Editor’s note: Jill Simonian is a television host, entertainment journalist and mom of two girls under the age of 3. She writes about her quest to keep life after babies focused and fabulous on her blog, TheFabMom.com. She is on Twitter.
I've been a fan of yours since long before I became a mom. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I interviewed you a bunch of times. I even helped nominate you for a 2009 Broadcast Film Critics Award for Best Song from "Bolt." I remember those interviews: You were happy-go-lucky, fun, funny, ambitious, gracious, talented -- all the things that I hoped my future daughters would be. Lately, I've even defended you and your recent wild-girl antics in the name of "artist reinvention" (Hey, Madonna, Britney and Christina all did it. As an entertainment journalist, I get the whole showbiz game.). I've been your fan. Until last night.
Last night, I watched from my couch and felt sad and violated when you poked your foam finger into Robin Thicke's crotch (this coming from a woman who, as a child, used to walk around singing Madonna's "Like a Virgin"). At one point during your performance, I covered my eyes and then cringed out of fear that I'm turning into some prude mother.
But I'm not turning into some prude mother. When Madonna, Britney and Christina went through their dirty-raunchy phases, I remember there being some kind of artistry behind it. Let's face it: Madonna had an incomparable bod, Britney had incomparable moves and Christina had an incomparable voice. As talented as I believe you are (from your Hannah Montana days, please don't kill me for bringing that up), last night there was no artistry. None.
That whole performance was... I don't even know what it was. It was below you -- too far below you. Where are her parents? Where is her manager? Where are the industry mentors saying "This is not the way, Miley..." Trust me: We fans want you to grow up and be as sexy and inventive an artist as you can be, but last night was just scary.
I know those happy-go-lucky days (part of your Disney persona) are long gone. I can accept that. You're not that girl anymore. You don't want to be that girl anymore. You're annoyed when you think about that girl. Long hair makes you vomit. I get it. (Believe it or not, a lot of us moms went through our own I'm-gonna-be-a-bad-girl phase.) As a mom, I WANT you to break away from "Hannah Montana," but you also can't forget that's how the world fell in love with you. That happy-go-lucky part of you is one of your greatest gifts.
It's not about being an example for little girls around the world, it's about being the best YOU that you can be. I want you to grow up and blossom (and, sure, have sex!) and soar and be GREAT. As Oprah recently said to Lindsay Lohan in a post-rehab interview: "I want you to win." Last night, you did not win, Miley. So as a fan, I'll ask you to put your tongue back in your mouth and get back to winning. I'll also try and send some kind of telepathic signal to your parents to hit the roof and bring you back to planet Earth and channel your talents in the right direction (in a provocative way, if you insist).
The job of a legendary entertainer is to push the envelope just enough to give fans what they didn't know they wanted. We may be talking about you today, but the general consensus is that we didn't want that.
With love and support from one of your fans (unless you do that again),