I visited LA once, as a child. I don’t have many specific memories of what I did or saw, but I do remember the feeling I got from people at the supermarket. There was this palpable desperation. I didn’t know how to describe it, but it filled me with revulsion and, at the same time, I couldn’t look away. Like seeing a mangled corpse. Desperate to make it, desperate to be famous, just desperate.

This week, the Hollywood Reporter’s exposé on Angelyne pulled me back to that feeling again. I couldn’t stop looking. I googled her and found this slightly terrifying documentary short.

I can’t make left or right of it all: it’s a rabbit hole. Don’t do an image search of her. She claims that she covers her face in public because she wants to charge $10k for pictures of her full face but the reality is that after a certain age, even the best plastic surgeon can only make you look like, well, an old lady who’s had a lot of work done. It’s probably too easy to dismiss her … persona … as a result of trauma or even intergenerational trauma, but it’s interesting nonetheless. What I find unsettling is that she’s a smart person playing at being a bimbo. I see the opposite all the time, but this, well, it’s an enigma. Probably how she intended it. The easiest way to part a man from his money?

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