Content warning: Mentions of physical and mental abuse, sexual harassment and assault
Love her or hate her, Hollywood’s hottest hotel heiress is an undeniable icon of American popular culture. Synonymous with privilege, parties, paparazzi, white girls gone wild, oversized sunglasses, velour tracksuits and lowrise jeans, and among the likes of Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton (“The Simple Life”) is a staple of the early 2000s. “Paris: The Memoir” is Hilton’s account of her rise to this role, as well as her years fulfilling it, in a bizarrely fascinating and out-of-touch fashion.
The novel starts with a jumbled account of Hilton’s diagnosis with ADHD, or as she wishes to refer to it, her “superpower” in which the “A stood for ass-kicking … the Ds stood for dope and drive (and) the H suggested hell yes.” The writing is all over the place, jumping from thought to thought, as Hilton attempts to display how her brain works in a realistic style that is less-than-suitable for a pleasurable reading experience. It may be how Hilton thinks; however, I have a hard time praising the structure of a story that — in half a page — apologizes for use of racial slurs, discusses the troubled teen industry, “getting wasted,” Hilton’s friends, “living the nightlife,” addiction to partying, PTSD and “running down the mountain, slipping on mossy rocks, disappearing with the remains of the murdered boys.”
This is one of many examples of Hilton’s “real-voice” that we are subjected to for the entirety of this novel. Going beyond confusing structure, the language employed by Hilton attempts to translate her character to the page. Despite claims that this memoir is the real Paris, one finds it hard to believe as she glosses over some of her most well-known moments like her infamous celebrity feuds and numerous arrests, filling their void with poetic prose such as “yaasssss,” “lit af,” “Unicorn trot!” and, of course, “that’s hot.” Perhaps that is what is so uncomfortable about “Paris: The Memoir” — despite its supposed tell-all status and promises to separate “the creation from the creator” and “the brand from the ambassador,” I finished the novel with no clearer picture of who Hilton really is. Yes, she tells previously unshared sides of stories, and yet it quickly becomes clear that we are only hearing what Hilton wants us to hear. The unflattering and unfortunate aspects of Hilton’s career — racial slurs, catty comments, controversial political endorsements and drunk driving to name a few — are acknowledged, but written off and excused by Hilton, who denies full accountability for any of these actions. We are instead offered a contrived image of Hilton, a carefully crafted alternate version of her famous dumb-blonde persona that still protects and projects her brand.
What is mesmerizing about “Paris: The Memoir” is that in spite of all my complaints about the book, I could not put it down. Hilton is magnetic — despite her composed character, there is still a raw and revealing edge to the memoir. Hidden behind frivolous language and random trains of thought, there is a real story within her memoir.
Hilton exposes the so-called “troubled teen industry,” which she reveals to be a machine of abusive and manipulative “schools” where she and unknown amounts of other children have been mentally, physically and sexually abused. She describes traumatic and troubling events from childhood, some of which include rape, a “pedophile” teacher and unrestricted access to New York City nightclubs at the ripe age of 14. Her descriptions of PTSD and mental health issues are poignant and an important experience to hear from such an influential figure. Additionally, there is a compelling sort-of redemption arc sold to the audience; Hilton writes of her activism and survivor empowerment efforts in regard to the troubled teen industry — emphasizing her work to pass legislation reforming these harmful institutions and calling for justice for all victims, alive or deceased, of this abusive system. The memoir heavily discusses pre-#MeToo movement Hollywood, with Hilton reflecting on the media harassment she and her female contemporaries faced. In Hilton’s memories of this era, she was a victim of sexual harassment and media assault following the nonconsensual release of her private sex tape to the masses. She also reflects on the struggles of building a career as a woman, remarking that she thought scandals like the sex tape would be the end of her career and that she constantly faced sexism and harassment in professional and media settings. Even the seemingly superficial topics — such as Hilton’s iconic passion for partying — reveal a new side to Paris, as she explains her extensive partying as a form of coping and escape from a troubled home life and past. Additionally, these stories are fun. Hilton has been part of some of the most iconic pop culture moments of the aughts and provides endless entertainment in her, albeit a little excessive in name-dropping, embarrassingly endearing and wild stories of herself and other celebrities of the time.
“Paris: The Memoir” is as entrancingly entertaining as it is pitifully painful. In a hodgepodge of NFT plugs, out-of-touch endorsements, activist testimonies and Hollywood history, Paris comes to life. On some level, I do not think more could be asked out of a Hilton memoir. This novel encapsulates who Paris Hilton is: a simultaneously out-of-touch and hyper-aware “sliving” socialite.
Daily Arts Writer Kathryn Hemmila can be reached at khemmila@umich.edu.