Celebrity spawn, please go away


Kimberley Stewart sits next to her dad, reminds us of who she is.

Having expressed my distaste of Big Brother contestants in my last post, I have to say there is a more privileged breed of fame whore that I detest just as much. I was reminded of this when I chanced upon an old episode of MTV’s Cribs, where a whippety bit of blonde rocker spawn was showing off her mansion, no doubt bought with daddy’s money.

The sight of a weasel-faced Kimberley Stewart parading about in front of the camera made me think: “What does she do?” Then she produced a teeny-tiny skirt from one of her stadium-sized closets that had the words “Sexy” and “Stewart” emblazoned over the bum that I thought: “Ah. Being Rod Stewart’s daughter is what she does.”

It’s a curse that has afflicted much of the entertainment industry. At the moment I’m seeing a couple all over the place made entirely by association – Jaime Winstone, daughter of Ray, and Alfie Allen, brother of Lily. Lily herself was even helped up the ladder by having a famous Dad in actor Keith Allen. Alfie is building a reputation as quite the little actor but the only thing memorable about Jaime so far is that she has goddamn awful fashion sense.

But to me, the mother of all fame-leeches (or should I say daughter) is that smug little brat Peaches Geldof. Since she’s been 17 I’ve seen her all over the place, seeking the limelight wherever she goes by basically growing up far too quickly in the public eye. Drinking, check. Smoking, check. Drug video, check. Inappropriate older men, check. But what really annoys me is that simply being Bob Geldof’s daughter has earned her a DJ act and a stint on the catwalk. This wouldn’t infuriate me so much if she could DJ (she can’t) and if she was stunning (she isn’t).


Peaches Geldof – smile phobe, attention addict

So will this trend of papping celebrity spawn as much as their talented parents ever cease? I doubt it. Magazines are paying millions for exclusive pictures when A-listers give birth and as a result Shiloh, Suri and Brooklyn don’t even need their famous surnames.

I bet both my typing fingers that 15 years down the line they’ll be A-listers in their own right, no doubt helped to the top of their pedestals by mum and dad.

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