Madonna’s MDNA world tour has rolled into Holland and over the weekend she went to the cinema in Amsterdam with paid-lovah Brahim Zaibat, manager Guy Oseary and erm, magician David Blaine. – That would be enough to have me running to the nearest legal-high selling coffee shop in search of a Miley Cyrus sized bong to suck on to get me through the prospect of having to make conversation with the oddest man in showbiz.
Is it my imagination or is 53-year-old Madge starting to look her age? I’m not saying this like it’s a bad thing because it isn’t and I abhor the youth is good, age and experience is bad society we all live in choc full of pneumatic, plastic surgery enhanced, look-alike blondes with fake hair and fake everything else.
In the future, people will look back on this moment in time and laugh themselves silly at pictures of women with cartoonish blown-up lips and chests the way we might at women of the Elizabethan era with their heavy white wigs, white faces, yellow teeth and red lips, removed ribs and tiny waists cinched in by corsets they could barely breathe whilst wearing. The human race may now have internet, email, International travel and fast cars but the way some women torture themselves to look a certain way is still several million light-years behind.
I’m not saying she should let herself go but I don’t understand why Madonna continues to chase the elusive elixir of youth at any cost in a bid to freeze time at when she was around twenty-eight years old.
Personally, I like getting older. I feel calmer and more confident in my own skin with every year that comes around and better equipped to deal with the cr@p life throws my way, whilst being able to appreciate the joy in the little things. I’m growing tomato and basil out on my terrace and every evening when I’m wolfing back a freshly picked salad produced by my own whatever the opposite of green fingers is I’m as happy as a vitamined-up pig in organic sh-te.
And, Ms. Ciccone does not seem happy, does she? She’s increasingly become an isolated, lonely figure with her once tight-knit circle of friends deserting her in droves and, her main companion these days is 24-year-old Brahim Zaibat- a French dancer who grew up in a rough part of Marseille in Southern France with a strict Muslim mother who is six years younger than his current girlfriend.
What do they even talk about?
Madge continues to spend her days punishing her body with excruciatingly-long gym work outs and dance routines, regular plastic surgery procedures and a workaholic ethic that sees her sleeping with her blackberry under her pillow and still travelling the globe touring at an age where she’s fully earned the right to sit on a beach, glug cocktails and watch the sunset. But she’s so terrified of wrinkles that she wouldn’t even allow herself that simple pleasure. It just seems to me to be a bit of a sad, joyless existence – she’s accomplished so much professionally, yet personally is she really fulfilled? I hope so.