We're not really into the whole aggressive self-acceptance thing, which is why we are much abashed to declare that we effing adore talk-show host Tyra Banks, who was profiled in yesterday's Guardian:

'I was at this party recently,' she remembers 'and this model, a very famous one, very big now, early twenties, came over to me and said "Oh my God, I saw the special that you did about you retiring from the Victoria's Secret runway and that was so beautiful, and we all look up to you", and all this stuff...

'And I was, like, "Well, thanks, girl, but your time is going to be coming! No time soon but maybe in 10 years, or 15, from now". She looked at me like I was crazy; said: "What are you talking about? This is all I know. This is all I do. I plan on modelling until, like I'm really old, I'm going to do it, I'm going to ..." and there was such a panic in her eyes. It was as if I'd spoken about her mortality'.

[Emphasis ours]

The story's author โ€” who is inexplicably forced to take the bus all over Los Angeles (DUIs, perhaps?) โ€” is just as ashamed as we are about how charming Tyra can be.

I take my leave of Banks, and catch the Dash bus across Los Angeles, because it costs about 10 red cents, and sit beside some normal, i.e. ugly people. There is a girl about Banks's age opposite me: worn, broken and, yes, fat - around the middle, genuinely fat. She could technically have been pregnant but only if she was going to give birth to rolls of wallpaper. Her T-shirt declares, between the stains, 'I blame the fame'.

It strikes me, of course, that both Banks and, more culpably, I, have missed a fairly large point: we were still, essentially, talking about models, and modelling, and pretty things, and a few extra pounds, and the world's poor, and grubby, and plain will not be having their lives changed, that much, by our encounter.

Advertisement

Sigh. Okay, right. Back to Britney humiliation posts.

The Supermodel Turned Spokeswoman [Guardian]