I love children. I am a strong believer that the greatest natural resources on earth are the hopes and dreams of the next generation. All that clear-eyed optimism coupled with a willingness to try the impossible is what drives our social evolution forward. In fact, if there were some means by which we could milk children of their aspirations and convert it all to raw energy, I'm confident that we could power entire city grids. Maybe with helmets attached to a big machine or something. I don't know, but I have faith that it will be the dream of some child of tomorrow to invent a functioning version.
"What if we harvested them to replace car batteries?"
The point being, regardless of how preposterous they may seem, no child should ever give up on his or her dreams because they have the potential to change the future. I for instance, wanted desperately at 11 years old to be adored by sixth grade girls around the world, and I'm proud to say that's a goal I still hold to this day.
What follows are the pivotal steps I've taken toward achieving my lifelong objective. I've held a long, admittedly one-sided conversation with the editors of
Dear Tiger Beat,
While flipping through the pages of your latest issue at the local Planned Parenthood, I noticed a small but irrefutable error in your publication: I am not in it. In fact, if your magazine is to be trusted, I don't exist (not true), yet you've somehow found the real estate to litter its innards with overlapping, neon-framed photos Taylor Lautner, Cody Simpson and all of my other contemporaries. Thanks to this glaring oversight, I can guarantee that Big Time Rush is huddled around this same issue somewhere right now, laughing their v-necks off at my absence. God, I hate those guys.
If you actually paid attention to girls aged 11 to 16, then you would know I am a personality treasured within that demographic. My celebrity among the age group is partially a product of my kind and sexually sympathetic eyes and partially because I exude that singular quality that turns every tween into hot mess of quivering hormones: financial stability. There is something about a grown man with no debt and a spectacular credit score that makes young girls weep uncontrollably and tear at their own faces in want. But surely you already know that.
That said, I look forward to next month's issue where I expect I will be prominently featured, doing a sort of half smile, smoldering eye thing while reaching high over my head to casually grab the trim of a doorway with one hand. Or whatever your photographer has in mind for my spread. In the meantime I will do what I can to rectify the current problem using only the following image and a glue stick. A list of all dentist's and doctor's offices subscribing to your magazine would help make this process quicker. Thank you, and you're welcome.
Dear Tiger Beat,
Well this is embarrassing for you. Another issue of the magazine and somehow you've forgot me a second time. I sure hope no one will be fired over this blunder, even though it will undoubtedly have catastrophic effects on your revenue and distribution as you struggle to stay afloat in a dying industry. I'd feel weird about that. Everyone makes mistakes, I've heard.
Maybe I was too modest in my last correspondence so let me make it perfectly clear: to youth of America, I matter hard. The literate ones in particular think I am a sensational catch because I have the heart of a poet. One of my great fantasies is to fill a bookcase with all of the classics of literature and then to let the whole thing topple over on me in a sort of fancy avalanche from which I have to read my way out. Yes. I think the girls of the world would like to know that. You should post it in a section of your magazine devoted to the secret wishes of celebrities. In addition, it would probably look nice on a page adjacent to secret wish of Big Time Rush, which of course is to sing into one another's penises like microphones.
I'm looking forward to working with you! Please give me a call as soon as possible since my schedule tends to fill up quickly each month. I'm including another photo of me you are welcome to use if you should choose to recall the current issue and print an apology.
Dear Tiger Beat,
Hello, I am a 13-year-old enthusiast of your publication. I enjoy messy collages of boy heads and words and so forth. LMFAO. However, if there is one thing I feel your magazine is lacking, it's the presence of a seasoned yet timelessly handsome man whose disarming nature is only outweighed by his thrilling intelligence. Also, if he had an entire guest house filled with cultural treasures, that would be nice too. Really I'm just looking for a guy as I imagine my father must have been when he was younger, which, as a teen, I am conditioned to search for in every crush I have. Do you know of anyone like that? Thank you for your time.
Loyal reader and representative of your core demographic,
P.S. How do you find so many pictures of Big Time Rush where they're not eating stray dogs? Do you use Photoshop?
You can't even see the blood stains.
Dear Editorial Team -- Tiger Beat,
Now I'm annoyed. I've sent you several lenient and forgiving letters and all I've gotten in return is silence. Let me assure you that by ignoring me, it is your loss. Do you remember that kind letter you got from Chandra last month glowing about your magazine? Well surprise, Tiger Beat, I wrote that. I'll wait while you pick your humbled jaws up off the floor. If that's not a testament to both my literary prowess and my keen ability to tap into the consciousness of a 13-year-old girl then I don't know what is. That, my friends, is the exact reason the teens adore me and why your magazine is doomed to crumble now that I'm no longer offering the opportunity to feature me in some capacity, like say, in the form of a life-size fold out growth chart that says, "When the going gets tough, the tough get growing!" Hypothetically.
Frankly, I'm too tired to keep trying with you. J-14 would never pull some bullshit like this, I assure you. You blatant negligence has left me no choice but to spill my success all over a competing publication. I wanted to like you, I did. It would take an awfully nice public letter of apology and prime face placement on your cover to rebound from this heinous gaff (in addition to the growth chart previously stipulated). Judging by your track record, I won't wait for a response. You blew it big time, Tiger Beat. It would take some serious groveling to turn me around now.
Dear Tiger Beat,
I got the message. Just saw that you had a two-page spread on cooking tips from Big Time Rush. We're through. Feature this in your next issue, jerks.
For more from Soren, check out A Letter to Parents About the Fake 'Teen Crazes' on the News and 4 Ways To Shirk Responsibility And Deceive Your Way to Trust.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.
It's easy to work the system and win these awards even if you don't deserve them.