Full disclosure: ANS has had my undying love ever since she did the Guess? ads. Just so ya know.
What’s interesting is that people seem to really want to show that they don’t care, or that she was just a trashy piece of whoredom who should have been happy at the Wal-Mart. This is what I said to that (unedited and kinda angry, so heads up):
You are so much better than she was. You’re right. ANS, that tacky, blousy slut, is the very devil. She was the ripened fruit falling off the vine, while you’re the uniform-looking pear that’s hanging there, waiting. Just waiting. Waiting for what? Why, for society to pluck you from the tree, lump you with the rest of the upright, and give you the validity that you crave.
Let’s be honest here. ANS is the girl in the supermarket wearing the adorable platforms, the form-fitting skirt, and the cami top with incredibly perky breasts. Her hair is tousled, shiny, and bed-fresh. She smiles, and people stumble over themselves. The shelf-stocker doesn’t let her even reach for what she wants; he hands it to her. Her manicure and pedicure are flawless.
You stand there, moving slightly when you get hit by another shopper’s cart. The LL Bean crewneck shell that you wore that day at your cubicle mill is rumpled. Strands of mousy hair droop around you. The sensible shoes that you bought from Talbot’s hide your yellowed toes that you don’t make time to cut. The stocker frowns at you when you get close to him.
Well, they can be nice for that showy whore, can’t they? But you’re better. She doesn’t work a normal job, or have to account for herself, does she? Fucking whores like her don’t go to school; if they do, it’s for their MRS degree. Yeah, that bitch probably has ten dates this week…but you have your husband. Never mind that he’s really paunchy and quite selfish, but you’re MARRIED.
You’ve been accepted. That hour long commute into the city, lost in the crowds, shoving people just to get that cup of cheap coffee, is what is right. It’s what’s expected. It’s uniform, and nonthreatening. It’s something that doesn’t make you have to stick your neck out, because only instigators do that.
I suppose, then, that you’ve never worked a pole. It’s hard as hell. Your feet hurt. There are nice clients, and there are nasty ones. It’s hard work.
I suppose, then, that you’ve never worked at a fashion show, or a shoot. It’s tedious, dull, and sometimes painful for the model. There’s a lot of pressure. There are poses in the streets, late at night, overtime, in the cold. Paparazzi are crowding the backstage, trying to photograph your tits. It’s hard work.
I suppose, then, that you’ve never had a child in your teens, or the blessing/curse of being creative and non-traditional- too vibrant and open to be lost in a sea of cubicles and increasingly meaningless degrees.
ANS did all this. Because of that, people like SarahKay and others despise her. She is disgusting, for the very fact that she never conformed, and always fought on her own terms. She represents a spirit that you wish you could touch, but never will, due to your own fear and disdain of what you cannot understand.
Suck it, y’all. ANS lived balls out, you don’t, and she was fucking hotter than any of you could ever hope to be, or ever hope to screw. Have fun with your mediocrity.
LL Bean should be running a sale soon. Stock up now, y’all!
I’m imagining the reception won’t be that nice. More’s the pity.