Category: What This Really Says About Me (Page 2 of 16)

Stealing Fandom

August 26, 2024 / Cher Scholar / 0 Comments

I was a little sister. There are five and seven years between me and my older brothers. I got into their shit all the time, too, because it turns out I was a little shit.

My mother, for a time a real estate agent, kept winning little portable TVs in the 1970s so each of us had a portable black and white TV in our rooms. I, the youngest, had the worst one, a square black box with a crazy wire-hanger antennae that only tuned into snow on every channel except one, PBS. It was like organic parental controls. So I only remember watching episodes of Lila’s Yoga on it. (And that show was oddly riveting.) Randy had a white portable and Andrew, the oldest, had a green portable which was the newest and best of the three.

After school in St. Louis, my brothers were always off playing sports and, as a latchkey kid, I had the house to myself. I’d fix a snack and head in to Andrew’s room to watch after-school TV. The big color TV in the den was too hard to operate. You needed pliers to turn the channels. Randy’s room was small and smelled like dirty socks. Andrew’s room not only had the best portable TV but a bookcase of books I often raided. I read all his Ralph Mouse books and he had some classics like Bedknobs and Broomsticks, He had the Louisa Mae Alcott books but those didn’t have any pictures inside and they looked old so I skipped those.

I also flipped through his somewhat large collection of Disney comic books. He would come home early some days, find me in there and then angrily kick me out. It must have been annoying as hell for him to come home and find his little sister in his private space. But I felt so bored in my own room until the day I finally inherited my grandmother’s old color TV and one of my brother’s old console stereos.

One summer after both Andrew and Randy were off at University of Illinois, I found a record stack they were sharing in Andrew’s room, records they had left behind that fall. And it’s a long story that involves anorexia, Prince-styled ruffled shirts, aerobics, mix tapes and a desperation to find songs with certain beats per minute, but I went through that stack of records one day. It was that desperation that overcome my normal aversion to their record stacks. We had a kind of rivalry or records, a gender contention between the testosterone, 70s and 80s rock albums of theirs and the 80s, queer-leaning pop records of mine. And although I had an appreciation for some of those 70s rock hits based on hearing them so many times down the hall, I was never looking to fine-tune that. It was a matter of principle.

But in any case, one day I did flip through and listened to some of them and I ended up pulling out three of Andrew’s records and “borrowing” them for a while.

For a long time I’ve tried to figure out what it was about those three records. I do this with Cher, too. I ask myself why I am a Cher fan? What was it that peaked my attention when I was four or five, combing through my parent’s record collection in Albuquerque and finding that first Sonny & Cher record? For Cher I have this whole “in utero” working-theory about being a baby inside a mother who had a deep smoker’s voice. I must find the contra altos comforting.

As I was assembling this blog story last week, I was also studying deep image poems in a book called Advanced Poetry by Kathryn Nuernberger and Maya Jewell Zeller. In the online notes for that chapter there was a link to an article by Federico García Lorca called “Theory and Play Of The Duende.” I read this same essay in grad school years ago and couldn’t make head nor tails of what this thing called duende was. And I remember that really irritated me at the time. It seemed like hocus-pocus literary blather. Lorca’s essay never comes to a finite definition of what duende was or even a helpful rubric.

But I read that essay again last week, on the other side of whole life of joy, suffering and heartburn, and I think I can understand it better now. it’s a non-academic idea is the whole thing, and not a little bit mysterious. But the voice on those records had this rare quality of duende. I now think that’s what it might be. Duende made me pull those records out.

I recently reconnected with this same brother because I was in Boston for a weekend in early August. It had been 18 years since I had connected with my brother and probably over 20 since I have stayed with him and his stack of records. Immediately, I started flipping through his records there in his living room. Without permission, just like I was a tween. I told him what concert I had seen the night before and he said he used to have Babys albums (the first three) but they disappeared. He said he believed his University of Illinois frat house buddies had most likely taken them because they were popular albums at frat parties. I just “yeah, that’s too bad about that,” literally shocked because I’ve had kept these records since I was 15. Yes, I’ve had them 40 years! And the thing is, I thought he knew it.

So when I got back home, I mailed those records back to him with an apology and the fifth Babys album as a modest interest payment. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have a complete replacement set. My friend Christopher mailed me all the same records about seven years ago when he found them at a used record store.

Another thing I used to love to do in his bedroom was to read through his Mad Magazines magazines and books. I loved the Spy vs. Spy paperbacks. They were wordless and full of spy gadgets.

One day reading one of his Mad Magazines I came across a clip that featured Cher. It was, of course, a joke at her expense. But I was so thrilled to see a Cher mention in a Mad Magazine that I cut it out of his magazine and stuck it in my newly created Cher scrapbook.

Little sisters, am I right?

The clip was a joke about what an old Cher would look like at 50. They took a current 70s Cher photograph and played around with it, making her look gray and fat, which is interesting. Like she wouldn’t keep coloring over gray hair. Was that not a thing yet? And they never assumed she would straighten her teeth. And in the predictive copy, they have her back with Sonny, which just goes to show that even the hipsters at Mad Magazine wanted to see Sonny and Cher get back together in their imaginations.

For context, Cher turned 50 in 1996. The It’s a Man’s World album had just come out. After 50, Cher would go on to record a worldwide #1 hit, spend years on the road with a record-breaking concert tour and continue on as an international entertainment icon. Not that we should be upset with Mad Magazine. Who could have predicted the future accurately except Cher herself?

Here is the pilfered clipping next to what Cher did look like at age 50s. At the top is what Cher looks like today at 78, still better than this gag photo.

By the way, I still haven’t told my brother about this other Cher thievery yet so…everybody, let’s keep this one quiet, okay?

Dear Sonny & Cher from 16 Magazine, Part 10

August 20, 2024 / Cher Scholar / 0 Comments

What a great Cher smile in this issue of “Dear Cher….and Sonny” from 16 Magazine!

Let’s return to the conversation about whether or not Sonny & Cher had anything to do with this advice column enterprise. I had a conversation with another Cher scholar last week who knows some behind-the-scenes workings of another teen magazine of the day and in that magazine (and most likely this one I suppose), stars were just brand-stamps on articles written by staff.

This is easy to believe with the Cher responses, especially considering how shy she was/is. However, I have a harder time disconnecting Sonny from his answers (or from Cher’s answers either, truth be told). How likely would it be to capture his sort of hippie-masquerading, dated sexism with some staff writer on the 16 Magazine? Okay, well maybe not so unlikely. I wasn’t even born yet so I have no idea what the conditions of the teen-rag patriarchy were back then orhow many old hacks were advising teen girls how to flirt.

But whether it was Sonny and/or Cher answering these questions doesn’t really matter all that much at the end of the day. The kids believed it was Sonny and Cher responding to these questions. And this was all-of-a-piece image-making for Sonny and Cher as “friends of their fans” which seemed to be Sonny’s strategy at the time. Their casualness with fans was part of their brand. So we can continue here, like swell tween fans, to believe this is really Sonny & Cher.

If your young life is full of problems there’s no need for you to suffer alone. In fact, there’s no need for you to suffer at all. Cher—and Sonny—want to help you—right here in the pages of 16!

Hi! Here were are again—Cher and Sonny—and we’re as eager as ever to help you solve your problems. So please, please write to us and tell us what’s wrong in your life, and we’ll do our absolute best to make it right. If you feel that your problem is something Cher can best help you with, address your letter to Cher. And if you feel that Sonny can best advise you on your particular worry, address your letter to Sonny. You know that you can depend on both of us to help you all we can—and we’re always here, in every issue of 16 Magazine.

Dear Cher, There are two new boys in my class who seem to be very nice and who are quite cute. Both of them are shy and haven’t talked to or taken notice of any girl. I would like to get to know them better, but I didn’t want to be too forward. Any suggestions? Bashful, Los Angeles, Calif.

Cher’s Response:

Dear Bashful, One good trick in a situation like this is to keep yourself in their “sights.” Maybe one day these two young hunters will decide it’s time to aim at some bird, and if you are standing there you might be the chosen one!

Cher Scholar’s Response:

First of all, I think these two boys have probably noticed the girls. Unless they’ve been noticing the boys instead. You never know. This terminology though is a relic of the 1960s: aiming, hunting, girls in sights, targets. What a bloody metaphor.

There is an allegedly inaccurate but famous quote often attributed to Cher. It apparently was said around the time she first laid eyes on her boyfriend Robert Camilletti: “Have him washed and brought to my tent.” This quote even made its way into the movie Mama Mia: Here We Go Again, spoken from the character of Christine Baranski. The movie’s makers were fans themselves of Cher and Cher’s mythology and this seemed an interesting tribute to her later cameo in the movie. But this was also one of the things in the movie that prevented us from seeing Cher as the character in the story. It took us out of that fiction and we were stuck seeing Cher as a loosely-veiled cameo character (as she has been in all too many recent Cher movies).

But aside from that, the sentiment is a bit creepy. No more appealing than being caught in the sights of a hunter. Objectifying isn’t any better coming from a woman than it is coming from a man. It’s just men don’t seem to mind it as much. This is because the consequences for being objectified aren’t so severe for them. It can be just plain fun and sexy.

All that said, in a previous blog post we were discussing flirting as a dance; and there’s surely something to be said for the imaginative side of that dance….and the playful side of the power-struggles. Here’s the issue: men can do some f**ked-up shit objectifying women and women can do some f**ked-up shit trying to overturn power-struggles with men. And with LGBTQ-relationships, the dysfunction can go any which way but loose. Humans are strange creatures. Let’s not take all the fun out of it but also realize how some of these games can get dangerous or bleed over into other aspects of our lives.

Does that sound like a difficult tightrope walk? Yeah, it does.

I actually think that sort of game-playing works once you know each other a little better first. And you have a safe word. Hornwaffle. There. You can use that one. I’m not using it.

