I’ve always had a Thing for crazy twins, so the recent deaths of Igor and Grichka Bogdanoff turned out to be a goldmine (for me if not for them.) The twin brothers, who are famous pop culture figures in France, died withing 6 days of each other after falling ill with Covid in December.

They refused Covid vaccinations but denied being afraid of them, much like they denied having plastic surgery, even though they turned their faces into giant surreal puppet masks. What kills me is that they were originally good looking men who must have lost their minds together in a classic case of folie à deux.

The twins became famous in the late 70s as the presenters of the hit science show “Temps X”(described as a cross between Mystery Science Theater 3000 and Mr. Wizard.) They appeared in wacky silver space suits but this was child’s play, in terms of the antics to come.

Over the years, they received dubious doctoral degrees and published academic papers that explained the state of the universe just before the Big Bang. When their work was derided as gibberish, they sued several scientists and magazines for libel.

You will have to google them to get the full story, but if you don’t love them you have a heart of stone. I wish I could know everything about them. One of them had several children, so we’ll see how that works out.

The Bogdanoff Twins reminded me of my favorite twins of all time, Frida and Greta Chaplin. I used to be obsessed with them and I may just be ready to revisit that obsession.

Frida and Greta became famous in the 80s, when they went on trial for stalking a truck driver. They walked and spoke in unison, dressed alike, and most poignantly, says a neighbor, “They even hoovered together.”

Their story is tragic at first glance, but maybe their companionship was a blessing that most of us will never understand. They dressed by looking at each other instead of a mirror! They died thirteen years apart, which must have been an ordeal for the surviving twin, but they were eventually buried one on top of the other in a double cemetery plot.

This is how I want to be buried with my husband! I think I got him to agree to this although we haven’t discussed who goes on top.

Finally, there are Flo and Kay, who I wrote about in 2009 and ended that post by calling Dick Clark a cunt, a statement I stand by today. Flo and Kay are autistic savants, and it may sound condescendingly ableist to call them special but they really are amazing. Enjoy this documentary about them! You’ll be happy to know that they are still with us and doing well. If anything bad ever happens to them, I hope they are together until the last moment…like me and my husband, in our double plot, with me on top, because I weigh less.

After watching a million hours of MSNBC News the other day, I decided to look for something else to watch. Lawrence of Arabia had just begun on Turner Classic Movies and since I’ve never seen it all the way through I decided to give it a shot.

Peter O’Toole was such a babe, duh, but I mean truly gorgeous. His black eyeliner was subtle but gorgeously queeny. I’m not a fan of blond men but in this case, I get it!

Since it’s a slow movie, I had the time to reflect on Peter O’Toole’s finely chiseled nose and wondered if he’d had a nosejob. Lots of actors did this back in the day, far more than actresses for some reason. So I googled it.

Google has removed all mystery from everything, a double-edged sword if ever there were one, right? I am constantly looking up everyone’s age to make sure I look better than them or at least less wrinkly. I particularly love before and after pictures of celebrities, who keep morphing before our eyes.

So anyway, yes, Peter O’Toole got his nosejob before he became a star but after he’d had some notable success. It came out much better than Harrison Ford’s or Jeremy Sisto’s. It works with his patrician facial structure and I’m okay with it not being natural.

I also read a review of a biography that catalogued his bad behavior on set and in his long marriage to Sian Somebody. His drinking is legendary and part of his persona, but I was disturbed by the account of his divorce. After his wife could no longer endure his affairs, she moved out of their house. He never let her return and refused to let her have her famed collection of antique jewelry. He banned her from visiting her children and a messy court battle went in his favor.

Here the story rung a sinister bell for me: A friend described him as “a man who prided himself on his resolutely unforgiving nature.” I’ll repeat it for emphasis:

a man who prided himself on his resolutely unforgiving nature.

Do you know anyone who might be described like this? I do.

