While we remain quick to accuse the present moment as the zenith of a low point in society in terms of just how self-obsessed, hollow and generally swept up in the vapid (though it is a lovely means of distraction from the overt crumbling of the world around us), one would do well to remember the circumstances that led to the formation of the Bling Ring in October of 2008, one of the peak years of TMZ celebrity culture highlighting the trash socialite/party girl lives of Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears (a trio immortalized during the summit that defined a decade in 2006). The invasive paparazzi photos and videos, for the first time in internet history, being uploaded in such a way so as to instantaneously inform trolls and “fans” of their favorites’ locations and preferred watering holes.
Living on the periphery of where it all happens, Agoura Hills (where Indian Hills High School served as the nexus for cosmic forces to align–or whatever), the reject/rebel alliance that formed to create the final incarnation of the Bling Ring would consist of Rachel Lee, Nick Prugo, Alexis Neiers, Diana Tamayo, Courtney Ames, Johnny Ajar and Roy Lopez Jr. Sort of like Calabasas’ materialistic twenty-first century answer to the Manson family, the septet did plenty of creepy crawling of their own during their year-long jag of criminal activity–the brunt of which Paris Hilton bore (she was burgled five times by the ring, thanks to Lee and Prugo’s assessment that she was probably too “dumb” to either 1) lock the door or 2) notice she might be missing any possessions–at least not until two million dollars’ worth of jewelry had been stolen).
In keeping with the notion that to be privileged and not black (unless you’re O.J.) is to not only get away with theft, murder and any other criminal affront in the U.S., but also be roundaboutly deified for it, that Sofia Coppola would choose to one-up the inferior Lifetime TV movie of the same name (released two years prior to Coppola’s in 2011) with a narrative of her own is further telling of just how glamorized dumb bitch behavior is in our society. Some slick edits and a quintessential Coppola soundtrack (songs at the forefront being Sleigh Bells’ “Crown on the Ground,” Rye Rye and M.I.A.’s “Sunshine,” Azealia Banks’ “212,” and, of course, M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls”) is all it takes to further stylize the idea that–even in satire–the Bling Ring comes across as “victims” of their own environment, post-internet and social media collateral in the eventual cultivation and solidification of a nation of youthful drones content so long as they can give off the appearance of affluence and “having it all.”
To attempt to make some sense of the alliance’s calmly reckless behavior, (bling)ringleader Rachel (renamed to Rebecca [Katie Chang]) was an obsessive watcher of reality TV at a time when it was just coming into its own (again, Paris Hilton can’t get enough credit for turning all of our brains to mush thanks to her blazing the trail with Nicole Richie in The Simple Life) is also telling of what fueled her insatiable material lust. Her need to look and feel like one of these so-called “stars” (never to compare to the actual stars of Hollywood’s Golden Age, to be sure) was but fueled by her steady diet of The Hills, My Super Sweet 16, Laguna Beach, and maybe, just maybe, Keeping Up With the Kardashians (though the influence of that family in shaping the increased vapidity of American culture was still too germinal at this juncture–telling in the form of Rachel’s go-to idols being Paris and Lindsay).
Still, Rachel and her newfound lackey, proverbial “shy guy” Nick (changed to Marc [Israel Broussard] in Coppola’s movie), didn’t set out immediately to rob from the sect of humanity just above their own (it goes: Tier 1: Celebrity, Tier 2: Privileged). No, as the movie version goes, Rachel was initially sated with the pilfering the home of one of Nick’s acquaintances after he tells her that the family is out of town. And so the seed is planted, the turn of events for increasingly high-risk behavior set in motion. After all, none of the celebrities she covets are ever held responsible for their actions apart from a sleek booking mug shot now and again (incidentally, Neiers would end up in the same cellblock as Lindsay in 2010, both parties for a hot second before being released).
If one thought the internet was only recently creepy, what with Facebook giving up all your info to everyone all the time and letting whatever dark money group willing to pony up to pay for ads to influence politics, you might be forgetting the way the Bling Ring conducted their own research: simply by using celebrityaddressaerial.com, Google Earth (it’s how they assessed the perfect way to scale Paris’ wall) and religiously reading TMZ for whereabouts information on people like Orlando Bloom (who they knew was out of town shooting on a movie in New York when they decided to pinch some items from his house on account of Rachel wanted some of Miranda Kerr’s lingerie).
And in between heists, there is acting like the very people they worship by lustfully taking selfies of one another (yes, with Motorolas and digital cameras) in the club (where Paris and Kirsten Dunst–thanks to her Coppola connection–cameo in the film). To this end, Emma Watson and Isaiah Broussard’s portrayal of that exact moment in history when humanity lost its soul is elucidated with the utmost of care–or, one supposes, lack thereof. For when all one is concerned with is being tagged with the right people at the right “place to be” on Facebook (remember, 2008–but there are, of course, new equivalents that have cropped up in its place for the ability to see and be seen not in real life), there can’t be much left for any shred of empathy or morality.
There is nothing to admire in these “anti-heroes” either. For where is the nobility in the rich stealing from the richer as a pathetic means to somehow feel even more elevated in society? Which is, in the end, what Alexis Neiers became when she managed to get a reality show called Pretty Wild out of the deal in 2010 on E! (granted, E! will make a reality show out of just about anything).
The story of these erstwhile teens is the blueprint for buying into one’s own delusions of grandeur as fueled by the lens of the camera–no matter how few people are actually watching from behind it. As Emma Watson says in the voice of the character based on Neiers, “I’m a firm believer in Karma, and I think this situation was attracted into my life because it was supposed to be a huge learning lesson for me to grow and expand as a spiritual human being. God didn’t give me these talents and looks to just sit around being a model or being famous. I want to lead a huge charity organization. I want to lead a country, for all I know.” Yes, surely that’s not so hard to believe considering who is “running” the country now. And it was all paved by this very moment–seeming blip–in U.S. anti-cultural history. The year some L.A. teens were slapped on the wrist by the very institutions that encouraged them to transform into such appetitive-for-labels-without-actually-working-for-them monsters (“fame monster,” as Nancy Jo Sales put it in her Vanity Fair article, “The Suspects Wore Louboutins,” datedly referencing the then au courant Lady G album for meta effect).
So sure, you might say that “the now” has plenty in the way of indifferent consciences for the sake of “documentation” and a “show of status,” but the Bling Ring’s ’08-’09 operation was prehistoric proof of how social media, internet stalking and celebrity worship have rendered so many into unwitting sociopaths with more than a slight touch of NPD.