Dear Cher, I am 13 years old and I have had the same problem for over two years. I can’t seem to make friends with girls. I had one girl friend , but I lost her. The worst thing is that boys seem to like me a lot. When a car passes me, or I go somewhere, I get waived at or yelled at. I want to be friends with girls and boys. Please tell me what to do. Worried, Carrollton, Ohio

Cher’s Response:

Dear Worried, A girl who is popular with boys usually get scratched off by girls—simply because they are jealous. I wouldn’t worry about it too much, if I were you. I remember when I was your age I didn’t have many girl friends either, but by the time I was 14 I had one really good friend and later got a couple more. I think it’s more important to have one or two good girl friends than to be popular with the “gang.”

Cher Scholar’s Response:

“Scratched off?” I had to read that a few times. Was that a hip mid-60s saying?

I don’t remember girls being jealous anymore by age 13. Maybe girls starting earlier than they did in the 1960s. (That darn Rick Springfield.) By the time we were freshman (14), even the stragglers like me where caught up in the dating drama. It was the girls who started early (11-12) who might have experienced jealousy from other girls regarding boys. But I think we’re getting in the weeds.

It was beneficial for me, as a person, to have girl friends and platonic boy friends. There’s an episode of the TV show The Goldbergs which was almost a replica of my own experience as a teen. Adam’s older brother Barry is telling him that he can’t have a platonic friendship with his platonic friend Emmy because boy/girl relationships always turn romantic. My brother told me the exact same thing once.

I now think the disagreement was due to our respective age gap. Both of my older brothers had that interim generational experience between Boomers and Gen Xers. But Gen X kids like me did have platonic relationships in the 1980s all the time. One of the reasons for this was because more Gen X gay kids were out of the closet than they were a decade earlier. We were also much more casual with each other, regardless of sexual orientation or preference. And then again in some situations, those platonic friendships were put under pressure by changed feelings. That happened too.

But all those relationships helped us later in the workplace and in adulthood. In fact, I found it often easier to be friends with boys than girls as I got older. Girls, as I’ve noted, can be unconsciously furtive. Sometimes there’s unconscious drama at play operating at a level even girls seem unaware of.

My big problem was often making a bad or incorrect first impression. And sometimes first impressions were hard to overcome. I had to work hard at not letting that “bad foot” put me on the defensive or determine how I would behave with those women going forward. I had to learn to dismiss it and keep trying. Once someone got to know me…everything would change and a friendship could develop.

But you need time and space to turn that around. For people you don’t have the space and time to develop a more honest relationship, you have to let those relationships go and not worry about it.

I’ve made some mistakes, too, when I was young, working through how to navigate new relationships with girls. In the beginning I bartered with agreeability. That didn’t work for anyone. Later after college, I trafficked in gossip and cattiness. That did work and although it was fun in a bitchy way, it was shallow and unsustainable both morally and professionally (cattiness can come back to bite you in the ass).

I finally settled on humor. And I could turn my natural cattiness into self-deprecation and get the same result so…

Self-deprecation is great on many levels. Self-aggrandizement is distancing, People like an underdog. And struggle is something they can sympathize with (flaws are like Velcro as we discussed previously). And ironically, it takes confidence to let yourself be seen as a flawed person.

I can’t say first impression mistakes aren’t still sometimes stressful hurdles, but if I give myself all the time in the world to turn things around, I feel okay about it.

Cher has been friends with all sorts of people. And her relationships with men and women have gone through ups and downs, both friends and lovers. It’s a journey, not a sprint.

Dear Cher, I have terrible pimples and, at times, acne. Please tell me what I can do. I am desperate. Bumpy, New York City

Cher’s Response:

Dear Bumpy, There are several things you can do, and here they are—but you really must do them: In the future, avoid all fried foods, chocolate, nuts, greasy foods, soda pop with sugar in it (the no-calorie type is better for you), butter and coconut. The next thing you must do is keep your skin clean at all times. Wash your face with a mild soap morning and evening (using a very gentle complexion brush and patting dry with a spotlessly clean towel). Carry some Fresh Ups or Wash ‘n’ Dry face cleaners with you to use from time to time during the day if necessary. There are many medicated, tinted make-ups in cream and liquid. pHisoHex puts out a very good line—you can get them at your drugstore. If your acne is bad, see your family doctor. They have some great new antibiotic injections that really work—I mean, they usually get rid of acne from one to two weeks.

Cher Scholar’s Response:

I had to look up what a complexion brush was. Turns out I have one. Huh. It also turns out pHisoHex was banned in 1972 for the use of hexachlorophene. The product has relaunched later using the ingredient salicylic acid.

There are new brands now for acne: Dermalogica, Proactiv, La Roche-Posay and new patches that work well to suffocate those little buggers overnight. You can also get LED and cortisone treatments from dermatologists.

For probably the same reason I was late in wanting boys to chase me (or to chase them all while pretending to let them chase me or whatever it was we were supposed to be doing), I didn’t have very many pimples in high school, which was lucky because I was into using acne-causing makeup and my family’s main food was Mexican so avoiding fried tortillas and greasy food was inconceivable.

That all happened in my 20s. And I remember having an argument with a dermatologist around that time about antibiotics, which were all the rage then for treating acne. I was really into animal rights issues and had read all about the overuse of antibiotics in humans and farm animals and how this was going to wreck havoc on us years down the line when antibiotics would lose their effectiveness. Doctors (like this very dermatologist) were very dismissive of animal rights intellectuals at the time and their ideas. I lost the argument and used the antibiotics but those arguments did win-out 30 to 40 years later and now doctors take it for granted that we’ve overused antibiotics. I don’t even see that as a recommendation for treatment for acne these days.

In the mid-1980s, one or both (I can’t remember) of Cher’s former managers, Charlie Greene and Brian Stone, gave a tell-all interview about Cher to one of the tabloids (The Enquirer or Star). It was pretty mean. One of the things mentioned was how much junk food Cher ate in the 1960s and how bad her acne was.

The only letter I’ve ever sent to Cher was over this article. I was 12 or 13 and was incensed by it. God knows what rant about the article I sent off. I got back a thank-you on a postcard.

But Cher has been very open about her love of Jack-in-the-Box tacos and her now-occasional indulgence of them.

She’s also been open about the acne she had in the early 1970s when The Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour started and the heavy makeup caused her skin to break out. You can sometimes catch a glimpse of that situation during close-ups in early solo numbers. It was around that time that Cher became interested in skin care, an interest that led her to launch her own skin care product line, Aquasentials, in the 1990s.

Dear Sonny, I would like your honest opinion. I have a good complexion, a nice figure and am fairly cute, but I have one thing boys hate—I wear glasses! I can’t stand them, but I can’t see without them. I just lost two boyfriends because of them. I am 14 and really dig guys, but my four-eyes make me lose my cool. Help!, Chicago, Ill.

Sonny’s Response:

Dear Help!, Hold on there a minute. Wearing glasses may bother but you, but it’s not all that big a problem. First off, eyeglasses are very in and very groovy looking these days, as we all know. Maybe you ought to look a little deeper. Maybe you are losing those guys you dig because of some other reason—one you won’t even admit to yourself as yet. Give it some thought. Now, if the fact is you have to wear really thick lenses, I can only suggest that you get your parents to take you to a good optometrist who will advise you as to whether or not you can wear contact lenses. Many, many people wear them and love them. (John Lennon and Mark Lindsay do.) Why don’t you give it a go?

Cher Scholar’s Response:

One time I was working as a receptionist for a interior designer in St. Louis. One of their clients, a gay male designer, once called and referred to me as “the girl with the glasses.” I found this horrifying and had contacts within a week.

But as I learned from Mr. Cher Scholar years later, some people have a fetish for girls who wear glasses. After all, this was a major plot-point of Adam Ant’s video for “Goody Two Shoes.” And then there’s the character of Bailey in the TV show WCRP in Cincinnati. Mr. Cher Scholar explained to me one day that some men found her much more attractive than the Jennifer Marlow character. I found this impossible to believe because Loni Anderson was such a phenomenon at the time.

So I went online and found out there’s a whole group of guys who feel this way. Apparently, they’re more into the girl next door than the sexy mama. Huh. Each to his own.

Cher can really work some glasses. And they were a good prop for her character in the movie Suspect.

Dear Sonny, I am 13 years old and have an unusual problem. I am really very ugly. People tell I’m cute just to make me feel good. I only wish I could live up to what they say, but no matter what I do—like try different haircombs or makeup—I just seem to get uglier. Please help me. Ugly, Miami, Fla.

Sonny’s Response:

Dear Ugly, I have said this before and I repeat: there is beauty in each and every one of us. If you would just stop dwelling on your bad points, perhaps your good points would start shining through. The best advice I can give you is to be yourself, to accept yourself and to be honest (but optimistic) in everything you do. Each individual is unique; each of us is endowed with God’s great gift of life, and each of us has a mission to fulfill while we are here. In other words, there is a purpose and meaning to all things and all individuals. Don’t deny yours and yourself. You don’t have to be a hippy or be in with the in crowd. An exterior beauty is something that fades, whereas inner beauty grows and grows as the years go by.

Cher Scholar’s Response:

You don’t have to be a hippie? Who said you had to be a hippie? What’s that got to do with anything?

I’m still working my way through the Susan Day book. I had to skip the end of the section about boys. It was too much, except for the “so you want to date a star” chapter which was a real page turner, not least because it brought comments and suggestions in again from David Cassidy who was the teen idol of the day. Oddly though Susan Dey did not consider herself a star worthy of consideration in that chapter.

And she was every bit a star. Full disclosure, I haven’t seen episodes of The Partridge Family. Well, maybe one episode on VH-1 decades later when that channel went retro in the mid-1990s. My local stations in St. Louis didn’t carry The Partridge Family during the years I was watching after-school TV. And I watched a lot of it. Even My Three Sons which I hated and Gilligan’s Island which I was ambivalent about. I was definitely on team Marsha as a result because I watched The Brady Bunch hundreds of times.

