an image to die for
page 1 of 3
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of issue 76
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If we are to believe the advertising industry - heaven knows why we should
- the instant you reach the Big Five-O your hair turns snowy white, you
become incontinent, you need a stairlift and you trade in the Porsche
for a Vauxhall Astra, which you drive like the Pope's chauffeur.
Well, you do slow down a bit, things begin to creak and occasionally drop
off, but the image has about as much to do with reality as the chisel-jawed
stud in his 20s who struts his stuff across the pages of the gay and straight
press, pecs and abs honed to perfection.
To have the kind of body, male or female, designated 'desirable' by advertisers
must be great. But the reality is that very few of us have it and, if
you are one of the lucky few that do, the chances are you won't keep it
for long. That's not only because time passes and gravity does its worst,
but also because notions of desirable body shape change too.
Look at, oh, an old Van Morrison record cover (I choose him because he's
now a blimp). Gaze at the waif-like hippy features and wondered if he
ever ate. I bet he never went to a gym or took steroids, whatever else
he might have taken. Even seeing a photo of James Dean with his kit off
makes you wonder what all the fuss was about.
It's hardly a secret to anyone that we are constantly manipulated by the
advertising industry, by TV and by Hollywood. But it didn't begin there.
We have always been
manipulated, one way or another. Donatello's lissom, effeminate David gave way to Michaelangelo's muscle hunk - and no one, by the way, seemed to
