MILLENNIAL DIARY

IN years to come, students of Media Studies will write lengthy dissertations about the year 2018 and the death of the celebrity profile.

This year has been an orgy of neutered, highly curated celebrity-on-celebrity interviews: Kendall interviewed sister Kylie for Vogue Australia, there was a bizarre transcript of a phone call between Gwyneth Paltrow, Drew Barrymore and Cameron Diaz for In Style and of course there was that journalistic dumpster fire of an ‘‘interview’’ for ELLE by BFFs Emma Stone and Jennifer Lawrence (“You’re so pretty. How’d you get like that?”), from which this reader has still not recovered.

As 2018 enters the home straight, so the apex of the celebrity-on-celebrity interview format has been realised; last week Vice gave us older-Gen-Zheartthrob Harry Styles questioning younger-GenZ-heartthrob Timothee Chalamet (inset) about masculinity, peaches, politics and Cardi B.

The internet lost it; you could almost smell the hormones off Twitter. Both men (boys? manlets?) have become a religion for a certain, not insignificant, section of the internet. You may not know who Timothee is, but your 14-year-old daughter does. She might follow the hashtags #timmotheechalamet doing things or one of the many Instagram accounts dedicated to pictures of his hair, or his hands, or superimposing him into famous works of art.

While the interview starts shakily enough, with a quote from David Bowie posed as a question by Harry, what unfolds is kind of irresistibly sweet. Deeply, profoundly mortifying — yes. But not irrelevant — and not utterly loathsome.

These contemporary sex-symbols talk about the journals they keep to jot down feelings, ideas and things they’re grateful for, Timothee tells Harry: “It’s really awesome to hear that someone like you, who’s been doing this for a good amount of time, has that objectivity and ability to take a step back and write in that journal. To take time to self reflect is important.”

They touch on mental wellness and their favourite directors. They both feel the responsibility to engage with politics, with exceptional Gen-Z narcissism.

These two sweet and innocent old timers talk about how the concept of masculinity has changed ‘‘so much since we were growing up’’. The interview feels like two kids playacting — which in some ways it is — but it also gives a heartening context for the devoted fandom of teenage girls around these two boys.

If they have to obsess, perhaps it’s as well that it’s over the likes of Timothee and Harry, who talk so freely about vulnerability, gratitude and creativity. Your 14-year-old daughter could do a lot worse.

******* Ireland could finally exhale last week, as the decision we had all been on tenterhooks waiting for was finally made: the host of Dancing With The Stars.

In the end, it was Jennifer Zamparelli who landed the job; but in a significant breach of celebprotocol, Vogue Williams shared her disappointment at missing out.

Speaking to 2FM’s Breakfast Republic, Vogue said: “Well done Jen. Yeah, I really wanted that job, I’ve only gone for it twice now, but whatever!”

As devoted secretary of the Vogue-Watch Committee, I was stunned. We know that she’s an avant-garde influencer — an artist, really — in how she approaches her work (the secret wedding, the pregnant boxing) but admitting that she wanted something and didn’t get it is unprecedented for her tribe. One of the unwritten rules of celebrity is that everything is always exactly as you wanted it — Vogue has truly broken the mould here; watch and learn, Timothee Chalamet.

Perhaps it’s just as well she didn’t get it — it gives her more time to chill with fellow new mum and sort-of-sister-in-law Pippa Middleton. I can see the pair of them now: sat in baby-sick stained trackies exchanging stories about stitches and chapped nipples. Kate probably drops by with an emergency tub of Sudocrem every so often. Ahh, the sisterhood.

******* A new survey has revealed that 80pc of 25-34 year olds are happy to go out and eat by themselves, and nearly a quarter of us had done it in the last week.

Apparently, the millennials appreciate the time by themselves, we like that it cuts through the stress of trying to agree on a restaurant, and of course eliminates the scourge of sharing food.

I’m not surprised to hear this. Much like how married couples have “date nights” to make sure they have quality time together despite being sick to the back teeth of the sight of each other, over-committed millennials struggle to get proper time with themselves. Dining out alone isn’t depressing or decadent nowadays — it’s self-care. And you can’t argue with self-care, you insensitive-boomer-scum.

But millennials never truly eat alone: we are always accompanied by our existential dread, anxiety about the ethics of our meal and the shamespectre of Vogue Williams’s farcical post-partum body. And of course the 12 people who ‘like’ our #foodporn Insta post about it.

******* Leading baby name website Nameberry has published its most popular names of 2018.

The rankings are based on the number of hits each name got this year online — not registered births, but we won’t let that spoil our fun… because the top boy’s name this year is Atticus.

That’s right: Atticus. As in Atticus Finch, woke hero of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Since Her Royal Highness Victoria Beckham implicitly gave the work her hallowed seal of approval by naming her daughter Harper, we millennials were forced to reassess the novel we were reluctantly dragged through at Junior Cert.

Yes, in retrospect, principled Atticus was decidedly cool. Providing legal representation for black people in the racist American south? Verrrry chic. Perfect baby-naming fodder.

But a friendly PSA to all millennials considering naming their first born for this literary hero: since you finished third year, Harper Lee’s prequel Go Set a Watchman was published, in which sexy Atticus is a bigot who supports the continuation of racial segregation in Alabama. Not so cool.

Of course, there was a panic a few weeks ago when a list of names going ‘‘extinct’’ in Ireland was published; presumably people were sorry that future generations may never know the innocent joy of pointing and laughing at ‘‘Fanny’’ in the playground.

But they need not fear — Gen Z kids will have a more evolved bullying method, giggling at poor little Atticus for his association with the now-problematic face of hypocritical liberal racism. For alternative virtue-signalling monikers, consider ‘‘Nelsonmandela’’, ‘‘Pankhurst Jr’’ or ‘‘Vegan’’ (pronounced like Meghan). You’re

welcome.