But I also didn’t care for the Reuben Kincaid character at all or Danny Bonaduce or the two little kids or Shirley Jones. I basically only liked David Cassidy, Susan Dey and the bus. In fact, if the show could have been just about the bus, I would have been thrilled. I was a real fan of the bus.

In any case, the next section of the Susan Dey book gets much better. Things improve after she moves on to beauty tricks. She talks about a simple-style of beauty, avoiding a lot of makeup. She talks about radiance. Which is akin to my idea of energy. Some people don’t have all the right facial features in all the “right” places, but they radiate a beautiful energy.

Also, we can’t ever see ourselves how others see us. Cher, throughout her life, has labeled herself ugly, as a child to her mother, on the 1978 TV special recreating the episode of her child self talking to her mother and during disagreements with Mike Nichols on the set of Silkwood. It’s pretty incredible but what can she do? You have two eyes and a brain and a point of view. It’s not so easy to trust the opinions of others when they contract with what’s in front of your very own eyes.

Add to that the fact that a mirror shows you everything backwards and then there’s the complication of body dysmorphia for some people. You just have to let it go. You can’t be self-defined by the container of yourself. It’s impossible to figure out. Like the existence of God.

Dear Sonny & Cher from 16 Magazine, Part 9

August 13, 2024 / Cher Scholar / 0 Comments

Oh boy. I was feeling pretty good this weekend thinking we had only two more advice columns to review after this one. The questions about boys have been trying on my soul, especially this week’s responses from Sonny. Add to that the reading of the Susan Dey advice book, which is a nightmare of conflicting and problematic guidance for girls. Alarming warnings are made to not under any circumstances “chase” and then soon after there’s a chapter called “Chasing.”

It’s rough and I don’t know if I can make it through it. In fact, I’d put Susan Dey’s book right up there as one of the more difficult books I’ve ever read.

I’ve been complaining about these depressing time-capsules of dating advice to a few people and I hear in response the same thing: “That was a different time, Mary.” And I get that. Times have changed. And yet we are now hearing ever-louder calls for a return to this “quaintness” (from the Chief’s kicker, J.D. Vance, a whole slew of creepy people on Twitter/X). So…I don’t know. I still don’t feel like I’m on steady ground here as a girl. And I get a bit anxious just reading this shit.

This week I kept thinking thank God (thank God!!) I learned everything about boys and dating from John Hughes movies instead of columns and books like these. At least Jennifer Grey was allowed to be surly in Uncle Buck; and Molly Ringwald was allowed to be confused and critical in all of the John Hughes movies she was in. I can’t tell you how helpful that was to a confused person such as myself. That you could be just a normal person, not super feminine (see below) and the boys didn’t have to be “alphas.” In fact, those kinds of boys were played very villainously by actors like James Spader. Thank God also for the somewhat gender-fluid 1980s where boys could wear eye-liner and girls could have bi-lateral, funky hair. You had the freedom to explore ways of being. And maybe people were freaking out about it then, too, but those freak-outs were just off our radar screens.

Anyway, I was so happy to see the finish line with these old pressures of bad flirting and then I went into the Chersonian Institute (a.k.a. the Cher She-shed) this weekend and found two more lost columns! Eek! And one was compromised, so I went online afterwards to find a better copy and found another two more!!! Ack! So now we have six more to do instead of two. Oy vey.

So let’s keep going. I like the landscape photograph in this week’s column because I like to imagine Sonny and Cher are pondering over these letters and the weight of their responsibility in answering them.

If your young life is full of problems, there’s no need for you to suffer alone. In fact, there’s no need for you to suffer at all. Cher—and Sonny—want to help you—right here in the pages of 16!

Sonny and I are back again, reading your letters, answering as many as possible, and (hopefully) helping you to solve the problems you encounter in your day-to-day life. If your letter is not here, please don’t feel neglected—there just is not enough room in 16 to answer all of the many letters we get every month. Sonny and I carefully select a cross-section of the mail [see them cross-sectioning above] that represents your most important problems. If your questions aren’t answered this month, please come back next month—for sooner or later you will find your problem and our advice right here in 16 Magazine.

Dear Cher, I don’t like the way I look and I want to do something about it. What should I do to change my looks and become a new me? Waiting, Charleston, S.C.

Cher’s Response:

Dear Waiting, I think it’s very exciting to do yourself over from head to toe once in a while. The first thing you should do is get a bunch of hair styling and beauty magazines (or, better yet, order 16’s Popularity and Beauty Book—see the ad on the following page). When you have gathered together all of these magazines, scan through them and try to find your type. Study all the types for people with a face shaped like yours. Are you round, oval or square? Magazines dealing with make-up and beauty tips cover all types. The hair magazines have setting and comb-out instructions for all lengths and colors of hair. The hair books also tell you how to correct faults—like if your hair is too curly, what to do, etc. [Just wait until the 1980s]. Try to get a girlfriend to join you in your campaign to re-do yourself. It is always more fun when you have someone to share your thoughts with and to exchange ideas with. The two of you could spend a “beauty weekend” together and probably come out with some great new results. Good luck.

Cher Scholar’s Response:

I got really into my local library’s coffee-table beauty books for a while as a tween. This is not to say I ever became good at it, but I do like all the do-dads and beauty artifacts. And I have always fantasized about the styling weekend with a girlfriend. Or even the spa weekend of the skin care side of things. But most of my girlfriends aren’t as interested in this stuff.

I also love the make-over in movies. There’s actually a scholarly book about this, The Makeover In Movies. I haven’t read it yet but it’s on my list. Cher’s makeover in Moonstruck would most definitely be addressed in this book, (she’s in the index), as this is an iconic makeover sequence in a movie. Cher visits a hair salon, buys a new dress and does her makeup slowly in her living room all in anticipation of a date to the opera with Nicholas Cage.

You can also see grooming images in Good Times and the ladies go through a somewhat big, albeit offscreen, transformation in The Witches of Eastwick. (It’s the sex doing the makeover in their case.) And we can’t forget the bad makeover Cher receives in Silkwood from her mortician girlfriend, where she’s made to look like a corpse by mistake and Drew is snarky about it and then Angela gets into a snit and moves out. And it’s a subtle one but the Madame at the whorehouse in Chastity does a creepy baby-doll dress makeover on Cher’s Chastity character. And then Cher tries to make herself presentable to her parents (and not look like a drug addict) in the movie Mask. (I tried to recreate that star necklace, by the way.)

So lot’s of Cher makeover moments in the movies, which is an understandable cinematic impulse because there have been so many Cher transformations in her personal timeline. Cher has always changed her look to suit the times and she seems to enjoy updating her personal and professional looks: from the grunge bangs and hippie duds of the 1960s to the sleek, long-haired goddess in jeans look of the 1970s to the big wigs and tight clothes of the 1980s, and it goes on.

Cher is much more outrageous than me in her explorations. I just like to try different brands of mascara.

Dear Cher, I am going with a boy I am not sure I really like. I go with him because I am lonely, but I really love my old boyfriend (who doesn’t love me). This new boy is nice and sweet. Do you think I am doing the wrong thing? In Need of Help, Bow, Washington

Cher’s Response:

Dear In Need of Help, You definitely are doing the wrong thing. If this boy is so nice, you should not lead him on—for eventually you will hurt him very deeply. If your old boyfriend snapped his fingers, you would go back to him in a flash and leave your present boyfriend suffering—just as you are suffering now. Since you know what it feels like to be hurt, learn something from it and don’t hurt this nice boy. Take my advice and you’ll be a better person for it.

Cher Scholar’s Response:

I don’t even think this would be Cher’s response anymore. I mean she didn’t have the same feelings for Gene Simmons she had for Gregg Allman. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Each relationship is its own weather system. Simmons, like this boy, had all the markings of a rebound relationship. Getting back on the horse, romantically speaking. Not every relationship is your forever home. Some are truly “We’ve Got Tonight” situations and this is fine if the two people are on the same page. All sorts of people are out there in the wilderness trying to find their way. And we can’t even assume that much about this relationship based on the question. The boy hasn’t weighed in about where he’s coming from.

Sometimes rebounds rebound again into something permanent. Seems to me what makes any relationship healthy is communication. So just make sure intentions are clear at all times and if or when feelings change, talk it out.

What is not okay is withholding your feelings about a relationship and leading another person into believing you are more serious or dedicated than you are. I have a very good friend who’s parents divorced when he was an adult because the husband had been having a marriage-long affair with a woman he had always considered his true love. The wife wasn’t as upset by the affair as she was by the fact that she had wasted her youth on a relationship that wasn’t true love.

There’s a difference between using someone and being lonely together.

That said, relationships are very complicated and even in my friend’s parents’ case, who’s to say what was going on and what torment people go through when they are navigating current relationships and when to end them. For example, why did Sonny stay with Cher when he was often distracted by other women? I’m sure his motivations were complicated: loyalty to Cher, desire to keep the money coming in, true affection. Why did Cher stay with Sonny so long during that same time? As Cher has said over and over, theirs was a very complicated relationship. She saw Sonny as a parental figure to her, a lover, a sibling, a co-parent to Chastity. Relationships are rarely smoothly operating machines or rarely cleanly broken off. It’s almost a topic that is beyond advice.

Sonny gave Cher a big wet kiss immediately after their divorce hearing! A very public kiss. Cher says it was hard to stay mad at Sonny, even minutes after a custody battle. Sounds very complicated to me.

Dear Cher, My parents won’t let me buy records or any of the other things teenagers like, even though it’s my own money. How can I convince them that it’s my money and that they should let me do what I like with it? Kar, Northbrook, Ill.

Cher’s Response:

Dear Kar, If you earn this money, either by babysitting or by doing other work, then you should be allowed to buy anything you wish with it within reason. If you get an allowance, you might tell your mother you are willing to set aside a certain amount of it for savings, but that you feel you should spend the rest on harmless “fun” things you enjoy.

