text: You might think a world-famous filmmaker and author would be above petty crime. But you would be wrong! Miranda July, the twee mind behind the film “You And Me And Everyone We Know,” has confessed in this week’s issue of The New Yorker to a sordid history of shoplifting. Her first time stealing was during her freshman year of college when she nabbed a package of Neosporin. The minute a guard apprehended her, she wet her pants. And if you think that an incident of public peeing might have put the woman off from shoplifting, you would be wrong again! July continued to shoplift at the grocery store and even at Goodwill. (Yes, this woman stole from charity. Oof.) If you ever go to one of Miranda July’s book signings, watch your purse. [New Yorker] 
   
   Alas, Miranda July isn’t the only celeb with sticky fingers. Here are 10 more female celebs who have (allegedly) given themselves a five finger discount. ||||| I don’t remember the first time I did it, but I remember the first time I got caught. I was a freshman at U.C. Santa Cruz, the store was called Zanotto’s, the item was Neosporin. I took it out of its packaging, bent down as if to scratch my ankle, and then wedged the tube of triple-antibiotic ointment into my white ankle sock. When the guard grabbed my arm, I was so scared I peed on the floor. As we waited for the police to come, I had to watch a janitor clean up my pee with a mop. I was taken down to the station and formally arrested: fingerprints, mug shot—they really wanted to teach this nineteen-year-old, transparent-dress-wearing punk a lesson. The lesson I learned was that I was now legally an adult, so I didn’t have to worry that my parents would be called. I was free—even my crimes belonged to me alone. 
   
   In time, I improved. I discovered that stealing required a loose, casual energy, a sort of oneness with the environment, like surfing or horse-whispering. And once I knew I could do it I felt strangely obliged to. I remember feeling guilty for not stealing, as though I were wasting money. After I dropped out of college and moved to Portland, Oregon, it became part of my livelihood. I stared at my shopping list like a stressed housewife, deliberating over which items to steal and which to buy with food stamps. My preferred purse was gigantic and discreetly rigid, like a suitcase. I packed it with blocks of cheese, loaves of bread, and lots of soy products, because I was a vegetarian. 
   
   But it wasn’t just about the supermarket—the whole world was one giant heist. It goes without saying that I used magnets to reset the Kinko’s copy counters to zero, and carried scissors to cut alarm tags out of clothes. Everyone I knew did these things. I say this not to excuse myself but just so you can visualize a legion of energetic, intelligent young lady criminals. Anytime anyone we knew flew into Portland, we urged her to buy luggage insurance and allow us to steal her bag from the baggage carrousel. The visiting friend then had to perform the role of the frantic claims reporter and was given a cut of the insurance money. Some friends were up for this; others thought it was an inhospitable thing to ask. 
   
   My first employer in Portland was Goodwill, which, yes, is a charitable organization, and, no, I did not have any qualms about slipping books and clothes and knickknacks into my bag. Because what is money, anyway? It’s just a concept some asshole made up. I also put red “Sold” tags on large appliances and entire living-room sets, and felt magnanimous as my friends gleefully loaded up their vans. One day, a co-worker was admiring a pink blouse that had just come in. I encouraged her to take it, and when she wouldn’t I put the blouse in a Goodwill bag and ran out of the store calling, “Sir! Sir! You forgot your bag!” Then I stuffed it in the bushes. At closing time, I fished it out with a halfhearted “What’s this?” and handed it to my prim co-worker. Prim and ungrateful, as it turned out. I was called into the boss’s office the next morning; the pink shirt was on her desk. “The good news is we’re not going to press charges,” she said. I wept as I walked over the river to the place where my girlfriend worked as a dog groomer. I’d never been fired before. It was a lot like dropping out of school or being arrested. All of these institutions, in their crude, clumsy way, seemed to be saying, You don’t need us, we’ll never understand you, and it’s important for you not to want us to. 
   
   I took the message to heart. I labored obsessively over creative pursuits they would never recognize, hurtling through systems and hierarchies as if nothing that already existed were relevant to me. I performed at colleges and scanned the room for what I could take. Even a box of chalk slipped into my pocket reassured me that I still had my freedom—the freedom to steal, to self-destruct, to ruin everything. 
   
   There was an exact moment when I decided to quit. I was sitting on a man’s lap and we had just determined that I was “his girl.” As we kissed, I thought, Well, I guess I have to stop stealing now. As if the idea of having a boyfriend, of being straight, required straightening out in other ways. I may have been looking for an excuse; I may have realized that I didn’t need to be a criminal to be an artist. Art itself could be the crime—could be scary and dangerous enough to shoulder my rebellion. After a while, I also stopped getting into physical fights, working in peepshows, bleaching my hair white, and wearing my tights over my shoes. Still, for a long time I thought my biggest heist was fooling everyone into believing that I was an upstanding citizen, a sweet girl. Then, just a few years ago, I realized that everyone feels secretly fraudulent. It’s the feeling of being an adult. ♦
target: – Despite their fame and (sometimes) fortune, even celebrities occasionally turn to crime. The Frisky rounds up 11 (alleged!) celebrity thieves: Miranda July: The indie filmmaker admitted in the New Yorker that she stole some Neosporin as a college freshman—then peed her pants when apprehended. Even so, she says she kept on shoplifting, even from Goodwill. Farrah Fawcett: She took clothes from a boutique and was charged with shoplifting in 1970, but she called it "vigilante behavior"—citing the store's unfair return policy. Courtney Love: The troubled rocker has been sued for not returning $114,000 worth of borrowed jewelry. Megan Fox: After taking some lip gloss as a child, the future star was banned from Walmart for life. Angelina Pivarnick: The former Jersey Shore star was accused of never returning a gown she borrowed from a designer for the MTV Movie Awards. Click for the full list, which includes a tennis star and a former Miss USA.