Paris Hilton’s Memoir Makes Us Pose The Question: Why Do Only Some Celebrities Get Redemption?
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In 2003, nine of the most famous young actresses graced the cover of Vanity Fair. Stars like Amanda Bynes, Raven-Symoné, and Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen appeared in shades of pink and purple, with the headline “It’s Totally Raining Teens!” emblazoned across them. The cover has become a cultural reference point for the early 2000’s, epitomizing our present nostalgia for the era of TRL, dELiA*s, and Blackberry phones. This same nostalgia has reinvigorated the careers of Hilary Duff (How I Met Your Father is the Lizzie McGuire revival that never was) and Lindsay Lohan (one critic dubbed her 2022 Netflix rom-com the “Citizen Kane of Christmas movies”). Given the renewed relevance of the velour tracksuit, it is only natural that Paris Hilton — the OG champion of Juicy Couture — would use this moment to stage her own triumphant comeback. Thus, Paris: The Memoir (2023) was conceived.
In Paris, readers are treated to a feast of emotional whiplash. Anecdotes regularly transition from graphic descriptions of physical and sexual abuse to corporatespeak-laden passages about her partnership with various brands: “[Razr cellphones were] all about functionality that took users seamlessly into a whole new mode of social and commercial interaction.” The memoir is carefully crafted, with each new bit of information chipping away to reveal a Swarovski-encrusted statue of a survivor who managed to transform her trauma into a certified #girlboss empire.
The legitimacy of Hilton’s suffering shouldn’t be called into question. The heart genuinely aches reading about each painful moment of her past: being groomed and molested by a middle school teacher; having her sex tape released without her consent (which, by the way, was filmed when she was 19 and her then-boyfriend was 31); and — most notably — living through the horrors of a series of “emotional growth boarding schools.” Hilton’s revelations about her time at institutions like the Provo Canyon School were touched on in her 2021 documentary This is Paris, but the memoir shines an even harsher light on the experience, detailing the daily routine of hard labor and invasive physical examinations, followed by “rap” sessions, in which students were forced to sit in a circle and verbally abuse each other, often for hours on end.
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After filling hundreds of pages with such tragic reflections, Hilton shifts gears. She describes how her desire to “make millions of dollars” was a by-product of her traumatic childhood. Wealth and fame would bring the independence and security necessary to eclipse the pain, she thought. What followed were the career moves that made Hilton a household name: The Simple Life, “Stars Are Blind,” a steady stream of fragrance releases, commercials, sponsorships, and near-daily appearances in tabloid headlines.
While the book is replete with musings on how “we transformed what it means to be famous, the Little Hiltons and me,” it is decidedly void of accountability for the more problematic aspects of Hilton’s past. Beginning in the early 2000’s, Hilton reportedly used racial and homophobic slurs with frequency. During the 2016 election cycle, Hilton publicly pledged her vote to U.S. Presidential candidate and family friend Donald Trump. In Paris: The Memoir, Hilton reveals that she didn’t even vote at all — a choice she proclaims even “worse” than casting a ballot for Trump. The book doesn’t bother referencing Hilton’s 2017 interview with Marie Claire though, in which Hilton stated that the women who had accused Trump of sexual assault were likely “just trying to get attention and fame.” Perhaps one can’t be expected to waste precious pages of their glossy memoir self-flagellating, but Hilton expresses an active disinterest in accountability: “I screwed up sometimes. [...] Sorry, not sorry. The only people who don’t screw up are people who never do anything.”
Instead of wasting breath with apologies, Hilton works diligently in an attempt to cement her legacy alongside artists like Marilyn Monroe and Britney Spears. At one point, Hilton goes to far as to say that she is living the life she thinks Monroe would have lived (that of an “it girl influencer”), had she not passed away at age 37. While there are parallels to be drawn between Monroe, Spears, and any woman who has been fed through the Hollywood meat grinder, it’s notable that Monroe and Spears were raised in poverty and used their artistry as a way to rise above their circumstances. As a result, their families — and entire communities — relied on them in a way that only exacerbated their burdens. Meanwhile, Hilton’s silver spoon is an ever-present phantom in the background of her story, providing comfort and safety at every turn.
“Without a greater depth of self-reflection from both Hilton-esque figures and their fans, the Britneys and the Marilyns of the world will continue to struggle, while the Parises will continue to sell us PR-tuned versions of themselves and brand it as empowerment.”
As we reevaluate the artistry of a generation of young women whose work was brushed off as vapid and prefabricated, many of those same artists continue to struggle. In the 20 years since Vanity Fair declared “It’s Totally Raining Teens!”, all of the the women on the cover have experienced a range of issues: addiction, eating disorders, depression and anxiety, and sexual assault. Some of the women have been vocal about their experiences, while others have had their private lives unwillingly put on display by a rabid press. Movements like #MeToo and #FreeBritney have sparked meaningful conversations about the ways in which the entertainment industry dehumanizes young women, and how society all-too-eagerly eats it up. But there are also arguments to be made that these movements still have a long way to go: consider the recent scrutiny placed on Amanda Bynes upon experiencing a public mental health crisis, or the fact that Britney Spears received an unwanted wellness check at the behest of her concerned “fans.” Hilton, somehow, has managed to float above it all.
Again, Paris Hilton has undoubtedly suffered, and Paris: The Memoir contains flashes of genuine strength and bravery through harrowing circumstances. But the book ultimately arrives at an unintended conclusion: Hilton has always been aligned with power — the kind of power that continues to demonize the women she evokes as kindred spirits. Without a greater depth of self-reflection from both Hilton-esque figures and their fans, the Britneys and the Marilyns of the world will continue to struggle, while the Parises will continue to sell us PR-tuned versions of themselves and brand it as empowerment.
Words: Katie Fustich
