The author: indescribably pretty as (L to R) Steroid-Faced Cue Ball, Nocturnal Puckerer, Wrinkle-free CafÃ© Poseur in Frida Kahlo Undershirt.
I can’t write about nuthin these days without finding myself on the business end of a pious, pointing finger upon which is etched the tiny slogan ‘j’accuse!’ I have been accused of gross intolerance of everything from babies to Down’s syndrome to Korean farmers.
Happily, once in a blue moon the protesting reader has a useful point that spurs me on to feats of glittering self-improvement. For example, when I was accused of a bias against straight people, I took the Project Implicit test and found out that, sure enough, my subconscious prefers queers. I took it to heart. Since then I’ve been working on not sniggering at straight people in public, or loudly asking my sidekick “is that a girl or a boy?”. I no longer try to prevent straight people from getting married, throw rocks at them, rough’em up in dark alleys, or tie them to fences and leave them in the desert to die. I’m still a little weirded out when one moves in next door, but I’m working on appropriate responses to their quaint fence-talk about spic landscapers and fags.
The Project Implicit test absolved me of anti-redheadism, I am happy to say.
Anyway, the other day I — easily one of the oddest-looking people on the planet (see photo above) — was accused of looksism when I off-handedly described fashion designer Donatella Versace as “football-faced”.
Uh-oh, once again an opinion begins to erupt in my obstreperal lobe. As you know, the obstreperal lobe is the lobe where all my most unpopular ideas ferment. Today’s unpopular opinion is this: that it is not un-feminist to critique other women’s actions when their life’s work is the enforcement of oppressive paradigms.
“Hey, wait a minute,” you say. “What do Donatella Versace’s looks have to do with her life’s work?”
Well, it’s like this. Versace’s somewhat other-worldly appearance is the product of a lifetime of having internalized the porno-chic mandate, and sure, on that level, the heart bleeds for her as it does for any deluded, anguished soul.
But one must distinguish between an individual’s right to have cadaver meat stuffed into her personal lips, and her decision to make a fortune commodifying oppression via the cadaver-lippish ideal and selling it to women with her ubiquitous caked-on-baked-on, femininity-deformed face, an image created by the dominating value of pornography in mass media and promulgated personally by Donatella Versace. The woman is an influential professional misogynist at the top of her field who feels no compunction dictating girlish-submission tips to a US Senator. The implicit message is Versace’s fervent hope — now broadcast worldwide by Reuters — that even though Hillary Clinton may become the most powerful human on the planet, she’ll remain sufficiently sensitive to her status on the submissive sexbot continuum.
To the extent that she is something of an iconic public personage, Versace’s looks are her actions.
Versace’s primary product (which is also the entire beauty industry’s primary product) is a pernicious, often debilitating insecurity. This neurosis is as brilliantly marketed as the “cure”: the obsessive purchase of absurd clothing, “scientifically formulated” toxic glop, devices that torment, and harrowing surgeries the sole purpose of which is to advertise one’s status as a receptacle for male incontinence.
If any doubts linger as to the sinister essence of the feminine directive marketed by the beauty industry, I urge you to consider the painful case of poor Anna Nicole Smith, dead of femininity at age 39.* Blonde bombshells are disturbingly disposable.
* The system that rewards a woman’s acquiescence to pornulation with fawning attention, cash, glamor, and fame can be fickle. Here is what one enlightened genius commenting on Smith’s Miami-Herald obit had to say about yet another icon destroyed by the pornsick culture he jacks off to on his computer every night: “Anna Nicole Smith — Stupid Life, Lived Stupidly, By a Stupid Person. A disaster from beginning to end.”