Alison/Adele, Adele/Alison

My brain just exploded.

Okay. It’s been a quiet evening.

But uncanny, huh?


The generic popstar shop – buy one get ten free!

Remember when artists were unique. Had a style, a voice and a look of their own?

Take a look at this dreary gallery from the VMA’s last night.

I don’t know about you but my one thought was ‘They all look the same’.

Generic popstars/actresses from the generic popstar/actress shop.

Straight hair, little dresses, polished within an inch of their lives, same make up, same pose, smile, on and on it goes. (Minaj and Perry might wear colour but they’re just cartoons.)

Ugh.

Here are just three of the ladies who coloured my world growing up.

They all had a style and a voice of their own. Still do.


You know you’re a true Hollywood Spinster when…

…you get invited to a Thirties-themed costume party, and know that one trip to the thrift store at the end of your road will have what you’re looking for.


Unbecoming of an (old) lady.

It’s hot in the city.

While the east coast is preparing for the hurricane of the century, the west is sweltering.

Well, LA is.

I’m wearing a vest top and shorts, I’m working inside and I have no a/c.

In desperation, I just poured an ice cold bottle of water down my chest.

Twenty years ago that would have been as sexy as all hell.

But it occurred to me, as I watched the rivulets of water congregate in my 43-year-old cleavage, that it’s probably just as well I did it in the privacy of my own home.

Pouring water down your chest, like other things that were once sexy (hot pants, glitter eye-shadow and knee-high socks), are now merely the opening montage to a hilarious new sit-com about a sassy older lady who thinks she’s still got it!

As Dorothy Parker once said, ‘Life is a glorious cycle of song, a medley of extemporania. And love is a thing that can never go wrong. And I am Marie of Romania.’

I think that makes my point.

Frankly, I’m too hot to focus.

Also, I now have a damp carpet.

(That’s not a euphemism).

Spinny out.


Gawd.

I looked at the newspapers this morning and then died a little death.

Girl starves herself to look like an X Factor judge.

Kim Kardashian blah blah blah

Sean Penn’s 26-year-old girlfriend moves in with him.

Some Real Housewife shows off her bikini body

A popstar wears a see-through thing for a video.

I’ve got to start reading better newspapers.

In other news, I’m producing a fashion shoot today.

And I’m really excited about the clothes, the photorgapher we’ve booked and the location.

You see my dilemma…The ‘Hollywood’ is always at war with the ‘Spinster!’

Spinny out.

 

 

 


Singing from the same Spin sheet.

The world is slowly waking up the phenomenon that is the modern day Spinderella.

But only because the women in question are beginning to talk honestly about what it’s like to be single and childless, after a certain age.

The fact that a spinster life is on one finger, liberating and joyful, and on the other nine fingers, scary, lonely and hard fucking work, makes it even more interesting.

Spinsterhood is not necessarily a success story. It’s a landing place. We ended up here but it was never the destination.

You can’t spin a spinster but what you can do is talk about it.

Hollywood Spinster does it with humour – this lady, not so much. But at least she’s being honest.

It’s curious to me that it’s slowly become acceptable to admit to some kind of society-defined defeat/failure. Especially in a world where everything is now covered in a faux celebrity gloss.

Our unique demographic makes us fascinating case-studies:

Our mothers told us we could have it all.

Our families were upwardly mobile.

We had a good education.

And yet…

Here we sit, alone.

We, (women in their mid thirties to mid fifties) have lived through two crippling world-wide recessions (one still ongoing and slowly killing the lifestyle of spinsters by taking away disposable income), a sexual revolution that left men with all the power (there is such a thing as too independent it transpires), a determination to forge careers that left us unable to fully nurture relationships, the over-riding desire for men to want to fuck and be seen with much younger women, the spurious media-invented fads that are supposed to make it acceptable for women to be single and powerful (ie, cougars *spits*) but in fact, leave us weakened… and ultimately, the undeniable truth that in women’s cosmetically-enhanced pursuit of youth, we have become mere shadows of our inner spirit, making it impossible for real woman to grow old gracefully, and still be considered attractive.

Blimey, I should write a book about it.

Still, at least we’re still getting some.

And by that I mean that we’ve been screwed by both sexes,  so we might as well make the most of it.

*cymbal crash*

Let’s keep talking.

Spinny out.

 


You know you’re a true Hollywood Spinster when…

……a visit to the Warner Bros lot is the new ‘popping to the corner shop for a pint of milk’.


A diamond in the rough

Sometimes it’s the kids who make the most sense.

I met a courageous 19-year-old last weekend, who said something that has stuck with me all week.

Before I tell you what it was, you should know that he’s gay, and lives with his disapproving parents. He moved out when his brother became violent, and is only back there now because his brother is behind bars.

His parents have removed his bedroom door as a way of controlling him. He won’t be there long I can tell you.

He said lots of things (“I’m already a diamond, I don’t need to go platinum”), but this is the one that resonated:

“I like people who go against the grain, and who are not afraid to get splinters.”

That’s the strength of youth alright, but we can all learn something from that.

Get out there and make it count.

If it’s not hurting, it’s not working.

Spinny out.


You know you’re a true Hollywood Spinster when…

…you open the paper and not only recognise the celebrity, but the make-up artist standing next to them.


When M meets the MIL. Awkward!

I know she’s Madonna and therefore can do what she likes, when she likes and to who she likes but…dating toyboys really does come with a heavy price tag.

She’s now 53 and her latest boyfriend is 24. And while I commend her youthful attitude, even I, a mere stripling at 43, can’t imagine dating a kid that young.

She’s obviously not looking for anything long term (fair enough) but what the hell do they talk about?

And not only are they generations apart, they’re also from different countries. So there’s a cultural divide as well as generational one. Tough waters to navigate.

I get that older, powerful people see their partners as status symbols (and I’d say the same for a man so don’t get on that high horse) but I reckon the one big difference with the older woman/younger man scenario is meeting the mother-in-law.

An older man has a better chance of charming his jailbait girlfriend’s mother with his masculinity. A mother is more likely to accept her young daughter’s choice because that’s how humans are programmed.

But the mother of Brahim Zaibat is eight years YOUNGER than Madge.

How’s that conversation going to roll?

Because you know as women that she’ll be sitting there, looking at Madonna, seething. Wondering, ‘What the hell are doing with my son?’ (shagging him senseless, probably).

Women (and mothers) are very territorial. No doubt Madonna will sweeten the path with gifts and international super-stardom but come on, that meeting is going to be awkward. No amount of money can tip the balance here.

Also Madge, find a MAN not a BOY.

I don’t get it. Well I get part of it. The sex. But at 53, how has she not managed to mature a little in her relationships?

I find it most odd. My last three relationships have been with younger men. I literally couldn’t get an older man to date me if I tried. And believe me, I tried.

Relationships with younger men go nowhere – at least they didn’t in my experience.

But I’m not Madonna. You think she’d have her pick of eligible older men.

So can I be there when M meets the MIL. Pretty please.

To see them make small talk over tea and biscuits. *silence, as Like A Virgin comes on the radio*

I worry that the only option left for older women are basically boys in their mid-twenties, who don’t know their arse from their elbow. I’m not interested and I don’t get why she is either.

What am I missing here?

Spinny out.