Posh: the Primetime Debut
Virtually every critic has slammed her special with every disparaging adjective possible. Meanwhile, the British papers are salivating over the savage reviews, gleeful in their premature assessment that the Beckham defection has not gone unpunished. And though the numbers have yet to be announced (at press time), going purely from print at least, it would appear that Victoria Beckham’s one hour debut was a colossal failure.
And still… I loved it. Most of it. Kinda tailed off rather abruptly at the end there but for the most part, especially the first half hour, she killed me. Then again, I like the snotty condescending ones. And truth to be told, if you were going in expecting honesty from Posh Spice, I’m not surprised that you were met with bitter disappointment. She’s a caricature, she knows it, she plays up to it, she won’t apologise for it. And most importantly, she’s not a stuck up plastic twat trying to come off the girl next door.
Like that other elitist bitch Gwyneth Paltrow Victoria Beckham will never be the girl next door and she will never want to be your friend. Any expectation that she’d ever stoop to that is downright absurd and therefore any expectation that she would have demonstrated any redeemable qualities during an entirely choreographed “reality” special is downright naïve.
Better the Fraud you know than the Fraud disguised as America’s Sweetheart at the Central Perk, you know what I mean? All Posh is a tan and concrete tits. The point is not to love her in spite of it but to love her because of it. Maybe you just have to be gay and gossipy to get it.
My favourite lines:
When getting up to answer the door for someone interviewing to be her assistant:
I normally wouldn’t do something like answer the door.
When describing the preferred attributes of an assistant:
She can’t be too goodlooking, she can’t be too thin – it’s all about me.
And of course the best best best ever – following her notorious first pitch delivery at the Dodgers game (hilarity unto itself), Victoria makes a long awaited admission:
I really thought my silicone was gonna fly out my armpit.
Also worthy of note: her best friend shares her hairstyle. And her Main Gay is the hotness.
I’m telling you, my own gays were going bananas.
But still… if she still doesn’t do it for you, there is still her husband. Right off the top of the show, David in the desert, shirt off, pants hung low, blonde and beautiful and lean and unf*ckingbelievably quivering, wrapped around his wife in a variety of affectionate poses. That alone made the hour worthwhile.
See for yourself…and don’t try to tell me it doesn’t stir. Use caution at work.