Pop Psychology

Everyone loves to dispense unsolicited advice to celebs—including us. Mike Albo plays life coach to the stars.


Go back to the studio. You are one of the only starlet-singers who actually may have something interesting to say. First single: “Family Jewels.”


Get out of Los Angeles. There is more to life than Hollywood clubs, watered-down hip hop, and Disney girls. Skip out for a few months and you will re-emerge as a cooler, more mature man-child. Travel to Italy or Berlin or India—or do an Eat Pray Love thing and visit all three. Alternatively, your parents could just send you to camp.


Madge, maybe it’s too late and you’re already half plastic, but we think you would look beautiful with wrinkles and a sexy Helen Mirren fleshy body. As for your next album—remember when you were all grounded and made Ray of Light, perhaps one of the best albums of the Nineties? Do that again.


Congratulations on finding a way to be a pop star while wearing flip-flops. Apparently you got a 1500 on your SATs, and while this doesn’t help us feel any less cynical about your whole “I’m just drunk and woke up in some guy’s VW van” persona, we really hope you have more to offer. Want to be groundbreaking? Put on a cardigan and rap about reading.


We do like you, and we understand that you live in a pink frosted cupcake. We get it: You have big boobs. But you can still be America’s curvy sweetheart in tailored clothing. Study Dolly’s provocative wardrobe.


Talented, platinum, pretty, dating hot guys like Taylor Lautner and Jake Gyllenhaal, and only 21. Being you must be dizzying. Still, we know there is a much more subversive girl behind those placid blue eyes. Listen to some Joni Mitchell, then write something eviscerating. Be the first female singer in years to give us some real, unmarketed passion.


As much as we love to whip our hair, we are getting a little freaked out by your children and their sudden hype. Can’t you wait a few years before unleashing them upon us with your powerful PR machine? It’s like watching those overly enthusiastic parents getting too worked up at their kid’s Little League game.


Stop saying you are going to retire; we don’t want you to. In fact, we don’t ever really want you to die. It’s a long way off, but start looking into cyber-cryogenics so that you can finally cross over—your brain encased in a robot body.


The pseudo-military shoulder pads, the late-Nineties do-rags, the BeDazzled armor: You look like a 1985 production of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Starlight Express. Less than four years from now you will be embarrassed by your own videos. Please, streamline your image.