What’s So Super About These Models?

In the cold, dark days of winter, a man’s thoughts turn to: supermodels. This is only natural, since we are fast approaching one of America’s favorite holidays, the release of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

However, I have my reservations about this entire “supermodel” phenomenon. My reservations can be summed up in one question: Are supermodels human?

I don’t know. I think supermodels look more like some kind of underfed animal of the open savannah, such as a gazelle, or an antelope, or in extreme cases, a giraffe (some of them are pretty tall).

Actually, I am fully aware that they’re human. Even the most nearsighted of observers can see they possess uniquely human characteristics, by which I mean opposable thumbs.

My actual question, then, is: Are supermodels real?

Have you ever seen one? Have you ever seen anybody who even looks like one? Is this the kind of person you might see hanging around Zip Trip?

No, they are never seen outside of their habitat in Los Angeles, New York and Vail. They live there because those are the places where they can fulfill their major evolutionary function: to meet rich degenerate rock stars and marry them.

Some of you men out there may not believe me when I say this, but I don’t even think supermodels are all that attractive. I was watching an Elle Macpherson exercise video the other day. The woman is so long and skinny, she appeared to be made of rubber. I felt like I was watching Gumby perform step aerobics.

Granted, the woman is supple, limber and in good condition. Big deal. So is Richard Simmons. Case closed.

This brings up two important questions: Why have we made such a cult out of “the perfect body”? And what was I doing watching an Elle Macpherson video if I don’t think supermodels are even attractive?

Because I believe in doing my research, even if it means watching an Elle Macpherson video. Even it means watching it two or three times.

The answer to the first question is much more complex. I could write a doctoral thesis about why we have created a cult of the perfect body, although to save time I’ll use just four words: Because we are shallow.

I will admit that the ancient Greeks, too, created a cult of the perfect body, but at least everybody knew that Aphrodite wasn’t human. She was a goddess, for crying out loud. Greek women didn’t feel pressured to buy the “Goddess Aphrodite Exercise Video,” because they were smart enough to know that after all the step aerobics in the world, they still wouldn’t be goddesses.

Frankly, I think the very word “supermodel” ought to be banned. Isn’t the word “super” a bit grand to put in front of the word “model”? Do these people have some kind of modeling superpowers? Lips that can pout at the speed of light? Cleavage that can dent a sheet of lead?

When, exactly, did models become super? No one knows for sure, but some researchers believe that it occurred at the exact instant that Cheryl Tiegs pulled on a mesh swimsuit and revealed to the world previously hidden powers.

I shouldn’t really be too surprised about the entire supermodel phenomenon. It is merely a continuation of an age-old process in which we elevate certain chosen people to the exalted and sacred status of “object.”

We did it in the ‘50s with Marilyn Monroe, in the ‘40s with Rita Hayworth, and in the ‘30s with Betty Boop.

But at least those women could act. Those women were artists, especially Betty Boop. What irks me about supermodels is they don’t even have to act. They don’t have to have any talent at all, unless you consider the ability to pout a “talent.” Personally, I believe that even “objects” should have some kind of talent. Even the Roman goddess Diana got out and did some bowhunting every once in a while. And that woman was a deity, for god’s sake.