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It would've been nice to have moved on - Her Most Regal Majesty, the Queen of Snark
void where prohibited, except by law
It would've been nice to have moved on
One of secretrebel's guilty pleasures (except I'm pretty certain she doesn't feel guilty about it, which is fair enough) is "America's Next Top Model". Now 'reality' TV has always struck me as repugnent, the 21st Century equivalent of the Victorian freak show, but having now seen a couple of episodes by the process of having been drawn in in the way that one is supposed to be unable to avoid looking at car crashes, I can see that it does offer some interesting insights into how the fashion industry works. So much so that I found myself reminded the other day of this Danny Kaye song "Anatole of Paris", which seems to me to hold as true today as it did then. It's satire, of course, but the point of satire is that it's based on reality. If anything, I'd say things appear to be more blatant now than they were then. Why else this obsession with enforcing a standard of beauty that can only be obtained though self-induced clinical illness?

It all began when I was born a month too soon
My ma was frightened by a runaway saloon
Pa was forced to be a hobo
Because he played the oboe
And the oboe it is clearly understood
Is an ill wind that no one blows good
I'll never forget the morning that Grandpa ate the awning
To impress a pretty lady who went for men that were shady
Then my Uncle Josia lit the Chicago fire
Ran off to Hawaii with the O'Leary cow
Which his loving wife resented and there upon invented
A rolling pin that strikes and then says pow
And I'm the result of the twisted eugenics
Of this family of inbred schizophrenics
The end of a long long line of bats
I design women's hats
I'm Anatole of Paris
I shriek with chic
My hat of the week
Cause 6 divorces, 3 runaway horses
I'm Anatole of Paris
The hats I sell make husbands yell
Is that a hat or a two room flat
Let me get my paw on a little piece of straw
And viola!
A chapeau, at 60 bucks a throw
It's how I pull and chew on it
The little things I do on it
Like placing yards of lacing or a bicycle built for two on it
The little ones, the big ones
The sat on by a pig ones
The foolish ones that perch
And the ghoulish ones that lurch
The one called whisky sour
Designed for the cocktail hour
A little snip, a potato chip
And a trifle off the eiffle tower
I'm Anatole of Paris I must design
I'm just like wine
I go to your head
Give me thread and the needle
I itch, I twitch to stitch
I'm a glutton for cutting
For putting with a button
To snip and pluck, nip and tuck
Fix and trim, plan the brim
Tote that barge, lift that bail
And why do I sew each new chapeau
With a style they most look positively grim in
Strictly between us, entre-nous
I hate women.
2 comments or Leave a comment
karohemd From: karohemd Date: April 6th, 2006 08:22 am (UTC) (Link)
What a wonderful song!
From: ex_lark_asc Date: April 6th, 2006 04:30 pm (UTC) (Link)
the 21st Century equivalent of the Victorian freak show

Very nicely put...
2 comments or Leave a comment