How Not To Be Justin Bieber

According to the university of California the accumulated atomic weight of all the data on the internet is roughly that of a medium sized strawberry. That means that the part of the internet that’s just porn weighs fractionally less than a medium sized strawberry and there are three plump seeds that are repetitive and redundant self-help advice.

And most of that is undiluted twaddle suggesting that you can make yourself attractive to women — not by becoming interesting or wealthy or slim or virile — but by instead drawing confidence from the patently laughable myth that these things don’t matter.

That’s all self-evidently pointless because most people already know how to make themselves attractive to women and they also know that it’s beyond their abilities and I’m certainly not going to add to the growing pile of indistinguishable strawberry seeds. Instead I like to contribute where I can actually do some good and encourage and educate people on matters about which they don’t already know and it’s a simple fact that there are far, far too many people in this world who don’t know how to not be Justin Bieber.

As is the case with most self-destructive and reprehensible habits that would break your mother’s heart, not being Justin Bieber is really just a matter of willpower but you still need to know what to avoid and what not to avoid if you don’t want to relapse or get justifiably beaten to sidewalk graffiti by a Cockney paparazzi.

Don’t sing like that

This, you’d think, would be obvious. And yet among those struggling with Bieberism bursting into over-orchestrated and whiny and kind of pedo variations on Puppy Love only with more insipid lyrics is surprisingly common. If this is some sort of OCD then you have my sympathy except no, you don’t really, and you need to go into distant northern exile until your voice breaks which, frankly, it probably never will now so either stop trying to make music or take up a medium that contributes something more to the advancement of human culture than does your girlish whimper and random rhyme generator, like the kazoo or mashing your face into a xylophone.

Don’t dress like that

This is a lot less evident because when you’re weedy and white and from small town Ontario and trying to fit in with all your weedy white friends from small towns who think they’re gangstahs from East LA the proper application of baseball caps and comically oversized basketball uniforms can present a vexing puzzle, particularly if you’re already working with the sort of native intelligence that makes you idolize a class of people who are unlikely to survive into their thirties.

The trick here is to just avoid them altogether. There are a wide range of alternatives to a freshly stolen New York Yankee’s cap worn the wrong way round which can be just as effective and attractive, such as a Gilligan hat, a paper boat, nothing at all, or a plastic dry-cleaning bag pulled over your head and tied securely at the neck. As for the saggy track pants with the 88 inch waist think, once again, of discretion, and leave them to the Louisiana welfare moms who need them and embrace something that corresponds more to your figure and proclivities, say silk-lined leggings or a simple poodle skirt.

Show a little respect

Unlike the above advice, this problem here is not so much knowing what to do is seeing the justification for doing it. It might seem that because random occurrence on a par with winning the lottery twice in sequence and the unerring tastes of 14 year old girls has swept you to the top of an industry that also made international megastars out of towering talents like Paris Hilton and Miley Cyrus that it’s the natural order of things and that you’re congenitally superior to the policemen and stewardesses and peons who have to put up with your shit and it’s going to last forever and ever but it’s not and you’re not and it most assuredly won’t.

This can be a sacrifice. You’ll have to give up hitting on stewardesses and racing drunk in high-density areas and smoking pot with your dad and you’ll have to cut way, way back on writing self-aggrandizing comments in the visitor’s book at holocaust memorials. The trick, if you can remember to do it at least in public, is to try to pretend that the people that you meet have feelings and worth and quite possibly a shared sense of decorum.

Of course if you’ve held this attitude into, say, your third year of celebrity then it may already be too late to save yourself from one day and one day very soon being found choking to death on your own vomit by “friends” who snap into action and steal your TV and sell your final hours to the Daily Mail but if not then you can still save yourself by giving half your money to charity and and becoming the silent partner in a hockey team or chain of theme pubs. You might also consider getting married but if you do don’t select your bride from among the cracked out C-listers you’ll inevitably wind up meeting on the reality show where you’ll be trading on the last remaining vestiges of your fame.

If you can take this solid advice and really stick to it and don’t try to become an actor or a talk-show panelist or, God forbid, a writer, you may just be able to evade the worst aspects of being Justin Bieber and, more importantly, spare the rest of us from bearing shocked witness your downward spiral.

I recognize that this is very niche advice. Most people will probably never have to worry about being Justin Bieber, but if I can have stopped just one person from being Justin Bieber, it will have been worth it.

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