is, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to just ask. It should be the easiest thing in the world. They’ve got kind of a camaraderie going, the two of them; a bit of a bromance, as Mel’s put it more than once. 

It’s true they get along pretty well, and the cameras have been picking up on it: on the way Eddie’ll wander over to Steve’s bench like a stray cat whenever they get some downtime, how they wind up horsing around sometimes, working off leftover adrenaline from the frantic rush of caramelization or whatever. There’s the time Eddie had hopped up on a stool to deliver some kind of speech from Macbeth, of all things, and overbalanced right onto Steve, who had barely managed to keep them both from careening into a stand mixer. Sue had patted Eddie on the shoulder and said, “Well, boys, that’ll be going in the episode for sure.”

They both get along with the other contestants just fine, of course, but they’re two guys of about the same age with no wife and kids waiting at home. It’s only natural that they’re gravitating together, becoming something like friends, Steve figures. It’s pretty great that he’s getting at least one real friend out of this whole thing.

It would be even greater if Steve could stop thinking about Eddie’s hands in decidedly non-friendly ways. With all the paperwork he’s signed, he can’t even complain to Robin about how Eddie looks with his sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos on his forearms, kneading dough and grunting a little under his breath with effort. Steve had almost forgotten to pre-heat his oven that day. 

Two benches away, Eddie fumbles the spoons he’s been juggling with a clatter, and he bursts out laughing, glancing over at Steve like Steve’s in on the joke. Steve grins back, heart twanging painfully in his chest, and thinks: well, fuck. Guess this is happening.

[myfandomrealitea]

We actually are in the era where we're so offended by everything we're getting offended on other peoples' behalf and telling them that they're wrong if they're not personally offended by something.

[namraniiverse]

my old hollywood dr aesthetics :)

[saintundying]

dare i say daniel molloy type fit

[cokedupblonde]

currently so obsessed with amy childs circa 2012

[morgandr]

Imagine:

Brian being shocked to see you after years but finally being reunited with you when Dom brings you two together for a mission.

——————————————————————————-

(NOT MY GIF!)

(Brian O’Conner X Reader)

——————————————————————————-

(TAGS)

[celestie0]

when ppl get too caught up in the accuracy of situations in fanfiction or if things are super realistic or as they should/would be in real life etc etc im like. my tumblr user in christ. it's fanfiction.

[pearlcaddy]

midgelenny + hollywood (jukebox the ghost)

[heroshifter]

Having to script that people that speak your native langage in your DR ACTUALLY speak your native langage and not the sort of odd incantation actors pronounce without knowing what it means.

[daisiesonafield-blog]

For everyone who thinks Harry (or any celeb) doesn’t need PR 🥴

link

[popculturebaby]

Kim Kardashian in 1996 ✨

[myfandomrealitea]

I am a big believer in respecting the statements celebrities make about their relationships, sexualities, ect and also understanding that there is always the potential for it being dishonest.

There are hundreds of celebrities who've come out to talk about blocking contracts and to reveal their sexualities or relationships literally decades after the fact. There really are still agencies and contracts who will prevent celebrities from talking honestly about who they like, date, ect. And there really are just celebrities who don't want to announce what they are or who they date to the world for their own reasons.

I will never argue against a celebrity's voice or disagree with their own authority over themselves, but I'm also not a crazy freak for staying aware of the fact that in thirty years time that celebrity could come out and say it was all a lie.

So many people are made fun of for believing celebrities are or have previously dated, or that certain celebrities might be closeted queer, and honestly as long as they're being respectful of how that person or people currently exist, we should all just shut up about it.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Bill Prutt for Slate:

On Jan. 8, 2004, just more than 20 years ago, the first episode of The Apprentice aired. It was called “Meet the Billionaire,” and 18 million people watched. The episodes that followed climbed to roughly 20 million each week. A staggering 28 million viewers tuned in to watch the first season finale. The series won an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Reality-Competition Program, and the Television Critics Association called it one of the best TV shows of the year, alongside The Sopranos and Arrested Development. The series—alongside its bawdy sibling, The Celebrity Apprentice—appeared on NBC in coveted prime-time slots for more than a decade. The Apprentice was an instant success in another way too. It elevated Donald J. Trump from sleazy New York tabloid hustler to respectable household name. In the show, he appeared to demonstrate impeccable business instincts and unparalleled wealth, even though his businesses had barely survived multiple bankruptcies and faced yet another when he was cast. By carefully misleading viewers about Trump—his wealth, his stature, his character, and his intent—the competition reality show set about an American fraud that would balloon beyond its creators’ wildest imaginations.

