Friday, February 23

The Trouble With Angels

The recent death of Anna Nicole Smith got me thinking of the glamour girls of the past. Under every pair of tight fitting hip-huggers, every pair of cowgirl boots or mukluks, there lies a little bit of the movie vamp inside every girl. Underneath our t-shirts is a tight dressed, stiletto heeled vixen just waiting to jump into a tit clenching bustier, outrageously extravagant heels and saunter through a room while every male stops in mid-sentence and completely loses his train of thought.

It seems like there are so few of the real glamour girls left now. The tragic, dramatic, flying towards the runway at the speed of sound with no landing gear glamour girls. Jayne Mansfield. Marilyn Monroe. Tabloid fodder and outrageous sexuality were their trademarks. Their stars burned bright and fast; super nova, apocalyptic beauties.

Marilyn Monroe

We watched them rise before our eyes and then watched them tumble and fall. We watched the media tear them to shreds, their weight ballooning and deflating, drugs and drinking, their lovers, their husbands... the glamour girls were never the ones to settle down. They were the ones always looking to settle up. The heights they went to were too dizzying for the average woman to comprehend. We all knew in our hearts their falls would be sweepingly devastating.
Spec-fucking-tacular. And they never disappointed.

Jayne Mansfield

Even Savannah, in her short time on this planet, was destined to live a life of hyperbole. Too hot, too beautiful, 'too much' to be contained for long in her mortal shell. Her flame burst at the age of 24 with a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.

Shannon 'Savannah' Wilsey

I think about Anna Nicole and Marilyn and Jayne - and then I look at Elizabeth Taylor. One of the ultimate sex kittens of her age.

We've watched her go through Betty Ford and diet after diet. From her own perfume to info-mercials. I guess deep inside we are relieved that we haven't had to watch that happen to the glamour girls. I just can't wrap my head around Marilyn Monroe doing denture cream commercials. That thought is just too depressing.

So I was thinking about Anna Nicole, and Marilyn and Jayne... and I was wondering, who's next? Where can we turn our pursed lips and disapproving scowls and just shake our heads as we watch the beginning of another meteoric rise and fall? They are gone I think. Oh, there are still the naughty girls. The train wrecks. The Paris' and the Latoyas, yawn. But the true tragic beauties seem to be lost to us now. And as much as some people enjoyed bashing and knocking them I think we needed them. They were the Zenith of human existence, the ultimate passionate fiery goddesses descended here just to titillate and remind us that we are capable of lives of incredible drama and vivacity. That we can will ourselves strong under any adversity. That woman is the most stunningly brilliant creature on this blue planet.

How many people are capable of becoming famous? Few I think. How many are capable of becoming infamous? Probably any of us. But these were the women who didn't get a choice. Infamy chose them. It was written in the stars. Stamped like a bright scarlet letter on their foreheads for all eternity.

And this planet... and my own heart, feel emptier for their having left us.

This post was featured on Viviane's Sex Carnival.

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