I guess that you could say that Rob was like porn, or any movies for that matter, or premanufactured pop music, or Prada shoe models, or anything else you might find in the important literature of our era: Rolling Stone, GQ, Spin, People, Premier, Vanity Fair, The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, Cosmo, Muscle & Fitness, Esquire, Entertainment Weekly, The Source, Q, O, Maxim, Vogue, Stuff, Harpers, Glamour, InStyle, Allure, Elle, Shape, Self, Teen, Seventeen, and Young Miss.
That is, you wanted to be a part of it, even if it killed you. You would die trying.
You had to. It was your dream, your drive, your reason for being.
It was the only way you were ever going to be loved.
Loved, that is, at least enough to counter balance your insecurities.