Nothing seduces our attention away from the humdrum of daily life like a dose of scandale. Whether it’s for schadenfreude purposes, escaping from the banality of proper living and living vicariously through the misdeeds of others or simply peeking through a peephole on the door of surreal possibilities, society’s love for scandal is undeniable.
Of course although juicy tidbits may fall a dime a dozen anytime of the year, there are those that stand out against the rest. Naughty heroines that we all don’t wish to be, but still hold our attention. As if their transgressions were the zeitgeist, we laud their rebellion against the establishment. As they get mirandized for their actions, we cant help but root for them – no matter how impish they have been!
I’ve always liked bad girls. As a child, I always wanted to be Veronica. Not because I wanted to be a bitch, which is what all of us end up becoming anyway once we get wise about life. Bad girls, in lit and film, are always more real. We can identify with them and see our own weakness in their characters. The classic protagonist serves as a reminder of how flawed we all can be. As Luftmenschs still serve a purpose in society, these nappy soilers are simply out to climb the walls!
There is something to be said about these women whom I call scan-dolls. Scan-dolls are the representative wayward femmes, who did not only participate in scandale activities, but defined it. As Franks says, "They did it their way." These women are usually beautiful, from interesting backgrounds, linked to equally intriguing men (or women). The special and compelling trait that these women have is their ability not only to shock your tongue dry but, oddly enough, to elicit sympathy as well. There are several genres of scan-dolls that have colored our history. My personal favorites are the naughty heiresses like Talitha Getty, Patty Hearst, Princess Margaret, Doris Duke and Barbara Hutton. Patty Hearst was the publishing heiress who, after being kidnapped by terrorists, became one herself and even fell in love with her captors. Princess Margaret stood by her married man from the time she was 14 only to give him up after almost bringing the house down with her scandalous trysts. Doris and Babs rivaled each other on who could get the hotter gigolo with tragic results. At least, clever Doris died rich (although swindled by her butler and some friends), poor Babs died in a roach motel catapulting her to poor little rich girl iconic status.
They never really did anything much aside from being gossip fodder. Although the tricks of these scan-dolls serve as mementos on how fame and wealth are not all they’re cracked up to be. They possess everything we covet and yet cry more than Claudine Barretto in a regular soap season and cruise through the day popping meds. These heartrending heroines also pepper the scenes of a generation. They leave legacies of their pain and add a romantic hue to history. They also function as cautionary tales. It’s a constant reminder of how life turns out when you take it for granted. They are not idols at all. Rather they survive in our memories as figures who rather make us feel better about ourselves. That is why we love the underdog, messianic instincts aside, they secretly make us feel superior. Just the same way we take leather jacketed vagabonds under our wing. And nothing gives a more exhilarating feeling than feeling superior to someone who seems to have it all. Although the sugar kick is that in such a time where everything was rigid and prescribed, it was a great thing to hear that these women who were trained to be submissive and disappear in the background, provided more than just a hairline crack on the antiquated establishment of the upper crust. They made fun of the already farcical money and power circus with unforgettable flair.
These days, scan-dolls are perhaps almost extinct. Well yeah, you have winsome Winona in her Marc Jacobs ensemble crutched down with moist eyes peering towards a jaded jury about her crime. As cute as her outfits are, it all seems so contrived, almost insulting to the tabloid- reading public. Think Pamela Lee and Anna Nicole Smith, the C-list smashmouths who try to fill in Bette Davis’ shoes or, at the very least, Mae West’s. Celebrities have always been properties of Hollywood. There is nothing new about manufactured fame, since the old studio system lived by it. However, after so much J.Lo that it’s so J.No, we’re all sick of it. Yes I admit I love my tabs, I love my E! and I love MTV. But that whole tragic and romantic glamour is gone. There is no shroud of mystery, just a PR machinery in full throttle. Perhaps this is why I have such an abnormal fascination for the upper-crust waywards. They had no PRs then, they simply just defied convention and looked good doing it. Today even 13-year-olds have PRs for their bar mitzvahs.
Even hard-partying socialites who used to collect gasps and stares by the keg are just now, well, trashy. Think Paris Hilton with her antics and her peep show dresses. It’s amusing for office downtime, but will someone be writing a book about her that’s more than 10 pages long – without pictures? Paris against someone like Talitha looks just so unfortunate (Talitha died in a swimming pool in Marrakesh under scandale circumstances wrapped in Mink, Paris would probably do it with just pink lipgloss).
Gone are the detached ice queens of yore who ruled the upper class (or alternately shunned by the upper class), they are now replaced by the knifed and injected crew that leave very little to the imagination and fabric yardage.
Maybe it’s because we live in a morally relaxed time already. Nothing seems to shock us anymore, rather these little episodes amuse or alternately disgust. Maybe people are jaded and that in this Prozac generation, any trouble is self-inflicted and can be remedied by simply popping a pill. Maybe this is the quality of life we lead, prone to scandal and improper behavior. A theft of a millionairess, perhaps a heiress buck naked in Vanity Fair, affairs left and right with friends and strangers just seem like everyday activities like flagging a taxi or buying your daily muffin. I guess it all started when Andy Warhol declared that everyone can have their 15 minutes of fame. The price of celebrity went down as droves of wannabes suddenly became somebodies for reasons that are sometimes unknown. When they say that the value of a celebrity has gone down, the value of a scan-doll is nil.
I guess it also has a lot to do with the fact that life is simply not the way it was anymore. The theatrics pulled off by naughty rich girls aren’t as droll anymore as it used to be given the economic situation. A Patty Hearst these days would be treated like an O.J. case as opposed to how it was treated in her revolutionary era. We live in serious times (seriously sadly ridiculous too).
In this celebrity-obsessed culture, everyone wants a piece of the pie, without really having any thought of how they may get it. From reality TV to tell-all books, every regular Joe can be a star. As fastidious as I am in my scandale radar, in a time where everyone is shell-shocked, what can truly be shocking is when a true scan-doll star emerges once again!