Thursday, November 19, 2009

Attention Please, Attention Please

There was a time, in a bygone era, when women were the exclusive guardians of the party limelight.
When it was our prerogative to sashay down a spiral staircase, in an elaborate gown studded with Swarovski crystals, seed pearls and tremendous embonpointe - punctuated only by the sound of our heels on the marble steps, and rhythm of the throng drawing sharp intakes of breath.

But as I spent an evening slipping my feet from one pair of stilettos to another, I realised that women have been robbed.
Robbed wholesale of our right to turn heads and stir heartbeats - by a generation of metrosexual men who envy, not our wardrobes, but the power of feminine magnetism.

The glamourpuss once had a right to exist, to arch her brow and seductively pop an olive between her polished red lips. To whisper dangerous suggestions into the ear of her paramour, all the while charming every guest in the ballroom.
The gentleman thrived as her counterpart, refreshing her martini, allowing her to shine and feeling a secret thrill that this beauty wanted to be his.
He smoked cigars and exuded masculinity, sipped whisky and talked business - tailored and groomed, inwardly satisfied that the lady on his arm was the evening's shining star, that her glossy red nails would trace a path down nobody's spine but his.

It struck me tonight, that here we are in 2009 with fashion trends driving young women to dress like drag queens, caricatures in too-high shoes - running, whilst stumbling, after this cultural phenomenon of attention seeking men.
Men who devote themselves to building up or slimming down, using the semi-anonymity of the cyber world to feel validated, spending hours on the perfect webcam snap to create the illusion of a bigger, better version of who they really are - all the while desperately seeking to claim that 'staircase' moment as their own.

As an individual I'm well aware that I have my flaws, but let me make one thing clear - I am the Diva.
It is my right to wear the metaphorical gown and graciously accept compliments. It is my place to bat my lashes and arch my brow, to charm the crowd whilst my heart beats only for one other.
Essentially, any man who wants to steal my grand entrance and stand in my follow spot, is not a man worth having.