Culture //

From the diary of Chris Brown

Chris Brown faces the dilemma of the century



Dear diary,


I must admit, I’m tiring of this little charadé. The whole ‘acting like a douche bag’ for publicity is getting awfully embarrassing. I’m at breaking point. Today, I wept into my cereal. Tears mixed with my milk and muesli until my breakfast was nothing more than a bowl of despair.


I tried to fire my tweeter, but my publicist wouldn’t let me. Apparently, this gung ho, misogynistic ‘asshole’ character sells. It appeals to those young, budding jailbirds and the poor young women whose disposable incomes go toward posters featuring my rippled torso. Nobody wants to buy hip hop albums from a well spoken, self respecting feminist such as myself.


O, diary! Woe is me! A hip hop artist and a feminist! Can I marry my two worlds? My morose situation suggests not. But I want to make a change. I don’t want to encourage young gentlemen into the behaviours I myself have been guilty of. I do want to stress, diary, that none of my actions were my choice. When I think of dear Ri Ri, I feel physically sick. My hands may have wrung her neck, but my heart was kissing it.


And then there was the Good Morning America incident. Diary, I can’t absolve myself. Such needless vandalism! So much unnecessary torso! I shudder to think of the young men perfecting their shirt ripping techniques at home.


The Grammys were a new low. My mother, who has so far supported my decision to publicly behave this way, denounced me. While she still loves me, and the monthly payments I give her, she is tiring. I feel that soon she will turn away from me, regardless of who I truly am.


The thing I regret most about my actions has been the restraining order, preventing me from contacting Ri privately. Diary, do you know how hard it is to publicly reconnect with a loved one, while still maintaining a misogynistic image? I have enjoyed moderate success, but the distance between us pulls at my heart strings, and my loins, daily.


I am shocked at how successful the persona has been. Is it worth it, diary? I am disgustingly rich, all thanks to ‘Team Breezy’ as my young, misguided fans are so named. Can I maintain this wealth and be myself? I cannot give up my millions, but I cannot go on cultivating this image of ‘douche-baggery’. Diary! Is this not the dilemma of the century?!


I’m going to go make a Lady Grey and comment on some wom*n’s forums while I mull this over.

Filed under: