If you know anything about me, you know I have a major preoccupation with Farrah the size of a teenage boy’s bedside table sock collection.
And I do have reason: I came home from school one day to find a camera crew, all kinds of people yelling and three gorgeous women getting their make-up touched up. One had copious amounts of blonde feathered hair and a smile the size of Texas. My brother and I pretty much completely freaked out.
There are moments in life you never forget… I’m sure after coming face-to-face with one of the most famous sex symbols on earth, so many little girls start to dream of becoming an actress, or a fashion model. Some well-intentioned boys started secretly trying on their mother’s dresses and high heels. Can’t say I blame them.
Call it my vapid, L.A. upbringing. I’m not sorry. I wanted to be Farrah when I grew up… She was sweet and goddess-y. The mother of all hair-flippers. It could be Poison owes her a debt of gratitude for paving the way. I know I do.
Someone recently made a lovely comment on my column, How to be a Fierce Little Hottie (& Boys, You’re Welcome) the other day: “…the mentioning of Farrah faucet, to the degree that is used in here, is not only dating this topic but also loses the reader in relevance.” First of all. BITE ME. Second, learn how to spell if you’re going to leave a disrespectful, lame-ass comment on someone’s work. I’m sorry, young one, but 12 billion people who bought the poster can’t be wrong. I don’t know what to tell ya about who you adore, except I’m being super nice when I say Lady GaGa is not attractive.
Farrah was 29 years old in the poster. That’s, like, almost 30. She didn’t have hair extensions, a pound of makeup or breast implants. There is nothing fake or acrylic. Her tan was probably real. She’s wearing a one-piece. Hoochie mamas, ask any guy, this look is hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night…
It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window.” ~ Raymond Chandler, Farewell, My Lovely