In fact, I used to cherish a self-image that could be described as “You don’t know who you’re fucking with!” I enjoyed feeling like the embodiment of never giving an inch. I scoffed at people who gave up grudges and felt it was proof of how shallow they were; a person of substance should take their grudges to the grave.  If you’re a longtime reader, you know this as deeply as my family and former friends.

Both of my children admired this posture. But Max was nothing like me in this respect. He forgave people right and left…including me. He never even hesitated when someone wanted to patch things up.

I’m trying hard to be different. I’m trying hard to be the shepherd, you might say. I’ve learned to say “I’m sorry, I was a jerk” and “Please forgive me!” In fact, I say it all the time these days.

Life is so hard, so full of calamity and tragedy and unexpected turns. It takes effort to be compassionate, like Morrissey says, but eventually it comes naturally. Empathy is sometimes all we can offer each other, but what are human relations without it?

So I’m trying and I’ll keep trying. There’s nothing noble about being stubborn and hardhearted.

Lawrence of Arabia also reminded me of the disastrous date I had with Michael Shamberg, who bought the movie for us to watch on his gigantic home movie screen and then got huffy when I said I enjoyed the homoerotic energy between the co-stars. So I was going to write about the part where we had terrible sex because he was so ignorant of female anatomy…but I decided not to.

That’s how nice I am now.

This picture of a very young Angelina Jolie fills my heart with joy.  Keep looking at it until you feel the joy, too.

Here, the young Daphne Guinness looks forward to adopting the role of Eccentric Style Icon.

See? Life is good.

Everyone is freaking out about Michelle Kobke, who managed to create a tiny waist by wearing tight corsets.

Personally, I find it disturbing to look at, but if her body is her temple, she is free to desecrate it.

Our eyes may not be accustomed to this distorted hourglass figure, but I don’t think it’s any stupider than getting obviously fake breasts.

Women are doing horrible things to their bodies all the time and as we have discussed, men are up to no good too.  I don’t know why people aren’t commenting on Angelina Jolie‘s choice of over-sized implants that are so disproportionate to her small frame. Is it because she’s supposed to be an icon of courage and righteousness?

Huge lips, tiny noses, enormous implants, hair extensions, fake cheekbones, it’s all bad. Michelle Kobke’s waist shouldn’t come as a shock at this point.  Our bodies have ceased to be our temples and have become our enemies. My own body is generously providing me with hot flashes and a nice roll of flab where once there was muscle. I’m not going to make my temple a battleground!  I’m not going to do ONE SINGLE sit-up.

Because all my energy goes to my hair.

Even though it’s not important and it doesn’t matter, I still want to know about Angelina’s lips.   Everyone seems to accept that those lips are really real. “Just look at Shilo’s lips!”

As a teenager, above, her top lips was half the size of her bottom lip, which looks enormous.

Same here.

I showed these pictures to my husband, whose reaction was the exasperated retort: “How do I know, maybe some people’s lips get bigger when they get older!”

I love Angie for stealing Brad from Jen, and for flying around to refugee camps. But I think this is the answer to the startling impact of her face. It’s startling because she created at least two of her facial features.

Yes, no, or how dare I waste my time with such shallow concerns?

Think again.

My friend R took me to Sephora today, to replace the NARS lipstick that her dog chewed up.

And what did I see at the check-out counter but a big frightening man-woman! If only my crappy cellphone picture could do her/him justice.

My first view was from behind, as I noticed the fake black hair with the texture of a cheap  Halloween  wig. There was a slight Angelina Jolie aspect in the profile, due to inflated lips and a hacked-off nose.   Gigantic implants contrasted nicely with the massive, muscular arms. I should have tried to see what she or he was buying, the better to figure out what gender (if any) was being represented.

In any case, I think this is a good lesson in the perils of plastic surgery AND body building. Back in the dark ages when I lifted weights, many of the female pros had managed to turn themselves into sad parodies of men, via steroids and dieting.   It isn’t a pretty picture but clearly one’s  aesthetic  ideal is badly distorted by this point.

