Eros giveth. And then, rather quickly, the ungracious bastard taketh one’s smut away.
Today, his representatives at Ralph Magazine offer us a look into the id and the thighs of comely singer Tamara Jaber.
To the delight of nearly everyone with functioning genitals, Jaber reveals that she has, “Lesbian Tendencies”.
Lamentably, she also invites us to her conjugal bed. And there, one will only find regret and perhaps, the smell of ham and aging hubris. By cruel dint of fate or economics, Jaber is married to multi-media gobbet, Kyle Sandilands.
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It’s one, quite pleasant, thing to read today about Jaber’s dreams about her hot girlfriends. Or, indeed, the minutiae of her strap-on studded Hen’s Night. It’s quite another to be reminded that all this is followed by s-x with an unpleasant man. One, apparently, who likes his bride to assume an Asian accent in bed. To feed her ravenous husband, “I do funny voices, though. I play the Chinese girl.”
It is unclear if the affluent couple engage a voice coach for the purpose.
What is clear, however, is that the disclosure of one’s intimate life makes increasing business sense.
In the case of the Ralph piece which appears today, Jaber is herself unlikely to benefit professionally. Instinct tells us that the magazine’s readers much prefer the manly ooze of, say, Linkin Park to the sort of froth Jaber is selling. The high quality of her lovely lady lumps aside, Tamara will never win the iPods of this psychographic.
Rather, it is her canny husband whose career will be bolstered.
To maintain the particular brand and rank of fame enjoyed by Sandilands, and not by his wife, an intimate revelation of some sort is now mandatory.
Before sex tape “scandals” became commonplace, fizzy celebrities sought public moments of emotion to sustain their careers. Any strip-tease tended to be of a more poignant sort and tended to use talk shows, rather than grainy video, as a forum. Drew Barrymore, Robert Downey Jr and George Michael are all figures who effectively bet on the depth of redemption as a path to professional success.
These days, as the cultural capital of celebrity diminishes, the strip-tease has just become a strip-tease. In one way or another, the low rent, high-earning celebrity must verify only that he is mundane. Whether by Twitter, leaked indiscretion or lad’s mag, the message to consumers is urgent and clear: I do the same stuff as you. Although my stuff is a little hotter and more expensive.
Martha Stewart, whom I slavishly follow on Twitter, tells me that she is cooking mussels in Hyannis Port. Perez Hilton, whom I now ignore, tells me he is drinking diet coke, at The Palms! And Sandilands too, with his infuriating gift for staying famous, knows what we want. A hyper-realised version of our own lives. You have sex. And so does he.
Only he does it with a Chinese accent.