Cher Scholar’s Response:

This is a tough one. Teenage years are mostly about testing your independence. Some very controlling parents out there inflict an “anything under my roof goes by my rules” policy. My parents were not like this (that practically had to push me out of the nest) although they were what you would consider strict in many ways. I was the last in line and my parents were pretty laissez-faire by the time I came along. They didn’t much notice what I was doing with my little amount of money. I was saving up my lunch money and buying record albums and Taco Bell dinners with friends. Nothing to test a “within reason” qualification. I wouldn’t even have known where to find the unreasonable stuff. But I was below everyone’s radar, I’m pretty sure. Recently, a family member labeled me as a goth kid, which surprised me because I had pink wallpaper, pink carpet and listened to Barry Manilow all day. But I guess within those confines, I was kind of a Barry-Manilow-listening, pink-loving kind of sad kid. Maybe a Pink Goth. Was that a thing? No it was not.

Some parents believe in providing trust until trust is broken. Some parents have to control every aspect of their habitats. And I don’t know any way around those kinds of parents aside from hanging in there until you can secure your own independence and move out as soon as you can. I don’t see this type of parent being suddenly convinced by arguments from Cher in 16 Magazine. In fact, I think those parents turned out to be some of the Cher-haters we see out there today. “That hippie Cher tried to corrupt our daughter Kar!”

This is a real problem, though, especially now that there is a whole segment of the population trying to re-define what it means to be a girl, limiting her choices in marriage, family planning and education, let alone all the fun teenage stuff.

But in this case, it could also be a parent who has come from nothing who is attempting to teach their kid about saving money or goal planning and not fettering all their monies on movie tickets and rock-and-roll records.

I’m sort of thankful for the latitude I did receive. It allowed me to follow my intellectual pursuits and learn self-sufficiency, which is what my parents wanted for me (including and maybe especially my father), not to depend on relationships for those things. But that’s not every parental motive out there so…

I don’t know what kind of parents Sonny and Cher were. Chaz Bono has written about this mostly in Becoming Chaz. Cher was gone a lot and some of the nannies seemed better than others. Elijah spent time in boarding schools which he seems to resent.

I haven’t talked to any parent who doesn’t bemoan the fact of how difficult parenting is. Just existentially hard. How you never really know what you’re doing. Short of abuse, it’s good to give parents some latitude for screw-ups. ‘

Does not letting your kid have popular music constitute abuse? I don’t know. I do know a lot of kids who grew up in restrictive households that forbade pop-culture and junk foods and as adults these friends of mine now have trouble navigating moderation with those very things. I’ve also seen problems resulting from over-indulgence. Teaching moderation itself seems to be a good idea.

Dear Sonny, I have a crush on a boy in my class. I think he likes me. How should I act? Just Asking, Bellflower, Calif.

Sonny’s Response:

Dear Just Asking, When you are around this boy, act sweet and not snooty. Don’t go overboard and come on too strong, but at the same time don’t be shy. Let him know “diplomatically” that you’re interested, and then see if he responds. If he does, show him that you are really interested in him, but at the same time try to make him feel that he is flirting with you—not you with him. Try to start one of those “accidental” conversations. Find out what his interests are, and if they are different from yours “bone-up” so that when and if you talk to him, you will be able to say something he wants to hear. Good luck.

Cher Scholar’s Response:

Good luck, indeed. Does dating in this world require a poli sci degree so you can flirt “diplomatically?” Just asking, myself.

“At the same time,” maybe I’m also just asking for a friend. Like all of them. Because this is crazy-making. There are two “but at the same times” in Sonny’s headache-inducing response. And that’s not okay. But at the same time….no, still not okay.

There was a very sweet Muppets (ABC) episode, “A Tail of Two Piggies” where Gonzo, Pepe and Rizzo became bachelor roommates and were having trouble getting “the womens” (as Pepe says) to come to their house parties. They discovered that one of the best ways to initiate friendship with women was to become interested in what they were interested in. I think this is fine advice. But it could also send you off in a direction that is both a flirting-fail and something that changes the trajectory of your life. This has happened multiple times in my life, once when I tried to become a better high school student because I thought boys liked smart girls and another time I became interested in Buddhism and then 42 books later—this.

What’s not okay is all the intricacies around how to flirt properly. This is simply the tortured evolution of culture and it becomes stupid at some point You can’t manage that tightrope of flirting rules all while trying to “be yourself.” Just not compatible tasks. And you might be a genuinely annoying self. What then? Then maybe what you do is to go work on yourself—just in general. The whole population will probably appreciate that, not just someone you fancy. Work on being less annoying (which is full-time job for some of us, I get it). Keep tweaking into a self you feel you can comfortably be. You may not match up comfortably with people you like. They might even get annoyed with your best self. As unfortunately as that is, the alternative is pretty grim.

One of the saddest of the Hans Christian Andersen stories is “The Little Mermaid” which is a cautionary tale about this very thing, trying to be what someone else wants all while losing yourself in the process.

I guess in all things, moderation. It’s hard.

Dating is full of strife in Cher movies. Sonny and Cher battle about their futures in Good Times. There are all those poor fellows who try to decipher Cher’s character in Chastity, Dolly’s short burn-out with Angela in Silkwood, Rusty’s comparatively stable romance with Gar in Mask, the various jealousies that develop with the foursome in The Witches of Eastwick, the illicit affair with a juror in Suspect, the tumultuous beginning for Lorretta and Ronny in Moonstruck, the silly and sad relationship between the flighty Mrs. Flax and Lou in Mermaids.

The women don’t ever behave as Sonny advises girls to behave in any of these stories, nor did Cher herself ultimately behave that way. In fact, you can make a case they all flirted pretty badly in a plethora of wonderful ways.

Dear Sonny, Doesn’t femininity count with a guy nowadays? To be popular, does a girl have to be immodest? Where I live, it seems that ladylike girls are “duds.” What’ is your opinion? Curious, Medina, Ohio

Sonny’s Response:

Dear Curious, No matter how a guy acts, in his heart he much prefers a feminine girl. He will go out with girls who come on strong, but not more than once or twice. Stick to your principles. Be your real self at all times. You may have to wait a little longer to get asked out on dates, but when you do it will be guys who really respect you.

Cher Scholar’s Response:

(By the way, I was just in Medina, Ohio.)

First of all, this unfortunate answer says more about Sonny than anything. This is dating advice dreck, this “boys only really like nice girls” answer.

Secondly, I can’t tell if this “immodesty” refers to mini-skirts or free love. I also can’t tell if this is a parent writing in masquerading as a teen.

Some guys (and girls) are attracted to sporty girls, to bad girls, to nutty girls, to “feminine” girls. Some people are attracted to others who are sometimes sporty, sometimes tom-boys, sometimes feminine and sometimes every other type of way to be a person. What a weird idea that flirting has to be so performative toward femininity.

Sonny is definitely not the best person to be answering this question. In fact, it’s relevant to consider Sonny’s age here. He is ten-to-fifteen years older than these hippie tweens and his answer is going to be much more antiquated than, say, if Paul McCartney were answering these letters. This was a time of sexual revolution and it made many older adults, like Sonny, very uncomfortable.

“Guys who really respect you.” Please. You know where you can put that respect, right? As a girl who didn’t fool around enough, I will defend any girl who did.

Do you need his respect? No, you don’t. Do you need your self-respect? Yes, you do. Let that be the guiding principles you stick to. If you don’t want to be “immodest,” whatever that is, don’t. If you don’t feel particularly modest, go out there and live your best life. For me, this modesty shit is part of the fetishization of virginity. Which is all to say men have historically wanted to determine how and women should mate and procreate.

It was a different time. Well, different times are always around the corner again. I am just very thankful to have grown up in the time I did, as a carefree pop-culture addicted Gen-Xer in the 1980s.

I don’t even think this answer has anything to do with how Sonny or Cher behaved as young adults either, or at least Cher who was an aspiring street kid.

One of the amazing things about The Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour was how they refashioned the vamps of history as sexually independent, provocative and ultimately persevering women. Better examples of being a human could be found there.

Dear Sonny & Cher from 16 Magazine, Part 3

June 29, 2024 / Cher Scholar / 0 Comments

We’re back again with more advice from 16 Magazine. But next up is some solo “Dear Cher” responses. From what Cher (or the 16 Magazine staff dude pretending to be Cher) says, this must be the first installment of the column. Plus there’s such a long preamble.

Did Cher start this solo and Sonny joined her later? As often happened in the Sonny & Cher story, Cher might have started off alone and then beseeched Sonny to help her out, like when she talked him into doing the final variety series or when she couldn’t talk on the “Hello” 45 record and Sonny had to do it all or when Sonny did all the talking to the live and studio audiences or when he tried to get Cher singing in the first place.

Anyway, hang on because this is going to be a long, repetitive and somewhat laborious introduction.

“If your young life is full of problems there’s no need for you to suffer alone. In fact, there’s no need for you to suffer at all. Cher wants help you—right here in the pages of 16!

[Jesus! That sounds so dire. Don’t suffer alone!]

Hi there! It’s me—Cher—and (like I told you in the last issue of 16) I have what I hope will be a groovey [sic, or maybe that’s really how they spelled it back then] surprise for you? I know it is for me. What it is, is this; beginning with this issue I am starting a column called Dear Cher right here in 16 Magazine. It will be a regular feature in which I will try to answer any of your questions concerning make-up, beauty, hair and self-improvement. I will also help you with your personal problems—[good lord, if only]—you know, like how to overcome bashfulness, how to get that special guy to notice you, how to get along with your parents and brothers and sisters (not to mention with your teachers), how to get a boy to keep on liking you once you’ve got him interested, what to do about those “moods” you fall into, etc.”

