http://www.rollingstone.com/sections/magazine/text/excerpt844.asp?afl=mnw
Cover Story -- RS 844/845
The Hit Girl: Christina Aguilera
She's the little girl with the big voice. Eminem hates her.
6 million fans love her. And the industry calls her this
year's best new artist.
By Neil Strauss
A black limousine rolls through the streets of downtown Toronto.
"What CD do you want to hear?" asks the assistant.
"Put this on, Track Three!" answers the pop star.
The CD player whirrs, the assistant crosses her legs, the
pop star smiles.
I had this bad shit uptown, she was whoa!/Had me fucked up
in the head, I mean whoa!/Bought the shit diamonds and
pearls, I mean whoa!
"Turn it up!" the pop star yells. The driver glances into
the back seat, concerned.
Grenade through your window, shit, like whoa!/Love to see
me do this , like whoa!/Niggaz put me through this , like
whoa!
The pop star is singing along now. So is the assistant.
So I'm gonna go toe to toe, blow for blow, like whoa!/And
rip your torso!
"Play it again," the pop star giggles.
I had this bad shit uptown, she was whoa. . . .
The limousine pulls into the parking lot of Canadian music-
video network MuchMusic, the driver opens the door, and the
sound of Black Rob rapping "Whoa!" bursts out the doors,
followed by the pop star, a teeny blond teen in baggy,
Army-green pants.
She walks at the head of a growing entourage to her
dressing room and slips into a black baby T-shirt that
halts just below her solar plexus, exposing a navel that
wouldn't look out of place on the label of a Gerber's baby-
food jar. Written in silver on the front of the shirt are
the words "I Love Playboy."
Dear Reader: Meet Christina Aguilera. She is nineteen now -
almost twenty, she says - and she's sick and tired of being
treated like a child.
"I wasn't sure if I should wear that Playboy shirt," she
admits after the MuchMusic show. "It's suggestive, in a
way. So me and my stylist discussed it. And I decided: I'm
nineteen years old, and nineteen-year-olds are going to
wear things like that. Just because I have a certain image,
everyone wants me to be this role model. But nobody is
perfect, and nobody can live up to that. I'm living my
life."
She realizes that she's beginning to sound pouty and stops,
then looks up wide-eyed, earnestly, like an adult: "I think
my personality is fighting to come out, and that
personality is fighting with the image that everyone else
has of me."
Teeny-boppers, your good girl has gone bad. Or at least
wants to go bad. Or perhaps she's always been bad. Or maybe
it's just been a long, confusing nine months.
Two days prior, Christina Aguilera sits in the back seat of
a van in Manhattan. No, sits isn't quite the right word for
Christina's relationship to chairs. She molds herself into
them, slouching her back into the right angle between the
backrest and the seat, throwing her legs against whatever
object is in front of her and utilizing any wall or nearby
stationary object to contour the rest of her body against.
She is heading for a final meal at her favorite restaurant
chain, Houston's - the same place she dined the previous
night - before boarding a flight to Toronto. She has just
rented an apartment in Los Angeles, on the other side of
the country from her mother and stepfather, and, as she
gazes out the window of the van, it dawns on her that she
might miss the East Coast. "Oooh," she coos. "I want a New
York boy. There is so much energy here."
And what, exactly, is a New York boy? "A little roughneck,"
she smiles wickedly. "With the bandanna and the cap to the
side. You're not going to meet boys like that in L.A."
She kicks her legs into the air, and they fall crossed and
tangled onto the back of the seat in front of her. The T-
shirt she wears is black, exposes her navel and reads, in
letters across her chest, "Rockstar." She opens a copy of
the music-insider magazine Hits and begins leafing through
it, stopping at a full-color, full-page photograph of DMX.
"Mmm," she exclaims. "He is hot!"
It sometimes seems like Christina uses magazine interviews
as dating services: Many of the guys she's mentioned as
being cute - Fred Durst, Eminem, Enrique Iglesias, Carson
Daly - she's later been linked to. Do they get in touch
with her after reading that she has a crush on them? "No,"
she chirps. "We end up seeing each other at parties and
whatnot. I've actually hooked up a couple of times. Just
for fun. But I haven't seriously dated a celebrity yet."
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