Not the first time this year we’ve seen Miley’s cute little boobies. We must say…. we like!
Miley Cyrus is in the midst of making a heated point about animal rights, and she’s getting so worked up about it her cheekbones are jabbing the keypad of the telephone, punctuating our conversation with errant beeps. She’s calling from “the middle of the jungle” — or, more specifically, a tiny island in the Caribbean, where she’s on vacation with her family. “If you could see where I am right now, you would be laughing so hard,” she says. “I feel like I’m in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, and something is about to zap me into nothingness.”
Cyrus almost immediately starts talking about how she decided to become a vegan last year. She was touring the world in support of Bangerz, her platinum 2013 album, when her beloved dog, Floyd, an Alaskan Klee Kai, was mauled by a coyote. She quit consuming animal products almost immediately. She hasn’t spoken much about the switch, but she says that she’s finally ready to be held accountable — to be an example.
It turns out Cyrus is deeply interested in accountability. At 22, she’s perhaps her generation’s most unlikely social activist, and also one of its most powerful. Now she’s harnessing that influence to counter what she sees as an unacceptable reality: young people being persecuted and cast out for their sexuality. Inspired in part by the death of Leelah Alcorn, a transgender girl who committed suicide in late 2014 after being forced to undergo so-called “conversion therapy,” Cyrus recently announced the Happy Hippie Foundation
, a philanthropic venture designed to raise funds and awareness for homeless and LGBT youth. “We can’t keep noticing these kids too late,” she says.
Last summer, when “Wrecking Bal
l” earned her a VMA for Video of the Year, Cyrus sent 22-year-old Jesse Helt — one of nearly 114,000 homeless men and women presently living in California — onstage to palm the statue. A year had passed since she’d tugged on a flesh-colored latex bikini and intimated digital intercourse with a foam finger
while Robin Thicke, bedecked in Beetlejuice stripes, stood smirking behind his aviators. The 2014 performance was less jubilant, if significantly more heartfelt. Helt, reading from a small piece of paper, recounted his plight. When the camera cut to Cyrus in the audience, wearing a black leather ensemble and perched, precariously, on some kind of partition, her eyes were glinting, hot. “I felt like I was witnessing a modern-day ‘I Have a Dream,’ and it had nothing to do with me,” she says.