The pro-ana movement has always been a fascinating one to me, but not for the reasons one might initially suspect. I am not intrigued by the desperation that drives teenage girls down a path of self destruction, nor do I sit in awe at the life risking lengths they take to in order to achieve a size 00. Instead, I find it fascinating that so many people give a shit.

Today I read a guide entitled ‘How To Become a Better Anorexic, Baby’ which could have been more aptly renamed ‘Attention Whoring 101.’ It’s basically a how-to guide for vapid teenage girls whose parents are so caught up in their own psychosis that they no longer bother take them out for ice cream on Saturday afternoons. What better way to get the attention of your friends and family than by putting some Tori on your Ipod, cutting yourself, and refusing to eat?

This is what happens when you raise designer children with very little intellectual substance. They judge their self worth on how many days they can live on saltine crackers and butter spray. Or, at least that’s what they’ll tell you until you break down and buy them a car.

Have you noticed how similar in personality all the pro-ana girls are? It’s almost like a recipe: Take one white spoiled middle class girl, add an undeserved sense of entitlement, a dash of nicknames such as ‘princess’ and ‘diva’ and then toss her aside to stew for a few years. The end result a whining brat that hides laxatives under her mattress and hangs Halloween skeletons on her ceiling for ‘Thinspiration.’ She’s not remarkable in any other way. She can’t paint. She can’t write. She’s lousy at sports and all of her hobbies either include a toilet or a scale. Much like her miserable parents who similarly cling to their Zoloft, she clings to her Pro-Ana support groups because it’s the only thing that makes her feel unique. Never mind that if everyone is ’fighting the disease,’ it’s no longer special. No one ever said hunger pains made you think any clearer.

Because of their innate worthlessness, I’m not particularly concerned with the idea that the pro-ana girls may starve and die. Should they survive, I’m convinced that their only contribution to the world now would be to breed the next generation of mini-divas lacking in any sort of creativity, independence, self sufficiency, or ability to feel ‘whole’ unless they’re the center of attention. The last thing this world needs is more boring women that Tivo ‘The Bachelor’ while simultaneously maxing out their credit cards to ‘Limited Too.’

They’re already dead inside, anyway.