With a BFF like Paris Hilton, who needs enemies?

October 28, 2008|Joanna Weiss, Globe Staff

There have been plenty of arguments, over the years, against the existence of God, and Paris Hilton has to be one of them. Here, in a bleached-and-artificially-tanned package, is proof positive that you don't have to be talented, intelligent, or even moderately nice to achieve more than the usual trappings of success. Hilton has survived and thrived, her bout with incarceration a mere smudge in the rear-view mirror, her perfume business possibly recession-proof (because really, do teens know how to spend their allowances wisely?), her TV career at an all-time high.

This is a stupendous feat, given that the more you watch this woman - and I've been watching far too much of her new MTV reality contest, "Paris Hilton's My New BFF" - the less charisma she seems to have. She exists as a blank slate, interesting only because of the way she makes other people behave. California judicial systems go into frenzied overdrive. Larry King grovels. David Letterman pounces and doesn't let go.

And then there are the contestants on "My New BFF," brought to us by Hilton herself (she's credited as an executive producer) and Michael Hirschorn, a former VH1 executive who built an empire of raucous reality TV spoofs, from "The Surreal Life" to the Flavor Flav/New York/Bret Michaels dating shows.

Hilton's show turns the Hirschorn formula slightly askew, because of its central figure. "Flavor of Love" and its spin-offs were built around over-the-top behavior, but Paris operates on a level that's calmly below-the-belt. She narrates each episode while lounging in a chaise, resplendent in hair extensions. She speaks in a perfectly honed bored-rich-girl monotone, explaining the various tasks she sets before her "besties" to see if they can keep up with her lifestyle.

They must trust her implicitly, which means that if she tells them to dye their hair, they have to say, "how light?" They must be able to party all night, which means drinking heavily, then spending the wee hours on a rocking boat. They must look good while being photographed, no matter what, which means voguing on roller coasters at Knott's Berry Farm. They must be able to participate in her business ventures, so she orders them to take off most of their clothes and make commercials. "Remember, sex always sells," she offers helpfully.

Above all, these kids must prove their loyalty to Hilton; every week she picks a "pet," charged with taking her text messages and spying on the other castmates. At the end of each episode, she sits on a throne and declares that her friendship with one of them is over. Her sendoff is "TTYM," text-speak for "Talk to you mañana."