Sometimes, sanity and reason come from the unlikeliest of places.
Heidi Montag will take time out of her busy collagen-injection schedule to talk about the importance of being yourself. Steven Seagal will speak out on the dangers of mainlining doughnuts.
Or VH1 will unspool a reality show that actually has a little depth.
More shockingly, it will be hosted by one of the country's ditziest celebrities, Jessica Simpson.
Let me just say it right here: I was prepared to hate Simpson's new show, "Jessica Simpson's The Price of Beauty." I typically pay little attention to Simpson. I know she has a sister who lip-synched on national TV. There was some brouhaha about ill-fitting jeans. She is unclear on the distinction between chicken and tuna. And John Mayer has called her "sexual napalm."
ADVERTISEMENT
So any previews of "The Price of Beauty" (9 p.m. Mondays) sent me into paroxysms of eye-rolling unrivaled since my 14-year-old niece was told by her mother: "No, you cannot wear a halter top in January."
What did this blond bombshell know about the average woman's struggles with beauty? What could she possibly contribute to the discussion? But, like a moth drawn to the bright light that will eventually barbecue it, I felt compelled to watch.
In the first episode, Simpson travels to Thailand with her hairstylist and a BFF "who makes me laugh." Her quest: to find out how different cultures define beauty. In the process, she eats (and throws up) a fried cockroach, offends a Buddhist monk and rides an elephant.
It's all quite silly. But then "Price of Beauty" takes an unexpectedly serious turn. We learn that, unlike tanorexic Americans, Thai women use beauty products that bleach their skin. In the process, we meet a woman who actually ruined her skin with these products, was abandoned by her husband because of it, and now lives in seclusion.
In another episode, Simpson goes to France to participate in a couture fashion show. She is told by the show's snooty "art director" - who wears a couture suit accessorized by giant, Styrofoam balls - that she should not try to walk the runway like a "stoop-eed Ameerican." Or something like that.
Simpson also meets a former fashion model who basically starved herself down to 86 pounds, which gave her modeling career a surprising boost. (The camera focuses on Simpson, who looks dutifully shocked and crestfallen.)
Still, I was surprised. Could there be help for the woman whose biggest cinematic triumph was bringing Daisy Duke to the big screen?
Could the network that brought "I Love New York" to the masses actually air a show with some kind of moral center?
ADVERTISEMENT
Maybe I won't go that far. VH1 is still a long, long way from PBS, and Simpson is no Helen Mirren.
But it's a relief that "The Price of Beauty" makes some effort to be more than skin deep.
Readers can reach Forum reporter Tammy Swift at (701) 241-5525
