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Celebrity Watch
8 years ago
General
So I flew in to do something called Brimfield Flea Market. A regular thing for me. Whatever you want, there it is. From shmattas to tchachkes, and all the over priced, heartburn inducing food you can eat. Wall to wall people. If you go, you're bound to run into someone you know. And if you don't see a familiar face, look closely. The place is crawling with celebs. On occasion, I run into one of these well known people.
For example, Martha Stewart is one of the better recognized regulars, at least she was until that unfortunate incarceration. Nasty business, that. Anyway, I was there all day yesterday. I know you don't care. The point is, it's best to go with someone to share the experience. And I went with someone. Who, you ask? I try not to drop names, after all, I'm not desperate for attention. (No, don't laugh.) So I'm not dropping any names now, either. I will say, however, that she is a triple A list celebrity. A triple A list politician refers to her acting as "overrated". Despite this, her mantle remains filled with Oscars.
What am I doing in the company of this triple A-lister, you ask? It's not relevant, but you might say I know the lay of the land. Celebrities who come here demand anonymity. If this were the Met Gala, our triple A lister would be soaking up all the attention she can get while hobnobbing with other glitterati, and a cockroach like me would never make it onto the red carpet. But here in Brimfield, cockroaches have value. The last thing celebs want is to draw attention to themselves and be recognized. They want to blend in with the unwashed masses and do their shopping in peace. The rule of thumb is: the more celebs hang out together, the more likely someone will recognize them. Therefore, they don't bring their A list friends with them, they bring cockroaches who don't draw attention to themselves or to the celebs they accompany.
So I'm part of the entourage, going from booth to booth, sometimes with triple A, sometimes by myself. There's a whole coordinated effort. The entourage generally consists of: A driver, at least one body guard, an agent/coordinator/guide, a BFF, and a nondescript relative. These parts may be interchangeable. I won't tell you what category I fall into, but cockroach will suffice. At no time are all those in the entourage together with the A lister. No more than three at any one time. The rest are at a discreet distance. Some of the cockroaches are wired, some are not. All of them, including the A lister, do their best to blend into the crowd. The A lister is wearing typical celeb-in-hiding garb: wide-brimmed straw hat, oversized sunglasses that hide everything but the tip of her beaky nose, braided hair, scarf, brown jacket that wants to be leather but isn't, skin-tight dark denim jeans that hug her barely-there derriere and only emphasize how thin she is. That alone draws attention to her and distinguishes her from the flabby masses bereft of their own personal trainer.
I myself look like a sack of potatoes even on my best day, but there are enough visual queues for the trained eyes at Brimfield to catch on to the presence of celebrity. We're doing a row of booths in the wooded part. I go into the booth of a seller I know. The A-lister is standing five yards across the way in front of another booth with one of the entourage. Periodically another member of the entourage comes up to whisper into her ear. Well, what do you know, as I'm looking, someone I know comes into the booth, oblivious to the person she just passed by. We start talking. I suppose I can trust her, but I don't dare say who I'm here with. Discretion matters, you see. We mustn't have the common people ogling and harassing our A lister. The two of us settle in front of a painting. It catches both our eyes. We like it. How much is it? $800.00. It was 1000.00 when I came into the booth last year. I was thinking of buying it to put in my gallery. (No, don't laugh.) We talk with the seller. Even at $800.00 it's too much. The painting has seen better days. It needs a new frame and a good cleaning. Maybe next year...
Just then someone sneaks into the booth and says to the seller: "That's the third person to confirm it, that's [censored] over there." Ouch. Busted. But the fact that this conversation was going on in front of my face was amusing. For all their spying, it never occurred to them that I was part of the entourage, otherwise they would have waited for me to leave. My cover wasn't blown. I bit my tongue, knowing that if my friend realized I was with the A lister, she would ask me for an introduction or a dreaded selfie.
These Brimfield sellers are accustomed to celebrity sightings. My friend... not so much. She goes into stalking mode. I try to reign her in. I say: "They just want to be left alone. They don't want to be bothered by anyone." She was already headed out the booth. "Where are you going?" I ask. She says: "I'm going celebrity watching." Just like that she was gone.
I spoke to my friend this morning. She says: "Where did I go? Did I follow the A lister?" Well... yes, I suppose I did. Then she went on a tirade against celebrities, saying how they expect better treatment and blah, blah, blah. She then describes this big SUV that was blocking traffic on a side road and she was in the car behind honking for them to move and finally an officer on a bike came and got them to move and who do they think they are to block the road... I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was in that SUV with the A lister.
