I've been meaning to get around to this one for a while. If there's one word that sums up the rubbishness of 'Femail' - the women's section of the Mail, which to me always seems to be trying to make women feel miserable about themselves, their bodies and their lives - it's the word 'decolletage'.
It's a simpering little word, isn't it. If it were an object, it would be a crocheted doilie under a naff glass paperweight. But in its own twee, sickly-saccharine, trapped-in-a-bygone-era-that-didn't-really-exist way, it's a perfect Femail word.
Women have breasts. It's kind of part of the deal, I'm led to believe. Yet the fact that XXers possess primary sexual characteristics would appear to be something which is a constant surprise to the Mail - even, bizarrely enough, in a section which is supposedly devoted to the gender who have the breasts themselves.
But the Hate can't bring themselves to giggle at bangers like those downmarket rags would. Not for them the gutter-talk of 'boobs', despite the fact they're running stories about the remarkable appearance of breasts on women's bodies. Oh, no. It is house style to use the obsolete, anachronistic and downright silly word 'decolletage' to describe those organs that sit on female chests. It's like using the word 'radiator' to talk about a man's cock and balls. It's so nonsensical it's verging on self-parody. "How can we make ourselves sound like a bunch of old farts perving at women's bodies, while at the same time pretending to be writing in a middle-class way for women? I know, decolletage!"
The Hate has a breathless description of Nigella Lawson's bosom, as well as a journalistically necessary and important photograph, today. The TV chef planted a tree and had to bend over to do so, thereby exposing her cleavage. "So what?" you might be thinking to yourself, "is that really bloody news?" Oh yes, my friend, not only is it news, it is VITALLY IMPORTANT that we discuss this breaking story!
Nigella Lawson and Prime Minister's wife Sarah Brown showed off their gardening skills at the opening a £3.5 million cancer centre.
Lawson may have revealed a little more than she attended as she and Mrs Brown leaned over to plant a tree in the garden at The Richard Rogers-designed Maggie's Cancer Care Centre at London's Charing Cross Hospital.
I think they meant 'intended', but let's not quibble over mere literals in a story that's been written and subbed by highly-paid professionals. That would be naughty and wrong. Honestly, who gives a shit? The nudge-nudge-wink-wink continues though:
The TV cook - dressed in a demure long black skirt, shirt and a blue top - was reminiscent of BBC gardening show Ground Force presenter Charlie Dimmock who famously never wore a bra and constantly flashed her cleavage whilst performing garden duties.
...which gives the Hate a chance to print a picture of Dimmock leaning over while presenting Ground Force, just so you can see what her breasts look like as well. As one commenter points out, underneath a passage talking about Dimmock 'never' wearing a bra, is photographic evidence of her wearing a bra. But let's not quibble about merely incorrect facts in an article written and subbed by highly-paid professionals. That would be mealy-mouthed and silly.
Anyway, the link to the story mentioned this:
The TV cook showed off her decolletage in the style of BBC gardening show star Charlie Dimmock
Ah yes, I knew I'd seen 'decolletage' somewhere. But the fact that decolletage, or breasts, exists on women's bodies is something that's still a daily revelation to the Mail. Today there are photos of relatively famous women on the beach - yes, they have breasts! - alongside a drearily awful passage of crud by Amanda Platell that's so dreadfully banal that I felt like slamming my head in a door after three paragraphs. Also, some pictures of someone or other in her bra and pants.
As we know, the Mail don't mind one-handed readers - every click is a good click, even if people are looking at photos of barely legal teens - so why do they try and couch their appeal to people's baser instincts in such flowery terms as decolletage? Is the Mail just a nice, non-sordid hand-shandy for a particular kind of gentleman?
I always knew it was read by wankers, but maybe they're wankers who just like to think of themselves as being slightly classier.