Way back in 1987, before advanced sarcasm and leave-in conditioner were invented, I fell hard for my first celebrity crush: Jon Bon Jovi. Thanks to a publication called Tiger Beat — which is nothing more than Penthouse for girls in headgear — I knew Jon’s full name (John Francis Bongiovi, Jr.), hometown (Sayreville, New Jersey), and hair length (14 inches). I also amassed several hundred tear-out posters of him that I lovingly plastered all over my school locker, bedroom walls, and regional highway overpasses. These were tearjerking pictures of Jon Bon posing in neon pantyhose, crossing his arms, and ferociously pouting because he obviously had yet to find the perfect, mildly-pubescent, Hello Kitty connoisseur of his dreams.
This crush endured several decades — despite his marriage, my marriage, and six children between us — until I saw him interviewed in 2009 and witnessed him wearing what appeared to be PLEATED JEANS. Call me superficial, but within seconds, years of painful pining ended, I incinerated a Smithsonian’s worth of Tiger Beats, and abruptly moved on to some dude who plays a synthesizer with one finger for some band I saw on Saturday Night Live.
Anyway, long story long, everyone has a celebrity crush (or 20) and most significant others will grant you the opportunity to sleep with this crush (or all 20) should the opportunity ever arise. The reason for this is not generosity. (Why, yes! Please have yourself a 72-hour lovefest with George Clooney! Don’t let me stop you! How about I provide the Gatorade?) It’s because it’s NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN.There’s a higher probability of Martha Stewart coming out with a line of edible thongs, than there is my husband getting propositioned by Angelina. So, by all means, Honey. Go for it.
Yes, given the improbability of Hollywood/civilian couplings, jealously only rears its head in certain cases. For me, it’s when the celebrity being admired by my spouse is a celebrity I personally worship. Case in point: Kristen Wiig. When my husband fondly comments on one of her spastic dance moves, rest assured I do my best to compete by jitterbugging into a wall. (Isn’t this hot, Dear? Isn’t it? Huh? Huh? Crash. Bang. Whimpering.) On the flipside, I don’t know which legend my husband aspires to be most like, but I’m going to pretend it’s Abraham Lincoln. That way, I can send him out to buy a top hat while I watch a few Hugh Jackman movies.
Anyway, with all this said, what does your (or your significant other’s) Hollywood infatuation reveal about you (or him/her)? I’m glad you asked. I happen to know A LOT about both psychology and famous people. As well as you and your mate. So, here you go:
Scarlett Johansson: You play the Powerball weekly, have Mount Everest on your bucket list, and know a lot about Chilean wine. Your Facebook cover photo is one of you ziplining in Costa Rica while wearing sunglasses that cost more than open heart surgery.
Ryan Gosling: You like to knit. And sob. You often stand in front of a full-length mirror with a handmade scarf and practice saying: “Here’s a little something I made for you. Go on. Try it on. If you don’t like it, I also made some grapefruit exfoliating scrub.”
Zooey Deschanel: You may have a very low sperm count, but your spinach-artichoke dip is TO DIE FOR. In fact, rearrange those corn chips and let’s snap some Instagram photos!
Prince Harry: You like camping, skeet, and blacking out. If you were a Disney princess, you’d be that one who takes her panties off on the It’s A Small World ride.
Natalie Portman: You have trouble differentiating between spoiled brats and murderers. You have no respect for Star Wars. (Interesting side note: every time Natalie Portman gives an acceptance speech, a ballerina explodes.)
Spencer Pratt: Here’s a bridge. Don’t make me push you.
Jessica Simpson: You’re a garden-variety jock who’s saving up to hire someone to balance your checkbook. You’re a boob guy and a butt guy. Also a bit hard of hearing.
Drew Barrymore: You like picnics, PETA, and dotting your “i”s with daisies.
Brad Pitt: Why, you must be the pillar of originality in your community. Let me guess: you enjoy walks on the beach and talking about the weather. Can I get you a salad with Ranch on the side? Is your favorite music FM radio? Do you like to wear shirts? I thought so.
Beyonce: You’re a completely delusional bookkeeper who still steals his father’s Old Spice. Your favorite appetizer is mini corn dogs. You wear white socks with tassel loafers. You think Jay-Z is short for JCPenney.
Daniel Radcliffe: I’m calling the cops.
Gwyneth Paltrow: You’re an awkward, nervous, well-meaning British man who answers to C-3PO.
Gael Garcia Bernal: What? You’re not sure who this is? Good. All the better for me to try to explain it to you in broken Spanish so Gael can reach out, mash his pointer finger against my lips, and say: “Shhhhhhhhhh, my angel. Do not speak.” Then while you’re on IMDB looking up this fellow’s filmography, he and I are eloping.
Eva Mendes: Congrats. You’re alive.
This post was originally published on How About We’s blog The Date Report.