Paris: The Memoir(79)
“To have a young girl up there, asking her questions designed to humiliate her,” Nicky said on the pod, “it’s cruel. And I don’t think that would happen today.”
“It’s such a different world now,” I agreed. “There’s a lot that wouldn’t happen today.”
“You know what would not happen today?” said Nicky. “Sarah Silverman going onstage at the MTV Awards . . .” and she went off like only a little sister can, outraged all over again. I cringed at first, thinking, Oh, God! Don’t bring that up! Don’t give it oxygen! But then it struck me how present and real that hurt was, undiminished by time, in my sister’s voice. All these things I tried to rise above—they didn’t just hurt me. They hurt my little sister, my nieces, and the daughter I hope to have someday. For the first time, I saw that Letterman interview and the MTV monologue in the context of an entire culture that reveled in the degradation of young women, and there was just no way to bury it anymore. I understand the “don’t give it oxygen” thing, but there’s a point where you end up cutting off your own oxygen as well. I finally let go of that idea and spoke for the first time about that incredibly painful moment.
The beautiful plot twist is that Sarah was on my side. The next day, she said on her podcast, “Paris Hilton on her latest podcast calls me out for jokes I did about her when I hosted the 2007 MTV Awards. Here we go.”
I held my breath, bracing myself for the scathing comeback.
“You know,” said Sarah, “she said herself on the podcast, that would never happen today. And she’s right. I would never do those jokes today. I’ve actually dedicated the past several years trying to do comedy that attempts to marry hard-hitting jokes with actual heart. Back then, the consensus seemed to be that was not possible. And I fully accepted that. I came up in a time when talk-show hosts and comedians were hired to make fun of pop culture. We were roasting the biggest celebrities and pop culture icons at the time, and nobody was bigger than Paris Hilton. So here we are in an awakened world, and I am totally into it. It’s how we grow. It’s how we change. I’m super down with reflecting on the past and my part in perpetuating real ugly shit. And yes, we can continue to litigate the past. But I do believe that maybe that should be coupled with taking into account any growth that has come with those passing years. . . . Comedy is not evergreen. We can’t change the past, so what’s crucial is that we change with the times.”
She said she didn’t know I’d be in the audience at the MTV Awards, that her heart sank when she saw the look on my face, and that she’d written me a letter to apologize. She chose “that which is healing.” A brave choice. An honest choice. Oxygen. In a good way. It brought tears to my eyes. I wish I’d received her letter back then. It would have meant a lot. All these years later, she could have blown it off like, “Hey, I tried to apologize. Bitch ice-burned me.” I love that Sarah put herself out there instead and offered this template for moving forward.
I’m not always successful, but I am trying to follow her lead and allow for growth in people who’ve hurt me, and I’m hoping the people I’ve hurt will allow for continuing growth in me. I think about what might have happened during CEDU Raps if all the kids had said, “No. We’re not doing that.” It never crossed our minds—the idea that we could band together instead of tearing each other apart. We were so terrified. We thought we had no power over the people who turned us against each other. We didn’t know that kindness was our only hope.
Revisiting the aughts from a post-#MeToo/#TimesUp perspective is wrenching. I had fun—tons of fun—and I refuse to remember it any other way. Other than a few occasions that left me curled up in a ball, I didn’t let haters get to me. Because, honestly, we took it for granted, didn’t we? Girls like me assumed we would be judged and belittled. We expected girls to be sexualized and then condemned for their sexuality, punished for both silence and speaking out, told we should accept responsibility for our choices and then called crazy or stupid or slutty if we didn’t live by the rules other people chose for us. I’m happy to see a new generation of girls—and guys—rejecting that tired way of being.
I think we can be better. I believe kindness and decency will win eventually because it’s good business. The market for assholes is simply not sustainable. It should come as a great comfort to all my fellow fuck-ups: redemption is a thing. Sometimes it’s hard to find. Other times it comes out of nowhere and makes you cry.
The night of the MTV thing, I turned myself in at the LA County jail and went through the whole process: mug shot, cavity search, orange. On the way to my cell, people were yelling at me—rich bitch, cunt, I’m gonna fuck you—and I felt my stomach turning. I couldn’t breathe. It was like a big fist reached into my chest and closed around my heart. I seriously thought I was dying. A doctor came. Or a nurse. She examined me and held a paper bag in front of my face. Night ground into day and into another night. I couldn’t stop crying. I lay in my cell, doubled over with dry heaves that made my ribs feel broken. I was having severe panic attacks and PTSD.
My attorney provided evidence of medical necessity and received permission from another judge for me to spend the rest of my sentence on house arrest, but that crusty old man who was supposed to have retired stepped in and insisted that I be rearrested, brought back in handcuffs, strip-searched again, and processed back into county lockup. I don’t know why it meant so much to him. These extraordinary measures were not about me being treated the same as other people; they were about me being treated worse.