I should know. I was one of four producers involved in the first two seasons. During that time, I signed an expansive nondisclosure agreement that promised a fine of $5 million and even jail time if I were to ever divulge what actually happened. It expired this year. No one involved in The Apprentice—from the production company or the network, to the cast and crew—was involved in a con with malicious intent. It was a TV show, and it was made for entertainment. I still believe that. But we played fast and loose with the facts, particularly regarding Trump, and if you were one of the 28 million who tuned in, chances are you were conned. As Trump answers for another of his alleged deception schemes in New York and gears up to try to persuade Americans to elect him again, in part thanks to the myth we created, I can finally tell you what making Trump into what he is today looked like from my side. Most days were revealing. Some still haunt me, two decades later. [...]

Now, this is important. The Apprentice is a game show regulated by the Federal Communications Commission. In the 1950s, scandals arose when producers of quiz shows fed answers to likable, ratings-generating contestants while withholding those answers from unlikable but truly knowledgeable players. Any of us involved in The Apprentice swinging the outcome of prize money by telling Trump whom to fire is forbidden. [...]

Trump goes about knocking off every one of the contestants in the boardroom until only two remain. The finalists are Kwame Jackson, a Black broker from Goldman Sachs, and Bill Rancic, a white entrepreneur from Chicago who runs his own cigar business. Trump assigns them each a task devoted to one of his crown-jewel properties. Jackson will oversee a Jessica Simpson benefit concert at Trump Taj Mahal Casino in Atlantic City, while Rancic will oversee a celebrity golf tournament at Trump National Golf Club in Briarcliff Manor, New York. Viewers need to believe that whatever Trump touches turns to gold. These properties that bear his name are supposed to glitter and gleam. All thanks to him.

Reality is another matter altogether. The lights in the casino’s sign are out. Hong Kong investors actually own the place—Trump merely lends his name. The carpet stinks, and the surroundings for Simpson’s concert are ramshackle at best. We shoot around all that. Both Rancic and Jackson do a round-robin recruitment of former contestants, and Jackson makes the fateful decision to team up with the notorious Omarosa, among others, to help him carry out his final challenge. [...]

Trump will make his decision live on camera months later, so what we are about to film is the setup to that reveal. The race between Jackson and Rancic should seem close, and that’s how we’ll edit the footage. Since we don’t know who’ll be chosen, it must appear close, even if it’s not.

We lay out the virtues and deficiencies of each finalist to Trump in a fair and balanced way, but sensing the moment at hand, Kepcher sort of comes out of herself. She expresses how she observed Jackson at the casino overcoming more obstacles than Rancic, particularly with the way he managed the troublesome Omarosa. Jackson, Kepcher maintains, handled the calamity with grace. “I think Kwame would be a great addition to the organization,” Kepcher says to Trump, who winces while his head bobs around in reaction to what he is hearing and clearly resisting. “Why didn’t he just fire her?” Trump asks, referring to Omarosa. It’s a reasonable question. Given that this the first time we’ve ever been in this situation, none of this is something we expected. “That’s not his job,” Bienstock says to Trump. “That’s yours.” Trump’s head continues to bob. “I don’t think he knew he had the ability to do that,” Kepcher says. Trump winces again.

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, “but, I mean, would America buy a n— winning?” Kepcher’s pale skin goes bright red. I turn my gaze toward Trump. He continues to wince. He is serious, and he is adamant about not hiring Jackson. Bienstock does a half cough, half laugh, and swiftly changes the topic or throws to Ross for his assessment. What happens next I don’t entirely recall. I am still processing what I have just heard. We all are. Only Bienstock knows well enough to keep the train moving. None of us thinks to walk out the door and never return. I still wish I had. (Bienstock and Kepcher didn’t respond to requests for comment.) Afterward, we film the final meeting in the boardroom, where Jackson and Rancic are scrutinized by Trump, who, we already know, favors Rancic. Then we wrap production, pack up, and head home. There is no discussion about what Trump said in the boardroom, about how the damning evidence was caught on tape. Nothing happens.

We attend to our thesis that only the best and brightest deserve a job working for Donald Trump. Luckily, the winner, Bill Rancic, and his rival, Kwame Jackson, come off as capable and confident throughout the season. If for some reason they had not, we would have conveniently left their shortcomings on the cutting room floor. In actuality, both men did deserve to win. Without a doubt, the hardest decisions we faced in postproduction were how to edit together sequences involving Trump. We needed him to sound sharp, dignified, and clear on what he was looking for and not as if he was yelling at people. You see him today: When he reads from a teleprompter, he comes off as loud and stoic. Go to one of his rallies and he’s the off-the-cuff rambler rousing his followers into a frenzy. While filming, he struggled to convey even the most basic items. But as he became more comfortable with filming, Trump made raucous comments he found funny or amusing—some of them misogynistic as well as racist. We cut those comments. Go to one of his rallies today and you can hear many of them.

