Star Jones on why she loves Hollywood’s awards season and the price people will pay for fame.

I was recently having a conversation with a friend and the topic of shame came up. Over a glass of Sancerre, I was lamenting how shocked I was that one particular reality “star” had done some ridiculously over-the-top ghetto (not the place, rather the attitude) thing on television. I can’t remember whether it was pulling hair, vomiting in the street, cursing at her children, spitting on her “best friend,” hitting, pushing, or some other ignorant action, but trust me, it was so inappropriate and it was all in the news. The legitimate news! I’m talking right up there with the Tucson shooting, State of the Union address, and the Super Bowl. I said to my friend, “She must be so ashamed for the whole world to see her act like that; how embarrassing!

My friend actually laughed at me and said, “Girl, she’s not ashamed or embarrassed. As long as she’s famous, she’s happy.”

When did the quest for fame overtake the drive for excellence? When did starring in a sex tape rather than a breakout performance in an independent film become your entrée into stardom? When did becoming the third, fourth, or fifth baby mama of an athlete or a musician make you a “housewife”? When did posing with your behind up and your boobs out standing in front of a stripper pole make you a model?

When shame moved out.