“Women clothed in mystery demand much closer scrutiny” Rash Manly
Why it’s time
for celebs to stop
getting them out
for the boys
By Sharon Owens
June 9th, 2009
BELEFAST TELEGRAPH
Is it just me that’s turning
into a tut-tutting old crone
or is the entire world
obsessed with sex?
If it’s not actual
so-called pornography,
then it’s sexed-up adverts
on the telly for everything
from shaving foam
to soft drinks.
Every other A-list celebrity
and aspiring wannabe seems
to be forever wittering on
about how they stay slim by
having lots of fabulous,
frantic sex.
For heaven’s sake,
Katie Price built her career
on that ‘come hither’ wink.
Paris Hilton has never looked
back since making that
‘amateur video’ with that
unattractive male whose
name I can never remember ?
Is nobody immune?
Even that nice actress
Emma Watson from the
Harry Potter movies has been
raunching it up in a fancy
photoshoot for French
fashion magazine,
Crash.
Mind you, the word is,
that the Harry Potter people
asked her to tone things
down a bit,
because she is still representing
their franchise for another
12 months or so.
But after that she
can do what she likes!
Perhaps she’ll frolic topless
on a beach like Peaches Geldof
did recently while on
holiday abroad?
Good old Peaches has been
rewarded for her audacity with
a contract to model lingerie.
And free board and lodgings
in the Mayfair Hotel in London,
allegedly worth £50,000
a year alone.
Nice work if you can get it,
Peaches!
Yes, it appears that if you’re
a girl who wants to get ahead
these days,
you’ve either got to get your
kit off or start talking about sex,
or both.
Why, though?
I mean,
really,
why do they have to do it?
Presumably all of these
‘hot’ celebrities are not offering
themselves freely to the
general public?
Presumably they are not
going to sleep with anyone
who taps them on the shoulder
in the street and says:
“Hi, I saw that sexy advert
you were in last week,
you looked hot,
let’s get it on sometime?”
For no matter how many
times a starlet sucks her finger,
smacks her own bottom or
bends over in a micro bikini,
she is never going to strike
up a love affair with
an ordinary boy.
No, that’s all just a little bit
of showbiz silliness,
do you see?
It doesn’t really mean
anything at all.
But that just makes it all
the more annoying to those
of us in the entertainment
industry that are not willing
(or not able) to play the game.
I have seriously begun to
wonder if it wouldn’t advance
my career as a novelist if I
were to go blonde,
appear more genial and
bubbly than I really am,
fake some ludicrous one-night
stand with a stuffy playwright
and then appear as a guest
on The Late Late Show,
in six-inch heels
while blind drunk …
Personally I don’t find strangers
in full or even semi nudity all
that attractive.
That’s why I don’t
go on beach holidays.
Because the sight of all those
bare backs and buttocks lying
on the ground simply reminds
me of an abattoir.
To my mind,
the thing that makes a woman,
or indeed a man,
sexy is the idea of exclusivity.
It’s the heart-warming notion
that your paramour will only
undress for you and not for
eight million viewers on
a Saturday night.
I’m not talking about
wearing the Burka,
don’t get me wrong.
I love sparkly eye make-up
and sleek hairdos and pretty
shoes as much as the
next person.
But I reckon that almost
everything in between should
be kept under wraps.
On women, a full-length,
black velvet winter coat
with a fake fur collar will always
be much nicer to me than a
micro-bikini made
of gold sequins.
On a man,
a plain colour shirt and tailored
slacks will always catch my eye
before an old pair of washed-out
shorts and a lobster-red torso.
It’s the promise of what’s
underneath that’s intriguing.
It’s the mystery
that is so attractive …
So I’m sorry,
Pamela Anderson,
Katie Price and Peaches Geldof.
I don’t want to see your bronzed
or tattooed flesh every time
I open a magazine.
I don’t care to know the
intimate details of anybody
else’s love life.
No,
put it all away,
please!
And give me Greta Garbo,
fully dressed,
gazing up at the moon,
utterly aloof
and unattainable.
Greta Garbo was gorgeous
without promising anything
of herself to the general public.
So were most of the great
stars of that bygone era:
Bette Davis, Vivien Leigh,
Joan Crawford
and Louise Brooks.
They might have had their fair
share of personal problems,
God knows,
but they didn’t have to trot
them out constantly to the
tabloids to make an honest buck.
While poor old Katie Price,
Jodie Marsh and even Madonna
are nothing but a walking
embarrassment to themselves
and to the entire showbiz family.
On second thoughts I think I’ll
stick to my slouchy jeans,
comfortable ankle boots and
a Morrissey T-shirt.
I won’t wink and I
won’t drink and I won’t
spill the beans.
What’s that you say?
Don’t call us,
we’ll call you?
Next!
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