Grazia magazine – celebrity gloss
Tamara’s husband is just one reason why she should be admired. One other is that she has “peachy skin”. Another is that she is the “wild child party girl who got pregnant aged just 16.”
And we are minded of Craig Brown, the satirist, now working for the Daily Mail – who delivers his “I is – You Are – He is” look at the world, what we call Preposterous Pronouns.
Tamara is a wild child
You are stroppy
She is a pain in the arse
Tamara has a male chauvinist husband
You are married to a control freak
He is a pig
Tamara is a “buyer for a luxury online shopping service”
You are a shopahoplic
She is spoilt
Tamara wants to share her life with us
She’s talking to Graham on the Jeremy Kyle show
We join Lily as she looks at herself in a compact mirror, applies lipstick to her lips – on her face (this is no daring critique on the fashion industry) – and tells us about the moment she arrives in the Chanel barn with that Farmer Karl and his bevy of clothes horses made from actual people:
“When I came out of the hole in the stage, my heart stopped.”
Thankfully, Lily can do her routine in her coma, and neither Prince nor Rihanna, nor indeed any of the great and good that come to watch the bucolic splendour of a city farm where the cows go Miu Miu, the cats go “Mwwwwa” and the birds go “I’m a mo-del, singer actress bored of boys my own age…”
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HOW long does Angelina Jolie need to be “in hiding” before she becomes a recluse?
And to complicate the matter: Can a celebrity ever be in hiding if they are being talked about on the cover of Grazia magazine?
Note: It takes time for Angelina and other celeb mums to think up baby names. As 14 observes in her new book…
SURE Freya Dawson, heiress to a trucking fortune, is rich and celebrated her 21st birthday with a £4million party that featured Mark Ronson as a hired singer, Billecart-Salmon champagne, 450 guests, a specially built casino and a pile of expensive presents, many still unopened.
Sure, she has “travelled to the world’s most luxurious destinations – beaches in Barbados, skiing in Austria, horse riding in Argentina and on safari to Africa”.
Sure she has 30 pairs of designer shoes, spent “months” practising for her birthday performance with 20 hired dancers – she was clad in a bespoke costume and lowered from the ceiling on a giant hoop.
But Freya wants to tell Grazia readers that she is not vapid and spoilt. She’s a hard working girl who wants to own her won record label. And she’s striving to make her goal real:
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She is in conversation with Grazia:
“I remember doing my A levels and, as I left, this girl came chasing after me. I was trying to get away because I knew what she was going to say: ‘You’re Paul McCartney’s daughter, aren’t you?’ She then looked at me and said: ‘I know exactly what it feels like: I’m the vicar’s daughter.’ At the time, I thought she so didn’t have a clue, but as I’ve got older I’ve realised she completely did.”
The still worse news is found on the cover of Grazia, and it is that Angelina’s new “baby” is worth £4million. What fears that the child will struggle to feed and clothe itself high in the Hollywood Hills?
Dealing with each shock in turn, the Enquirer can confirm that Angelina fell over in a room and was left “tearful, weak and panic-stricken” (see A Mighty Heart).
As luck would have it, the medical team that accompany Angelina (a doctor and nurse expert in giant panda reproduction and celebrity births) made sure the babies were alright.
Both embryonic girls are said to be fine, but Grazia says only one of them is worth £4million, so invoking a princess and the pauper scenario that should have all the planet gripped.
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Forget auditioning to be the new Oliver, this is the gig any fame-hungry boy wants.
One condition, though, is that all contenders have to be called Alex.
Grazia magazine reports that Aniston has told friends that she is to adopt and likes the name Alexander. As the front-page headline says: “Jennifer to adopt a baby boy called Alex!”
Jen has, we learn, already spent $300,000 on a nursery for the son she does not yet have.
Her Beverly Hills mansion has two children’s bedrooms, a “nanny suite” and a playroom “with storage space for toys and clothes”.
The wardrobes may already be full of choice garments, all monogrammed with the initials AA – letters that invoke images of a cry for help (Alcoholics Anonymous, the Automobile Association, Adam Ant), but which now suggest hope and love.
