Rebecca Moore: Just who the hell are these celebs? AND They’ve nailed it... feet just ain’t sexy (From Oxford Mail)
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Rebecca Moore: Just who the hell are these celebs? AND They’ve nailed it... feet just ain’t sexy
Who the hell is Helen Flanagan? Honest to goodness, whoever she is she must have a bloody good agent.
Okay, I admit I do know who she is. Last I looked she was playing the whingeing, spoiled offspring of Kevin and Sally Webster in good ole Corrie. I also vaguely remember her playing a whingeing, spoiled prima-donna in I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. She did a pretty darn good impression too.
But just recently it seems everywhere I look (except, thankfully, in the mirror) I see her annoying little face.
Yes, she has a lovely figure. Yes, she has a reasonably pretty face under all that make-up. But for all I can see she totters around on 4-inch heels, worrying about the state of her white Audi R8 (it was involved in an accident the other day, or so the hashtags informed me) and making banal statements in magazine interviews about her potential to adopt children – one day.
I mean, if you’re going to make remarks about something as serious as child adoption, at least make it sound like the process is imminent. Like, the child is arriving in a basket, on your doorstep NOW. Otherwise, don’t terrify us with this ‘news’.
I rarely read celebrity gossip mags, but sometimes find them thrust upon me through the wonders of ‘friends’ and social media accounts. But this still doesn’t answer my opening question – who the hell is Helen Flanagan?
She’s an actress, that much is clear – not because of any discerning talent as far as I can tell, but simply because she can pull a good pout. She owns a white Audi R8 that was recently involved in a collision. And she threatens to adopt unsuspecting children – eventually.
She may be a very lovely girl in real life. But that’s my point: where and what is real life anymore? Surely people who are famous just for courting fame (and those who are famous for having an actual talent too, I’d wager) must find it incredibly difficult to maintain a grip on reality. But that’s their choice.
Worse than that, I fear that their increasingly loose grip on reality filters through the camera lens, promoting the ridiculous idea to the rest of us that they are MORE real, somehow, that their life is the one to aspire to. It’s not about Hannah, or Helen… Heather, whoever.
It’s about the fact we’re force-fed these ridiculous ‘idols’, and with every press release and ‘unplanned’ pap session we get yet another media report of them ‘having to hold a friend’s hand as she nearly fell over outside a bar’.
This may sound like the bitter, twisted ranting of someone not quite that pretty, or not quite that skinny and certainly not rich enough to crash my imaginary Audi R8.
I did mull this over. But quickly remembered that I would rather live a thousand lives as a slightly short, very imperfect, and definitely impoverished ME than a thousand fake versions of someone who lavishly courts any kind of exposure just to keep their agent happy.
It’s not her fault, she’s just bought into the idea that you’re nobody unless somebody can see you half-naked in the paper. Regardless of how stupid, and worrying, this is for the next generation it’s also just plain boring.
They’ve nailed it... feet just ain’t sexy
Feet are the least sexy feature on our bodies, if new study results on erogenous zones are to be believed. I think this should probably come with a disclaimer: some feet are the least sexy.
In general I’m not a foot person. I dislike my own. They’re small and kind of cute, but still, they’re feet. Yes, I’m apparently as footist as the majority of us.
I like men’s feet when they’re well kept: no ugly nails, or long nails, no too short nails. I’m the Goldilocks of Nails – they’ve gotta be just right. I don’t mind hairy toes, I don’t even mind the tiniest scraping (the tiniest scraping) of mildly hardened skin on their heel. I can put this down to lumberjack boots, or something mildly macho. But I detest long toenails.
But on some women, I suppose, feet are sexy. I prefer the long, slim variety, sported by the likes of Uma Thurman, or Angelina Jolie. A high arch and a slim toe. No hard skin, no weird nails and, hopefully, a subtle tan brushed on the top as they rest in sandals. Come to think of it, maybe I do like feet… maybe a little too much?
My absolute favourite attribute on a man is a good forearm. It doesn’t have to be muscular – in fact, it shouldn’t be. I don’t even need it particularly taut – ok, ok, I take that back. It needs to be slim and lithe, with just the hint of good muscle or at least have that ‘I can carry you’ look about it. I go crazy for the top of a nice tanned forearm.
The erogenous zone study revealed that men have just as many zones as women, contrary to the popular belief that on the whole they only enjoy one part of their bodies touched and stroked (and no, I don’t mean their egos…). It’s easy to fall into the trap of believing this, and so much emphasis is placed on getting the woman to the right, ahem, ‘place’, that we could be missing a great trick with other places on our men, too. Apparently ears score quite highly on the ‘zone’ scoreboard for men. Ears? I imagine they have in mind some soft breathing into their ears, or receiving a playful nibble rather than getting an invigorating ear massage, but you never know. Stroking the backs of their legs also scored pretty highly. So maybe now, as the nights get colder and there’s every excuse to wrap up in bed, why not try giving attention to a new place on your man’s body? Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he still very much enjoys the most obvious zone, but adding new ones can’t hurt, right? Except maybe not the feet. Especially not feet with long toenails. Ewww.
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