If you listen carefully, especially to that first episode, you will notice clearly altered dialogue from Trump in both the task delivery and the boardroom. Trump was overwhelmed with remembering the contestants’ names, the way they would ride the elevator back upstairs or down to the street, the mechanics of what he needed to convey. Bienstock instigated additional dialogue recording that came late in the edit phase. We set Trump up in the soundproof boardroom set and fed him lines he would read into a microphone with Bienstock on the phone, directing from L.A. And suddenly Trump knows the names of every one of the contestants and says them while the camera cuts to each of their faces. Wow, you think, how does he remember everyone’s name? While on location, he could barely put a sentence together regarding how a task would work. Listen now, and he speaks directly to what needs to happen while the camera conveniently cuts away to the contestants, who are listening and nodding. He sounds articulate and concise through some editing sleight of hand.

Then comes the note from NBC about the fact that after Trump delivers the task assignment to the contestants, he disappears from the episode after the first act and doesn’t show up again until the next-to-last. That’s too long for the (high-priced) star of the show to be absent. There is a convenient solution. At the top of the second act, right after the task has been assigned but right before the teams embark on their assignment, we insert a sequence with Trump, seated inside his gilded apartment, dispensing a carefully crafted bit of wisdom. He speaks to whatever the theme of each episode is—why someone gets fired or what would lead to a win. The net effect is not only that Trump appears once more in each episode but that he also now seems prophetic in how he just knows the way things will go right or wrong with each individual task. He comes off as all-seeing and all-knowing. We are led to believe that Donald Trump is a natural-born leader.

Through the editorial nudge we provide him, Trump prevails. So much so that NBC asks for more time in the boardroom to appear at the end of all the remaining episodes. (NBC declined to comment for this article.) [... So, we scammed. We swindled. Nobody heard the racist and misogynistic comments or saw the alleged cheating, the bluffing, or his hair taking off in the wind. Those tapes, I’ve come to believe, will never be found.

No one lost their retirement fund or fell on hard times from watching The Apprentice. But Trump rose in stature to the point where he could finally eye a run for the White House, something he had intended to do all the way back in 1998. Along the way, he could now feed his appetite for defrauding the public with various shady practices. In 2005 thousands of students enrolled in what was called Trump University, hoping to gain insight from the Donald and his “handpicked” professors. Each paid as much as $35,000 to listen to some huckster trade on Trump’s name. In a sworn affidavit, salesman Ronald Schnackenberg testified that Trump University was “fraudulent.” The scam swiftly went from online videoconferencing courses to live events held by high-pressure sales professionals whose only job was to persuade attendees to sign up for the course. The sales were for the course “tuition” and had nothing whatsoever to do with real estate investments. A class action suit was filed against Trump.

That same year, Trump was caught bragging to Access Hollywood co-host Billy Bush that he likes to grab married women “by the pussy,” adding, “When you’re a star, they let you do it.” He later tried to recruit porn actor Stormy Daniels for The Apprentice despite her profession and, according to Daniels, had sex with her right after his last son was born. (His alleged attempt to pay off Daniels is, of course, the subject of his recent trial.) In October 2016—a month before the election—the Access Hollywood tapes were released and written off as “locker room banter.” Trump paid Daniels to keep silent about their alleged affair. He paid $25 million to settle the Trump University lawsuit and make it go away. He went on to become the first elected president to possess neither public service nor military experience. And although he lost the popular vote, Trump beat out Hillary Clinton in the Electoral College, winning in the Rust Belt by just 80,000 votes.

Trump has been called the “reality TV president,” and not just because of The Apprentice. The Situation Room, where top advisers gathered, became a place for photo-ops, a bigger, better boardroom. Trump swaggered and cajoled, just as he had on the show. Whom would he listen to? Whom would he fire? Stay tuned. Trump even has his own spinoff, called the House of Representatives, where women hurl racist taunts and body-shame one another with impunity. The State of the Union is basically a cage fight. The demands of public office now include blowhard buffoonery.

Bill Pruitt wrote in Slate that Donald Trump used the N-word on the set of NBC's The Apprentice in 2004 when referring to a Black contestant (Kwame Jackson)'s chances of winning the competition by saying "would America buy a n***er winning?"

This is yet another example of Trump's long record of anti-Black racism that dates back to the 1970s.

[dischordantcerebralballistics]

So..... Some Sydney Sweeney 💕 💕 💕

[latestglobalinsights]

The former reality star, 37, made the admission while taking part in a viral TikTok challenge with her hairstylist pal Justin Anderson.