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By way of an update on yesterday's utterly pointless "tip" that Paris Hilton was to eat lunch at The Ivy at a prearranged time for maximum rag/paparazzi exposure, the "reality" of the situation is far more depressing than we'd dared imagine. Claims an e-mailer (whom we can't guarantee isn't tied up in this whole thing—see how cynical and mistrustful we've become?):

I take Robertson Blvd to get to work and yesterday in front of the Ivy, around 2:00pm, I saw a blond girl, looking like Paris Hilton, wearing a giant hat that had to be designed by a blind Jackson Pollack, a flourescent green chiffony dress and oversized sunglasses posing for pictures with tourists. I was surprised by the lack of paparazzi and traffic that usually takes place when a celebrity is in the 'hood. Not even the staff of the Ivy was paying any attention to her. Yeah, well, when I drove by and got a closer look, I realized it wasn't Paris, but that girl who goes around pretending to be Paris. It was kind of depressing watching somebody pretend to be a famous person who is famous for not being anything. Can you get any lower??

Indeed, one can always go lower—like being a fake Stavros Niarchos tagging along with faux Paris. Or being the real Kimberly Stewart. There's really no bottom to this particular hellpit of absurd fame-fucking.