If it had been me winning the Oscar, it’s what I probably would’ve said. Not because I happen to swear a lot, but because in my life I have always had this tragic ability to always say JUST the wrong thing when it matters most, when the greatest amount of people are listening, or even just when the WRONG people are listening.
Take, for example, my senior year of high school. I was always sort of awkwardly “cool” but never really recognized as such–partially, I think, because of my rare and outstanding morality; I wore my V-card around like it was the season’s latest “it” accessory. So when I was voted (as in, people PICKED me) best actress in my high school’s watered down production of Sondheim’s incredibly twisted and far-too adult masterpiece, Into the Woods, I was awed and humbled and a little bit too floored.
(A bit of back story, to focus the situation a bit: I was eighteen, and I had just been accepted into an all-religious school in another state, so my hopes of striking off on my own into a world of debauchery, one night stands, and jello shots were pretty much non-existent.)
So when I got up to deliver my speech, that dark little voice of Ann-Shirley-ness that’s always secretly resided in me piped up loud and clear, and in the midst of my first ever public rite of acceptance, I dropped the mother of all F-bombs.
Though I can’t remember the exact wording, it was something along the lines of “F**k yeah, I’m gonna show this thing off at [religious university]!”
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make (or not really trying to make) is that popularity is a vast and mysterious conspiracy to me. Always has been. What makes one person more notable than another, how one becomes a person of note, how to stay noteworthy… it’s pretty much an inconceivable formula.
The only thing I do know is that it’s apparently faux pas to ever ASK for it, at least directly. Also, you can’t borrow it from anyone else. And if you get it, it’s probably not a great idea to swear during your über cool acceptance speech.