Dear American Idol,
It’s not you, it’s me.
OK, it’s a little bit you.
We’ve had some great times. Remember the great Ruben/Clay debate of aught-two? Carrie Underwood and her dead eyes? The way you got me into blogging during Season 5? You did that, Idol. You did this. That’s on you.
Remember how Blake Lewis changed things forever in Season 6 and then Adam Lambert and Kris Allen perfected them in Season 8? Their stars burned too bright, and then the flame went out.
Things haven’t been the same since.
Our relationship has been slowly marching toward its doom. I half-heartedly cheered for Lee DeWyze in Season 9. I genuinely liked him in the beginning, before you went and changed him from “lovable frat douche” to “regular Hollywood douche” in a matter of weeks. I was bored to tears during Season 10. You tried to light some new fires of passion by hiring Jennifer Lopez and Steven Tyler, but really they were just Paula and Kara in slightly different outfits.
And I didn’t even watch the finale of Season 10.
Hate is not the opposite of love, apathy is. And that’s what I have for you right now.
I know you’re continuing on without me, maybe you’re even better than you were last year. I suspect you’re just more of the same, but maybe you’re not. I haven’t watched at all this season except for a few minutes of that one episode where nobody did any singing and at least 30 minutes were wasted on that one police officer girl trying to find a group. See, Idol, this is the kind of bullshittery that drove me away from you. These shenanigans. We know each other too well by know. I see through your tricks, trying to hide a lack of substance. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you have a shiny new contestant who will rock the world. Maybe I’ll take a look, check up on you later in the season, if that’s the case. But right now, I’m doing fine. I feel no wistful pangs of doubt or emptiness. I have Top Chef. I have Project Runway. My Wednesdays and Thursdays are chock full of laughs and drama.
I no longer need you.
And if you insist on shooting for style over substance, maybe you don’t need me either.
All the best,
Julie (Formerly “Mags”)
P.S. Tell Ryan I said, “Hey.” He’ll know what it means.