Joseph-Gordon Levitt, the hottest man on the planet, lies sprawled on my desktop and all over my heart. Celebrity crushes, delightful and destructive, have for a long time eluded me. Not since I caught my first glimpse of Seth Cohen in the candy coloured world of Orange County, have I been so head over converse chucks in love with someone on the other side of the screen.
But Seth wasn’t real and, as the seasons of The O.C. persisted, he began to deteriorate into a character fail. The show, suddenly devoid of plot, followers and Mischa Barton, stripped their remaining characters of character and left them all high, dry and washed up beyond belief. Seth’s demise was especially painful to watch. His nerdiness lost its cuteness, his hair lost its curls, and his quips were no longer witty and eventually, no longer even quips. It didn’t help that the actor who played him, Adam Broody, was a tool of the highest order, dating his onscreen co-star and starred in emotionally heavy films in which he cried onscreen and made out with Meg Ryan.
MEG RYAN.
In contrast, Joseph-Gordon Levitt kicks some serious ass. For a start, he’s got a better name. He smokes pot and wears sharp suits, although not often at the same time. He’s Jewish and lives in New York. He’s got the face of an angel but that wouldn’t stop him laying some serious shit down if the going gets tough. He’s a stud in (500) Days of Summer even though the movie is a bit of a dud and he’s amazing in Mysterious Skin.And can thrash out an acoustic version of ‘Bad Romance’ that would make even the greenest sceptic go Gaga. Babe; certifiable.
My flatmate (twenty-six today and radiant) is currently gaga over a different lady; One Joan Hollway, the curvaceous figurehead of TV’s pastel coloured masterpiece, Mad Men. We are respectively obsessed, sitting side by side on the couch trawling Google images for hours with grins on our faces. The other flatmates go to the gym and give us looks of disgust. They come back and we are in the same exact positions, but with a glass of wine. We watch really bad movies just to see our beloved do a five minute scene with Sally Field. This must be the reason so many gazillion people saw Twilight.
It’s a good age for the celebrity crush. Google has made stalking into an art form. And in today’s indie scene-themed day and age, a celebrity crush is mandatory. It’s like a familiar. Joan is very popular. So is Don Draper (and fair enough). Hoards jump on the Jimmy McNulty bandwagon and others on flock to Eric Northman’s Scandinavian aesthetic. Johnny Depp is still acceptable but only if you specify ‘early nineties Johnny Depp’ and mention John Waters. Julian Casablancas will do in a pinch. Tom Cruise will not.
And so I develop my obsession with Joseph. I drop him name in every social gathering and let people that I am (or think I am) the go-to authority on this particular hottie. Because people judge you.
A boy at work recently told me that his biggest celebrity crush was Jennifer Aniston and that she was ‘the most beautiful person in the world.’ I excused myself politely and picked up a copy of some glossy magazine, the front cover graced by a rather sultry looking Penelope Cruz. He shook his head and muttered that he’s rather “bone Rachel any day.” I sighed and nodded and smiled acerbically. I don’t doubt that a lack of judgement of would make the world a better place sometimes. But let’s be honest here; in the worlds of Sinead O’Connor, ‘he’s a fool.’
