Northwestern students are rather familiar with celebrity, and, while the possible attendance of actual celebutantes Nick Jonas and Selena Gomez remains to be seen, our little Midwestern campus is abuzz with news of co-ed celebrity offspring. Both Little “Big” and Sandy Cohen’s brooding real-life son may have captivated our attention (the former having incited quite the stir on CollegeACB), but we as a larger culture remain somewhat unsettlingly invested in the lives of stars’ tykes. Celebrity toddlers are our newest obsession, and their unabashed cheesing for the camera doesn’t recall post-surgery Heidi Montag but rather something sweeter and decidedly more innocent. Their presence is felt in a big way — even for their small stature.

CNN released an article Friday analyzing the “celebrity baby obsession,” and, according to the article, admiring paparazzi photos is a way of comparing the monotonous daily lives of the common man and woman to famous people. In decades past, child stars were common, from Macaulay Culkin to the Coreys (R.I.P.) to adorable Drew Barrymore in “E.T.,” but in modern times, the closest we get to venerating a younger star, given that we are older than 13, are the progenies of actual celebrities. And, not to disagree with CNN, but I believe we love them most because they’re freaks.

Adult celebrities position their children to be in the eye of the spotlight, and even if Brangelina has ingrained it within their offspring to avert their eyes from the camera, there’s constant pressure for their names to be in the headlines — and that is literally what celebrities seem to aspire to do. Why else would a parent choose such an obscure name for their children to knowingly be ridiculed? Sure, Courtney Cox and David Arquette chose a cool name for their kid — and, obviously, this kid and I are twins –, but what about other celebrities?

The names are obscure: Pilot Inspektor (actor Jason Lee); Blanket (the late Michael Jackson); Dweezil, Moon Unit and Diva Thin Muffin (children of musician Frank Zappa) and Moxie CrimeFighter (magician/comedian Penn Jillette). These children are primed for the spotlight, and we eat them up.

We love them because, despite the fact that they do normal things like shopping and consuming ice cream, they do it with a flair for the spotlight. They’re rich, famous and completely controlled by the paparazzi. They’re not really like us — they’re weird and almost destined for a life addled by addiction and the pressure of being stalked by cameras at even the most precious moments.

Now, I can’t say much personally about my affinity for most celebrity tykes, notably the Jolie-Pitts (Angelina Jolie routinely reminds me of Ursula, who, with Bowser, were my childhood nemeses, and I don’t care much to follow her earthbound spawn), but I do know why, more than anything, I love Suri Cruise.

The whole infatuation seems illogical. Suri is a media whore at the tender age of three and a half, and I was never a fan of either of her parents independently. So why do I find the daughter of Joey Potter and Charlie Babbitt (Jerry Maguire/Maverick/Ethan Hunt) so fascinating?

The precocious toddler is already a media maven, captivating hearts in eerily invasive photos of “Suri at play,” “Suri at the mall,” “Suri…picking her nose”? She totters on kitten heels and sips macchiatos, and she inspired one of the most hilarious sardonic “celebreality” blogs. In truth, Suri Cruise is 100% cooler than I am, with a better fashion sense than most middle-aged American movie-goers and a burgeoning expensive taste.

For Suri’s second birthday, crazy Mommy and Daddy threw their little girl the ultimate birthday bash. Coming in at just under $100,000, Suri’s birthday included a four-tier birthday cake just for her, individual cakes for each of her 24 guests, catering by Wolfgang Puck and $17,000 of fresh flowers. And at night, Suri was greeted by Posh and Becks. For my nineteenth birthday, I wrote a paper on William Faulkner. He was not in attendance.

The other thing that simultaneously irks and delights me is the fact that Suri is hands-down cuter than other kids. Sure, Kingston and Zuma Rossdale, Matilda Ledger and Honor Warren are all pretty adorable, but Suri physically took all of her parents’ best traits, and she thus adores the paparazzi. When photographed, she is a wide-eyed, gape-mouthed thing of beauty, swathed in bright colors, tulle and lipstick. She is the Cindy Crawford of an entire generation of post-Gerber babies. And her parents are totally nuts.

Tomkitten, named “Suri” for the Hebrew for “princess” and the Persian for “red rose,” will actually have to endure the knowledge that her name is indeed a misnomer, born of her parents’ torrid celebrity intuition and pretension. Moreover, Suri’s oft-absent father (as noted in many photos), the outspoken Scientologist, has a penchant for invigorated couch-jumping and being short, coming in at a towering 5’7″. Her mother used to be fairly normal wunderkind, the so-called “Audrey Hepburn of the WB generation,” all tall, thin and Midwestern. Suri is the spitting image of her mother, innocent eyes, face-framing bangs and all.

She’s surely the celebrity kid of the decade, and I want to be her best friend. I’ll be her My Size Barbie, sans the fashionista flair. She may be a brat, if The Diary of Suri Cruise is even remotely plausible, but the kid is undeniably adorable and fun-loving.

Just don’t cross her path when Mommy Katie pops out another kid. I can hear the tantrums now.

Suri is precious, and so are the rest of her cohorts, the children of celebrities. And, boy, do we love them. US Weekly and similar trash mags place them on their covers regularly, stolen snapshots of famous children doing the small things normal children do. But, still, their names are familiar to each of us, and they’re sure to linger in American popular culture, as long as their cute looks outlast the dwindling careers of their famous parents. Thanks, nepotism!