Love, -D.
For example, Martha Stewart is one of the better recognized regulars, at least she was until that unfortunate incarceration. Nasty business, that. Anyway, I was there all day yesterday. I know you don't care. The point is, it's best to go with someone to share the experience. And I went with someone. Who, you ask? I try not to drop names, after all, I'm not desperate for attention. (No, don't laugh.) So I'm not dropping any names now, either. I will say, however, that she is a triple A list celebrity. A triple A list politician refers to her acting as "overrated". Despite this, her mantle remains filled with Oscars.
What am I doing in the company of this triple A-lister, you ask? It's not relevant, but you might say I know the lay of the land. Celebrities who come here demand anonymity. If this were the Met Gala, our triple A lister would be soaking up all the attention she can get while hobnobbing with other glitterati, and a cockroach like me would never make it onto the red carpet. But here in Brimfield, cockroaches have value. The last thing celebs want is to draw attention to themselves and be recognized. They want to blend in with the unwashed masses and do their shopping in peace. The rule of thumb is: the more celebs hang out together, the more likely someone will recognize them. Therefore, they don't bring their A list friends with them, they bring cockroaches who don't draw attention to themselves or to the celebs they accompany.
So I'm part of the entourage, going from booth to booth, sometimes with triple A, sometimes by myself. There's a whole coordinated effort. The entourage generally consists of: A driver, at least one body guard, an agent/coordinator/guide, a BFF, and a nondescript relative. These parts may be interchangeable. I won't tell you what category I fall into, but cockroach will suffice. At no time are all those in the entourage together with the A lister. No more than three at any one time. The rest are at a discreet distance. Some of the cockroaches are wired, some are not. All of them, including the A lister, do their best to blend into the crowd. The A lister is wearing typical celeb-in-hiding garb: wide-brimmed straw hat, oversized sunglasses that hide everything but the tip of her beaky nose, braided hair, scarf, brown jacket that wants to be leather but isn't, skin-tight dark denim jeans that hug her barely-there derriere and only emphasize how thin she is. That alone draws attention to her and distinguishes her from the flabby masses bereft of their own personal trainer.
I myself look like a sack of potatoes even on my best day, but there are enough visual queues for the trained eyes at Brimfield to catch on to the presence of celebrity. We're doing a row of booths in the wooded part. I go into the booth of a seller I know. The A-lister is standing five yards across the way in front of another booth with one of the entourage. Periodically another member of the entourage comes up to whisper into her ear. Well, what do you know, as I'm looking, someone I know comes into the booth, oblivious to the person she just passed by. We start talking. I suppose I can trust her, but I don't dare say who I'm here with. Discretion matters, you see. We mustn't have the common people ogling and harassing our A lister. The two of us settle in front of a painting. It catches both our eyes. We like it. How much is it? $800.00. It was 1000.00 when I came into the booth last year. I was thinking of buying it to put in my gallery. (No, don't laugh.) We talk with the seller. Even at $800.00 it's too much. The painting has seen better days. It needs a new frame and a good cleaning. Maybe next year...
Just then someone sneaks into the booth and says to the seller: "That's the third person to confirm it, that's [censored] over there." Ouch. Busted. But the fact that this conversation was going on in front of my face was amusing. For all their spying, it never occurred to them that I was part of the entourage, otherwise they would have waited for me to leave. My cover wasn't blown. I bit my tongue, knowing that if my friend realized I was with the A lister, she would ask me for an introduction or a dreaded selfie.
These Brimfield sellers are accustomed to celebrity sightings. My friend... not so much. She goes into stalking mode. I try to reign her in. I say: "They just want to be left alone. They don't want to be bothered by anyone." She was already headed out the booth. "Where are you going?" I ask. She says: "I'm going celebrity watching." Just like that she was gone.
I spoke to my friend this morning. She says: "Where did I go? Did I follow the A lister?" Well... yes, I suppose I did. Then she went on a tirade against celebrities, saying how they expect better treatment and blah, blah, blah. She then describes this big SUV that was blocking traffic on a side road and she was in the car behind honking for them to move and finally an officer on a bike came and got them to move and who do they think they are to block the road... I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was in that SUV with the A lister.
Love, -D.
