You get crazy, and then you get crazy. One is good, one is bad, and the difference is subtle yet large. You get Charlie Sheen, Mel Gibson, Courtney Love, Gary Busey, Britney Spears kind of crazy. You know, mentally unstable, but a hell of a lot of fun to be around – until they try to kill you and the hooker one night in a Vegas penthouse after railing enough coke to fill a Caprice cubical on a Sunday night. Then you get Amanda Bynes, Miley Cyrus, Kardashian crazy. This is the truly scary kind of crazy. This is the kind of calculated crazy that sneaks up on you in the shower and shanks you with a butter knife, Instagrams the picture, then privately sells the rights to your sex tape you didn’t know existed. Within this group there are levels of crazy. The Miley Cyrus level is right up at the top, just below Amanda Bynes, and just above Kris Jenner. Cape Town locals, The Soap Girls have just attained Miley Cyrus level.
You may remember back in 2011 when I first wrote about The Soap Girls. They’d just graduated from dressing up as cute twins and selling soap around the Republic of Hout Bay, to a dominatrix clothing range sponsored performing duo. Their jump from philanthropic soap sellers to leather clad sexual deviants, their comments about bathing together, and the twin illusion these sisters perpetuated seemed so shocking at the time. Perhaps it was. We were yet to see someone vomit over Lady Gaga, Kris Kardashian prostitute her daughters to the gods of fame, or Miley repeatedly flaunt her barely covered flower every night to millions of underage fans across the globe.
Crazy back then was Lidsay Lohan drunk and high and driving into things. Or Tiger Woods banging anything that wasn’t nailed down. Or Charlie Sheen being Charlie Sheen. I hate to say this, but even the Gnome King Justin Bieber kept his crazy to a level of tiny fisted attacks on the paparazzi and driving while on the same prescription medication most suburban housewives call breakfast.
Crazy back then was fun and reckless and hardly ever resulted in the death of anyone important. Sure a few people got locked in a cupboard until they agreed to play along, or locked themselves in the bathroom until the police arrived, and maybe a few hotel maids disappeared, but all in all it was a bit of a laugh.
These guys were just being crazy because they are crazy. They got caught doing the things they loved doing. Granted the thing they loved was sometimes a rent boy tied up against his will in their basement, but they never did it for the cameras. They never did it for the attention. If anything, they did these things to escape the attention.
Then the new kind of crazy came along. The bad kind of crazy. The Amanda Bynes, Miley Cyrus, Kardashian fame mongering, attention seeking, conniving kind of crazy. This kind of crazy doesn’t hide out in hotel rooms until the drugs run out. This kind of crazy prefers the spotlight. This kind of crazy celebrates the selfie and feeds on attention, negative or positive. This kind of crazy is sober (most often) and cunning. This kind of crazy knows what sells.
Cape Town’s Soap Girls have just reached this level of crazy, and they’re no longer restricted to erotic outfits and sexual innuendo either. They’re way past that now. They’re at Miley Cyrus level and climbing. Once you get away with posting naked photos of yourself and your sister licking each other to Facebook, a receptive and loving audience is just clicks away.
Crazy is going in the wrong direction. We’re no longer celebrating the few with legitimate mental issues coupled with raging substance abuse problems. We’re loving the selfies, eating up the marketing, and celebrating the self-obsessed who will do anything in order to stay in the spotlight a little longer.
Bring back the old school. I want that kind of crazy again.