[So the target audience for this at the beginning was young girls, not boys. So much for their problems. Interesting we’ve already seen that some boys did write in.]

“In other words, I—Cher—promise you that I will do all I can to help and guide you in every way possible in your day-to-day life. I’ve just emerged from my early teens and I know what unhappiness and suffering a young girl often goes through—and all too often has to go through alone. Well, you aren’t alone anymore. I am here. You can count on me and I will not fail you.”

[Some big and wide-ranging promises are being made here. Oy vey.]

“So if you have a problem—whether it’s a boy who’s causing you a heartache or a hair-do that is giving you headache, you can turn to me. Don’t be shy. I am the only one who will see your letters, as signed by you, and you know you can trust me. [Somehow, I’m doubting this. Whenever someone says “trust me”…and you know what, I think Sonny & Cher taught me that]. Tell me what your troubles and problems are—and then look each month for my answer, just for you, right here in the pages of 16. Since most of your letters will be of a very personal natures, I will not print your name. Be sure to remember to put a code name of your selection at the end of your letters to me. I will use this code name when I print your letter and my answer in 16—so watch for it.

Meanwhile, since I have some extra space in this issue [despite a herculean attempt to preamble this to death], I am going to take care of a couple of letters that came to me recently in my general mail. They will give you an idea of how I will write this column.”

[Ugh! I’m exhausted now. If only we could take a nap. No, let’s forge ahead.]

Dear Cher, When I look at a picture of you, I just flip. You look so beautiful—your eyes are sparkling and your hair is long and shining. Then I look into the mirror and I just hate myself. Please, please tell me how I can get to look like you! Miserable

Cher’s Response:

Dear Miserable, I am glad you like the way I look, believe me—but in doing so you are overlooking a most important fact. I am me and you are you! I am quite sure you are just as pretty (if not prettier) than I am, in your own way. So forget about me and let’s concentrate on you. To have sparkling eyes, you must get enough sleep, keep your face and eyes clean, and perhaps wear a little make-up [that word has unhyphenated itself in the last 40 years… isn’t that interesting?]. A thin eye-liner line on your upper lid and a little mascara may just do the trick. [Is that ironic advice from the woman who, along with Liz Taylor, gave the thick eye-liner look traction in the mid-1960s?] Give it a try. Be sure your eyes aren’t dull because you need glasses. Don’t laugh [too late]—that is sometimes the case! You can keep your hair shining by washing and brushing it regularly. If you want it long, then let it grow. [Is there another way?] Long hair takes extra brushing, so be sure that you have the time required to take care of it. If you do these things, you will begin to discover your own hidden beauty, and soon you will find yourself liking that little girl you see in the mirror!

Cher Scholar’s Response:

If you do these things, you will begin to discover your own hidden beauty…for like 24 hours only and then you will forget about it again and will have to discover new eye-liner tricks and spend some $$ on beauty books and magazines and the latest, most scientifically-improved (or mystical) makeup and then write to more advice columns run by other celebrities and influencers and do you see the problem with this right here?

I’m not an expert on this but I am always most impressed by those women who present beyond their face, so to speak. I just saw an example of this last night on a Diane Von Furstenberg documentary. She’s indisputably beautiful but she presents in a way that indicates she’s not operating from an investment in her own beautiful face. Oh sure, you say, easy enough to tap into your inner beauty when you’ve got outer beauty! Ok, fair enough. You can also see this same phenomenon in certain women who are not considered stylishly beautiful. (Look behind you 200 years to see how trends influence what we think ‘beautiful’ is.) These women are tapping into some kind of arresting self-assurance and inner light. I can think of a few women right now who do it. You think they’re beautiful and then you say, well, they’re not conventionally beautiful but they’re pulling off something that’s very lovely and stunning.

I couldn’t tell you how to get there, but I’m pretty sure it’s not by using a tube of makeup or hair coloring.

As a tween and teen, I did all the things. I read all the library books and paperback books I could find on beauty by the likes of Revlon or Raquel Welch or Christie Brinkley. I did all the hair and face things. I did aerobics religiously. I didn’t spend a single day in high school without my finger nails painted. It seems ridiculous to me now. I mean it’s fun to paint your fingernails. It really is. I still do it. But to feel you have to do it every day is a problem. Because it doesn’t really matter. And I didn’t even need to compare myself to famous women. I had a charismatic, elegant comparison in my own house, my grandmother. To tell you what kind of an “influencer” she was, you just have to meet all the Katharines in my family named after her. I would never measure up, I was sure of it. She was the thinnest, most effortlessly glamourous person and more interesting than any woman on TV; and by the way, her fingernails were painted every single day. The only time I saw her without her nails painted was when she was in the hospital and it was shocking. I never for one second thought I could pull of a Cher. That never even occurred to me as do-able. But at least I had the genetics of my grandmother. That seemed somehow do-able. And I went to great and dangerous lengths trying to do it.

I’m probably closer than I’ve ever been to understanding the charisma of my grandmother (because I’m nearing the age she was when I knew her and have had a lifetime to understand her possible struggles and feelings) and still I only paint my nails once in a while. It was never about the fingernails.

There’s a back door into this idea of beauty, is what I think I am trying to say. It’s not a front door. The paint job is only the front door. And if you find you don’t have time to brush your long hair, “trust me” you will survive.

We lose ground in constant comparisons. They are irrelevant. Celebrity culture makes this worse. Advertising makes this worse. You have to shut all that down. While you’re comparing yourself to Cher, she was comparing herself to someone else impossible for her to emulate (and that was Audrey Hepburn). It’s a dead end.

Since the mid-60s I have no doubt Cher has received thousands of fan letters telling her how beautiful she is. The letters probably increased significantly in the 1970s when she was a TV glamour goddess and the most photographed woman in America, if not the world. More photographed than Diane Von Furstenberg even!

Fast-forward to the set of Silkwood with Meryl Streep and Mike Nichols in the early 1980s. I have a friend from High School and we were talking recently about Elaine Mae and Mike Nichols and so she sent me an excerpt she had on Silkwood from a Mike Nichols’ biography. I just read it last night. Here’s the relevant part:

“[Nichols] told Cher that he didn’t want her character to wear makeup. She was so nervous she wept—’I am so convincingly ugly,’ she said.”

Whaaaat? The makeup story is a famous Cher-Silkwood story but I had never heard that quote before and it just kills me! Cher was still beautiful in Silkwood! As I said in Dear Sonny & Cher from 16 Magazine, Part 1, we’re not always the best judges of ourselves (for good or bad).

Dear Cher, Nobody loves me. I know it sounds unbelievable, but it happens to be true. I am 13 and quiet and sort of bashful. When I try to talk to people, I stammer; and when people talk to me, I blush. My life is so unhappy. Is there anything you can do to help me? Scared

Cher’s Response:

Dear Scared, Don’t worry so much—you’re not alone in this terrible predicament. Guess what? I went through exactly the same phase when I was your age [which, let’s be honest, was six years ago]. I guess it is just a part of those awful growing pains. I think it would help you if you would try to find one good girl friend. It’s harder to get to know a group than just one individual. There must be one girl who seems a bit friendly towards you. Don’t hold back with her. Do something like asking her for help on a homework problem, or about how she gets her hair to go a certain way. Show an interest in her—and in others. If you can manage to compliment people in a sincere way—and there is something good to compliment in everyone—well, they can’t help but get to like you. Don’t be afraid of speaking to yourself in the mirror—out loud, I mean. I don’t care if it is just counting to ten, it will help you to get over the habit of not every uttering a word, and it will be a sure cure for your stammer. You don’t have to be a tiger, hon—but try to be just a bit of a ‘tigress.’ Good luck.’

Cher Scholar’s Response:

Tiger? Wha? Have we moved on to the bedroom? I’m confused.

Okay, compliments. Those are good, always appreciated. But you can go too far with compliments and you can actually get into trouble if you over-compliment or complement on a trigger subject. So stick to sincere feelings and strategically deploy it. Don’t blanket complement. Don’t complement to change the subject or as a diversion of any kind. Because then, your whole complementing apparatus becomes suspect and you’re right back to where you started.

My friend Christopher taught me a good lesson in conversation skills. I took him once to an art gallery in Taos, New Mexico, and he spent an hour chatting with the proprietor. We didn’t have time for anything else. But I was amazed he could do this for such a long time with a stranger. He later said you can get anyone talking just by being curious and asking them questions and then seeing where that goes. People love to talk about themselves. And if you’re genuinely interested, you can play it as it lays. Be in the moment. Follow the threads.

Chats with the mirror aren’t a bad idea either. Inner dialogue. Get to know your self.

Cher has always said she is very shy and was once paralyzingly shy. She’s said she was even too shy sometimes to sing in front of just Sonny.

Possibly she’s an introvert, too, and you can’t turn an introvert into an extrovert. Their brains are actually wired differently. But you can learn how to communicate more effectively with others. And if you can learn some of these things at 13, you will not have to undo a lifetime of bad habits so good for you.

Cher was an early fan of the movie Dumbo. And like Dumbo, she had a feather to get her through anxious moments. This feather’s name was Sonny.

When I was a tween, I had to set myself a goal. I had a girl gang in Albuquerque. We did things like steal lawn ornaments and write FUCK on the sidewalks with chalky New Mexican rocks. I was on track to become a real problem child until we moved to St. Louis and I feel in with the wrong crowd, a group of nerdy bookworms. But it took some work.

My biggest problem was also bashfulness. Mine took the form of being terrified to express an opinion. Because I knew I would be judged for having an incorrect one. I was at my friend Jayne’s house one morning after a sleepover. She was asking me which box of breakfast cereal I wanted to eat from their pantry of many cereals and I was like, “Uhhhh…which one do you want?” and she lost her shit. “Like just pick a goddamn cereal already so we can eat breakfast.”

I decided right then that I would have one opinion a day. (Sigh. True story.) I even practiced having one opinion a day with my other friends Lillian and Diana. They’d be on there way over to my house and I would think, “Ok, get ready to have an opinion.”