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What couple has not been there when the third worst phrase in marriage punctures the still, sleepy silence: “You awake?”
But Victoria Beckham, for it is she, is not nudging her Day-vid to talk about her worries but dialling his phone number.
David is also, as reported, on the blower. He’s texting his wife.
Is it a Bext?
Bext (message) (n) – An obscene text message.
(“You should see the bext he sent me. He’s one dirty son of a bitch.”)
Source: Anorak Dictionary.
David, says Grazia is texting his wife to tell her that he’s going out.
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Courteney is “frail and gaunt”, which may well be this year’s signature look. “In Hollywood, you get your bottom half to be the right size, your face may have to be a little gaunt,” says Cox. “You choose your battles.”
Upsettingly, there is no picture of the Courteney lower regions, Grazia preferring to focus on the upper Cox. As such, we cannot tell which part of the greater Cox warzone is taking the high ground, unable to see which battle is being won and which lost. At a guess, though, given the look of Cox’s face, we can guess that her backside is as round and ripe as a fresh-plucked nectarine.
The face may, however, look more like the stone within the nectarine, and friends are said to be concerned. Readers learn that Jennifer Aniston has sent Cox a chef to “encourage Courtney to start eating better and more regularly”.
We are then afforded an insight into the Cox-Aniston eating regime and how they have indulged in “food mirroring”. Children under the age of seven may know this as “she’s copying me”.
Says Grazia: “Each morning they both had a bagel with the bread scooped out and for lunch they always ordered the same low-calorie salad of turkey, lettuce, chickpeas, pecorino cheese and lemon dressing.”
In addition, Cox and Aniston are said to follow “Budokon, a fat-free shake which combines energetic martial arts movements with yoga and meditation”.
When supple enough, the hope is that Cox can ruminate on her backside and in a downward dog pass it off as her face…
This, as Grazia magazine tells us, means they are “Royals And Heiresses”. They are HooRAH Henrys. No big departure for HooRAY Henrys (Rich And Young), but on such details are the reputations of magazines made.
Wills and Harry Baseball Cap are also “the new Noel and Liam”, believed not to be Irish footballer of yore Liam Brady and resurgent TV personality Noel Edmonds, rather Liam and Noel Gallagher, popular singers and champions of wrapping up in a chill wind. (“Hoods and Anoraks on, kids!” is their catchphrase.)
No sign of a scarf and woolly hat for Wills on the Mail’s front page, but he is sat before 14 bottles of alcopops and two pints of lager.
Can it be that having dabbled in the City, the Armed Forces and as a peacenik, Wills is now learning to be a hellraising rock ‘n’ roll star?
“William and the clubber slashed with a bottle,” comes the headline. And we wonder some more.
“Our future king on a boys’ night out. An hour later in the same nightclub, a reveller is slashed with a broken bottle.”
Are the two things linked? “ROYAL EXCLUSIVE,” announces the Star on its front page. “WILLS GLASS ATTACK HORROR.”
Wills is on a “larger and vodka bender”. He is “caught up in a vicious attack”. There is a “bloodbath”.
To the Barracuda club in Newquay, Cornwall.
“I WAS BOTTLED AT PRINCE WILLIAMS £1-A-DRINK PUB.” So says the Mirror’s front-page headline, which makes it seem as though Wills is drinking for research purposes, having opened a nice little boozer on the south coast.
But look out! Dan O’Callaghan has “just spotted Wills” and his. Dan is having a row with two men. A broken bottle is introduced to his face. And 25 stitches later (35 stitches, says the Mail) he is speaking to the Mirror.
“I watched Wills down £1 drinks… then thugs did THIS to my face,” says the headline, a neat surmising of the night’s events.
Are the two events linked? Did looking at Wills earn Dan a bottling, or glassing as the Star has it, exclusively?
In what way are the two things connected? We need to know. This one could run and run…
LOOKING for something to comment upon in this week’s Grazia, the Anorak was unable to find much by way of content.
Perhaps the magazine is engaged in a post modern experiment to reflect what it features within. In which instance as well as being thin it should be shrink wrapped and sprayed orange.
