JEFFREE STAR

click to buy my single & EP!
Hi, my name's Jeffree Star and in case you didn't know I'm really really popular.
Go and buy some sunglasses because the future is bright pink, bitch.
<[b>sorry if we can't all be unoriginal] but I have a mold to break.
WALLETS/TOTES & NEW MERCH IN HOT TOPIC!: click photo to start shopping!
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(click photo to shop.. BRAND NEW MERCH!!!)
They said I'd never be anything but who has the world watching them? Who has such amazing and dedicated fans? People need to hate me because they hate themselves. They want to believe the rumors about me because they don't have their own rumors. I'm here to stay, with my diamond rims and pink lipstick, so get used to it and worry about yourself before you try and be negative towards me.
I'm a getaway car for real feelings. I'm your Miss Methamphetamine, the truth shoved up your nose. Smile, with your gasoline teeth and forced empathy. Let me be the one thing that makes your heart break because you can't help it. You need someone like me to make you feel wrong.
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The celebrity of our favorite C*U*N*T* and consummate fame sucking whore continues to take the world one lipstick & one dick at a time, leaving monsterous trails of smeared mascara and broken mirrors everywhere.... last year: posing for magazines, appearing on TV shows and being heard over 20 MILLION times on myspace, turning down offers that most bands would die for [because it wasn't right, selling out isn't an option] and playing to audiences of ten thousand plus, selling out tours and being the QUEEN BITCH.. what began as an exercise in self delusion fulfilled itself in the biggest self made personality the world has ever seen, ladies and geltlemen, greater than life itself, bigger than a house and able to jump teams of single men in leaps and bounds, the cunt and queen of the internet, THIS is MISS JEFFREE STAR!
Half super bitch and half mega cunt. He is a self admitted boyfriend thief and makeup addict, he is a photo junkie and designer clothes slut, he is brazenly sexual and openly subversive; he has become a role model for the new post 911 America.The world feels like a funeral and Jstar is the high heeled embalmer, filling the world with reality and plastic mixed with disaster. Haters beware, there's more to Jeffree Star than makeup and well coiffed hair, more than the space age Teflon personality from which he deflects bullets and bombs faster than super heroes in the movies.
Easily one of MySpace's most identifiable names, Jeffree Star, 21, carries the torch as a self made celebrity. Some celebrities are manufactured by the system. Others beat the system and manufacture themselves. To the casual culture vulture peeking in on Jeffree’s MySpace page, the hundreds of thousands of “friends” may look like magic, but the reality behind this sleight of hand is sheer marketing genius and countless hours of hard work. A case in point of the tenet that sometimes in life we do get to choose our own labels, this self-proclaimed “Head of the Makeup Mafia” and “Queen Bitch Supreme Among Internet Royalty” is a bundle of cyanidelaced contradictions that comprise the vicious, pink persona of an individual who’s a pioneer in the true sense of the word. Star shed his birth name and backstory like some played-out trend, creating a new sense of personal history through pronouncements such as “I’m not a man; I’m not a woman; I’m a mannequin”—playing with notions of gender, sexual identity, and the loss/transmogrification/“gain” of the human condition in the process.
“Not everyone’s going to get me,” sighs Star. “But that’s the point. I’m not the first person to be ahead of my time—but I don’t have time for the retirement center to catch up. They can pop Geritol and recycle the tried-and-tired; it’s more important for me to continue to evolve and expand.”
As record producers and media execs scratch their heads in predictable middle-aged, middle-American, fearbased fashion, the countless hordes of teenagers jumping aboard the Jeffree Star bandwagon don’t exactly count for nothing. Be they sweaty-palmed fans or homophobic foes, their machete-sharp gaze and relentless attention confirm the same basic fact: love him or loathe him, at the end of the day this star is rising.
Underneath all that makeup, I do have a heart — I just don't want you to know it.
Jeffree Star rise to fame has long since given his solemn nod to Andy Warhol's 15 minutes. While the internet took over the world in 2000, his stardom has grown since then and continues.
The latest news for Star is a soon to be announced TV show, a brand new album titled BEAUTY KILLER out in the fall and so much more. It's clear that Jeffree Star is much more than just another pretty face, the stoic battle to remain at the top is ahead for him, so stand back or be eaten, or worse, be gored with a vicious stiletto heel.
My plastic surgery face is just another reminder of what I'm walking away from.
My music is just another reminder to shut the fuck up and take your clothes off.
My life is just another reminder that I'm the reason teenage girls shove their fingers down their throats and little boys question their sexuality.
Because unlike every other bitch on this myspace.com hype, I prefer being under the floor with the worms while you all crash around in the ten inch stilletos you don't need, tripping all over one another's bullshit that drags as far behind you as your fake faces. I like being solitary and refined. I like people passing over me when my face isn't on. Unlike all the angstmonger kiddie-hoppers on myspace, I mean it when I say I COULD CARE LESS and that I am ONLY HERE TO SCREAM MY OPINIONS and I could really GIVE A SHIT LESS IF IT MATTERS TO YOU.
THEY care because they need the hits, the friends, the name that rides currents. They need to be part of the radiowaves that bring anyone else to attention. They need people to turn their heads when they say the same thing everyone else does in the same voice with the same face and in the same $60 pants that were worn in by the same asian kids getting paid the same bum change in the same factory living the same miserable fucking life.
You didn't buy those clothes at a fucking thrift shop. Your idea of vintage is a boy scout shirt complete with badges you never earned nor even understand the symbols of on fucking sale for $99.50, cause the halfbuck is so much less when you don't care where your mommy and daddy's credit card is used. Parading in Prada when you're so fucking punk and XXXtothefuckingCORE that you'll damn the system and bitch when your sister's pants rip at the seam because YOUR ASS DOES NOT FIT, UGLYSCENEBOY.
I know you all want me to stand around and look pretty, but I'm actually a real person. Barely.
no.
[I don't expect you to understand a word or see me as anything typical.]
no.
[I'm not naive enough to think the words "fag" or "attention whore" are below your state of mind for me.]
no.
I don't expect you to leave me the fuck alone, to erase the word enigma from your minds and thinks me unimportant. I can hope, but we all hope for silly things, don't we?
Yes, cameras are always flashing while I'm hidden under black tinted windows silently smiling with perfect pink lipstick. My diamond fingernails sparkle like a Mike Jones/Paul Wall grill and you'll have to wear sunglasses if you wanna come near this princess of fame.
I'm an icon to the teenage underground world. Even Jon-Benet Ramsey wanted to be me. My sparkling razor sharp tiaras that Miss America style-jacked from me. You'll soon see me inside every magazine, 6 page layouts of me pretending like I have real feelings. My eyes are hidden from the sun beneath huge fake eyelashes and my wrist says "fake" and "vanity" obviously contradicting everything I've already said ??andthenandthenandthen?
Everything is monotone like my dead fucking eyes and I'll say "I'm the only Miss America. I'm what your mother was supposed to be. I'm perfect."
"I want out of the labels. I don't want my whole life crammed into a single word. A story. I want to find something else, unknowable, some place to be that's not on the map. A real adventure. A sphinx. A mystery. A blank. Unknown. Undefined.
"The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.
Sure, everybody wants to play God, but for me it's a full-time job.
What you don't understand, you can make mean anything."