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Film festival time is upon us here in Toronto and like hundreds of other crusty journos from around the planet, I will spend most of the next several days sitting under the fluorescent lights of the press room in the Sutton Place hotel trying to figure out how to juggle the Ang Lee screening with the Rachel McAdams round table with the Brad Pitt press conference.

Despite what you may believe, it is not glamorous being a cog in the celebrity-making machine. The writers – a legion of flabby middle-aged men in black-framed glasses – are a cranky bunch. The critics, worn down by decades of dross and having their thoughtful opinions ignored, are on intellectual suicide watch.

Even those perky entertainment-show hosts are invariably grouchy beneath their bleached-out smiles. The red carpet has a way of highlighting the devastating hierarchy of fame, and there is nothing more ego-shattering for a local celebrity than getting camera-ready, mike in hand, only to be waved away by Mandy Moore's handlers in favour of a 30-second hit with Cojo.

All of this is to say that while there are delightful aspects to the practice of celebrity journalism (the travel, the odd good film), the least delightful part is interacting with celebrities themselves. And yet people seem to think that one of the side benefits of spending time in hotel rooms with celebrities is that you might, just maybe, end up pals. “Did you like her?” my friends will always ask of Maria Bello or Naomi Watts or whomever. “Did you get along?” “Would you invite her out for drinks?”

Nothing could be more beside the point. Bad things happen to journalists who make friends with stars, as the Sydney Morning Herald writer who was befriended (and was later harassed by) Russell Crowe recently found out. As a Hollywood television director once advised me, “The first rule of show business is don't make friends with the actors.”

There is, however, a whole subset of entertainment-industry hangers-on who make their names, and in many cases their livelihood, by currying favour with famous people. I call them the BFFs (tabloid code for best friends forever) and you can find them wherever you find a needy famous actor.

Ever wondered about the other girl in hair extensions and satin mini-dress caught on camera tottering out of the nightclub behind Britney? Or that DJ who sold out Lindsay Lohan to the paparazzi the night she passed out in the passenger seat with a sobriety medallion dangling from the rear-view mirror? Or the entourage of identikit “friends” you will see flanking any and every hard-partying young Hollywood celeb? BFFs all. And if you think the stars they hang out with are superficial and attention-hungry, you've never seen a BFF in action.

Take Alli Sims, former assistant and rumoured cousin to Britney Spears. After hitting the skids and firing most of her staff, Spears left her children at home to cavort with this ambitious BFF. Sims, who resembles a slightly fresher, brunette version of her pal Brit, has a website (www.allisims.com) that, while claiming to promote her “music,” also features a gallery of glamour shots of the aspiring star in skimpy dresses. Sims is rumoured to have had a falling-out with her former pal and was recently subpoenaed by K-Fed's crew to testify at the upcoming custody trial.

While flattery and slavish devotion is the BFF's method for seducing high-status friends, disloyalty is deep in their nature. Unlike Vince's boys on Entourage – who have known each other since grade school and would still be pals even if they were all back in Queens living in their mother's basements – the BFF is a parasitic social climber who zones in on targets only after they become famous. Just as the celebrity's star will eventually fall, so to the BFF will ultimately betray them and move on.

Unlike Sims or Spencer Pratt (former BFF of Brody Jenner who climbed his way onto MTV's The Hills), not all BFFs are in it to promote themselves. Like gold diggers who trade in rich and powerful husbands, many BFFs are happy to hang out on the sidelines and glory in the conquest.

One BFF I know in Los Angeles will drop whatever work she is doing in order to fly to another city to “support” any of her celebrity friends in need. Another notorious Toronto-based BFF cannot have a conversation at a party without mentioning her famous (and famously scandal-embroiled) Hollywood best friend. Like all BFFs, this woman uses her intimacy with a star as social currency. Sadly, it works. When people see her at parties, they roll their eyes and start counting the seconds to see how long it will take her to mention her pal. But once the juice starts flowing, people lap up every word.

Ironically, the real losers in this equation are the celebrities themselves, who unwittingly end up surrounded by flatterers and social climbers. Their response? Usually rehab. As Lohan told Elle magazine: “I was glad I went, because I needed to get away from everyone and I didn't know how to do that.”

This film festival, I will not be making friends with any celebrities. It's not my thing. But if you happen to catch a moment of the red-carpet coverage, look for me. I'll be the writer on the sidelines, waving my pen to get Brad's attention – until his BFF pushes me out of the way.