Hollywood fairy dust in short supply.
Being fabulous and glamorous is a full time bloody job and I have a grudging respect for folk who never have a hair out of place nor lipstick on their gleaming teeth. I really do. Gamma was like that, no matter what hour of the day or night she wore full make up and her hair was set, set like iron. She could have wandered through a hurricane and her hair would not have moved an inch.
My Spanish Friend is like that too, I have known her ten years and I have never -not even once- seen her in jeans, or indeed any kind of trousers. Or a jumper. She owns no t-shirts.
How odd actually.
I rather like old time movie stars for just the same reason, were there ever snaps of Ava Gardner standing smoking a fag in slippers or flipflops? Did Marlena wander through Kitsons in a tracksuit? Did Lana Turner ever leave the house with greasy hair, denim shorts, braless and unwashed?
I think not.
Back in the day stars had no choice but to look fabulous at all times in public. The studios owned them and they were film stars, they had to be otherworldly, unattainable, not like mere mortals, not like you and me, they were demi-gods. They were the orchids, the rare and beautiful, that folk- the humble daisies and buttercups- gawped at and dreamed about becoming.
These days, not so much.
Today our actors have feet of clay and in some cases plain old hooves. Mixed among the 'exhausted' the break ups, tattoos, adoptions, malnourished, coked out, bennied up, heroin smoking, dog carrying, car crashing, closet gay, cheating, lying, stealing, clothes grabbing, face lifting, score settling, dog fighting, house buying, trout lipped, lap top throwing megalomaniacs, there are still some actors and singers who operate with style and grace, but it seems that they are in the minority. They're probably not, but it just seem that way.
Anyway, with the advent of gossip sites and glossy weekly magazines we can see for ourselves that Hollywood is a ghastly blood sucking youth obsessed dump. But then it always was.
In the old days however Hollywood kept a lid on its grosser activities, a tight rein on the press, a dust pan and brush at the ready to sweep under the carpet all manner of scandals. There were drugs and abortions, affairs, underage sex, 'suspicious' deaths and closet gays in abundance, but hoi polloi new bugger all about it-except for the very occasional leak, and I blame Hedda Hopper for that, the clever minx.
Of course they did not have photoshop. Which is where I came in.
You can be as bad, sad, mad, deranged, junked up and in need of a decent parent all you like, but no matter. Sit still for a moment, shut up and smile. Don't worry about the track marks and the bags under your eyes, the bloated, belly, the sickly pallor, the washed out gaze.
Sit still for one moment and Hollywood will screw the lid back on, if only for a moment. Ah, there it is, the unattainable, the star quality. Too bad it won't last, fairy dust never does.
There will always be photoshop.
Photoshop is the news rehab.