Thank God I’m not a swimsuit model!

A problem for any creative individual is that critiques of what we do—by friends, family (parents especially), peers, taste arbitrators and the public—can really hurt. I’ve taken to throwing up a first line of defense when it comes to Internet reviews—especially anonymous ones—which is to remind myself that, until proven otherwise, every Internet pundit is really twelve years old. (Chronologically, emotionally or intellectually, that is.)

But, heck, my world is heaven compared to the environment some other folks face. I hit an article about Kate Upton, the new Sports Illustrated cover model for their swimsuit issue. (I’m an X chromosome shy of perfection, so sue me.) The article promised the SI cover girl and Victoria’s Secret, so how could I not look?

So I read and get this from Victoria Secret’s casting director for their fashion shows, Sophia Neophitou:

“She’s like a Page 3 girl,” Ms. Neophitou said, referring to the scantily clad voluptuous women featured in The Sun, a London tabloid. “She’s like a footballer’s wife, with the too-blond hair and that kind of face that anyone with enough money can go out and buy.”

Ouch!

I don’t know Kate Upton from Eve, and couldn’t pick her out of a line-up featuring five chimps, her and an instruction to “look for the blonde.” And I can’t really fault Ms. Neophitou’s taste in women for the VS shows. Granted, most of her picks really could do with getting on the outside of a cheeseburger, but I’d be more than happy to escort them to burger joints.

But, heavens to Murgatroid, that remark isn’t about Ms. Upton’s work, that’s about her. Writers and artists may whinge and whine about someone misinterpreting their work, or seeing as an error something that sets up events further in a series, but at least they’re only talking about our books. They might even complain that our work is emblematic of the failure of a genre or civilization in general, but they aren’t complaining that we, ourselves, are dirt common, dime-a-dozen, cornfed human heifers. They leave us some illusion of human dignity.

So, whenever I read a review that stings, I’ll just think of poor Kate Upton, and realize my life could be a lot worse. And, I suspect, that even after such a scathing review, Kate Upton will be thinking the same thing.

I would merely like to suggest that, in fact, I could rock the swimsuit look!
(If you click on the picture you’ll even get a PDF of the knitting pattern needed to make this swimming costume!)

Now, if I can just find a suitable boater hat and grow my mustaches out, I should be all set for a seaside holiday (before they kick off the Great War).