It’s much better to let nature take its course; there is a limit to how much it can mess you up.

God, I’m such a know-nothing. First I find out about “slut shaming” long after all the other sluts, and now I see there’s a movement for Vulva Diversity.

An organization called New View, whose worthy mission is to “challenge the medicalization of sex,” also launched a campaign in 2009 to celebrate genital diversity, including an arts and crafts exhibit and conference.

Here’s the deal:

“Popular knowledge about women’s vulvas comes disproportionately from commercial sources such as magazines, pornography, and on-line surgery sites that are likely to digitally alter or airbrush genital images or include only selected models. There are very very few books that feature a range of real genital photographs.

The result of this distortion and silence is widespread ignorance and genital shame which harms women and girls and results in vulnerability to ads and tv shows promoting cosmetic genital surgery.”

Shit.

Obviously, I am against cosmetic genital surgery, since I’m not insane. What a   terrible and tragic pursuit! The whole idea that there is some norm of beauty in genitalia that would induce women to willingly mutilate themselves is beyond repugnant.

However. I now realize the vast range of Vulva Diversity and I am genuinely shaken. I had no idea! Did I NEED to have an idea, though? I’m not a lesbian, so I wasn’t likely to be confronted with this much Vulva Diversity. I clicked on a “Labiaplasty” site recommended by New View and nearly fainted.

What a big baby I am! I told my husband about this before-and-after gallery and he asked me to refrain from speaking about it. He may be a big baby, too.

I’m going to give you a chance to look or not look. Want to look? Okay, click here, if you’re sure you want to.

I hope it’s safe to note that I personally am in the After category, but I see how you could feel concerned if you were in the Before category. You would wonder why your own Look was not represented in art or photos.   You might feel insecure, like the first time I saw a belly button with a big knot-thingie and wondered why mine looked so empty.

Jesus.   Does any9one have any thoughts on Vulva Diversity that are less infantile and more useful than my own?

I love it when Madge looks like this. I get a rush of endorphins that’s better than shopping or chocolate! Keep up the good work, girl!

I also love seeing before and after pix of celebrities. But not when they aim to erase their ethnicity.

I prefer Halle Berry in her high school photo. When she was black, and a girl.

What about J Lo? Doesn’t she look like Karla’s Closet in the before photo??!? In the after photo, she looks like she’s half-way to becoming Kate Moss.

Never mind. I’m going back to snicker at Madonna until the high wears off.

Courtney Love has finally triumphed over bad plastic surgery and now looks like a generic Hollywood cougar.   Kurt would be spinning in his grave if dead people could still be embarrassed.   In any case, her offenses against his memory (not to mention his child) are so ghastly that there’s no territory left for her to plunder.

What has Courtney Love ever done that was worthy of respect? Her first album was largely the product of her husband’s creative genius, and it’s been downhill ever since. She started off as a singlemindedly ambitious groupie, bagged a vulnerable rising rock star, and squandered much of his fortune on nosejobs and dope. Even her own kid can’t stand her.

I’ve just read an artful analysis of her cultural significance but the only part I agree with is that our society revels in the spectacle of public self-destruction. It’s enthralling to watch people making asses of themselves! That’s why I love those Real Housewives.

There’s also something very compelling about people who are literally shameless. Madonna comes to mind in this category. Courtney Love will tweet naked pictures of herself, blab about everyone she’s had sex with, betray all her friends and flaunt her bad spelling as though it’s her life’s work to be annoying.

Here is her best quote to date, spoken to the author of a recent profile in the New York Times:

“For years, despite having impeccable taste, I didn’t understand how to convey that I had impeccable taste.”

Oh Courtney! How frustrating that must have been!

I’m sure we’re supposed to regard her as some kind of tragic figure but it’s all the consequence of vanity and greed. Fuck her! Most people settle for one nosejob and call it a day. She’s just an awful woman who doesn’t know when enough is enough.