… And guys, if you don’t remember, I’m here to remind you—Willow Smith is eleven years old. Do you know what kind of hell and damnation I’d be under if I’d even *asked* my parents at the age of eleven to get my tongue pierced? What the hell does an eleven-year-old want with a tongue piercing anyway? I’m going to just use me as an example here for a second. Granted, my parents weren’t world-famous celebrities, and I wasn’t a budding young wannabe-celebrity myself back in 1994 when I was eleven years old, but you know what I was doing at eleven? I was crying over what Tonya Harding did to Nancy Kerrigan. I was watching OJ Simpson flee southern California in his white Bronco, wondering why he’d do such an awful, awful thing like kill his lovely wife. I was watching movies like ‘The Lion King’, ‘Forrest Gump’, and ‘The Santa Clause’, and I was playing outside like an eleven-year-old kid should, getting dirty and scraped and riding my bike and not worrying about things like my hair, my clothes, or MAKEUP.
But hey. I guess it’s OK when little kids that definitely don’t think they’re little kids feel the need to have someone stick a needle through a muscle in their head that helps you eat and talk. Plus, she’s got braces. I mean, come on. That’s a dental accident just waiting to happen right there, guys. It’s not like Willow’s this precarious young fourteen- or fifteen-year-old who’s probably gone out and done something naughty behind her parents’ backs and they’re not going to do much because it’s like, “Oh hey, our girl’s a few quick years away from eighteen anyhow,” because she’s E. LEV. EN. ELEVEN.
So! Appropriate or, you know, not?
Image courtesy of MediaTakeOut