Crushing Ellen Page

Boo, hipsters.

stuffhipstershate:

Ellen Page

Page initially set hipster hearts aflutter with her sassy yet sadistic role in 2005’s horrifically disturbing (to the male section of the audience at least) Hard Candy. Who doesn’t love a chick who rocks a red hoodie and leggings whilst feigning castration? (Besides the male section of the audience). And, in 2007’s Juno, Page came out victorious over jaded ventricles once more as a spunky yet sarcastic pregnant teen. (“Ha! It’s funny because she’s a knocked-up teenager who’s not totally tragic and she’s got a phone shaped like a hamburger and talks to adults like they’re her equals. Fuck, that’s cool.”)

Well, for, like, two minutes at least. The lights had yet to even come up in the theater before the inevitable happened: The rest of the general population (read: The Academy and kids who had just “discovered” the Moldy Peaches) cast their bloodshot eyes in Page’s general (Canadian) direction and meeped approval. Then it all came crashing down. All of a sudden she went from possessing a certain muckle-mouthed appeal to smacking of Katie Holmes’ I-only-talk-out-of-the-side-of-my-mouth falsity. Her carefully layered scarves and band Ts took on a too perfect edge, as if—gasp—someone had styled her. And her precocious, neologistic way of speaking just got fucking annoying. And then she starred in a movie with Drew Barrymore, appropriating that most beloved of female hipster sports—the roller derby—and vogued her smug mug on the covers of many a mainstream fashion magazine. (For added nausea-inducement, she shot the requisite making-out-with-my-female-costar photo for Glamour. Classy.) And then came the death knell: Penning a show about “hipsters” for HBO. While Page may have not yet felt the cold draft created by the fluttering scarves of millions of hipsters as they turn their backs on her adorably wide-eyed mein, she’s in for the same kind of scathing (albeit weak-ass) backlash as was served to Michael Cera earlier this year. But take heart, young kanuck—although nary a resident of Williamsburg is likely to shell out the 10 bucks to see you skatin’ around with Barrymore, they’ll all probably tune in to Stitch ‘n Bitch via Megavideo when they think no one’s looking. You know, like how normal people watch porn.

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