The Trouble With Spikol's interview with Lindsay Lohan
My column this week, posted here for your amusement—you know, a kind of mental-health pick-me-up:
>>THE TROUBLE WITH SPIKOL
Heeling Hearts and Minds
Lindsay Lohan talks to PW about depression.
by Liz Spikol
“Lindsay Lohan says sexy stilettos stop her from feeling depressed. The Just My Luck actress has suffered constant criticism from the media over her slim figure and her wild partying—but she reveals high heels help her keep upbeat. She said: ‘If I'm having a bad day, I put on a pair of stilettos, some red lipstick and a great dress and I go shopping!'”
— THEBOSH.COM
Last year, in the wake of Tom Cruise's saucy remarks about Brooke Shields and postpartum depression, PW lured the tiny actor to our offices for an exclusive interview about his disregard for psychiatric medications.
Now Lindsay Lohan has been brave enough to speak out on the subject of depression—without the intervention of a cult that rules her brain—and I want to thank everyone who made this interview happen: Lindsay's publicist, her publicist's pilates instructor, her stylist's husband's baby mama, her umbrella holder's Chihuahua (hola, Pedro!) and everyone else PW leaned on to convince La Lohan, as she's known, to sit down with us—exclusively!—to talk about her newest area of expertise.
Lindsay, thank you so much for coming.
“No problem, Lynnette.”
It's Liz, actually.
“Whatev.”
First I want to ask how you came up with that amazing strategy for beating the blues.
“[Cell phone rings.] Shit. Hold on. Hello? Yeah, this is Lindsay. What? [She hangs up.] You know what [looking at publicist], Jackleen? This is bullshit! These crank calls have to stop now.”
Oh my God. [Thinking “scoopity scoop scoop.”] Was that Paris Hilton?
“Wha?”
I heard you and Paris are having kind of a fight about your BlackBerry or something.
“[Sigh. Flip of hair. Frantic application of Stila lipgloss. Picking at nails—artfully, so they'll look kind of 20th-century Gwen Stefani. Adjusting of pink bra strap. Recrossing of legs sheathed in Imitation of Christ jeans. Pseudo-awkward twist of ankle, revealing Christian Louboutin open-toed platform heels and coral-dusted toenails.] It wasn't Paris. But … ”
Yes? [Unsightly journalist drool.]
“Let's just say it maybe was a person who she might, like, know.”
Ohhh. Speaking of mental health, Paris called you “delusional” for saying you dated her ex-boyfriend Stavros.
“Ugh. She's such a slit. I don't want to get into the whole Stavros thing right now. Let's just say, it isn't Greek to me. [Eyebrow lift.]”
I don't know what that means.
“[Grinding cuticle bite.] Hmm. Me neither.”
But … you do have a unique strategy for combatting depression. Do you suffer from the illness often?
“Well, if I'm at home, like, I might feel bad. Like, my dad's in jail, Paris has a greased string up her twat—boo hoo and all that, you know? Sometimes Jackleen's all like, ‘Lin, you so totally have to go to this club. It's crazy Us Weekly in there. Everyone's going.' And then I get there, and it's just Leo, as always, and maybe some weird British person with a funky locket with some blow in it. And I'm like waiting all night for something to happen, and then P. Duddy or some hip-hop impesairio or whatever takes my seat.”
And then you have to tell him to move, and he tells the tabloids …
“Exac. Or say I get invited to like the Grammys, or like God forbid the Tonys, and I have to go. And then I like get the gift bag, and it has some lame little gold Bonne Bell Lipsmacker keychain that's all ‘retro' and stuff? But, um, hello? I was born in 1986!”
So that's when you might get depressed.
“Totally! I get home and I'm just like, WTF? What's the point? Like my hair is totally fried from the dye, so I can't change it yet, and it's like, okay, maybe the heels will do it.”
Okay, for our readers: high heels like the ones you're wearing now?
“Yes! [Giggling.] Oh my God, Linda! You so totally get me!”
Actually, it's …
“And I'll tell you a secret … [Cell phone beeps.] Hold on. Someone texted me. [Looks down.] I can't believe this shit! That is so fucked up.”
Oh, we can't say “fuck” in the paper.
“No, I didn't say ‘fucked.' I said ‘fexed.' Like when someone texts you, but they're being assholes.”
Oh, like fexted up, I guess?
“I guess. Anyway, so the secret is that if you put on the heels and the lipstick and the dress and you still feel like shit, you just [pushes chest forward] … you know?”
You give them a little flash?
“Yes! I mean, fuck them—oh, sorry—screw the paparazzi with their magnaphoto lenses or whatever. Like they're all in my face and trying to see if I've had a boob job and like … Are you okay, Lisa?”
[Unsightly journalist panting.] Yes, it's …
“And I'm like, ‘You know what, Jackleen? I'm just going to give it to them! You know?' And she's all, ‘No! Lin! Don't do it! It'll be like Paris and the video.' And I'm like, ‘Right on, girlfriend.' And she's like, ‘OMG. I can't believe you!' And I'm like, ‘I know! It's crazy!'”
And that's when you did it: You nippled them.
“[Laughing] Yes! Totally! Well, it was actually a half-nipple, so it wasn't some dumb Justin/Janet type shit. But yeah!”
I saw the picture. It was … illuminating.
“I know. I totally used bronzer there, just in case I ran into someone.”
Someone named Mykonos, maybe?
“Girl, you're hilarious!”
Right. Well, this has been great. I really appreciate your talking to all our readers who struggle with these issues.
“It's absolutely no problem, Lynn. It's really important to me to make a difference.”
Ed. note: For those of you without health insurance, both Aldo and the new Steve Madden store have the same shoes for, like, 10 times less than the Louboutins.
[Illustration by Alex Fine]