And I started having opinions and it worked out really well and now I have too many.

Cher Scholarin Out in the World

January 4, 2024 / Cher Scholar / 0 Comments

So I noticed a few things at the end of last year while Cher Scholarin.

One was when I was coming home from a family reunion in Cleveland, (where my parents now live), and I was using Spotify logged in as Mr. Cher Scholar to locate Cher’s new Christmas album. I noticed that the Cher Scholar playlists were coming up kind of high. (See left.)

But then I thought maybe that’s because Mr. Cher Scholar might have played those playlists once before and he was getting a personal shuffle. It’s hard to be scientifically objective in the universe of algorithms.

Results are definitely not consistent. You don’t even get the same major categories searching via phone app versus phone browser or desktop app.

I also visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this visit to Cleveland. Julie had gone earlier in the year and saw the electronic board of fan votes. At that time (May, 2023) Cher was in the #8 position and Britney Spears was the next female #10. She sent me a picture.

Cher was at #4 by the time I visited in November and shockingly Cher was not only the highest-ranking woman but still the only woman (solo or in a band) in the top twenty! Britney Spears was the next female listed at #21. Unbelievable.

But you can chalk all of this up to the kinds of people who visit the Hall of Fame (it’s not a cheap ticket). It’s also not a pristine sample of everyone’s views by any means. It’s just a sample of the views of people who have the money and interest to travel to Cleveland and visit the RnR HoF.

I myself dutifully voted for Cher, as did Mr. Cher Scholar but I think that was probably just unspoken peer pressure. I don’t think he honestly cares a whit about Rock and Roll Hall of Fame artists.

Some of us have been theorizing the many reason’s Cher, as a record breaker, is not in the HoF: the silly perception of her from the varsity show, the lack of her cool factor in music, dislike of Sonny’s promotional (possible payola) background. My friend Christopher told me last weekend that HoF founder Jenn Wenner (recently removed from the HoF board due to some asinine comments he made about female and black artists), vowed never to let the band Foreigner in due to a personal grievance, which Christopher said was particularly egregious due to the impressive variety of their output.

But then on some basic level I just don’t understand Hall of Fames. We went through the Football Hall of Fame (also near Cleveland) on the same trip. To make sense of them, (and don’t get me started on museum theory and the idea of false scarcity: we’ve been there already), I spent the time counting both footballs (103) and guitars (167). There were no guitars at the Football HoF and no footballs at the Rock and Roll HoF. Go figure.

ASMR

So ASMR stands for autonomous sensory meridian response and it’s like the pleasure sensations you might get from certain tactile ambient soundtracks. I first heard about it from the trendy kids at the community college here in Albuquerque. It was a “thing” a few years ago to seek out ASMR videos which include things like people tapping their fingernails on hard surfaces, quietly whispering or silently unwrapping things, samples of vocal fry (okay, if that’s what you’re in to).

I was already primed to like this shit. Mr. Cher Scholar says one of my favorite movies, Into Great Silence, is just one long ASMR movie. I can also locate it near my love of really prominent movie foley (like from the 1970s-era) and my love of the sound of my feet walking over the plethora of varieties of New Mexico dirt paths.

So for a while now I’ve wanted to collect up all the Cher-related ASMR videos. Years ago these videos were very pleasant. But I’ve noticed a trend for ASMR practitioners to be too too repetitive (and almost too loud) these days. Full minutes of tapping the outside of a Cher shirt is just silly.

Also, unboxing videos have taken on a life of their own and some don’t even have any ASMR quality. People just like watching things be unboxed as it turns out.

Here’s a playlist for you of both ASMR and unboxing videos:

Unboxing the Christmas album: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z24VNjbzgFQ&t=46s
Unboxing a Believe CD: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XF2zUUo5IXo
Unboxing the Believe CD box set: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wpz4UWLa1B4&t=231s
Unboxing the It’s a Man’s World CD box set: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNAN99o3mXk
Unboxing It’s a Man’s World vinyl box set: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OneddA7ZTOg&t=124s
Cher’s Eau de Couture perfume unboxing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPKGcxNgmNM (classic ASMR)
Unboxing the Chersace shirt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-F1uc7rz6lI&t=146s
Some lucky fan got a box of Cher stuff and unboxed it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywlU2kdvPV4&t=2154s
Unwrapping the I Paralyze CD: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgAoAStxayA
Unwrapping the Living Proof CD: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_sdONiBIIdA
Cher samples of vocal fry: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKJxbNynro8&t=261s
This funny lady enthusiastically whisper-reads a Cher magazine while chewing gum: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NZ4rLUvrGQ&t=238s

Cher in Literature

I’m always surprised when I find references to Cher in very fine literature. Last year I found two instances of this. Earlier in 2023 I started reading 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami. I really enjoy Murakami and have been working my way through his books. 1Q84 is a tome at 1,157 pages of awesomeness. And the book kept coming back to references of Sonny & Cher and the song “The Beat Goes On.”

Here’s the novel summary from The Encyclopedia Britannica: “Set in Tokyo in an alternate version of the year 1984, Murakami’s reality-bending novel explores star-crossed lovers Aomame and Tengo’s involvement with a mysterious cult. References to George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-four abound explicitly and thematically.”

Page 499

Page 534

Page 544

Then right before Christmas I read a Donald Barthelme story from the book Forty Stories called ‘Porcupines at the University.” In the story the Dean of a college thinks an oncoming herd of porcupines are all about to enroll at his understaffed university. But a cowboy porcupine wrangler is simply driving them across the country in order to seek his own fame and fortune for his trail songs. He dreams about appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show or The Sonny & Cher Show (which were never concurrently showing but never mind.)

Little Richard, Cherlato and Cher Specials

August 22, 2023 / Cher Scholar / 2 Comments

Little Richard: I Am Everything

A few weeks ago I watched the documentary Little Richard: I Am Everything. It explored how underappreciated Little Richard was during his lifetime and the queer influence inherent in the origin of rock-and-roll music.

The documentary relates to Cher for two reasons. One, Sonny worked closely with Little Richard back when he was employed with Specialty Records. There’s a documentary out there where Sonny tells some wacky anecdotes about being one of Little Richard’s handlers. I’ll try to track it down. It might even be an old Phil Spector documentary.

Anyway, at one point during the Little Richard documentary Mick Jagger is talking about how beholden everyone is to Little Richard and then Nile Rogers tells how Little Richard paved the way for everything that followed. And at that point there is what I would call “a collage of flamboyance” at marker 1:35:52 pulling the thread from Little Richard through to contemporary artists. Someone says, “it’s almost as if everyone is defined by Little Richard.”

As I was watching the collage unfold I thought Cher will not be included in this, flamboyant though she is. I just took it on faith she would not be included.

But she was.

Here’s the partial list in the collage. It’s pretty impressive:

Elvis
James Brown
The Beatles
Jimi Hendrix
Prince
Elton John
David Bowie
The Eurythmics
Freddie Mercury
Boy George
Mick Jagger
Jimmy Page
Robert Plant
Rick James
Cher
Madonna
Rod Stewart
Lady Gaga
Plenty more new people after this I didn’t know.

I did a screen capture of Cher’s appearance (above). It’s a big deal. There were plenty of other deserving flamboyant artists who didn’t make it.

Cherlato

Cher’s new gelato truck finally started rambling around Los Angles a few weeks ago. I asked my peoples in LA to try it out for me because I can’t very well make a visit just for gelato. as reasonable as this seems to me. My friend Coolia caught the truck near Canter’s Deli while she was on her way to another event.

At first when I mentioned the gelato truck to Coolia, she said, “I don’t buy that Cher even eats ice cream!” So I googled ‘Cher eating ice cream’ and sent her the resulting collage, which looked something like this:

Coolia said, “I stand corrected.” She then fit it a Cherlato truck visit in between a family tragedy and a trip to Japan so I’m very thankful to her for taking the time to not only track it down but let it interfere with her diet.

Julie said the gelato was good but not mind blowing. The staff was really nice, she said, and they told her business was good. By closing time they had run out of three of their flavors (and it’s not like they have that many!) Coolia had the Chocolate XO Cher flavor (allegedly Cher’s favorite) and her boyfriend Dave had the Breakfast at Cher’s Coffee and Donuts. They didn’t upgrade to the $18 gold cone understandably.

The staff gave them tasting spoons and Coolia said the Stracialetta Giapo’s Way flavor was also good.

Here are Coolia’s pics:

You can check Cherlato’s landing schedule on their Twitter/X page: https://twitter.com/cherlato_gelato.

Cher on TV

I’ve been updating the main Cher TV page on cherscholar.com, adding links to her music videos. Strangely, not all of her videos have been published on her own YouTube channel.

I’ve also started to add the dates and songs for all the televised guest performances.

And I’ve started documenting the TV specials. I’ve completed two new ones so far, The Sonny & Cher Nitty Gritty Hour from 1971 and the 1978 Cher…Special.

A big theme of Cher…Special is hair. Cher-the-child laments the fact that she is not blonde. Intro 2 Anthro with Two Humans just did an episode about hair. So I’ve been thinking about it. I was blonde once inadvertently when I first arrived at Sarah Lawrence and I was highlighting my own hair. For those of us who were using that plastic head cap and needle instead of the foil, you were going to be blonde eventually.

I was never allowed to watch the movie Grease when it came out (one of only two things I was deprived of watching, that and the comedy Soap). So in high school I finally saw it and thought Cha Cha was the prettiest character in the movie. So I had red hair my senior year, constantly chasing the sultry Cha-Cha color and ending up occasionally with the more innocent-looking Molly Ringwald. I’ve had about 50-shades of brunette since then and the Susan Sontag streak. Right now my hairdresser Maxine, (who I just found out went to the same grade school I did only ten years earlier), is helping me evolve into a natural salt and pepper. Fingers crossed.

