What’s the Deal With Anne Hathaway?(Read it like Seinfeld would….Please?!)

I can’t stand Anne Hathaway. And on the Internet, I’m not remotely alone. That sucks for her. She has not wronged us personally. Probably; I don’t know your life. I do know that every acceptance speech she’s made this awards season has made me want to eat my fist until it bursts through the back of my neck and I die and can’t feel annoyed anymore. More than Taylor Swift’s “I can’t believe anyone even came” face every time she walks out onstage to sing a song, Seth MacFarlane’s “ironic” racist/sexist/homophia jokes, and Zooey Deschanel’s whole entire career, hearing Anne Hathaway’s little baby voice coo “It came true” into the face of her brand new Oscar makes me cry blood with irritation.

I don’t think Anne Hathaway had a single doubt in her mind that she was going to sweep every acting award this year. That rankles me because she didn’t do a great job as Fantine (cue half the Internet screaming that I am crazy and the other half throwing side-eyes of truth my way-yes, the whole Internet reads this blog). She overacted and never addressed the realities of Fantine’s life and the amount of time she had been living with them. That said, Anne Hathaway is a good actress. She’s a feminist. She’s beautiful. She thrives on the rightfully earned admiration of the masses. We are basically twins. And there, in fact, is the rub.

Anne Hathaway’s her false modesty is cloying. She would be better served to just openly display how deeply in love with herself she is (See: Paltro, Gwenneth; Knowles, Beyonce; Strauss-Kahn, Dominique). Narcissism is more easily forgiven than insincerity. I walked into a wall checking myself out in the mirror about twenty minutes ago, so I get it.

Anne Hathaway’s haters know that deep down inside of each of us is a bullshit narcissist rife with false modesty just waiting for that big break. I know or fear that I would go up to accept an award and thank someone for “the best string of yesterdays” like an asshole.

I don’t have designers giving me dresses or unlimited acting opportunities floating across my agent’s desk*. And I sure as fuck don’t have dental insurance through a performers’ guild. But I can imagine that if I had those things and continued to have them and hustled for more and was continually surrounded by more and more people who basked in my hot air (there’s a fart joke in there, but I’m not touching it) I can see how I might become the person who fake-laughingly replies, “Nonsense!” when someone tells me I am a gift to my craft, all the while silently thinking “I’m aware, Rex Reed.”

We are all Anne Hathaway.

I’m glad awards season is over.

Its just

 

*I have neither an agent nor a desk.

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