The new Rolling Stone carries shocking revelations about Britney's past. Well, more like sad revelations. Is she an American tragedy, as the cover proclaims? Or just a regular tragedy? Hint: the problem may have begun with her mom letting her get breast implants when she was still a teenager.
She regretted the implants, particularly because her chest was still growing," a friend says. "When her natural breasts became larger, she had the implants removed... When other girls did their boobs [they admitted it] and moved on, but Britney was brought up to lie about herself." [US Weekly]
Vanessa Grigoriadis, the article's author, often uses the classic profiler technique of reading emotion into her subjects. Here, obviously, there's no reading required, as poor Britney's got plenty of anger/fury/uncertainty to spare. A scene in from an ill-fated trip to the mall with Britney and her paparazzo boyfriend Adnan Ghalib:
The card won't go through, but they keep trying it.
"Please," begs Ghalib, "get this done quickly."
One of the girls runs to Britney's dressing room, explaining the situation through a pink gauze curtain.
A wail emerges from the cubby — guttural, vile, the kind of base animalistic shriek only heard at a family member's deathbed. "Fuck these bitches," screams Britney, each word ringing out between sobs. "These idiots can't do anything right!"
Ghalib dashes over to console her, but she's already spitting, growling, throwing a big bottle of soda on the floor so that it begins to spill underneath the curtain, and then she's got a box of tissues and is throwing them on top of the wet floor along with piles of discarded merchandise. A new card finally goes through, but by then Britney is out the door, leaving her shirt on the ground and replacing it with the red top. "Fuck you, fuck people, fuck, fuck, fuck," she keeps screaming, her face splotchy and red as she crosses the interminable mall floor, the crowd behind her growing larger and larger.