As this blog’s ‘spinsteration’ (although I know technically she wasn’t as she’d been married before to ‘that other bloke’), I feel I cannot let this pass without some kind of comment.
The conversation around Jen in the last ten years – since ‘that other bloke’ – has been woeful, tragic and embarrassing. I’m not talking about Jennifer but the press. Last week, the day after she secretly married her angular beau a London paper called her ‘lovelorn’.
ON THE DAY OF HER WEDDING.
This about a woman who is a multi-millionaire, who has dated consistently hot guys since her divorce and has been engaged for three years.
But still, the world wanted to write Jennifer a different story. Over and over.
She was desperate. She was lonely. She was sad.
No. She wasn’t.
I’m not saying she didn’t have moments of any of the above but she is a human so I think that’s allowed.
Jennifer Aniston is a success story. I’ve always championed her cause because the negative dialogue around her is as much of a fairy tale as the life we are told is lived by her former husband and his actress wife and their many kids.
Fairy tales are just that. Made up stories that push an agenda (Brothers Grimm for president!).
Why the media have always felt it their right to cast a successful woman as such a loser is beyond me. And what does that say for the rest of us who are actually on our own and not multi-millionaires?
Why, said Mama Bear, “I don’t know how you can possibly get out of bed in the morning, you’re so pathetic. And probably lovelorn.”
We don’t need to feel sorry for Jennifer Aniston and we never have.
“Jen’s baby heart-ache!”
“Jen and Justin’s shocking no-way-back rows!”
“Jen’s ageing nightmare – she sleeps in a vat of engine grease to stop her skin wrinkling!”
Whatever, it’ll be ridiculous, risible and redundant.
This blog celebrates women. But make no mistake fellow spinnys, we are not living in an enlightened age.
Women are scrutinised more than ever. Women are put down, bullied and ignored every day. Single women who have never married and have no kids have all that times a thousand.
Women are still not allowed to be who they really are.
We may live our lives but the narrative that runs alongside it, is stuck in the dark ages.
So congratulations Jen and Justin.
And the rest of us – carry on doing what you’re doing because you’re doing great.
Life is cyclical, life is tricky and life is unexpected.
That’s why we need to support each other as we navigate our way forwards and upwards.
And that why it’s good to have friends. Oh hold on…
Photo credits: Friends still from NBC Universal Media
She’s sexy in a way that even if I gathered every ounce of sexy I could muster and borrowed some of yours, her left ear lobe would always be sexier than the whole of me. Us. Whatever.
I can only muse upon what it must be like to be attached to the body that US Marshall Karen Sisco inhabits.
Sisco is not just sassy-ass sexy, she’s funny, strong and clever. Blended together, you have the perfect woman smoothie. I want to be that smoothie.
This is a woman who is brave enough to wear a brown knitted cardy and make it look less Comic-con, more Body-con. The woman whose dad thinks is cool to give her a hand-gun for her birthday whilst reprimanding her for seeing a scumbag married cop. She’s assured, sentimental and appears to never need any sleep. She’s the Nineties before it all went a bit rubbish.
Out Of Sight was released before Lopez became the music phenomenon that is J-Lo. She’d knocked it out of the park as the tragic Latina singer, in the biopic Selena, and this was her mainstream breakout. It was not only a critical success for Lopez, but also her co-star George Clooney and director Steven Soderberg. The movie quickly paved the way for Soderberg and Clooney’s stellar movie careers but sadly, not for Jennifer, who decided instead to r ‘n’ b her love of “the block” and put Ben Affleck in her music videos. Oh dear god, did that really happen? Yes it did.
But before we shed a tear for an episode of Inside The Actors Studio that will never air, let’s take a moment to appreciate the genius of Karen Sisco.
First up, and key to her steely magnetism, is Clooney. In 1998, he was still best known as Dr Doug Ross from the telly. Shove him in a boot with Lopez, add a smattering of guns, grease and bath-time and you had instant movie gold.
Fast forward 16 years and what I love is that Sisco now has this wonderful ability to conjure up the younger, more obnoxious (and perkier) version of myself.
When I watch her back-chat Clooney’s bank robber Foley, I’m transported to the prime of my life, where that kind of chutzpah was a turn-on, and worked even better when I was smoking a cigarillo. (A crass admission written down but frankly, a welcome respite from the been-there-done-that middle-aged grump costume that I inhabit most of the time now).
Sisco’s always ready with a snappy retort, a lightening reflex and superior shade of plum-red lipstick. There’s enough vulnerability to make her likeable but because it’s mashed up with her patent leather inner lioness, she gets a pass. She knows the power she wields.
But here’s where the human spirit is so darned wonderful. I’m not ready to give up just yet and I have Karen Sisco to thank for that. Jennifer‘s Sisco shows me that I can still access that sexy, dynamic woman, even if it’s just for a few fleeting seconds, and even if it’s just in my head and actually, even if it’s not real at all. I’ll take the illusion and the whisper of a memory. (Otherwise what the hell do I have to look forward to? Hot flushes, gout and another evening trying to understand the nuance of Tinder?)
When I first saw this movie I remember thinking, “Yeah Sisco, you think you’re all that and then some but here I am, in my All-Saints combats and vest top, with my faux-Rachel hair-do and Touch Eclat-covered eye-bags. I’m ready to give you a run for your money, so bring it sister.” (Re-reading that sentence I want to simultaneously hug and slap the me of ’98). Cocky as I was, I filed Sisco away in the back of my mind, somehow foreshadowing the knowledge that having this honeyed Nineties specimen immortalized on film, while I withered like a crumpled sock, would be useful somewhere down the line.
Well, we are now well and truly down the line.
And we all need hope. Karen Sisco is mine.
You did ask.