Dumbing down Alpha
A battle erupted this week between film star Orlando Bloom and teen popstrel and social irritant Justin Bieber [Didact: These labels are overly generous for both men. Orlando Bloom can't act, and Justin Bieber can't sing. He is an annoying little jackass, I'll give him that much.]. Unusually, it was a feud played out not merely virtually, but physically. Bloom endeavoured to punch his pocket-sized rival, [Didact: badly] after they crossed paths in a celebrity-packed Ibiza restaurant. The ostensible cause of this altercation was Bloom’s ex-wife, the model Miranda Kerr.
As Bloom stalked manfully away, Bieber (rumoured to have once been intimate with Kerr) taunted: “Say hi to Miranda for me.” In the wake of this incident, he posted a picture of Kerr in a bikini with a symbol of a crown next to it; later still, a picture of Bloom weeping. Kerr, never one to miss an opportunity for self-promotion, responded by issuing a picture of herself with her child, swiftly followed by an image of her sporting jeans, topless, in a bath.
This is not the only skirmish Kerr appears to have inspired. The model was the occasion of a savage street brawl three months ago between billionaire businessman James (son of Kerry) Packer and television executive David Gyngell, his former best man and comrade of some 35 years. Packer was reported to have been left with a black eye, swollen cheekbone, and damaged teeth, requiring medical assistance. [Didact: That's it? And that's what you call a "savage street brawl"? I'd have expected to see someone in a cast...] Kerr made no comment, not even via the elliptical medium of topless shots.
Who is this enigmatic goddess, whose attentions inspire such testosterone-fuelled feats? Is it a sign of power that she reduces men to such Neanderthal wrangling, or testament only to a status as mute, Instagramming object?
Miranda May Kerr, 31, is an Australian model who came to global prominence as one of the Victoria’s Secrets “angels”: women paid to train like athletes in order to retain lithe yet curvaceous forms with which to model underwear. [Didact: Hey, if you're good at looking good, why not make money from it?] Kerr is foremost among this hotly fantasised-over celestial host, not only in looks but in manipulating and marketing said status.
Her face may be a rhombic tribute to Euclidean geometry, her body that svelte, yet strainingly pneumatic form our culture most fetishises. However, it is the way in which she sells herself as an object of desire that remains most compelling. In 2010, an Australian banker was caught gazing at explicit images of our heroine in the background of a television interview. The clip went viral, the banker was suspended, and an internet campaign was launched on his behalf. Kerr cannily gave him her blessing. Not only did he retain his post, the incident prompted a 100 per cent increase in the number of Google searches for her name.
In more wholesome vein, she markets herself as the dimpled embodiment of girl-next-door vitality, advocating a tree-hugging yoga, kale and coconut oil lifestyle, and has published a self-help book queasily entitled Treasure Yourself. [Didact: Translation- she's nuttier than a fruitcake, but she's also hotter than July. And when I say "nutty", I mean "crazy like a fox"- see below.]
It is a suggestive phrase. For Kerr has transformed her pulchritude into a source of wealth and power, and the world takes her at her own estimation, as coveted and treasured swag. She is routinely awarded the title “Sexiest Woman in the World” by the organs that issue such designations. It is an epithet that would once have been rendered “Most Beautiful Woman in the World”, like Homer’s Helen, “the face that launch’d a thousand ships, / And burnt the topless towers of Ilium”. Twenty-nine contingents, under 46 captains, making 1,186 ships, all for the sake of Zeus’s daughter, ravishing as she was ravished.
Helen of Troy was the ultimate fought-over woman: a beautiful receptacle for fantasy via which men could compete to define themselves and their relationships. First, they contended over who should win her. Then they united to defend her father’s choice. The three goddesses offer Paris their bribes. He can surpass all other men by becoming king of Europe and Asia, by being skilful in war, or by possessing the world’s most beautiful woman; this latter asset evidently representing ambition’s pinnacle. Paris seizes his prize, indistinguishable as she is from the loot he takes with him. A decade-long war is waged in her name: a rhetorical repository for male tribal honour, geopolitical strife, and the balance of wealth between East and West.Miranda Kerr is gorgeous, make no mistake. She has the kind of face, body, and presence that instantly stops traffic and reduces otherwise highly intelligent and powerful men to a state of drooling imbecility simply by virtue of her presence.
|Uhh... what was I saying again?|
- If you and your woman "split amicably", as you insist on telling the world, just move on, dude. She's out doing her thing, you should be out doing yours.
- Learn how to punch. It's not easy. My teacher keeps telling us this- learning how to strike properly is the hardest thing you'll ever learn in martial arts, but it's by far the most important.
- Don't be a bitch. This should be self-evident but apparently it is not.
- If you can't avoid being a bitch, at least be smart enough not to get caught being a bitch. Orlando Bloom got caught crying after he threw a punch. Enough said.
- If you're going to pick a fight, follow through. When you get into a real, physical fight, there is only one realistic outcome: one of you gets taken out. At the end of this... exchange, both "men" were still standing, presumably trading insults about how expensive the other's tampons are.