Quite soon, she will not be perceived by the press and publicity companies as the person that the public want to see, and they will stop using her to promote their products and events. The phone will stop ringing and she'll quietly move out of the public eye. In real terms, she'll probably give up when the offers of 'work' stop being £,000s to turn up at a premier and start being £00's to open small supermarkets in Crewe.
If she's been clever, she'll probably be sat on a couple of quid and think she's set for life. If she's not, she'll have her memories and she'll return to her old job, albeit with the odd "Didn't you used to be..." from the public thrown in.
The painful bit comes when the Inland Revenue call her next year, wanting her tax return. If she's made a couple of hundred grand this year, the tax people will want half of it next year. Unless she's had very good advice, she'll have spent some of what she should have saved in Top Shop and will be looking for the kind of money that unemployed air stewardesses don't come by too easy.
Hooking up with some crappy agent, she'll spend her weekends trolling up and down the country doing lousy PAs in clubs and, yes, taking a few hundred for that supermarket gig in Crewe. Because of the budget, she won't be followed around by make-up artists and free rentals from posh frock makers - she'll be all on her own, getting changed in her agents Mondeo and getting the bus home in the pouring rain. So we'll get plenty of pictures of her with fake tan running down her legs and hair falling out from self-administered dye jobs. She will drink and awful lot, mainly because most of her wages will be in alcopops.
That's yer meeja backlash - can't wait.