O Britney, Where Art Thou?

Economists say that we can guage the state of the economy by studying the rise and fall of women's hemlines. Judging by the surplus of maxi dresses in Old Navy, I'd say things are still looking bad. But I believe the academics are overlooking another crucial economic indicator: sensational tabloid sagas.

Let's go back to a happier time in 2008. It seems so far away. But it was just over a year ago that the Hollywood paparazzi were as dedicated to capturing a shot of Britney Spears as a wildlife photographer hoping for a glimpse of a polar bear cub. They'd plant themselves outside of the Spears compound for hours, days, in hopes of catching a few frames of her plumped-up figure sneaking from the front door.

Britney gave us so much back then: she shaved her head, she attacked a photographer's car with her umbrella. She even refused to put a shirt on when paramedics put her into an ambulance! And then there was all that panty-less partying, the passing-out-drunk at nightclubs, and oh -- getting her children taken away from her! It was as if she was living out a finely-crafted thriller-narrative designed to invoke audience schaudenfreude. Just a few short years ago, this woman had been on top of the world. She had everything; she was everything. She was hot, young, fabulously wealthy, she performed and entertained. She mastered the delicate balancing act between sexy and trashy (something her exceedingly more talented competitor Christina Aguilera failed to accomplish), tantalizing us all the more with her refusal to shed the remnants of her rural Southern upbringing. Rich enough to vacation in the penthouse suites of luxe Abu Dhabi and Monte Carlo resorts, she was also grounded enough to use the restroom at the gas station when she had to take a leak. And she entered that gas station restroom in her bare feet.

Britney Spears was the American Dream. Not the one in the movies or in literature -- the real American Dream, the dream that allowed us to retain our penchant for shopping at Wal-Mart while sipping a five-dollar soy latte. We were so fascinated with Britney Spears simply because she was so relatable. We could easily imagine ourselves in her position. She made the glamourous lifestyle of the Hollywood celebrity accessible to the masses, and we lived vicariously through her.

Which is part of the reason why we lapped up every morcel of information about her daily routine that Perez Hilton could deliver. Sometimes we secretly delighted in her off-beat behaviour, relishing in her bad publicity because even though we could potentially, someday have her life if we dreamed big enough, we didn't have it then, we were still grinding away in our 9-to-5 routines like lethargic hamsters on a squeaky wheel. But other times we were genuinely concerned, because her fall from grace also signalled our fall.

Britney Spears hasn't been in the tabloids for months. We rode her self-destruction all the way through our own economic collapse late in 2008. When we hit the brick wall with her, we knew it was time to get off the ride. Sorry, Britney-honey -- it got too real. You were a perfect metaphor. But we weren't content with mere metaphor -- we were determined to see you extended into the realm of hyperbole, which was our big mistake. We got too greedy, we sowed the seeds of our own undoing. You realized that and began to shy away from the camera flashes, leaving us to suffer epidemic unemployment and economic instability alone. You're still rich, right? Can we borrow a few bucks?

The celebrities have all disappeared -- not just Britney, but Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, all the staples of last year's "entertainment news". Where are the catfights, the drunken antics, the dripping excesses of celebrity privilege? We over-extended ourselves, buying homes we couldn't afford, demanding lifestyles that exceeded our means. This sudden dearth of tabloid fodder is one of the consequences. Our celebrities realize that we now have enough shit to worry about in our own lives -- we can't be bothered with the luxury of worrying about their's.

Oh, Britney, we didn't realize how good we had it until you left us. Now that you're back in the confines of your Beverly Hills mansion, we can see that you are clearly better off without us. But we were selfish, we admit it. We were wrong -- we loved you in the sense that we wanted you; our love wasn't mature enough to want your happiness. But now that we've suffered economic collapse, baby, we've seen the errors of our ways. We can change. We will change, we promise. Give us something to feel good about -- go to a red carpet event and flash your snatch getting out of your limo. Or let your toddler smoke one of your cigs. C'mon, baby, we miss you. We know we treated you bad, we see now that we orchestrated our own decline to coincide perfectly with yours. But you're recovering, you're a stronger person for it, right? And we'll be, too. We'll treat you right this time. All we're asking for is a little tabloid fodder just to get our minds off of what we're not going to have for dinner tonight, whether we'll be getting downsized next week or next month. Hit us baby, one more time. That's all we ask. Gas prices are rising again. One more time.