The Big Mood: rebound­ing like Miley Cyrus

One week, one mood: Moya Lothian-Mclean’s deep-dive into the feel of the week.

Once I posed the ques­tion to Twit­ter about the most ridicu­lous thing peo­ple did dur­ing the course of a break-up (my answer? A spoof 15-minute make-up tuto­r­i­al, titled Break Up Beat’ which I entreat­ed a long-suf­fer­ing friend to watch in its entirety). 

Respons­es var­ied but most, as expect­ed, were piti­ful rather than tri­umphant. Think things like went on a sum­mer girls hol… to But­lins’ and sang Killing Me Soft­ly at a uni fresh­ers night, despite being 28’. No one, fun­ni­ly enough, report­ed fly­ing to Italy with a real­i­ty star and mak­ing out with her on a yacht’. But that’s because none of the peo­ple who fol­low me on Twit­ter are:

a) Wild­ly rich

b) Miley Cyrus

Are break-ups eas­i­er when you’re famous? On the one hand, celebri­ties at their low­est ebb will expe­ri­ence an inva­sion of their pri­va­cy that can only be com­pared to that of a kan­ga­roo in a Chi­nese zoo, pelt­ed with rocks – or ques­tions about their one-time para­mour – in order to make them jump/​die/​say in a choked voice that You don’t under­stand mate… I don’t want to talk about it,” as Liam Hemsworth recent­ly did to a nosy reporter.

On the oth­er hand, when you’re unbe­liev­ably famous you can just zoom off to an unbe­liev­ably luxe loca­tion at the drop of a hat, with the for­mer wife of Kylie Jenner’s broth­er in tow, and tongue her pub­licly to show your ex exact­ly how you plan to move on, in no uncer­tain terms. It is cer­tain­ly A Flex more pow­er­ful than putting up 20 Insta­gram sto­ries of you pre­tend­ing to have a good time at some sticky-floored bar, while real­ly cry­ing in the loos in between videos danc­ing to Rihanna.

I have nev­er cared about Miley Cyrus par­tic­u­lar­ly; didn’t watch Han­nah Mon­tana grow­ing up (Free­view house­hold), didn’t fol­low her music career (although 7 Things bangs) and active­ly blocked her out of my mind once she start­ed doing up black cos­play in the most embar­rass­ing of fashions. 

Her piv­ot back to whole­some prairie maid also bare­ly reg­is­tered. But this? React­ing to the break-up of her nine-year rela­tion­ship (and 10 month mar­riage) by hop­ping on a plane from LAX and fly­ing straight to sev­er­al days of fuck­ing some­one the media insists on describ­ing as a gal pal’ (yes… my gal pal… who I love to eat out… my dear pla­ton­ic pal) is ener­gy we should all aspire to chan­nel. Bad break up? Board that Ryanair flight, spill out into the balmy air of Major­ca and just fuck every­thing the light touch­es. Big mood.


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