I am trying my best to fit in to LA life. I have rented a red convertible mustang, bought some gawdy gold shoes and even went to a Pilates class last night. My big hair and Smart-Lipo recovery corset also help. But still things are not quite right.
There seem to be two things missing; breasts. As far as I can make out, no one in LA has normal tits. I’d be amazed if you can even buy a B-cup bra anywhere in this city. Everyone from the sales assistants to the ladies-who-lunch on Rodeo Drive have implants. Or maybe they’re not implants, maybe there’s something in the water that stimulates the mammary gland and they’re all natural; but somehow I doubt it.
Yesterday I went to interview a leading LA dermatologist. In his waiting-room there was a rather (no, incredibly) tacky bronze statue of a mother and child called ‘Mother’s Love – Father’s gem’. This is the kind of thing Americans can somehow say without throwing up, like when you ask them how they are and they reply; “I’m feeling really good about myself, really positive. I went through a rough patch but now I’m like totally over all that and I feel a sense of wholeness I didn’t before.” Just a plain “fine” would have sufficed.
But back to the statue. The mother is gazing adoringly at the daughter, a toddler aged about three. She has her arm around the child. The toddler is gazing adoringly at the largest breasts I have ever seen.
I once saw a Rodin statue called Young Mother and Child. The naked mother in seated, the child is in her lap and their heads are close together. It is a beautiful depiction of the close bond between mother and child. I guess this is what the aim was here; but the thing that really hits you, as is so often the case in LA, is the ridiculous size of the breasts.
But the anti-ageing treatments seem to be having some effect. Yesterday I walked past a man sitting at a bus stop. “You got some change to help me get a sandwich,” he asked. After a week in New York I can barely afford my own sandwich so I walked past briskly. Then he added the words “young lady”. I immediately turned around and gave him a couple of dollars.
Today I am meeting a friend for lunch at the Ivy. This is LA’s “leading celebrity restaurant” and apparently when stars want to deny they’re splitting up they eat lunch there so the paparazzi can see them together. I’ll keep you posted on who is being dumped. A website tells me Brad Pitt was seen there recently but I don’t hold out much hope; he now lives with Angelina in New Orleans.
My only problem now is where to find a decent pair of tits before lunch? Maybe room service?
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007
Be grateful you live in a place where you don’t need to have LA-sized, Betty-Boop boobs to feel, like, whole again, positive and good about yourself. Steve Martin described the average pair of LA breasts, on the average rail-thin LA body, as looking like two bowling balls on an ironing board (in his novel Shop Girl, I think).
I’m sure the anti-age treatments are working miracles, but did it occur to you that maybe the guy trying to bum some money off you called you young lady because he was thrown off by the B-cup? Just kidding!
Wow. Rather impressed with how you managed to pack that entry with all the tired old cliches about Los Angeles. Gee, never heard annnny of that before. Have you ever thought that perhapsyou are seeing what you want or expect to see? Hanging out at the Ivy isn’t helping – go to the real LA.
You brits love your stereotypes, don’t you? Suprised you didn’t call us the colonies….
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You know how to catch a guy’s attention. Silicon Valley!?
Can you believe your silicon breast showroom picture appeared under a “pilates” image search on Google!
Captured, I read your entire article…
That must take real courage to resist the temptation to fit in or at least not be ridiculed for your petite perts. I’m sure they’re great. I for one prefer natural breasts, natural hair, natural lips, etc. There is nothing as special as being accepted for who you naturally are when trying your best – and there is nothing as interrupting as being presented with false items when the “inferior” real and natural item would have been very tasteful – thank you very much!
I wouldn’t like to marry window dressing – I want the real woman.
Thanks for your article; maybe I’ll stop by your “shop” more often now.
Very funny! For a moment I thought there was some awful rumour circulating about me!! This seems like a lifetime ago.
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