Prosecute the torture.

June 25, 2009

RIP, Farrah Fawcett - American Icon

For a great many men of my age, this image:

marked an awakening of sorts - younger boys had other posters (The Fonz? The USS Enterprise?) on their walls but those sprouting hair in scary places had Farrah's poster to look upon with a new and confusing awe.

The lithe figure, clad in a simple red one-piece, sits in front of an old Indian blanket. The main sight lines of her form - the straight right arm swooping upward and the bent left propped upon a naked knee, both direct the viewer's eye to her face, framed in a halo of hair, a tumble of curls. The sight-lines of her legs leads the viewer's eye to that magnificently nippled bathing suit, her curved torso leading the eye, as well, up to her face. The main feature there, of course, being that beaming beaming bright smile - one powerful enough to curve the absolute space around it (you only have to look to the blanket's nearly horizontal lines to see what I mean).

Her expression, it seems to me, is one of complete sexual self-confidence. She knows she's enchanting. She knows she's unattainable. She knows she can have any man she wishes.

And she's smiling because she knows you know as well.

What 13 yr old boy wouldn't be completely captivated by that image, that face, that smile?