Anna Nicole

So, Anna Nicole Smith. I wasn't intending to write about her death but the level of vitriol aimed at her since her passing, particularly on the interwebs, compelled me to post.

I've heard it said that Anna Nicole, whose real name was Vickie Hogan, was no more than a whore. And perhaps that is true. We paid her in time and attention and in return she gave us beautiful pictures and a sad, unintentionally hilarious life. But we are some pretty demanding whores ourselves. In return for fame we asked for her soul. One whore asked only for attention; the other demanded blood...and got it. I know which whore I'd rather be.

I have always bristled at the accusations that she was a gold-digger and therefore a worthy object of derision. What bothers me most is that an equal amount of scorn is not heaped upon her late husband.

Did she marry him for money? For security? We cannot know for sure, but I would suspect that it played a rather large role in her decision to become his wife. But what of him? I refuse to believe that such a wealthy, successful man was a complete idiot. Why did he feel it necessary to marry so late in life to a woman known only for her looks? Could it be because he desired to live out one last fantasy of having a trophy on his arm? Could it be that he realized that such fantasies come at a price and was willing to pay it? Why are her motives so frequently called into question and not his?

So what if she married him for his money? So what if he married her because he wanted to spend his final years face-deep in the bosom of a Playmate? Who did they hurt?

Anna Nicole Smith was beautiful, sexy and voluptuous. But in America, we demand that our celebrities be intelligent and eloquent as well as beautiful and when they are not we make sure to remind them - daily - that they are Only Getting By On Their Looks. We court the beautiful and place them on pedestals and on the covers of magazines and elevate them to a near God-like position but our collective guilt and shame over such shallowness invariably manifests itself as mockery when those demigods fail to live up to our impossible standards. They must be intellectually accomplished as well as physically attractive in order to make us feel better about beating off to their photos. I love her for her MIND, man!

But Anna Nicole Smith exposed our voracious appetite for empty beauty and we punished her for it. She failed to live up to her end of the bargain: we would make her famous for her beauty but only if she proved herself smart enough to make us feel better about being such shallow tools.

But she refused. Whether because she was unwilling or, more likely, unable she forced us to admit that the only reason she was famous was because she had a killer body and a beautiful face. All she wanted was a way out of a dead-end life in rural Texas and when her looks weren't enough anymore she relied on our relentless appetite for tabloid sensationalism and smug superiority to keep her in the press. And, Gods bless her, it worked. For a time.

And we had to admit that we read Playboy for the pictures after all.