For all of Singapore's upsides (example: as i type i am laying out at my amazing pool)...there is one major flaw...the people. I wish they were more compassionate and less judgemental. These people are brutally honest to the point of bitchiness...and sooooo sooo judgemental of others before they even know the whole story. And it is not just the people who are from Singaporean (bc I have met many nice people here)...but the people who live in Singapore as a whole. In keeping up with my last post on how people diss America to an American here is an article from Singapore's Harper's Bazar that bashes Los Angeles....I only post this because I just want to share what life is like here. This is the kind of attitude I encounter everyday...its like to boost their own confidence they must bash everyone else in sight. But I am not going to stoop to their level...I won't even respond to this article...although I have many things to say about it! This is just for your reading pleasure...
Reality Bites- Kenneth Goh jets off to LA to style cover star Milla Jovovich but inadvertently finds himself part of a reality series called Grammy Week
"Sometime in late January, I flew to America to style Milla Jovovich for our April cover. It also coincided with the Grammys in Los Angeles. Being in LA during Grammy week is somewhat terrifying--far scarier than trying to board a Trans-Atlantic flight in these climes. Forget about stringent strip searches, walking through metal detectors and not being able to carry more liquid beyond your saliva on the plane. Grammy week in Hollywood is like being in the middle of a reality show--not unlike the Jersey shore guys, MTV's hit reality show about a group of 20-something Italian-Americans, self progessed guidos and guidettes, partying and fist-pumping their way through a New Jersey summer.
I was staying at The Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Blvd. The hotel was plastered wall to wall with Jersey Shore brown bodies. This, in the middle of winter can only be the work of tanning beds. Girls were Teutonic to say the least--they had breasts and butts bigger and rounder than beach balls. They had mascara lacquered thicker than Lady Gaga's/ They had pumped lips, 3D cheeks and acrylic talons so long, white and pointed, they could gorge your eyes out and not break a nail. It was horrifying--and this was 9am on a weekday. I felt as if I was in a drag fest--except the women had the real thing down there, though for sure it's been trimmed plucked and waxed to a neat landing strip. And bleached blonde to match their streaked hair.
The guys were no better--browner than a roasted Christmas turkey and probably filled with steroids, judging from the size of their pecs. This is the only place on the earth were it's perfectly okay for men to have (a) breasts bigger than women, (b) wear more diamons and (c) bigger ear studs. They fill their True Religion jeans with gym-worked muscles butts and protein shake-bulging thighs. They pour themselves into blinged out tees, washed to within an inch of their lives so that the Ed Hardy logo looks well-worn in and shows off their head-lamp nipples. Seriously, I could not stop looking at LA nipples. Maybe it's something to prop up their incredibly thin and flimsy tees. Was I in the middle of a new reality series called Nipplegate? Whatever it was , they don;t bother me except when they shove them in your face. They fo that in lifts--cocktails in one hand, cigarettes in the other. So, with no hands left to push, they do so with their nipples. I have been left standing, holding the lift doors open, too many times than I care to remember, When the lift doors open, they rush out and before you kn ow it, the next lot of Botox damsels waltz right in. I didn't even have time to move out.
Perhaps if they covered up a little more it would help. But everyone who was anyone wore an Ed Hardy T-shirt--nevermind that it was seven degrees outside. Perfect--it will allow their huge nipples to stick out even further. Just imagine having a gummy bear stuck at the end of a beach ball--you get the picture.
The irony of all this serious posing was all the attention I unintentionally got. Girls with their weaves and hoochy shorts fell in love with my burberry Prorsum red coat and floppy hair. I had girls coming right up to me in a Mexican restaurant and fingering my fringe. 'You look the business!' they chorused. They touched my coat and squealed, 'It's sick! Sick I tell you!' I had one guy pop into a lift only to jump right out and scream "where did you get this studded jacket--it's "hiss"!' which, I gather, meant it's sizzling hot. And then he popped his namecard in my hand and said, 'I do lashes. Are you here to style the Grammys? 'Cos you look like a stylist.' I nodded my head meekly and he thrusts another 100 cards in my hand. 'Call me if you need lashes done. I am Ja-mal. I do all the TV stars. Call me, girl!' And then he touched my studded leather jacket, went 'Ouch!' and left.
You see, in this land of poseurs, everyone needs to shout for attention From loud-mouthed celebrity types to the brash Grammy PR's, everyone wants a piece of action. All except me. Aren't I too soft, too petite and too quiet to be part of this testosterone-filled, fist-pumping land of stars? But it did get me thinking--what if all the guidos swapped the Ed Hardy tees for some Prorsum and forgot the gym for a month or two? What if their swagger turned into a neat sashay? They would actually stand out in a crowd and they don't even have to say a word. One word of caution: be sure to take the stairs. You don;t want to be left holding the lift doors open."
Actually I lied I am going to say two things....1) the only person who still wears Ed hardy is Jon Gosselin. 2) I have never met anyone in Singapore who hold elevator doors open/ wait for you to get off the mrt before coming in/ even hold doors open who was not a foreigner!
Ok that's all. Singapore you are entitled to your own opinion. (I wonder if many LA-outsiders have this opinion of LA). Just know I am not too fond of you either...until next time, xxoo!
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