Trans-Atlantic famegamer, Peaches Geldof is back in the gossip pages this week as a result of her impending divorce from musician Max Drummer. The dissolution of the 19-year-old mouthy Britt’s marriage with her barely famous husband is just another disaster in a long line of bad press Peaches has accrued since immigrating to Brooklyn. After she was ridiculed for her short-lived column in Nylon, her reality show on MTV was canned, and the plug was pulled on her magazine, Disappear Here, one would think she would have disappeared into flannel shirt anonymity with the rest of her hipster pals.
But not this little British tart. Although Peaches would like you to believe her split from Drummer was amicable, “After much soul-searching we have made a mutual decision to end our marriage and have agreed to go our separate ways. Our parting is amicable and both of us still respect and care about each other immensely. There were no other people involved in this decision and we both look forward to a future as good friends” (Sunday Times), rumors swirling around the gossip pages about her getting cozy with another lady at a loft party in Bushwick and her new love affair with Donald Cumming lead me to believe otherwise.
I was particularly interested in this story because one of my favourite past times is following the blunders of British hot messes like Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen. However, I rationalize this guilty pleasure to myself and anyone who catches me on thelondonpaper.com by explaining how the Brit’s only lavish unwanted attention on these girls because they were talented. Not like here in America, where rich daughters of hotel empires are idolized for no reason other than their waif-ishly thin bodies and famous last names. Enter Peaches Geldof.
Imagine my excitement at a fresh, cheeky Londoner coming to NYC to conquer the publishing world. I thought to myself, “Of course those uptight English snots moaned about her snarky remarks about her peers and her hard partying ways, but hell, I was talking trash and no one cared, and I falling down drunk at 19 and I couldn’t even get served in bars yet! How can I blame her?” Now, one failed attempt at legitimacy after another, imagine my disappointment when I realize Peaches is just another talentless socialite hack with a quirky name and a jones for rocker boys and bad press. She just couldn’t cut it with the Brits and relocated to the land of opportunity, and we have embraced her and each one of her exploits with open arms. But hey, I’m still writing about her and every time someone does, she gets a little more famous. Well done Peaches, well done.