It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. Angelina Jolie is an eccentric. An eccentric is defined as anyone or anything that “deviates from the customary,” someone who is “erratic, peculiar, or odd.”
Consider that Angelina has been married twice, but she has not — to date, anyway — wed the father of her biological daughter, Shiloh. Consider that she wore a vial of her second husband’s blood around her neck and had his name tattooed on her body, but the marriage lasted a mere three years. Consider that she claims no interest in a relationship with her famous film father, Jon Voight.
I know, I know. Maybe she’s just a child of the nineties. Well, maybe. But I prefer to think she’s eccentric.
Part of it is the media’s doing. She went to Namibia to have the baby sired by Brad Pitt, and our voyeuristic society followed. They claimed that Shiloh is the most beautiful baby on Earth. They followed every move of the famous parents. They went over the top.
The truth is I think Angelina Jolie is a beautiful woman, but that in itself doesn’t make her any kind of a role model, any kind of an example, any kind of someone worth more than a moment’s attention. Yet, here we are, groveling at this thirty-something’s life as if it were history. Has she found a cure for cancer? Has she eradicated AIDS? Has she brought about world peace? No. She’s merely had a baby, something women around the world do every single day. And I’d bet that every new mother thinks her baby is the most beautiful on Earth.
I’ve had enough. I want Angelina and her entourage to go further away than Namibia. I want her to retreat where no cameras can follow. Where we won’t be subject to learning every detail of her life. Pitcairn Island might do.
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