My Friday post is slightly late, I apologise, I went out for dinner last night and was too busy reliving a particularly amazing chocolate fondant to focus on the blog. So today is a jumbo BOGOF deal! And the honour of my chosen subject for the first ‘Fame On A Friday’ goes to Madonna…I’m sure she’s truly thrilled.
It seems that, after a nice long while in obscurity, this muscly bag of skin and attitude has come back with a vengeance – movie, album, Super Bowl performance – and she’s as difficult to like as ever.
To begin, the much maligned ‘W.E.’ firmly underlines what seemed perfectly obvious to everyone but Madge, she has not and will never be a Brit. For a while there she was wearing tweed, riding horses on her country estate and attempting some sort of accent that has no place anywhere on this world. We were humouring her out of a mixture of pity and embarrassment, but now she really has gone too far. No self-respecting Briton will ever be favourably predisposed towards Wallis Simpson. Yes, I understand that a lot of Americans cling on to the idea that she is their link to the royal family, but they are the same people who call themselves British because one of their ancestors came over on The Mayflower. In which case, according to my grandparents family tree research, someone with my (rather unusual) surname coming over to England with William the Conqueror makes me French. The truth is that Wallis Simpson was a Nazi sympathizer who throughly buggered up our royal family, forcing poor, stuttering Colin Firth to make an uplifting speech on the radio right before WWII. I mean come on, the man had to make us feel uplifted as we were heading for an almighty rumble with the Fuhrer! What a bitch.
But anyway back to Madonna, she has now brought out a new single, a new video and her not-even-released album is currently number 1 on iTunes in every country throughout the world, even isolated Amazonian tribes are getting excited for ‘M.D.N.A.’ it would seem. Good for her. And I suspect that, were she to turn up for her Super Bowl performance wearing a holey cardigan and comfort sandals, people would still be struck by the brightness of her wonder. But the point is that she won’t, she’s going to be wearing something that even Miley Cyrus would call risque. Once again I’m going to have to wash my eyes out with acid to remove the imprint of a middle-aged woman writhing half-naked on a stage in front of her teenage daughter. Ugh.
Now I’m not saying that women in their 50s should have to dress like OAPs, just look at Andi MacDowell. She has lost none of the beauty that captivated us in Four Weddings, but I have yet to see her sporting a lycra leotard. If only Madonna would stop with the freakishly muscly and fatless physique, stop borrowing Lourdes’ clothes (SHE’S 15!), and leave. Her face. ALONE. She and Demi Moore should form some sort of self-help group for women who strive to look younger but really just end up looking like some sort scrotum. Teri Hatcher might want to join as well.
7 Kinds of Mind 