“I haven’t spoken to Lance Bass in 11 years. To say I have a mental illness out of nowhere makes me lash out! You’re making me crazy!”
Okay. Before you go all “Amanda Bynes is bat-shit cray” on me, let’s take a moment and pretend this was you.
You’re having a rough day. Maybe you got a speeding ticket, or got arrested for smoking pot, or, hell — maybe you killed your cat in an accidental house fire. I don’t know.
Now, imagine that Little Johnny (ahem, Lance) from freshman year — who you haven’t spoken to in eleven years — randomly posts on Facebook that he hopes someone is able to get to you to give you the help you need.
Crazy cat killer or not, you’d rightfully want grown-up Lance to put a sock in it.
Amanda Bynes doesn’t need Lance proclaiming to a Las Vegas radio show his hope for her future (awwwwwe, Lance! That’s so sincere of you). The help Amanda needs is Lance and every other celebrity, “journalist” and crazed blogger (yes, I know I’m pseudo-included in this) to just stop.
Stop it already.
Ignore her. Pretend you haven’t read TMZ in months. Act like you didn’t hear about the bong-smashing, fake eyelashes and maniacal wigs. Amanda Bynes who?
That’s what we would be doing if we truly wanted to see Amanda Bynes on her own two feet again. C’mon — this is not an ingenius thought. We all know this.
If Tabloid Amanda Bynes ceased to exist tomorrow, the real Amanda Bynes would be a happy, healthy working actress in no time. Or, she’d be in rehab. Either way, she’d be out of the dehumanizing, burning lights of tabloid purgatory. The same purgatory where we’ve witnessed so many other legitimate talents wither into oblivion.
Amanda Bynes is America’s most recent guilty pleasure. A Lindsay Lohan Part Deux (if Part Un had already ended). If Amanda and Lindsay were Sarah and Stephanie from down the block, we’d be praying for their sobriety on Sundays and sending “thinking of you” cards to their families. But because Amanda and Lindsay somehow deserve the scrutiny they’re garnering (I mean, they’re just PUTTING themselves OUT THERE, after all, right?), it gives us permission to tweet, laugh and yes, even write Buzzfeed articles about them.
Never mind what our treatment of Amanda Bynes says about our attitudes towards young Hollywood women (that’s a whole other post) — what does it say about what we truly consider sad? We may talk about the tragedy of Amanda Bynes like she’s the Sarah from down the block, yet we still sit in the dark corners of our basements, clicking every link with her name in it, retweeting it, and secretly wishing her platinum wig saga was never-ending.
So please, Lance. Instead of trying to be the genuinely concerned acquaintance from eleven years ago, do what you know is best for Amanda Bynes, and stop giving the drama the attention it’s craving.
And now, I’ll take my own advice and shut the hell up about it.