Ronan Farrow has an amazing inteview with Miley Cyrus in this month’s W. It’s pretty New Journalism-y, which is code for “not a puff piece,” but also for “Ronan Farrow relates, because he’s also the scion of famous parents, but he doesn’t relate too much, like you can tell that he’s sort of judging her, and also he refers to Miley as the Molly Bloom of Instagram, whatever that means?”
Also: Race stuff! How Miley treats the breasts of “the little people” in her show! Traveling to Kenya! Manicures! Read on to find out our favorite moments from the interview.
Miley on what she thinks her message is:
“I just don’t get what half the girls are wearing. Everyone to me seems like Vanna White. I’m trying to tell girls, like, ‘Fuck that. You don’t have to wear makeup. You don’t have to have long blonde hair and big titties. That’s not what it’s about. It’s, like, personal style.’ I like that I’m associated with sexuality and the kind of punk-rock shit where we just don’t care. Like Madonna or Blondie or Joan Jett—Jett’s the one that I still get a little shaky around. She did what I did in such a crazier way. I mean, girls then weren’t supposed to wear leather pants and, like, fucking rock out. And she did.”
Joan Jett is an interesting choice, though, right?
Miley responds to critics who call her racist:
I don’t give a shit. I’m not Disney, where they have, like, an Asian girl, a black girl, and a white girl, to be politically correct, and, like, everyone has bright-colored T-shirts. You know, it’s like, I’m not making any kind of statement. Anyone that hates on you is always below you, because they’re just jealous of what you have.” Cyrus seems to have developed a preternatural ability to tune things out.
Ah! But wait, the problem isn’t that Miley doesn’t feature black women in her act, it’s that she uses them for Christmas tree decorations. Oh well, that must be that selective hearing issue she has.
Miley on dating and the problem with porn:
“Those girls don’t exist. They’re not real girls. And that’s like us watching romance movies. That’s girl porn, because, like, those guys do not exist.” The kind that do exist, she continues, “just try too hard with me, and it’s just like, ‘I don’t need you to impress me. I don’t want you to, like, take me to fancy restaurants.’ I hate sitting down for dinner!” Cyrus’s tone begins to sound accusing, though I’ve taken her to no meals, seated or otherwise. “You don’t have to do that to me! You don’t have to take me on trips! I literally just want to chill here!”
In other news, “Liam Hemsworth’s porn addiction” is a topic as yet unexplored by TMZ, but that should change soon.
How sad and small Miley Cyrus’ life really is:
“I never leave the house,” Cyrus explains. “Why go to a movie? I’ve got a huge-ass TV. We’ve got a chef here that can make you great food. We don’t need to leave. I would just rather be here where I’m completely locked in.”
…In the garage are Cyrus’s motorcycle, a white Mercedes S class, a Porsche, and a Maserati—but with the paparazzi outside, Cyrus says, exits require planning.
She betrays a note of yearning when I mention I’m about to depart for an assignment in Kenya.
“I want to go to Kenya,” she says.
I tell her to come: “No joke. You could do it.”
“Kenya’s my dream,” she says. “Kenya is my total dream. I wish I wasn’t going to be in Minneapolis next week, I wish I could be in Kenya.”
Brittney Guzman, the little person in Miley’s shows, talks about Cyrus groping her (she replaced Hollis Jane, who spoke out against the pop star after the VMAs):
“When she grabs my boobs, we’re just having fun,” she says. “It’s not degrading.” She tells me the routine mimics their offstage rapport. After shows, “sometimes she’ll touch my boob, and she’ll be like, ‘Oh, yeah, I just wanted to grab it’…Or she’ll be like, ‘Next time I’m going to grab your ass…’cause Brittney has the biggest booty.’ ”
This. This this this this, forever:
Trying to engage her in other current events, I come up empty-handed. When she tells me that at Thanksgiving with the Cyrus clan her brothers “literally got in a fight over, like, aliens,” I ask, “Immigration?”
“Yes. So he’s just—”
“Where did the family land on that?” I ask.
“Well, my older brother is obsessed with all those documentaries that have been banned. My brother’s convinced it’s the government not wanting us to know about aliens because the world would just, like, freak out—”
“Oh,” I say, realizing there’s been a misunderstanding. “Literal aliens.”