Her story was always an appealing one. A Latina from the Bronx who started off as a fly girl on In Living Color who pulled herself up by her boob straps and became famous thanks to hard work, talent, and a famous bedonkadonk. She made her splash starring in the Selena biopic, earned critical plaudits for her role in Steven Soderbergh's Out of Sight in 1998, and was a box office hit in The Wedding Planner and Maid in Manhattan. Her real downfall, however, was a little thing called Bennifer that was on the cover of every tabloid every week for months in the earlier part of the last decade, kicking off the "let's combine celebrity couples names into a cute nickname" phenomenon that just won't die.
That wasn't her first round in the tabloids, of course. After all, she dated Sean Puffy Combs and was embroiled in his "carrying a gun in public" brouhaha, but this time something different. It was all her and Ben Affleck all the time. Everywhere. Every detail of their lives, their courtship, their disgusting togetherness. It just went on and on and on. Then they broke up and dropped the horrible Gigli and The Jersey Girl into our laps. They were the kind of critical and box office turds that, even if you can wash the actual filth of them off, the stink is going to follow you around for years.
Starting then, we were no longer fooled by the rocks that she got, and it was a quick nose dive. Other than when she tortured LL Cool J with some weird za za za za sounds, her albums were so forgettable, we don't even remember them coming out (however, her single "Louboutins" was so horrible we will never forget to hate it and it did produce one unforgettable fall at the AMAs). And her movies? Turkeys all. Monster-In-Law was so-so, but Shall We Dance, An Unfinished Life, and El Cantante, her salsa vanity project with now husband Marc Anthony, were all travesties. And if the release date shuffle is any indication The Back-Up Plan is going to be no saving grace either.
So, sorry, Ms. Lopez, we're through with you. You can't sell a track and you can't open a film. Also, you're bland, boring, and otherwise not as talented as plenty of the other people who are competing for our ever-diminishing attention. We're not going to care about your movies or songs. We're not going to read about your babies or break-ups. We're not going to follow the "10 Steps to JLo's Butt" article in Shape. You're over. We are taking away your star status. You can go ahead and continue selling your horrible perfume(s) and a bunch of crazy diehard fans will lap it up and still love you. As far as the rest of us goes, you're through. I'd like to say it's been fun, but it really never has been. And I'm pretty glad that it's over.