20 years ago on 31 August 1997, the Nation went stark, raving mad. Princess Diana, “The Queen of People’s Hearts”, died in a car crash with her paramour in a car driven by a drunk chauffeur in Paris who was driving too fast to escape the attentions of the paparazzi. When the news filtered through in the early hours of the morning, people wept and wailed and tore their garments. In the days that followed, they bedecked Kensington Palace with flowers and did the same at Buckingham Palace. They sat vigil in the parks in the light of flickering candles, clutching teddy bears and sobbing piteously. They mutinied at the decision to keep the young Princes in Scotland away from the bedlam that was London in the throes of grief. WTF has never forgotten the woman who demanded “Where are William and Harry? They should be here in London with us”, as if they were the rightful guardians of two boys aged 15 and 12 who had just lost their mother, as if they were equal in mourning a woman whom they felt they knew but did not know except from TV and the newspapers and OK! Such was their fury at the Royal Family carrying on in its buttoned-up, fuddy-duddy, stiff-upper-lip manner that a riot seemed likely with demented crowds carrying off the coffin screaming “She’s Ours!” Fortunately, after the Queen returned (grudgingly) to London and made a placatory speech, it all calmed down. Everybody wept copiously at Elton John warbling Candle in the Wind, applauded Diana’s brother’s louche, attention-seeking speech and went away. Even now, WTF is still aghast at the hysteria.
Diana was conned into the marriage. The Establishment demanded a virgin and in the early 1980’s, virgins of the right vintage and background were as rare as hens’ teeth. The bride and groom had little in common and he was in love with someone else whilst she, poor thing, thought this was a fairy tale. It wasn’t. There was later infidelity on both sides and she, spurned and angry, grew adept at manipulating the press whilst poor, pedantic Charles had no idea how to counter it. She was beautiful and empathetic, seemingly more human that the family she had married into, she died too young and left behind two children who are patently still struggling with their loss.
But come on. She was a woman, not a saint. This was 20 years ago and many have profited from the Diana industry, the staff betraying their duties of confidentiality, the hangers on and the masseuses and the hypnotists and the speech therapists and the spiritualists peddling their tidbits of gossip, the journalists protesting her ill-treatment whilst working for the same papers that paid fortunes for photographs of her from the paparazzi involved in her death. People still begrudge Charles the job he has been waiting for since birth, still cast untrue aspersions on his parenting, still want to deny his wife any rights because “she’s not Diana” and split up the marriage. WTF is no great fan of Prince Charles but for Heaven’s sake. Let it go. Enough.
We start the review of the week’s sartorial shockers with “Celebrity” Blac Chyna at the launch of her new plastic dolls in LA. Blac is wearing a custom-made, crushed velvet ensemble with 3-D flowers by Shane Justin.
It is as well that the dolls are small and Chyna is full-size otherwise they would be damn near indistinguishable. As for the outfit, the impression is of a gym bunny emerging from an overgrown flowerbed.
Next up we have Queer Eye and How to Look Naked host Carson Kressly in a PacMan suit and matching tie by Opposuits.
The suits costs a whopping £65 from Selfridges and is marketed as being “fun”. In WTF’s view, things marketed as “fun” are usually not “fun” at all. President Trump described his deranged performance in Phoenix this week as “fun” and look how well that turned out.
And now we meet “star” of a previous series of Celebrity Big Brother, glamour model and yoga instructor Casey Batchelor out and about in Portugal.
From toe to tit, this is fine. Great abs. But those bronzed balloons on her chest are encased in just a giant bra which must have more support structure than the Golden Gate Bridge.
An old favourite returns. Of course it is actor Jared Leto wearing Gucci.
WTF is quite convinced that is a woman’s shirt with long ties for a pussycat bow. Unless male tomcat bows are now a thing. The shirt is lovely but it has as much to do with the hideous $1,500 floral joggers as Hitler had to do with cake decoration. Ditto the red socks worn with checkerboard Vans.
Yes she was in last week but America’s Got Talent judge and former Spice Girl Mel B is back for the second time and with good reason.
Yurgle. Mel has clearly modelled this look, including the badger’s bum hair, on a technicolour version of Storm from X-Men, complete with torso triangles, bellybutton blur and genitalia curtains. No one has owned up to designing this tackfest. Good call.
Finally we have Diva-de-luxe Mariah Carey, on stage with her son Moroccan at Madison Square Garden, wearing Falguni Shane Peacock.
Moroccan is cute but having to stand next to your mum when she is covered in metal filings, flashing her all and wearing no knickers is tantamount to child cruelty. Look at him! He is only six years old and he is mortified.
Meanwhile, it is time for Mariah to rethink her entire look as a matter of urgency.
This week’s It’s Got To Go is the dude who always stands behind President Trump at rallies, the tosser in a tee-shirt reading “Trump & Republicans Are Not Racist – Gods2.com” whilst holding aloft a sign declaring “Blacks for Trump”. This guy has been getting on WTF’s nerves for a while because of the orgasmic pleasure with which he greets Trump’s every utterance. His name is either Michael Symonette, Maurice Woodside or Mikael Israel, depending on what day it is. He just adores Trump, actually mouthing “I love you” at his hero in Phoenix. Gods2.com is his mad put-on-the-tin-hat-and-the-Bacofoil website in which he peddles a number of conspiracy theories, most notably that Hillary Clinton is a member of the KKK and that the Cherokee Nation are the Real KKK Slave Masters, which must come as one hell of a surprise to the pointy-hood brigade down South. He’s Got to Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep those comments coming in as they make WTF feel cheery and please keep sending your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Meanwhile spread the word to your friends and relations to embrace the blog. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x
The excessive mawkishness (mawkicity?) which you describe as surrounding the death of Diana suggests to the amateur psychologist such as I that there is something missing from the life of many Brits. In my belief, increasing the consumption of Vegemite would have the same effect in Britain as it has had in Oz..the fostering of unemotional responses or indeed no responses at all to the misery and suffering of all people other than oneself.
Andrew Purcell has a rival!!!!
Wasn’t sure about commenting on this. There’s a substantial storm making its way towards me and I’ve been distracted, but here goes…
*It’s obvious that Diana connected to people in a way that her ex-husband and his family did not, and it’s a fact that she died an unnecessary death in a preventable car crash. But it’s past time to move on.
There is a ravenous/garish/parasitic (pick any combination) Diana industry that has done everything but dismember her body and sell the parts as holy relics. Those who wish to remember her might be wiser to opt for saying a prayer, lighting a candle, or donating money to any of the causes she promoted rather than purchasing a Diana tee shirt or overpriced photo book.
*Mel B reminded me more of a technicolor remake of the robot from “Metropolis” than Storm.
*A rival? I think not. Perhaps a kindred soul. Jaundice loves company.
I can’t comment on things Australian because I’ve met so few people from down under.
Once worked with a girl who emigrated from South Korea when she was a child. I enjoyed the odd sensation of hearing an Australian accent coming from a face with Korean eyes.
When I was very young my dad had a business associate from Australia. Mostly I remember the story about the night they stopped at a bar for an after-work drink, and one of the locals challenged the Aussie to a beer drinking contest…