Dear Paris,

It is time for us to intervene. We are concerned about you, master celebutante Paris Hilton. You have done too much, loved too much, slept with Shannon Doherty's ex-husband too much, and certainly have stayed too long at the party. To misquote Joan Didion: Was anyone ever so young? You have been here to tell us that yes, someone was.

You're allegedly starring in a remake of The Great Gatsby with 'N Synch playboy Lance Bass, which defies any comment. Allegedly you have six songs completed for your club music smash hit record. Your reality show with fellow famous daughter Nicole Richie will air in the fall Fox lineup. We really do want to see it: The Simple Life features you and Nicole learning to live on a farm in Arkansas. In fact, we'd spring for pay-per-view to see you two scrubbing out chicken coops. But that's because you've accustomed us to seeing you humiliated. We've come to crave your tragedy. Everyone in Manhattan wants you to trip in those heels and hurt your famous expensive face.

And that's just sick, Paris. Honey? The publicity is getting degrading. New York's familiarity with you has bred vast reserves of scorn. You are overexposed like a Nan Goldin snapshot. And we want you to get better! Any star that burns so very brightly risks being extinguished before her time. Please, please, we beg: give yourself, and us, a vacation.