And speaking of the flesh ... or lack of meat. Our tabloid-of-heart (a term somewhat new kind of tacky that I invented to call it somehow) alerts us to the current plague of Hollywood, which is not drugs or alcohol, but anorexia. Resolve the difficult question of when a person is too thin and when it has definitely fallen into the clutches of a mental illness (with physical, yet mental) from which most do not get out. I banalizarÃa the subject, but I do agree in stressing the tendency to pauperization of the silhouette of the famous general are valued lack of, rather than the rotund presence. Where missing myths, imposing suffered nymphs. It sufficed a glorious edition of Cannes to see what is conspicuous by its absence: the spectacular carnal. Against the silhouette of dreams a few years ago opposes mental stunting of the new aristocracy of Hollywood and fashion, we return to "Never thin enough" of the maligned Wallis Simpson. It makes me miss even the eighties, with the club jerseys included. If Jane Fonda then seemed thin, where are we now? The latest to fall in the heady gossip tabloid has been Catherine Zeta-Jones. Women's athletic figure ever, but subject to the vagaries logic of motherhood, has succumbed to the trend of the pack and looks in his final appearances and a face unusually sharp silhouette ...
And speaking of ... are still in high edged knives ready to fall on the public image of the Princess of Asturias. And it's not to say it because the look down, but because I keep reading Hello! elegies to the incessant wrangles pseudo-calendar of events of all kinds and its "undeniable" style. Much has been raining since this royal wedding without banners: rumors, pregnancies, family tragedies, stolen photos, misunderstandings, isolation and boredom public. My impression is policy that we have a Republican Princess: I had never imagined so many gestures (by default) so discordant with the figure of the Queen to play touch. But then, I'm no political analyst and this is not the subject of the blog. What I can confirm from my cyber pulpit and the sharp mind that God has something so obvious, so obvious that it must be why neither lie, because I can not explain the almost complete silence of the hundreds of official national gossips about it: the Princess of Asturias is visibly deteriorated. In four years he has gun-loving presenter Adolfo Dominguez style to pounce a full decade to lose little body fat he had, and eliminate any hint of freshness and spontaneity typical of the thirties. Its expensive clothing Felipe Varela, consisting of jackets-without closure, or waist coat and suit jacket rancid four buttons do nothing to give the image of a dynamic and glamorous, so typical of the heirs of a dynasty. Only additions are saved care: bespoke shoes in the best national workshops and small baguette purses whose good taste and sophistication now seem to me more than coincidental that the logical conclusion of a global style. The unfortunate interpretation of the latest trend hair (a bob or Melenita formless indefinite stripe and a fringe unfinished) contribute to the sense of loss. Mirrors must be missing at La Casita del Principe.
