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If I read another boo-hoo out of you (“Vogue, I can’t buh-lieve what uncool Angelina said in another magazine!” “EW, I can’t buh-lieve Vogue printed what I said about Angelina! It’s not like everybody’s slobbering in wait for me to breathe the word Ang–” “I’m the victim here!”) I promise that I will send each one of my overbearing, stubborn, outspoken aunts out to your house to hunt you down and give you a good old-fashioned Hardass Asian talking to.
Y’know. Like the kind you get when you’re getting divorced and they explain to you that you’ve suddenly made it everyone’s dishonor problem.
Y’know. Like when they tell you that your career goals of becoming an engineer are stupid and worthless, and that if you loved anybody but yourself, you would just go to medical school like your mother wanted you to.
Y’know. Like when they say that you should exercise more. Because you look fat.
They’re mean as hell. But they’re honest.
Trust me, at the end, you won’t feel pretty, you won’t feel cool, you won’t feel good about the fact that you’re still dating that cooz John Mayer–but you will understand (hopefully) that there’s no pride in airing your relationship dirty laundry through PR channels over the course of five years. That in order to maintain your dignity you’ve can’t cry out loud–just keep it inside, and hold your head up high, and make a goddamn good movie for Chrissake.
Please. Have a little pride.