Occasionally, if I really want to splash out and treat myself, I buy a magazine. Because I am terminally frugal, I usually go for the ‘three for ten deal’ at Walmart. We’re stocking up on supplies, and as it always does, my patience for this store runs paper thin before I’ve even said hello to the greeter. Ben is lingering over belts, and I decide to do my own lingering over my precious 3-4-10. Sadly, every cover has Glee’s Cory Monteith on it. And I’m of two minds about that. For one, I do find the whole scenario devastating and fascinating. I mean, you couldn’t write a tragedy better. And that’s the other thing, it really does make me so sad. So there I stand, with little options otherwise. Lesser quality magazines feature Angelina Jolie proclaiming that she was pregnant with twins, another one with the Kardashian’s on “Who Cares?” magazine, and a National Enquirer with a rather tired looking Regis Philbin on the front. And so, I chose my three, two of which have Monteith on the cover. (Thank God Kate Middleton has had her baby, that will cleanse the pop-culture palette).
I was strangely soothed by all the other celebrity goss out there–beautiful people recommending beautiful products, with beautiful children, on beautiful holidays. George Clooney is single again, Justin Bieber is being a little dick head, Amanda Bynes is blowing her fortune on cocaine and bad wigs. All is right in the world. I especially enjoyed a special on celebrity homes, where all these smug B-list bastards can show off all their awesome shit. My favorite was the Dita Von Teese article. As you can imagine, she has some pretty amazing possessions.
She has beautiful vintage furniture, and a bizarre taxidermy obsession. She turned multiple bedrooms into spectacular closets filled with costumes, shoes, lingerie, and there’s a whole room dedicated to hats (which to me, is really a reason to never have children). “Sure, someone could carry on the lineage…but then again, I wouldn’t get my hat room”
She is such a glamorous icon, a burlesque queen, the modern-day equivalent of a golden age movie star.
Many of the most beloved icons from yesteryear are remembered in part of their marriages or affairs. Marilyn Monroe with DiMaggio, Miller and that other guy, Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart, Liz Taylor and everybody. As for Von Teese, she spent the better part of a decade shacked up with none other that Marilyn Manson.
I’m assuming this was at a costume party, but that is a seriously disturbing looking fellow. I have always wondered what the attraction was, if she would gaze at him from across a crowded room and think–“Lucky me, I get to go home with that“.
Last night, wide awake, and lying next to my gently snoring husband, I think about Dita Von Teese, what that hat room must look like. Eventually I give up on trying to sleep, and head into the office. I write a few notes about this topic, and then proceed to look up pictures of Dita and Marilyn. Which is not the greatest idea at 1130pm. Marilyn Manson…is not someone I enjoy.
I came of age in the advent of this particular chapter of goth-culture… circa 1996 with Antichrist Superstar. Marilyn Manson burst creepily onto the scene, and just bled all over the place. Parents were concerned about his presence, his influence. He was being banned and censored, which made the fans love him even more. Rumors flew about him killing animals onstage, and removing his ribs so he could perform fellatio on himself. Which makes no sense to me, why would you want to suck your own dick? If you have the money to have elective rib removal surgery, couldn’t you just hire someone who likes going down on freaky dudes…(and possibly be into doing a little laundry and light dusting)? In high school Marilyn Manson was such a revelation and there was a definite social pocket of teenagers that jumped on that bandwagon. Personally, he scared the hell out of me. But then again, if Manson was an 11 on the hard rock scale, I was a 1.5. I was listening to ABBA, Mamas & the Papas and the Bee Gees non-ironically. I had pictures of Audrey Hepburn in my bedroom. I was not in his demographic. Simply put, going to a Marilyn Manson concert would be my version of hell on earth, I would rather be swarmed by a pack of flying monkeys from “The Wizard of Oz”, than listen “Beautiful People” in a packed stadium of Satanic looking freaky-deeks. And you just know that they would do weird things with strobe lights…no thank you. The fine folks behind the film “Burlesque” actually snuck a sample of that song into the soundtrack; even in a different incarnation I can not bare it. You’re just never going to find me at a fan club meeting, and that’s all there is to it.
This morning, as I’m working on my social media project, looking for pictures of Charlie Brown and the Fantastic Mr Fox, I keep running into Marilyn Manson. And it always gives my heart a little flip. I wonder if ever he came around the corner and startled the crap out of Dita. “Oh my god, Marilyn, why the face?’ I read that when Tim Burton was casting for “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”, Manson expressed interest in playing Willy Wonka. That’s a long fucking way from Gene Wilder isn’t it? Even Johnny Depp was too creepy (who allegedly based his character on Micheal Jackson, and Manson–the two Godfathers of creepy musicians). Even Tim Burton, who makes his own distributing imprints on the world (don’t even talk to me about “The Nightmare Before Christmas) must have been like–no, Marilyn, that’s even too fucked up by my standards. What’s worse, I don’t know which way is scarier, Marilyn Manson with makeup….
Or just plain ole Brain Warner…(cute koala though).
Yes, of course, never judge a book by it’s cover. It’s just…what a terrifying cover. In my research about these two former lovebirds–who were both raised in middle America, living lives through audacious, controversial theatrical alter egos. He tried to get her for a music video, their schedules clashed, but on his 32nd birthday, she showed up with a bottle of absinthe (and a stunning outfit, I’d imagine). And the rest, as they say, is history.
They were together for five years, got married in a civil ceremony, before having a lavish affair at some castle in Ireland.
And a year after that, Dita moved out of their home on Christmas Eve. She never publicly stated what had happened (cough-cough-Evan Rachel Wood), but that it was bad enough to call a moving company the day before Christmas.
And, that’s all there is to it, the marriage ended and she never said exactly why. But there is enough speculation that Dita could hang up her props, lingerie and boobie tassels, and just be plain old Heather Sweet; whereas between the drugs and the impressionable young female fans, Brian had a much harder time hanging up his Manson cap. Von Teese lamented her divorce, and claimed that despite their appearances, they were a traditional couple, who valued the institution of marriage. She intended for the relationship to last forever. A Von Teese source said that–she just wanted to be at home on the couch with the dog with Marilyn Manson. And I can’t imagine him just fresh faced, kicking back in his sweatpants and slippers.
As for Marilyn, I’ll be happy when he’s no longer haunting my image files. I did come across more recent photos, and it looks like he has a sort of–Gothic fat Elvis thing, and it’s just not a great look.
So, Miss Dita with her many endorsements, is clearly the winner in this break-up face off. She was classy dame that didn’t point fingers or name names. She didn’t take a red cent of Manson’s money either. But I wonder, if she ever misses him stealing her eyeliner, sneaking her corsets and pantyhose, or getting his red lipstick over her alabaster complexion after a passionate smooch in the kitchen. Or if she now wonders what the hell she was thinking, and is happy to be back in the company of only the most beautiful people.