While looking over Buzzfeed’s round-up of Avril Lavigne‘s past loves earlier today, something struck me: Avril Lavigne has terrible taste in men. Almost a little too terrible.
I mean, just read ‘em and weep. Wilmer “Pedobear” Valderrama. Paris Hilton‘s ex Brandon Davis. The singer of Hoobastank. Brody Jenner. It reads like a compendium of the most universally mocked b-list ’90s celebs, to the point that mocking them is almost passé. You know you’re in trouble when the guy from Sum-41 is the least embarrassing person on your list.
The way I see it, there are two explanations for this, the first of which is that Avril Lavigne simply has terrible taste in both men and music. I mean, it’s not like she’s exactly Vivaldi herself. Or even Ke$ha. And yet, I submit that she’s co-written some semi-decent bubblegum pop songs, if you’re into that kind of thing. I’ve always given her the benefit of the doubt that she actually has decent taste in music but does the shit-pop thing because it pays, but if that were true she’d probably be dating one of the dudes from Animal Collective, or at bare minimum a Stroke. And embarrassing mall punk attire notwithstanding, she’s like, totally pretty. She’s certainly several categories up from the parade of soul patch sporting, Axe scented, dorkus malorkuses she’s supposedly let see her naked. These douchebags must be the nicest people in the world behind closed doors, because while I might hate-fuck Wilmer, the majority seem devoid of redeeming qualities. Do they all just have giant penises, or what?
The other option is that Avril Lavigne is a tenth-level troll intent on exposing the below-the-belt, nasty, elitist things dudes will say on the internet will say when they see a pretty girl dating men whom they believe to have produced some of the worst music on the planet. Also: the amusing tweets they will tweet. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts, okay?” she will say, while giving her secret boyfriend Wayne Coyne a handie under the table. Or maybe someone more age appropriate, but you get the idea.
In the end, I think it’s impossible to know for sure what’s going on here, but in case she’s really just fucking with us, allow me to be the first to say: good job, Avril. You’ve made everyone sufficiently frothy. Now please, will you take off that stupid necktie?