Sexy simply isn’t what it used to be.
Most of what passes for steamy in today’s entertainment industry is actually low-grade porn, mixed in with some trailer trash, tattooing and ‘enhanced flotation devices’ that seem to have lives-and press agents-of their own.
It wasn’t always this way, though. The Bond girls of the 60s and early 70s were deliciously naughty but never dirty (except, perhaps, for their exquisite names like Pussy Galore and Octopussy) and they knew how to use curlers, eyeliner and girdles to the best effect. No dragon art on their biceps, no stainless steel through their lower lips, no fake tans Brazilians or vajazzling (and if you don’t know what that is, never mind.)
To me, the essence of sexy can be summarized in two words: Julie Newmar. I was reminded of the first, and greatest, Cat Woman when I saw photos of the lovely Anne Hathaway caught in the same role in “The Dark Knight Rises.” Annie is sweet enough, and a very good actress, and having met her in person once for all of 30 seconds I have a vague memory her being exceedingly smart.
But sexy? Nope.
Looking at Hathaway’s feline fatale, I can’t help comparing her to the great Julie, with curves that rivaled the Grande Corniche in Monaco and a voice that oozed out of her like drizzled caramel. It also helped to have a MENSA level I.Q. Adam West’s Batman was no match for her (heck, he was barely a match for Robin.)
Here’s to Miss Julie: A Pussy Galore-ious.