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Vajazzle Me

2010-06-18 12:08
The traditional girl-spiral accompanying a dumping is ice-cream, assembling ranks of less attractive shoulders to cry on, alcohol, tears and mid-period Tom Hanks movies. More than a billion rom-coms have taught us as much. Being realistic though, you can replace the ice-cream, booze and movie star with your own choices - but tears, I’m afraid, are unavoidable. And now things get, well, icky.

Jennifer Love Hewitt, the dorm room Salma Hayek star of “I Know What You Did Last Summer” (one loses interest in this movie faster than it takes to get through the title!) either dumped or got dumped by someone called Jamie Kennedy earlier this year. Mildly amusing and best known for counting down the rules of horror sequels in one of the "Scream" movies, here’s a little taste of his and Jennifer’s life together as a ‘celebrity couple’: “I heard him coming down the hall,” Hewitt once told a talk-show audience, “so I got in the cute bikini position. And he goes, ‘Hey my little pear ass.’ I said, ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’” Hewitt later managed to muster a bit more post-feminist anger, but in terms so riddled with passivity you can almost hear Emily Pankhurst and Simone de Beauvoir spinning in their graves – “Have you ever seen a pear? It starts thin, it gets fat, and it never gets thin again. It’s not cute. It’s not a cute fruit.” Yeah, Jen, we’ve seen a pear.

More to the point, Jamie Kennedy, what an idiot. Secondly, this is a 30-year-old woman: ‘the cute bikini position’? Whatever it is, it sounds like a gesture you might sanely set out to pasture upon the solemn bell strike of eighteen. Persisting with it may result in your squeeze failing to take you seriously.

Anyway, boo hoo, breakup ensues. The rest of us try to get on with our lives, but Hewitt has a plan. Nothing of the regular gamut of drowned sorrows, restorative shopping sprees, or drunk dial tirades for her: no, she simply ‘vajazzled’. She what now?

As J-Love puts it, pushing her new book after the break-up: “A friend of mine Swarovsky crystalled my ‘precious lady’, and it shined like a disco ball.” 'Precious Lady' is up there with ‘lurve conch’ or ‘hoo hoo’ or ‘peeping front bottom’. You can marvel at Love’s nakedly calculated self-promotion here:

To compare shaving your vagina and jazzing it up with rhinestones to the serious business of getting over a heartbreaking split demeans us all – men and women - anyone who’s ever played a sad song on repeat while staring out the window, whimpering with cosmic self-pity at a love lost. It cheats us out of our own depth and complexity – our right to grieve with dignity. It cheapens our feelings. The more we share our emotional lives with celebrities, the more we follow their lead in matters of the heart and the more ridiculous we become to ourselves. Is any hurting woman (besides a hungry starlet in go-go boots, with oversized hair and a dating history as long as the Declaration of Independence) so vapid and dead inside that adorning her ‘precious lady’ with glittery tears is going to ease her pain? Though I guess men buy flashy cars in turmoil, and they’re just as much for show.

Really, 'vajazzling' is the poisoned fruit of a ‘liberating’ girl-power antique like "Sex & the City" which often turned break-up angst into an excuse to shop, flirt and copulate more. What men really hate about that show is how it turns the mutual struggle to get at the truth of a relationship exclusively into ‘girl talk’. The closed circle of friends have all the answers and get to ask all the questions. The women mirrored and judged each other obsessively. Men were left out. This was cool and new and necessary but ultimately unhealthy. It’s led to this: vainly turning your vagina into a disco ball, the ultimate act of solitary narcissism, rather than facing up to the eternal human challenge of making love work.

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