The Battle of the Princesses

Don't worry, it's not a real fight, it's not even the title of some new reality show on MTV (although I can just about picture it, can't you?). It's about the qualities that go into making some women into 'icons'. Are some types more successful than others?

Remember that game "rock-paper-scissors"? Well it's not really relevant here other than to demonstrate that success is relative. So forget the rock-paper-scissor analogy which could be misleading and let's instead take a look at two extreme types that I'm going to call Diamonds and Butterfly Wings.

Diamonds owe their success to a lifelong determination, absolute focus, discipline and dedication to their objective. These ladies get what they want. It may not always be pretty or romantic, but they get there, and they commit such effort to the enterprise that at the end of the day - whether or not you agree with it - you've just gotta take your hat off to them. By Golly they've earned it. Madonna is a Diamond.

Butterfly Wings on the other hand owe their success to their sheer beauty and fragility (and I have to admit, in some cases,  to a certain talent for emotional manipulation). They often seem to become successful in spite of themselves. If the Diamonds are the high priestesses, then the Butterfly Wings are the sacrificial offering (on the altar of Fame - if we want to be thorough and complete the metaphor). Marilyn was the archetypal Butterfly Wing.

What about Princesses? Well what about them? What is a princess anyway? I keep seeing these signs on the back of cars "princess on board" and it makes me wonder... whatever happened to tradition: Rolls Royces and horse drawn ceremonial carriages?

By definition (my definition) a princess is someone who gets to be as special and beautiful as bride on her wedding day, every single day of her life. Look it up, you'll see it's part of the job description. Just below "must be able to walk with a shiny crown on her head" and "must be able to perform the royal wave whilst sitting in a golden carriage". Have a look I tell you! Or just take my word for it. 

Catherine Middleton, or 'Kate' as everyone who's never met her insists on calling her, a soon to be princess,  is a Diamond. Very pretty, very personable (from a distance, as I said I've never met her nor do I know anyone who's ever met her. If we're talking degrees of separation, I'm closer to Madonna). I think Kate would have done very well at anything she set her mind to so she'll make a fantastic princess. She seems nice. Someone you'd want to know. Doesn't she give you the feeling that she will make her soon to be husband a very happy and contended man? That they will be married for - like - ever. And have a zillion children like Victoria and Albert? (Queen Victoria, not Posh who's with someone called David, not Albert. I'm not about to start any false rumours.) Where was I? Kate will make the perfect wife and consort, because she knows what she wants. She is stable, she is strong, and she has a lot to give. She will probably endure and live to a hundred and beyond. She's like the 21st century's answer to the Queen Mother. A true Diamond I tell you. Like one of those big jewels on the Monarch's crown. Precious, shiny, and indestructible.

Although she photographs beautifully and will give British women a sense of style the rest of the world can aspire to, she does not steal my heart.

You see, I like Butterfly Wings. I know. I KNOW. What's wrong with Diamonds? Nothing. The thing is, I liked Princess Diana. She too was beautiful and photogenic. She too became a style icon. But like Marilyn, there was such a fragility to her, her light shone so bright you just knew it wasn't heading for a happy ending. She was riddled with flaws but it seemed to make use love her all the more for it. She lived without a safety net which made the stakes that much higher. (And as any actor worth their salt will tell you, the higher the stakes the more rivetting the performance.) We watched her soar high up into the sky, far beyond anyone else's reach. And then we watch her plummet to the ground, like a shooting star.

I'm not saying that one type is better than another. And as I said, I like Kate. But I loved Diana. In the battle of the Princesses, I know which side I'm on.

To dye or not to dye? or Is Grey the new Blonde?

Let's begin at the beginning.

I'm having a hair crisis.
Again. (No need for panic though as it only scores a measly 5 on the IGIS*.)
Short hair is fantastic: youthful, showcases your features, makes you stand out from the casting crowd (why do they all have shoulder length hair?), no split ends. The downside is that it has a recurring tendency to grow out very suddenly. You can go from elfin to matronly literally overnight. Thank goodness Luigi is on hand to work his magic in a few days' time.
But never one to await rescue, I felt I had to take action. So I thought I'd dabble with dyeing my hair. Nothing too daring. Just a slightly lighter shade of brown. Now, apart from an aberrant and short lived forray into red in the late 90's, I haven't really explored the world of hair colour. It's no wonder that those 10 minute claims on home colouring kits proved too much to resist. In spite of the professionl advice to first timers never EVER to do home colour, I went ahead.
It was quick and painless, with none of that repulsive amonia smell. Unfortunately, the result looks rather cheap. I was aiming for medium brown, but it's gone a bit henna red. And combined with my short crop having outlived its shelf life, I feel like one of those short haired Mediterranean matrons who waddle around in slippers and pinafores and carry big shopping bags full of groceries.


