“She’s known throughout the world for her boobs,” said my daughter, Samantha.
“What? Huh? But not for her acting talent or smarts? That’s sad,” I said.
But then I thought maybe she’s happy to have that moniker. Best Breasts in the World.
“What’s her name again?”
“Sydney Sweeney,” said my daughter’s friend, Flo.
We sat on the couch and ate dinner as the RomCom started. Anyone But You. Newly aware of this actresses’ unofficial title, all I could see was Ms. Sweeney’s chest. The first scene—no bra. The next scene—tight, low cut dress revealing a cleavage that looked like butt cheeks. And oh, guess what? Within ten minutes the cast of characters were all on a beach. My son, Dylan was quiet. He didn’t comment on her curves and I was glad I raised a gentleman. His engineering mind probably wondered instead how she tucked her breasts into the itsy bitsy bikini top.
Indeed, Ms. Sweeney wore them well. I wondered if Samantha and Flo compared themselves to her. When I was their age, I wasn’t friends with my boobs. I was lost and they pointed in the wrong direction. I remember telling my hubby I didn’t have good boobs and he said, “There’s no such thing as bad boobs. I love every inch of you.” I swooned. There’s nothing sexier than a man who loves you as is.
About 15 minutes into Anyone But You, I turned to the three 26 year olds and asked, “Are you guys into this? It’s really bad. Can we watch something else?”
“There’s nothing else on,” said Samantha. “Yeah,” Flo echoed in agreement. Dylan was quiet. Maybe he was figuring out figures. X=34D squared?
I admired their sticktoitiveness. Hubby and I would have given up after the meet-cute.
This romcom starring The Rack (not to be confused with The Rock) could have been written by a guy I once knew who owned a pizza store.
I was 17 and worked part time in a bakery in Westwood, CA. Pizza store owner, Frankie (not his name) would stop by for a coffee and a flirt. He was proud to call Sean Penn a friend and cat-call every breast that bounced by. He was the first person I met who woot wooted over pictures of breasts. He pointed to a framed photo on his wall and said, “That’s Marilyn Monroe. Her tits are falling out of the dress.” I knew it was Jane Mansfield and didn’t correct him or tell him that Jane was decapitated in a car wreck. God preserved her chest and Jane’s daughter who went on to become Mariska Hartigay, known at the time for her role on a TV show called Falcon Crest, not her boobs.
Hollywood boobs eluded me.
Good thing I acted in comedies. Not a lot of bare boobs in a yucker unless they’re the butt of the joke, or, the boob of the joke. (A scene from There’s Something About Mary comes to mind.)
Gone are the days of producers proclaiming, “You gotta have talent to make it in this business, kid.” For a woman it’s, “You gotta have talent, and good boobs.”
I was not “blessed” with Hollywood boobs. By the time I was in my twenties I understood what camera-ready boobs were. I had boob envy. I gasped at the tatas on Angelina Jolie. Then sobbed for her when she discovered she had the BRCA gene and endured a prophylactic double mastectomy. Brave new girl. Admirable. She wanted to see her 6 kids into adulthood.
Way early on, like age 20, I acted in a couple of B movies. The deep Googlers would ask me, “Were you in Frankenhooker?” To which I’d defensively admit, “Yes, but, I’m the only one who didn’t take off her top.” And I’d recall those days of hunger when I was eating potatoes all week and needed money. It wasn’t a tough decision whether to audition for a low budget, non-union horror movie. I didn’t know Frankenhooker would be become a cult classic followed by a web-browser-that-memorized-your-life-and-threw-it-back-in-your-face. What can I say, I was living in NY and had a craving for cold sesame noodles.
I gave up acting once I had kids. This was a good decision, especially because of the “over exposure” of the last twenty-five years. Has anyone ever counted the number of bosoms we’re exposed to in a day on TV alone? Cable channel casting directors must have spread sheets of background extras, gals with the best Hollywood hooters. (Remember all those brothel scenes in Game of Thrones?) And if she gets to say a line? The creepier casting directors probably fight over who will be auditioning those actresses, having to assess their udders as well. Imagine getting turned down for that role!
Here’s how I imagine one casting director’s feedback to the artist’s agent--“Really talented actress, she just didn’t have the right, ahem, physique.”
There are endless sex scenes where we NEVER see the man’s genitals, and believe me, I’ve searched, but the bouncing boobalage is on full display. IMDB (the legit database for all things entertainment) lists actresses that have done full nudity. They also provide a list of “actors” but most are women with a few men thrown in for good measure (so to speak). You won’t be surprised to know that Kevin Bacon is on the list. He’s one of those actors who has appeared in almost every movie ever made. I can probably start a game called, Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, Naked.
I picture agents receiving the breakdowns of characters, determining who on his talent roster fits the description. “Female, 20s, an emotional mess since her mother just died, must have great tits.” He calls the casting director and says, “I’ve got just the girl.” And what’s the audition like? Does the actress have to read the scene topless? And before she even gets an appointment, does her agent chat her up about what a fantastic talent she is then says, “They need you to have an impeccable British accent, be tough yet shy and nude in half your scenes.” And does the actress say, “That’s me!” Then think, “I’m tired of potatoes.”
It can be tough to get new subscribers when you’re just starting out here. Sharing a couple of new Substackians who happen to be Funny AF Guys. Check them out…
And if you missed my Funny AF Women interview from last week, click here. Meg Oolders at Stock Fiction
Did you ever find creative ways to eat potatoes?
Do you know anyone with Hollywood boobs?
Have you ever played, Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon?
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