Underneath my yellow skin

I Don’t Need My A-game to Fuck With Gwyneth Paltrow

Attention POOG Patrol!* It has come to my attention that Gwyneth Paltrow is all up in her feels about people clapping back at her for her quackery ‘science’. She went all in, saying:

I’m interested in criticism based on facts, not projections….If you want to fuck with me, bring your A-game.

Italics are mine, but the quotes are pure Gwyneth. Look at how hard she’s trying to be by dropping an F-bomb when she’s all, “COME AT ME, BRO!”! Ride or die, Gwyneth. Ride or die! She’s squadding up, imagining that she’s the Wu-Tang Clan.

I can imagine her saying to her bestie, “Hold my Urban Satchel Louis Vuitton Bag and my earrings by Tiffany, darling; I’m going in!” before sailing in on her Jimmy Choos and flailing her fists about. Then, when she breaks a nail at the first punch thrown, she scurries to her resident masseuse to relieve the tension.  She’s so adorable when she’s angry, and it’s hard to take her seriously, but I have a few things to say in response to her (because of course I do).

First of all, I don’t need my A-game to fuck with her.  I don’t need my mental taiji or anything other than Google and my Auntie Cherry Blossom to decimate Gwyneth and her ‘facts’. I can do it with one eye closed and one hand tied behind my back. Admittedly, it’d take much longer because I’d have to type one-handed, but I’m used to that on account of my cat, Shadow, sitting on my chest as I’m trying to type. Hunt and peck is infuriating when I type 100+ words a minute, but it’s doable. It just gives me more time to think of my zingers with my rapier-sharp wit. Gwyneth may have money, fame, and beauty on her side, but I have my wits and my words which I’ll pit against hers any time. I’m like Professor Elemental pulling on his fighting trousers, but she’s no Mr.B The Gentleman Rhymer.

Dr. Jen Gunter, my Gwyneth Paltrow whisperer, has her own post about this posturing from Gwyneth. Dr. Gunter’s take is that people who are going after Gwyneth’s bullshit aren’t doing it to fuck with her, but because we’re concerned about actual science and not just what sounds/feels good/right. I mostly agree with her. The main reason I started writing POOG posts is because I was infuriated that she was using her fame to peddle idiotic and sometimes harmful bullshit to women (and let’s face it–it’s women), preying on their insecurities to get them to buy shit they don’t need or follow questionable advice. It especially pisses me off because she invokes the exotic Oriental mysticism bullshit to back up her dubious claims.

I disagree with Dr. Gunter when she says that Gwyneth shouldn’t talk about these things because she’s an actress and not a doctor. I don’t think just because someone isn’t a doctor that they shouldn’t talk about these issues. Obviously. I’m not a doctor, and I’m writing about them myself. In addition, just because someone is a doctor, it doesn’t mean s/he’s trustworthy. See, Andrew Wakefield, he of the autism is caused by vaccinations bullshit fame. My gripe isn’t that Gwyneth isn’t a doctor; it’s that she’s using her considerable platform to disseminate ideas that are just plain wrong.

I also disagree with Dr. Gunter that we’re not fucking with Gwyneth. She may not be, but I certainly am. I’m not a doctor with the letters behind my name to back it up, and that’s not my wheelhouse, anyway. Science, I mean. I know the rudimentary facts, which means I’m a leg up on Gwyneth, but it’s not my strength–snark and sarcasm are. Getting under someone’s skin is. Swearing without using asterisks is. In other words, fucking with someone is exactly in my wheelhouse, and I want to use my powers for good. Humor is an excellent way to cope with the horrors of the world, and Gwyneth’s pablum just begs to be mocked.

Still. There’s a niggling in the back of my brain that maybe I’m being too hard on Gwyneth because I have an irrational loathing for her. Even before she started goop, I couldn’t stand her as an actress or a person because she seemed so phony, and I didn’t think she was a good actress. Firmly mediocre, and I never got the hype about her. So, maybe I’m picking on her because of personal animus? I decide to consult Auntie Cherry Blossom and rely on her infinite wisdom.

I go through the usual ritual of choking on jasmine incense and setting up my crystal ball. I decide to see if I can expand Auntie Cherry Blossom’s musical repertoire and put on Wu-Tang Clan’s Protect Ya Neck on repeat.  I make sure my translator is ready, and because this time I remember that Auntie Cherry Blossom is running on Taiwanese Time, I settle down with my Kindle and read the latest Sharon McCone mystery as I wait. Twenty minutes later, she appears, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She squints at me and asks, “Who is this?” as she bobs her head up and down.

Me: “Wu-Tang Clan.”

Auntie Cherry Blossom: “They’re Asian?!?”

Me: Well, no. But we did win them in the racial draft.

(Starts around the 6:00 mark.)

Me: So, Gwyneth–

Auntie Cherry Blossom: Where’s my Big Mac?

I sigh, pull out a Big Mac, and hand it over. Auntie Cherry Blossom unwraps it and greedily begins eating.

Me: I also brought you some fries. *hands them over as well*

Auntie Cherry Blossom (mumbling indistinctly): You always were my favorite niece.

Me: I’m your only niece–never mind. Gwyneth Paltrow is mad that people are pushing back on her junk science. She said if you want to fu–dge with her–

Auntie Cherry Blossom: You can say fuck. I know the word.

Me: The point is, she’s upset that people are laughing at her–

Auntie Cherry Blossom: Then she shouldn’t sell vagina eggs!

I avert my eyes as Auntie Cherry Blossom crams the rest of her Big Mac into her mouth and chews vigorously. She adds three fries and closes her eyes in rapture. Once she’s done eating, she pulls out a cigarette and lights it up with a satisfied sigh.

Me: So I’m not being too hard on her?

Auntie Cherry Blossom: No. You are not being hard enough. You should be writing about her every day!

She glares at me, and I wilt under her Tiger Mom stare. I can never stand up to a tiny elderly Asian woman, no matter how much I want to.

Auntie Cherry Blossom: She’s a lightweight, and you should knock her out. I have to go. Next time, bring me a Venti Green Tea Crème Frappuccino Blended Coffee from Starbucks. That shit’s amazing!

Me: I’m not a delivery girl–

Auntie Cherry Blossom: Konichiwa, bitches!

With a puff, she’s gone. I thank the ancestors for spending time with me, shaking my head at how incorrigible Auntie Cherry Blossom is. There you have it, though. If Gwyneth wants some, I’ll come at her with Auntie Cherry Blossom on my squad. I guarantee if it’s a war of wits, Auntie Cherry Blossom and I will win.


h/t @skrspooky on Twitter for the first link.

h/t Kate Fernandez Malone on Facebook for the second link.



*I just dubbed y’all that. Let’s make it trend!

2 Responses to I Don’t Need My A-game to Fuck With Gwyneth Paltrow

  1. Great take down. Paltrow makes me sick with her useless and dangerous advice. It’s all in the name of money though. I mean, what else does she do this for, really? Love your blog. 🙂

    • Hi, Scott, thanks for reading and commenting. I’m glad you enjoy my writing! I honestly think with Gwyneth that she believes in the snake oil she’s selling, which is really sad. Of course, the money certainly doesn’t hurt!

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