One of the biggest complaints from the Jennifer Lawrence backlash faction — the “haterz,” if you will — is that J-Law’s clumsy, quirky, funny girl “schtick” is an elaborately crafted persona to position herself as the anti-Anne Hathaway. Kind of like how Tom Cruise has manufactured that whole “human being” facade over the years. Well, I would like to introduce these people to Laura Simpson — Jennifer Lawrence’s best friend of seven years and possibly the only person more Jennifer Lawrence than Jennifer Lawrence.
Simpson accompanied Jennifer Lawrence to the Oscar’s as her date, and then recounted the whole thing on Myspace. (Yes, Myspace is apparently a thing again. Trust me I’m as confused as you are.) Anyway, you may recognize Laura Simpson as the mystery woman who J-Law fell on as she got out of the limo that night. Her story, aside from being pretty f*cking hilarious, is also fascinating from the perspective of a non-famous person attending the most prestigious Hollywood awards ceremony and hobnobbing with celebrity royalty. Anyway, I’d give the whole thing a read if you have time but here are some highlights.
She and J-Law go way back:
How did I get invited to the 86th Academy Awards, you ask? Well, my best friend took me as her date. I met her seven years ago at an event where we both didn’t know a single person. We hit it off over a mutual respect for Chandler Bing, and we’ve been eating pizza together ever since.
On Jennifer’s majestic swan arrival:
We finally arrive at the red carpet and as we exit the car, my date eats shit and uses my freshly done Lauren Conrad up do to break her fall. The crowd goes wild. There are flashbulbs and people circling yet no one asks if I need any help because unless you are famous at the Oscars, you are completely invisible. I have never experienced anything like it. The only time anyone talks to you is if you are in the way of his or her photo. Oh and photographers on the carpet yell “YOU IN THE HUGE DRESS, GET OUT OF THE F*CKING SHOT.” It’s incredible. It is no wonder actors are crazy. The carpet is filled with screaming fans and photographers who only care about you; everyone is salivating to talk to you and telling you how great you look.
Jessica Biel is apparently even prettier in person:
We finally make it to the end of the carpet and I decide to use the restroom before I sit. Jessica Biel holds the door open for me and compliments my dress—no human being should be allowed to have her face and body. I get inside and Margot Robbie from Wolf of Wall Street shows me her Kardashian-sized diamond ring in line for the toilet and says “I feel like a guy with a gun should be following me—I could be halfway to Mexico with this by now.” The lights begin to flicker and we are told we need to take our seats. I quickly pee and head to my seat.
Alcohol improves everything:
It’s around this time that you realize you are STARVING and haven’t had any food since breakfast at 9 a.m. It’s hot and you feel like you’re going to pass out. After waiting for my date’s category, her dad and I decide to hit the bar and just watch from the monitor behind the bar and slam a few drinks to make this tolerable. The Academy really needs to spring for more hors d’oeuvres options because now everyone is hammered.
Meanwhile, in the green room:
Some guy picks up my purse that had fallen off my seat and I say “Thank you… Channing Tatum” and my dress gets caught on Jennifer Garner and we awkwardly laugh and someone tries to separate us. The lovely pregnant Kerry Washington asks me if she could have the Slim Jim in my purse. Glenn Close shows us her Oscar secret, which is a handmade corset and a dress long enough to hide her comfortable shoes. Miss J is sashaying around the room being crazy fabulous and I am one of maybe two non-famous people there. I kind of just sit there and smile creepily when someone catches me staring—shout out to Penelope Cruz.
On Brad Pitt’s magical-smelling unicorn musk:
After the show we go backstage where I meet Brad and Angelina. Brad Pitt smells amazing, like nothing I’ve ever smelled. Eventually we ask what cologne he’s wearing and he tells us, “I don’t wear cologne, it’s just my musk I guess.” I have to choose not to believe him because it would just be unfair to mankind. Angelina is gorgeous and elegant and they are like The Sun and The Moon.
Bill F*cking Murray at the Vanity Fair afterparty:
I get tired of this and decide to follow Bill Murray around the party. At one point he looks in my direction and winks at me while dancing to “If You Want My Body and You Think I’m Sexy” by Rod Stewart—a moment, I now realize, my whole life had been leading up to.
Harvey Weinstein wins the “Most Hollywood” award:
Harvey Weinstein at the bar shaking my hand /and saying, “you know who I am.”
Just one question — will Laura Simpson be my friend? I hope we hear more from this chick, because there are worse problems than having two Jennifer Lawrences around.