Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Pubic Hair: the movie

Spoilers below, of course.
The movie Trance, written by Joe Ahearne and John Hodge, and directed by Danny Boyle, is a crime thriller. But once you see Rosario Dawson fully naked you don’t really care because you are too busy scratching through the hair on your head wondering about the importance of the lack of hair on Rosario’s vagina.

Let me back up a bit.

Several weeks ago I shared a table and drinks with four married women, who I first met that evening. They were clearly on a rampage to stir it up, however safely, with a bachelor. The very first topic of conversation was manscapping, which from there was an easy segue into each woman’s pubic hair maintenance routine. Bare down there is definitely in, but who wasn’t aware of this? Brazilian waxes have been mainstream for over a decade. Point being it is no rare thing to find that a woman’s thing is completely hairless.

Back to the movie.

The lead character finds hairless vaginas to be da bomb. It is his fetish. If something so commonplace can be a fetish. I mean this is 2013, not 1973. Certainly you may prefer no pubic hair, but to gape in astonished awe at a freshly shorn hoo-haa stirs only incredulity in the viewer. Incredulity towards the screenwriters. Who the hell are these guys? Raised by nuns in a secluded boys orphanage who leave the nest only to discover the wondrous world of smooth lady parts?

The lead character is into renaissance art. You know, where the nudes were usually plumb, angelic, and a tad too young looking, especially since none of them ever have any pubic hair. Then along comes Francisco Goya, who around 1800 or so paints in the faintest of landing strips. Voila, says the lead character, the birth of modern art. This was considered scandalous at the time, to include pubic hair in a female nude painting. Goya apparently paid for it during the Spanish Inquisition. Ironic, considering that actresses today sometimes wear fake pubic hair (called a merkin) in certain movies so as not to offend delicate modern audiences.

The woman in the lead character’s life, Rosario Dawson, knows of his … fetish. I guess we can call it a fetish, and not just a preference. Here is how the scene goes down, so to speak. Rosario says she knows what he likes, and she disappears down the hall into her bathroom. You can hear the hair trimmers humming away. So I guess she went back there with a 1970’s bush because I honestly thought she was going all Sinead O’Conner. Sounded like she was removing hair from the heads of a newly recruited army platoon. Rosario catwalk struts out of the bathroom (I’m too sexy for this hair, too sexy for this hair, it is gone from down there) and the camera pans up her body, past her smooth love triangle, which is triangle no more. The lead character gasps in astonishment.

I am thinking two things. One, what kind of electric trimmer removes hair completely and so effectively without any apparent burns or irritation? I need one of those to shave my face. Two, the makers of this movie are like Austin Powers, or something. Time travelled from a past forested with pubic hair to the smooth operators of today. Yeah, baby.

Friday, April 5, 2013

French Kiss This

There is an article on The Gloss, written by Amanda Chatel, about how French men are the best lovers. I follow Amanda Chatel on Twitter so I know she has been in Paris standing on French streets with French shower water on her body and nothing else under her raincoat while she French kisses her French lover. I have never had sex with a Frenchman, nor a Frenchwoman for that matter. In fact I am an American male who has had sex only with American females, so what can I possibly know about comparative sexual enjoyment across international lines?

Like that is going to stop me from talking about it. We are not products of our culture. Culture is a product of its inhabitants. Let’s correlate culture to lovemaking style.

There is a stereotype for French culture, and how do stereotypes comes into existence? Because they are mostly true, mostly. I have been to Paris so I know the French like to use open spaces. Wide sidewalks and avenues, expansive parks and green spaces. I also believe the unofficial French motto is “every person for themselves.” Best seen at the Arc de Triomphe were 12 avenues converge with no traffic control whatsoever. The only way you make it through there is by taking the initiative and being aggressive. Also exemplified by how the French stand in line. Generally they don’t; it is often a mass of people jockeying for position.

The French are about sitting around and enjoying wine or coffee. The French are about long meals with personal interaction. French movies are meandering and slow, with lingering shots and plotlines involved with relating and connecting.

Isn’t all of the above the description of a great lover? Take the initiative and be aggressive. Use open bodily spaces. Take it slow and enjoy. Linger. Relate and connect to your partner’s body, not just her naughty bits.

America. Ah, America. Fast food. Usually doing something else while eating. In a hurry to accomplish tasks. Achieve goals. Win. Destination orientated. Image conscious. Overly concerned with what others are doing. And America movies? Fast paced. Loud. Blunt. Big on the action and little on the plot. America is about the individual, concerned with meeting their own needs.

Which sounds like better sex to you??