Dear Mrs Hopkins (or ‘Katie’, although that sounds a bit common.)
I’ve thought for a while about whether I should write this blog post. After all, publicity is what you crave, suckling on the teats of the press and occasionally vomiting up something poisonous about someone prettier/more successful/better than you. In the end, though, I figured that this is just a tiny blog in an ocean of blogs, and so any publicity it gained would be minimal.
I’m not cross, Katie…just disappointed. Disappointed that you have such low self-esteem that the only way you can satisfy your insatiable need for attention is to say something ‘controversial’ and then write incessantly about it. Disappointed that press editors and television producers keep commissioning you to write for them, or appear on a show to ‘debate’ your questionable opinions. (It’s not their fault, really. It’s their obsessive chasing of ratings and viewing figures which makes them do it. You’re just a pawn, used for a higher purpose.)
But, most of all, I’m disappointed for your children. One day they’re going to be old enough to type your name into Google, and I can’t help but think that the vast array of results will tell them just exactly what kind of person their mother is. I wouldn’t want my kids thinking I’m bitter, jealous or talentless; in fact, I’d quite like them to be proud of me, to perhaps even want to be like me…but hey, perhaps you just don’t care that much.
Just stop, please. What started out as a seething loathing of you has now turned into a kind of cringing embarrassment. Your perpetual need for controversy is just sad. One day all the money you’ve made from your column inches, TV appearances and book sales will be gone, and you’ll be left wondering whether your fifteen minutes of fame was worth a lifetime of friendships.
But hey, I doubt you’ve read this far. You’re probably too busy tweeting about something, trying to stir up a storm so ‘Closer’ magazine will ask you to write another article for them.
Never mind. Within a few months your vicious writings will be a distant memory, as will you.