Atop a Wrecking Ball…Really?

One could not possibly believe I might be done with commentary on our dear Ms. Cyrus after one public twerking could we? How foolish you must be little one. This week features the release of the “Wrecking Ball” video leaving this chick baffled as to how millions are viewing this trash instead of fashion week. It makes a self-respecting fashionista contemplate retiring upon her chaise, cold cloth to her forehead, champagne at her side.

After all, you could be ogling De La Renta’s spring offerings which literally take one’s breath away and cement the reasoning behind our dear Jackie’s use of his talents time and time again. Or you could marvel at Marc Jacobs’ use of the masculine remarking to yourself that if one chooses to dress ladies in mens wear, always a stellar choice, at least pick the good ones. Or you could join the collective head scratching at Miss Tory’s collection, which is just a bit off the mark. Or revel in Kate Spade’s spring morsels, wishing for the dollar tree out back to sprout giving you the ability to buy one of each. Instead, no amount of eye plucking can erase the image of a young girl disrobed atop a battering orb.

Hope was the foam finger performance at the recent Video Music Awards and its negative aftermath may have pointed Miley in a different direction, perhaps a less naked career trajectory. Instead, Miss Cyrus decides a rubber bathing suit is too much clothing and appears this week completely sans clothing atop a wrecking ball. Haven’t seen the video? Oh, dahling, you are in for a treat.

The girl’s voice, lovely as it is without all the nonsense detracting from it, croons of lost love, a love so deep and painful it is akin to a wrecking ball in force. So wrecked is Ms. Cyrus by this breakup she is left to lick a sledge hammer and stroke a wrecking ball chain. Having been heartbroken a time or two in my youth, I am stymied. I rarely felt a need to jump atop a wrecking ball without my clothing, roll around in construction debris in my panties and lick hammers. Not sure why–just never occurred to me. You?

There must be some artistic expression here. After all, she is baffled at the fuss made by the press. Nakedness is no big deal right? Especially when you’re twenty, haven’t had a child and your body is still perfect. Why not show the world your form’s perfection as life hasn’t kicked the shit out of it yet. Are we to be impressed by it’s twenty-year-old indefectibility? Most twenty-year-olds look good naked dumbass. Pfft.

Nakedness with a wrecking ball is a puzzler. Perhaps she’s stripping off the past or bearing her soul. Help me here.

In her defense, she offers that the video shoot was emotional for her. “I look more broken than even the song sounds,” suffices as explanation. She’s broken, except for the nakedness that is. Broken or not, this little one is certainly milking her fifteen minutes, is she not?

And now, Lionel Richie, bastion of Hollywood patriarchy, is offering advice to Miley’s papa, a former country crooner who no doubt is embarrassed up to the tip top of his ten-gallon hat. Wasn’t Lionel Richie’s daughter best friend to Paris Hilton? Didn’t she appear, as a spoiled self-absorbed wealthy brat making fun of “regular folk” along with her heiress friend on a television show? Not to mention that pesky heroin thing. Lionel says ain’t no way you can control a teenage girl. I know some mothers with a big ‘ole can of whoop ass who might disagree Mr. Richie. Just sayin.

Parents of regular children everywhere are left scratching their heads. You know the kind of parents that ground their children for silly things like appearing naked in public, rubbing their backsides on married men sixteen years their senior and using a foam finger for anything but cheering on the home team. Okay, perhaps she’s too old for grounding; but perhaps a talk about the family image is in order, non?

Ms. Cyrus is puzzled by the attention. In response to being named the Official Queen of Twerk she says, “I don’t know how that necessarily happened. For me, it’s just like anything I do becomes such a big deal. For me, I’m just having fun.” Put your tongue back in your mouth dear. The lady doth protest too much. Shake your ass in public against a married man’s nether regions and you’re gonna attract some attention.

All blame cannot lie with the poor child. Alas, she’s just trying to let the artiste in her pour forth. In its first 24 hours of availability on VEVO, 19.3 million viewers glimpsed the video featuring Miley’s nakedness, chain firmly lodged in her girly bits. Those figures best the recent “We Can’t Stop” video featuring a gentlemen consuming a dollar sandwich and smoke blowing from a random penis, butt spanking and dancing bears freakish enough to feature prominently in the average person’s nightmares.

Poor girl, they say, is only trying to flex her big girl muscle; to show the world she is no longer Hannah Montana. Would it be out of place to offer some real big girl advice to this little wayward one–her mother obviously being down for the count? Provocative is one thing darling. It serves a great purpose. But if you really want to shock, to seduce, to draw in, to mesmerize and to leave people picqued sexually and otherwise, it is through your brain, not your bare butt.

Don’t think I know what I’m talking about? I convinced a Norwegian man that shoes, in myriad colors and styles were a necessity. For twenty-seven years. Game, set and match doll. Put your clothes back on. Sing your heart out with that beautiful voice and invite people into your soul; not your vagina.

Anyone can bare their ass. It’s baring your soul that makes others stand up and take notice of your artistic talents. One more time stripping down with heavy equipment and people are just gonna think you’re kinda slutty.

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