Within the first 30 seconds of her documentary, This is Paris, Hilton - the great-granddaughter of Conrad, the founder of Hilton Hotels - plays the persona that we know well; the one that many of us enjoy sneering at.
"One, two, three, that's hot," she declares, and there it is; her trademark Californian vocal fry, blond hair, and a tiny chihuahua that is more of an accessory than a pet. But this doesn't last long.
It's her voice that slips first. Of course, it's been well-know for years that it was put on, but it's jarring to hear it several octaves lower.
"How many voices do I have," she proceeds to joke, and thus sets the tone for the ensuing hour and 45 minutes of the Alexandra Dean directed documentary.
It quickly becomes clear that she has assumed many voices to conceal the true Paris, and thereby the reality of her past from the public, her family, and ultimately herself.
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"Famous for being famous", Paris was an easy target - what with her drunkenly flashing her knickers as she posed for paparazzi photos - but it all came to a game-changing head when she starred in the reality television show The Simple Life in 2003 with her then-best friend, Nicole Richie.
This is where she cemented her "dumb blonde" persona, spewing out quotes such as "What is Walmart?" and "What does that mean, soup kitchen?"
She became a source of laughter, and her brand, which revolved around providing mindless entertainment to the masses, created a blueprint that was later, and more successfully, replicated by her one-time personal assistant, Kim Kardashian. Kardashian, whose own fame has since eclipsed the heiress', features in the documentary, and she acknowledges the role that Paris played in her ascent to superstardom.
"I wouldn’t be here today if it hadn’t been for her starting out in the reality world and her introducing me to the world. The best advice that she ever could’ve given me is just watching her," the 39-year-old conceded.
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The same year that her Fox reality series premiered, her ex-boyfriend, Rick Salomon, released their sex tape without her consent.
"They made me the bad person, like I did something bad," a clearly emotional Paris says of the media coverage of the time. She adds that its release felt like being "electronically raped", while pointing out that were such a thing to happen today - in a post #MeToo world - the reaction would have been very different.
While the sex tape undeniably cemented Paris' celebrity, it's evident that the fallout was colossal, and that it continues to affect her, as well as her family, to this day.
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What is most revelatory about the documentary, however, is Paris' allegations of abuse against Provo Canyon School in Utah, which she was sent to against her will by her parents.
At first, it reads like a quintessential story of privileged teenage rebellion - the kind depicted in shows such as Gossip Girl and The OC. The reality, Paris claims, was far more sinister, and involved verbal abuse and "torturing" from staff. She recounts 10-hour stretches in solitary confinement for reportedly hiding prescription medicine, which students were forced to take.
"There was no getting out of there. You are sitting on a chair, staring at a wall all day long, getting yelled at or hit. I felt like a lot of the people that worked there got off on torturing children and seeing them naked," she says.
Still, her time at Provo was in part responsible for her ambition; something that has not clearly dulled, as she proclaims in the documentary that her goal is to earn a billion dollars, after which she will be "happy".
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Ultimately, the documentary forces viewers to interrogate our tendency to pigeonhole people such as Paris into boxes, and our refusal to acknowledge their right to nuance and evolution. The concept of reality television is also brought into question, as the "reality" that Paris opts to share is different from what we have seen of her before.
She slips in and out of the voice she has become known for, tellingly adopting her high-pitched drawl at points where she is clearly triggered or anxious. One example is when she reunites with some of her classmates from Provo Canyon School, as they come together to share their experiences of the alleged abuse they suffered.
Her light, also, seems dimmer, and the tears that she sheds when speaking about her past, are real. It's a far cry from the attention-seeking young woman that was splashed across tabloids throughout the noughties.
Paris admits that she does not know who she is, and says that the persona that she has created is a facade.
She acknowledges the impact that she has had - having altered the course of reality television and popular culture forever - but she gives us something that we haven't seen from any of the "original influencers" before: remorse.
She readily admits that she may have "created a monster".
Still, in a time where celebrities are being ridiculed and mocked for their shows of wealth amid the ongoing coronavirus pandemic, we should question why Paris decided to release her documentary at this time.
There are certainly parts of the feature that grate; such as Paris saying that she will be "happy" only when she is a billionaire - a proclamation that seems tasteless, given that over 40 million Americans have filed for unemployment in recent months.
Though her vulnerability and trauma are real, if this is a re-branding exercise to appear relatable and thereby relevant, she has succeeded, and will be closer to billionaire status.
Nevertheless, this eye-opening documentary shows a side of Paris that many of us refused to see: an anxious and confused victim of abuse.