Many words have been used to describe Perez Hilton, and most of them are probably pretty accurate. But you will never hear him be called:
Love him or hate him, by cranking out blog post after blog post for five years running, Perez has become a celebrity brand all his own, and one with much greater staying power and influence than many of the celebrities his website covers.
All by being a bitch, by his own admission, and he's not about to stop.
He is not sorry for trashing Miss California, the now-dethroned Carrie Prejean, for her views that marriage should be between a man and woman.
He is not sorry he accused Michael Jackson of faking it on the day he died, although he did later redact his post to remove the cynical speculation.
He is not sorry he posted Dustin Lance Black sex photos showing the Milk writer and gay rights advocate having unprotected sex with a porn star.
Nor is he fully sorry for directing a gay slur at Black Eyed Peas singer will.i.am last month (though after getting his ass kicked by the Black Eyed Peas' manager, Perez issued a qualified apology to "the gay community," but not will.i.am).
Every time Perez Hilton, 31, whose real name is Mario Lavandeira, utters the sort of outrage that would land him in prison for life if the world were governed by laws of good taste and kindness, his popularity only grows.
So why would he be sorry? Perez no longer just gossips about celebrities; he has now become one. Now they gossip about him. The top celebrity gossip competitors rarely evoke the passionate love/hate reactions engendered by Hilton.
Increasingly, he is a force to be reckoned with in other spheres of pop culture as well. On July 21, Hilton launched his own music imprint, Perezcious Music.
While he is trying to come up with a fresh idea for a TV entertainment news show, he's already got Radio Perez, a daily gossip report for Citadel Broadcasting.
Even Hilton, a once-schlubby but increasingly lean (thanks to two trainers and a $70-a-day meal service) Cuban-American kid from Miami, seems amazed.
"In. San. Ity," he trilled, sitting in a T-shirt and sweat pants on an L-shaped couch in the living room of his surprisingly modest two-bedroom apartment.
Follow the link to continue reading the L.A. Times' profile on Perez ...