Photo: Diego Cupolo


Hmmmm.

The thing is, this whole dyeing experience wasn't as impulsive as it appears. Dyeing has been on my mind for a while - I mentioned it to Luigi last time he cut my hair. His perspective was refreshing: it doesn't matter what colour your hair is, as long as you've got some. He then added, you'll look fantastic with grey hair when you're older. It'll really suit your skin tone. It's going to be so striking.

Well, we're nowhere near that yet although I'll admit to yanking out the odd silver strand from my head here and there.
So why this fixation on hair colour? The truth is, I always wanted to be blonde. My mother maintains that with very few exceptions, we are born with the hair colour that suits us best - tough nuts if it's mousy brown. So I've always admired those women who look so incredibly and iconically sexy when they change their hair colour: Marilyn, Madonna, and more recently Scarlett Johansson in those D&G adverts, Christina Aguilera, and Beyonce! In other words, why oh why can't I look drop dead fantabulous in platinum blonde? Why does it make me look grey and all washed out?
I tried to go blonde as teenager. I used SunIN. Remember that stuff? I ended up with a mop of orange hair. Tragic. My mother still talks about it.
So it got me to thinking that maybe grey could be the new blonde. I hear you guffaw. Silent in the ranks! I have 5 words for you: Meryl Streep Devil Wears Prada. And another two words: Helen Mirren. (That's at least 3 Oscars. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, and reflect on your prejudices!)

So the question is. Would I dare go grey as a fashion statement, before my hair actually starts to grey naturally?
Is the world (read the Film Industry and Casting Directors) ready for grey as a fashion statement or would I suddenly find myself in casting sessions lumped in with retirees and geriatrics?
What if the experiment didn't work? Would I be able to go back to brown and my own casting age or would I find myself irrevocably locked out of roles below the age of 60?
Thank goodness for Luigi's ultra short crops... my current dye job will most likely grow out before my next big audition.

It'll have been - dare I say it - a close shave.


*IGIS stands for Isabelle Grooming Issues Scale. The scale goes from -19 to stratospheric. (The negative scores correspond to issues that are not yet relevant eg deep frown lines, drooping breasts, drooping nose, ears and eyes, feathering lipstick, motled skin, post menopausal facial hair, adult acne, old lady flat bottom, hot flashes... hey, it sure puts things in perspective.)

It's not happening...

I can't believe Madonna and Guy are getting divorced. Or rather, I can't believe that it's actually affecting me. And that I'm writing about it. And that I seem to track the big events in Madonna's life as if they were my own.

I was sitting in the meadow at Mills watching the squirrels (it was lunchtime and I was helping a friend with field work on squirrel behaviour) when I found out she was divorcing Sean Penn. Back in the early 1990's.

For the record, I'm not a celebrity stalker or one of those sad people who hang outside people's homes or stage doors waiting for a glimpse of their idols. I'm not one of those people. One of those who cried hysterically when Princess Diana died, and left flowers and teddy bears at the gates of Kensington Palace. And that's not just because I was living in Australia at the time. I'm just not that kind of person. I'm a relatively well adjusted and intelligent human being with a healthy sense of identity and a LIFE. I don't walk around thinking that I know celebrities simply because they're being paraded in the magazines and on the internet.

But it's Madonna. And I grew up with her. Sort of. I mean I grew up with her songs. And because she is the queen of reinvention, I could identify with each new phase as I worked my way through adolescence in Paris, trying to die my hair blond with "Sun-In" , University, America, peep show dancing (inspired by her video for "Open Your Heart" ), relationships, Australia. (I don't think she's ever lived in Australia.)

But I moved to London first. And I found out about Skibo Castle before she did (although I didn't stay there.)

So we have a common history. Well, me and her music. And so when the news of her divorce flashed around the world yesterday, I went "oh..." and spared a thought for her.
I had my own bit of sad news yesterday. I found out yesterday that I didn't get the part in a sweet little pilot for a show called "Isabelle goes hunting". There's something a bit weird about auditioning for a part that shares your name. But they were lovely people (they actually called me to say I didn't get the part) and hopefully I will work with them on some other project.

So today is a new day.

Heck, if Madonna can perform her show in Boston in front of the press and hundreds of fans, a few hours after the announcement of her divorce, I think I can finish work on my website, go to my yoga class, do a meeting, apply for some new parts, and call the repair man if the fridge doesn't reset itself.

To infinity and beyond!