Somewhere between O. J. Simpson’s arrest and the millionth review of what people were wearing to the Emmy Awards, I became disenchanted with Hollywood celebrity.
All that hype made me long to move to a foreign country. But I did the next best thing and stuffed an eggplant instead.
When did we become so obsessed with the brazen and the buxom?
And when did Hollywood spawn a whole new crop of starlets with names like Zuzana Drabinova and Bianca Rinaldi. Bring back Mary Tyler Moore and Annette Funichello!
I’ll never forget Sally Field, the former squeaky clean “Flying Nun” utter a series of expletives during prime time on the Emmies. (I don’t like her. I really really don’t like her anymore.)
All this furor came on the heels of “Fashion Week” in the Big Apple which is designed to give us a sneak peak into what we can expect to arrive in stores this spring. I was fascinated with each waif-like model who loped down the runway with the gait of a camel.
They appeared so well, UNHAPPY – with their pouty collagen-enhanced lips, but I guess you would too if you have to dress up like a rodeo clown and call it haute couture.
I pondered the reason the models all looked so dour, and decided it was probably because they haven’t been allowed a plate of spaghetti this millennium. On a positive note, I was relieved that last season’s “oh so chic wrap dress” seems to have lost favor. I bought one and wore it to church twice before someone had the nerve to tell me I was wearing it backwards.
My fashion sense is limited to a commitment never to wear support hose with a mini-shirt. If that makes me a fashion felon, write me a citation.