Although Laura Crack does tell us “Why cocoon is the new smock”, so enabling nuns and vestal virgins to keep abreast of new trends. And the new body look is called “size sleek”, advising women to be tall and thin, making the short and fat soooo last season…
Victimhood is the preferred route for many fame hungry celebs – see: “I was bullied”; “I was edited to look bad”; “My bi-polar disorder” – and no-one screams “victim” like a spurned lover.
No, make that no-one screams “victim” like a spurned lover with an agent.
And in this week’s Grazia magazine Sarah Matravers unburdens herself.
When I’m A Celerity Get Me Out Of Here began, Ms Matravers was a model/actress living with former EastEnders’ waiter Marc Bannerman.
Now she is “devastated” model/actress Sarah Matravers, telling us how Marc told her he was “going to the jungle to make money for their future babies”. But instead the romance ended in a “very public betrayal” as Marc and fellow jungleist Cerys Matthews engaged in “intimate embraces in a hammock” and “loaded looks”.
“Thank God I’m not pregnant,” says Sarah. “I stopped using contraception in February…I wouldn’t be the kind of person to deny my kids a father, which means I’d be linked to this man for the rest of my life.”
Instead Sarah promises to be linked to Marc for the rest of her professional life, becoming known to millions of magazine readers and daytime telly viewers as “spurned lover Sarah Matravers”.
Now instead of carrying little Bannerman-Matravers, Sarah’s wondering if she’s carrying something else. “I’m going to have some tests in case I’ve caught anything… Yes, I’m going to have the full tests – for everything, including HIV.”
Marc, like the rest of us victim-hungry readers, awaits the results with a keen interest…
Sadly, as reported in the Enquirer, Ms Jolie is removing herself to France and will not be returning to Ethiopia, land of daughter Zahara‘s birth any time soon.
Should Zahara’s family want to meet Ms Jolie they are advised to put another child up for adoption and wait their turn like everybody else…
Picture: 14 – Buy her prints here
The magazine goes on to advertise “93 ‘It’ Boots”, doubtless a nod to Heather Mills and anyone else with a spare leg.
But we stay with Beckham and see her entering a fashion show in Paris. She is late. Fashionably so. Buts, sadly, in last season’s fashion and there are boos and much noisy eye-rolling.
And a heated debate. A source hears Victoria’s people rowing with singer Kanye West’s people about who should arrive last at which show. Of course with this being fashion there are handbags. But all is made well when Victoria and Kanye agree to disagree and place one limb each into the same trouser leg and arrive together but apart.
It’s not about fashion, see. The Times’ fashion editor says it is all about branding. Not – repeat not – fashion. Branding is like getting dressed by committee.
Victoria should look like a clotheshorse but with much input she ends up resembling a camel, albeit one who gives everyone else the hump…
The that is underlined. It is not this feud nor is it the other feud. It is that feud. When it comes to feuding, Sarah Jessica is one up on Cliff Barnes and JR Ewing. If thar’s a-feudin’ to be done, Sarah Jessica Parker’s the gal to do it.
And turning the page, we read “SJP: ‘HOW I ENDED THAT FEUD”’ and learn that SJP “couldn’t be happier”.
Many feuds end with one party enacting a revenge killing, a Japanese katakiuchi, an eye for an eye, a Moldavian massacre.
“I really wanted it to happen,” says SJP, and it was a bitter pill to swallow that it didn’t happen for so long.”
Such is way of a vendetta. Patience is all. You may wait one, two or three generations, but blood will out. Blood will be spilled. You will have your day.
So here is SJP stood in NY, meeting the SATC gang. Can you repair the damage of a friendship lost? Can you be bosom buddies again. Can you… etc. etc.
“Making the show was one of the best experiences of my professional life,” says SJP. “It gave single women a voice and showed that being single is not a disease.”
Those among us who stand in the precinct on a Friday night and hear single women crack out a lusty rendition of It’s Raining Men on their way to the STD clinic, may question SJP’s pioneering credentials.
But SJP is in conciliatory mood, and we do not want to raise her hackles, lest she begin a feud with us…