Hair color seems so fluid to get upset about. But I guess if you were Cher and your mother and your sister were California blondes in the 1950s and 60s, you might become an upset tween too. Honestly, I’ve never found hair color, eye color, height, shape, size, the car you drive or the shampoo you use a relevant factor in any successful friendship or relationship, but I understand other people have their fetishes. Sonny apparently did although he married two raven-haired beauties.

To elaborate on a comment Mr. Cher Scholar made in his Anthro episode about Cher, after a decade of Barbara Edens, seeing Cher on TV as a raven glamazon was a big deal. And due to Cher’s somewhat fluid-looking ethnicity, many kinds of women were impacted by this. It was beyond a personal statement; she was pulling us all through. She was all non-blonde women around the world on TV. Someone once told me they loved her in Iran. But still, she never lost her own blonde fetish. And she’s dipped into blondeness occasionally through the decades. I could probably do a whole essay on Cher exploring blondness.

More Records in The Man’s World

July 17, 2023 / Cher Scholar / 0 Comments

Dollhouse Records

So when I was a kid my grandmother used to give us $25 savings bonds as gifts all through the 1970s. Pleh. Snooze-fest for a kid. Then one day my father said, “the market is good, you should cash those in.” I was eleven. Yes! Enough of this investing. Let’s blow some moolah!

In St. Louis near where we lived there was a mall they called Westport Plaza. This plaza had a Mexican restaurant, trendy bars, and back-flipping baseball star Ozzy Smith’s restaurant (my grandmother loved it because she could nibble spicy chicken wings there). Jugglers and magicians performed outside. This is where our high-school friend Jonathan Levit started the fire-eating, juggling act he had at the time. There was also a tiny theater in the round there. I saw Cyd Charisse perform in the play Mister Roberts and the band ‘Til Tuesday.

Anyway, back in 1981 when I was flush with cash, I was obsessed with a fancy toy shop called Aunt Heidi’s Corner at this mall because it had a whole room of dollhouses, hobby kit dollhouses. I took my cash spree and bought the biggest one there. My Dad was not too happy about assembling it but he spent a few months building the thing and then told me it was up to me to shingle it (which I did) and paint it (which I’m still doing).

Last week I purchased a stereo for the house. There was a console looking one (near to what I had as a kid) but the table-top stereo didn’t match the built-in one we had. So I opted for the 1980s-looking component version.

After high school I also came into some graduation cash. My two older brothers talked me into using it to ditch their hand-me-down all-in-one stereo for stereo components. We all went to the stereo store and they picked out brands of speakers, receivers, turntables and a tape deck and then they taught me how to hook it up, which I did through five of six moves until I sold it all in a Redondo Beach garage sale along with half of my records.

So to go with the new little version, I recently purchased a set of 60 tiny record albums from a woman on eBay, plus 6 custom records I asked her to make. They were sold in sets of 5 for $6. So back when records were $7.99, this calculates to 24 weeks of a teen’s diverted lunch and allowance money. Whoo hoo!

(Just like the old days, I alphabetized them.)

Big People Records

I’ve always listened to record albums. When I was six in Albuquerque, my parents taught me how to handle them and get them on the turntable. I was just learning to read so I became obsessed with storyteller records that each came with a read-along book. My favorites were the ones that faithfully stuck to the text.

Later I would love the ones that didn’t read faithfully from the record’s embedded book but had music. My brothers had most of the Disney albums and a few others. I listened to all them probably hundreds of times and they show the wear.

By the time we moved to St. Louis, I was heavily invested in Sonny & Cher records. I had a small stack by the time I was eight. My parents had their own collection of records, which they kept in a long gold rack. I re-organized their stack and culled out the Sonny & Cher (and Cher) records and put them in a smaller ornate gold rack my parents also had. The racks looked something like these:

This isolation was important because we had just moved from the desert of New Mexico to the alley of tornados in Missouri. And because we were not used to such scary weather systems, the whole family would scramble to the basement whenever so much as a weather watch was announced. My Dad even found us a special tornado weather radio.

But then after a while we became jaded and only headed to the basement if sirens went off in the neighborhood (which happened a few times a year). My self-appointed job was to make sure the dog make it to the basement and to save my Sonny & Cher records, which were helpfully sorted out for handy retrieval in the smaller record stand. There were so few of them an eight-year old could port them to safety in just one trip (along with the dog). You can see what I valued.

Dog, check. Sonny & Cher records, check. Parents and siblings, who?

And so yesterday the latest Cher record has arrived, Cher’s box-set re-release of It’s a Man’s World.

And this is all to say if you had told me back then, when I was stashing a modest amount of Cher records into a gilded, gold record stand at age eight, that one day I’d have so many Cher records, they wouldn’t even be able to fit into the largest plastic bin I could find, I would have told you to Shut! Up!

The Latest Record

So let’s talk about It’s a Man’s World, which was a very unusual Cher CD when it came out in the mid-1990s for the sole reason that it is the only Cher album with widely divergent UK and US versions. Many of her later-day Warner dance albums have small differences of a song or two from country to country (Living Proof had a Japanese version with extra songs, for example), but no other album was released twice with so many differences, not just the list of songs but track order and different mixes of songs. The UK album was released first by Cher’s new label after leaving Geffen, Warner Music UK (WEA) in 1995. A U.S. version from Warner Records (address in Burbank) arrived a year later in 1996.

The 2023 re-release is a re-release of the UK version (at least the track listing is). I haven’t listened to it yet. Depicted below is the front and backside of all the releases (and my mix tape mashup of the UK/US versions):

The 1995 UK and 2023 Warner Bros listing:

Walking in Memphis – a Marc Cohen cover and hit in the UK at #11. This song did not chart in the US but was discovered anyway and is one of Cher’s underground hits among Cher fans and non-Cher fans alike.
Not Enough Love in the World – a Don Henley cover and a single in the UK at #31.
One by One – a hit in the UK at #7, a flop in the U.S. at #52.
I Wouldn’t Treat a Dog (The Way You Treated Me) – a Bobby “Blue” Bland cover.
Angels Running – a Patty Larkin cover.
Paradise Is Here – a non-charting single in the US and UK and a Paul Brady cover.
I’m Blowing Away – a Joan Baez cover.
Don’t Come Around Tonight
What About the Moonlight
The Same Mistake
The Gunman – a Prefab Sprout cover.
The Sun Aint Gonna Shine Anymore – #26 in the UK and a The Walker Brothers cover.
Shape of Things to Come – a Trevor Horn song.
It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World – a James Brown cover.

For some reason three songs were removed from the U.S. album and different versions included, which also had a lithograph on some versions of the CD:

One by One was changed to a slow-jam, R&B song and became so sleepy it could put you to sleep. Well, the more dance-oriented upbeat UK version (used in the video) was only slightly better. To add to its dullness, the video didn’t include Cher doing much more than waving her hands slowly around her face.
Not Enough Love in the World – here they tried the same trick, giving the song an R&B vibe where the UK version is lighter and more peppy.
Angels Running skimmed out the UKs drum intro and the slap-you-awake bridge, neither of which is needed for this beautifully melancholy song.
What About the Moonlight – the UK version was a sweet, dripping version with atmosphere and the US version, although not quite a dance mix, was too jaunty. Not the seriousness of a song that has Cher singing someone down from the ledge of depression. It shouldn’t be such a peppy mix.
Paradise Is Here – we had the opposite problem with this one. The UK version is too meandering for such a happy lyric. The song takes forever to get up and running. The US version is lightly more upbeat and happy.
The Same Mistake – the same versions.
Walking in Memphis – same versions.
The Sun Aint Gonna Shine Anymore – same versions.
The Gunman – the UK has a vocal intro and outro. I prefer the song cleanly without that.
It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World – same versions.

My Mix-Tape Version

Frustrated with there being some good versions on the US CD and some good versions on the UK CD, I made my own mix-tape compilation as follows:

One by One (Junior Vasquez version) – The US slow version was really dull for me. But these days if you have a little patience with the song, it’s actually a sexy little burn. But back in the day, I preferred the remix.
Not Enough Love in the World (UK version)
What About the Moonlight (UK version)
Paradise Is Here (US version)
Walking in Memphis (Shut Up and Dance Mix) – I actually don’t know what I was thinking with this remix. It feels silly now. And the ending makes my head hurt.
The Sun Aint Gonna Shine Anymore
The Gunman (US version)
Shape of Things to Come (UK album song)
It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World
One by One (UK version)

Since they’ve re-released the UK version only, I suppose it’s now the canonical version. But is it really? Which songs should be the canonical versions? This issue is always complicated when a dance re-mix does better on the charts than the album version. But when there are multiple album versions to start with it’s a bigger quagmire. And if you lived in the US and didn’t have access to import albums, (I was in Yonkers at the time, living pretty close to Tower Records which had an import bin and plus I was mail ordering imports), you may have never even heard these UK versions before.

The 2023 box set is beautiful. And I’ve never had colored vinyl records so I’m really enjoying that.

I do notice two things, however. They don’t make record album covers like they used to. The cardboard for these new vinyl releases feels cheaply produced. You rarely got a paper-cut from an old vinyl album cover.

Also, there’s plenty of room in this big spacious box for a new lyric sheet (the original CD didn’t come with one either), maybe even on the back of that needless lithograph sheet (or on all that quadruple album gatefold real estate). And a retrospective liner-note essay is conspicuously missing. This is simply the re-release of the original assets, with a deluxe version that includes the remixes. That’s it. No Cher scholar is weighing in on the importance of the album, what made a re-release pertinent about now, and what all the versions mean. And that feels like a lost opportunity.

These song covers are inspired. Cher’s performances were unified and understated and unlike anything else she’d done since Stars in 1975. And now those US versions are downright rarities, unavailable anywhere to stream online and now a lost bit of gold for diligent collectors.

The Mythology of Cher Breaking Up Rock Bands

June 12, 2023 / Cher Scholar / 0 Comments

So I’ve been in a bad mood lately. My job has turned into a mess of chaos. And in the past, when work turned difficult, something else good was happening to distract me. And visa versa, if my life was, for a while, a trainwreck, work would be solid and fulfilling. One part could always carry me through the other.

Well, not so much right now. And it seems when you’re in a bad place, grumpy ideas seem to come to you you’re like a big, grumpy magnet. So over the weekend I started thinking about the ways Rock Music Culture has slighted Cher over the last 60 years (not to mention some of her fans).

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

What is that even? What is the trumped-up scarcity of yearly-open induction spots even about? My friend Coolia just visited Cleveland for some Cardinal baseball games, visiting my parents and going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. She recently sent me a photograph of an electronic, daily voting board there where visitors can vote for their favorite artists and it shows the top ranking votes (Cher was #8 that day between Soundgarden and Weird Al) but what is that board even doing? Except manufacturing controversy between fans like the scam it is? Either the place is a serious museum to rock and roll (by which there would be no formal inductions of anything, just the facts of a music genre) or it’s a circus. It has chosen to be a circus.

The Sticky Mythology of Yoko Ono

When I was in third grade, some boys in Mrs. Hopson’s class were so stoked about the new band KISS. Why eight year old boys fell for KISS in the first place I will never understand; but I overheard them saying how much they hated Cher and how she was going to break up the band.

Now, I was in on the downlow about Cher at this time so I just fumed in silence. But my brother was a Beatle fan so even I believed in the Yoko Ono Myth at the time. Still, I thought, maybe Cher was performing a public service here. (My friend Coolia is a KISS fan too, so I can’t tread too far here). The point is I’ve come to learn a few facts about how the Cher entourage, (which is not quite so large as to produce the kind of shock-and-awe the Elizabeth Taylor’s entourage once did but is still probably significantly big), became embedded in three bands over the decades, The Allman Brothers Band, KISS and Bon Jovi.

In the first case, Allman Brothers band fans were just as upset about the new presence of Cher in their lives as the KISS fans were. And to be fair, little Cher fans were none too pleased about the situation either. But Cher spent a lot of time with that band and according to the book, Midnight Riders: The Story of the Allman Brothers Band by Scott Freeman, everything Cher learned from David Geffen about extricating from bad music contracts she passed on to the Allman Brothers and they directly benefited from this and appreciated it. Oh and Dickey Betts married Cher’s personal-assistant-slash-best-friend Paulette. So if a band wanted to spend less time with Cher, would it marry her BFF?

Nobody from the band has spoken particularly poorly about Cher over the years, if you discount Gregg himself who has publicly said Cher has no talent but was “good in the sack.”

And as a sidebar, in times like these you have to give it to Sonny, who’s heterosexuality a plethora of women could attest to. Most heterosexual men don’t really get Cher although they may find her attractive. This seems a pretty average response from straight men. But Sonny was different. He saw what Cher fans see. You have to give him some kind of super-sensory credit for that. Sexist Italian guy that everyone agreed he could be, he thought Cher was more talented than anybody else did. And he gets a star for that.

Moving on to KISS, shortly after Gene Simmons started dating Cher (and the third grade boys lost their KISS-loving minds), Paul Stanley started dating Cher’s sister, Georgeanne, who went on to marry actor Michael Madsen and after that a man who was the head of Cher’s security team. So even small companies could find themselves enmeshed in the dating life of the Cher entourage. Turns out Cher is extremely likeable if you believe anyone who talks about her. Beside the point, because the determining factor was always Cher’s perceived coolness. She wasn’t cool enough to be dating Gregg Allman or Gene Simmons.

Now we can skip Les Dudek because nobody even knew they were dating anyway, or were in a band together, or that Les Dudek was between bands when they met, or where anyone would go to overhear Dudek fans kvetching about Cher. I guess you could argue that Cher broke up the band Dudek was in with Cher, but that would still not be a Yoko-Ono-breakup per se in the sense that fans everywhere worldwide were deeply unconcerned.

Moving on to Bon Jovi, Cher dated Richie Sambora sometime after Jon Bon Jovi produced “We All Sleep Alone” and her 1987 remake of “Bang Bang.” So Cher was not quite the anathema to members of this band either. I honestly don’t remember what Bon Jovi fans thought about this. I should ask my friend Christopher who wholeheartedly believes Jon Bon Jovi is the most attractive man ever to breathe earthly oxygen. He also likes Cher so…I don’t imagine he was losing his mind at the time. But I’ll follow up on any concerns he might have had. At least Cher was moderately more cool in the late 1980s than she was in the mid-to-late 1970s vis-à-vis rock-music fans, at least cool enough to have her videos appear on MTV and not to have been relegated to the decidedly-un-hip VH-1.

But we should take comfort because I feel there is still time for Cher to break up a rock band. In fact, if she waits for when she turns 80 years old to do this, preferably with a young band of twenty-somethings I would be very pleased. Because it would hit a lot of rock’s stereotypes at the same time. And ironically, it would feel very rock and roll.

Memory and the Space Shuttle Challenger

March 23, 2023 / Cher Scholar / 2 Comments

This started out as just one little story but it has tripled into three very tangentially related essays.

Recently I’ve been reading some Proust auxiliary material and another essay sprouted called “Proust and the Fan Squeal” and a third summary to wrap up a project on my inability to become a super-fan of Philip Levine.

I’m at the stage in my life where I’m lamenting with friends over our faulty memories and so sometime last year this story started to coalesce. I decided if there was ever a Space Shuttle Challenger remembrance, I’d complete it. So, like clockwork, I started seeing Twitter memorials this January for the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. Calculating the anniversary (37 years), I’m even sure why we were memorializing this past January, but maybe the tragedy was on the collective mind. Yet another Twitter meme saw someone attempting to define big moments of American generations by national disasters, and for some reason they assigned my generation, Generation X, to Watergate. I’ve been polling my friends about this and none of us can even remember Watergate at all. Most say the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion…maybe, but more likely the assassination attempt on then-President Ronald Reagan.

Knowing my Generation X, I suspect our “moment” is probably more likely to be something irreverent and kitschy, like the first Brady Bunch reunion special.

But anyway, I thought it might be a good time to tell a story which is ostensibly about the day of the space shuttle explosion but also about my memory around that day, and what memory lets you have and not have.

I went to a nationally-recognized public high school. The year I graduated, my school was in, like, one of the top 25 public high schools in America or something like that. I don’t know how I happened to luck into that except when our family moved from Albuquerque to St. Louis, a real estate agent told my Dad he should aim for a house in a “good school district.” This wasn’t something one really thought about in Albuquerque; there weren’t that many great public schools to pick from in that very poor state. And in hindsight this was probably just some kind of institutionally racist suggestion on the agent’s part to encourage my Dad to pick a white neighborhood where the schools districts had more money and therefore could purchase premium teachers.

My Dad picked a neighborhood called Old Farm, (named for the old farm that once sat there), and its high school was in the Parkway School District, (which was big and had a lot of money). But our school, Parkway North, was most decidedly the least wealthiest of the schools in that district. The big houses were in the neighborhoods of Parkway Central and Parkway West.

But we happened to have an unusually good slate of teachers, like inspired teachers. One math teacher my brother and I had came in early every day to help us through Algebra. And our English teachers were superstars: Mr. Whaling had his Shakespeare students dress up once a year to re-enact a play; the grouchy composition teacher, Mr. Moceri, would do a mole impersonation on the last day for his honors students; and the iconic literature teacher, Ms. Eichorn, was the teacher who probably had the biggest influence on me.

Ours was also the kind of high school where over-achieving teachers probably in large percentage applied to NASA’s Teacher in Space Program in 1986, the teacher selected to go up in the Space Shuttle Challenger. You didn’t even have to be a science teacher to get selected. In fact, the winning teacher was a social studies teacher.

Of the 11,000 people who applied, I imagine many of them had to have been our teachers.

I remember the day of the shuttle disaster quite clearly. It was January 28, a Tuesday, and I was walking through the school’s open library which sprawled across the center of the second floor. I was actually headed to Ms. Eichorn’s honors American Literature class. Toward the side of the library was a large TV, (the deep square kind we had at the time), set up on a portable A/V stand. A circle of teachers and kids stood around the TV watching the shuttle launch that morning. I remember thinking, “Science…ugh…dull! Are those people really that interested in this?”

And the takeoff must have happened right then, (although my memory is foggy on that point so maybe it happened right before I came into the library). In any case, there was that unforgettable silly string of smoke on the TV set and it looked very unnatural for a shuttle launch and everyone was confused for a second and wondering what had just happened because nobody could even make sense of it until the TV announcers confirmed the catastrophe and the obvious demise of all the astronauts.

Everyone in the library was upset just immediately then.

It’s a good thing to remember here that seven people died instantly that moment, including the pretty high-school social studies teacher, Christa McAuliffe, who hailed from Concord New Hampshire. She was a teacher who symbolized, (at least for a lot of teachers), a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to play astronaut for a minute. If memory serves, this was the first time it was even conceivable to anyone that an average person could go up into space without having to become a professional astronaut, which equated to like professional genius back then.

This particular shuttle was heading up into space to study Haley’s Comet and to deploy a communications satellite, which seems a bit ironic now considering all the satellites that connect us to all our worldwide disasters and live TV events. But due to the cold weather that day, a faulty O-ring seal caused a live, televised explosion.

A stiff, rubber o-ring.

But alas, all this was actually the last thing on my mind that moment. My first thought was, and I remember this quite clearly, “Oh God, I hope this doesn’t preempt John Waite’s guest VJ spot tonight on MTV.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“I mean MTV’s whole station identification is a rocket shooting up into space and a bouncing astronaut so…”

Now…if I can get ahead of this thing for a minute…in my defense I just want to that say, first of all national disasters were constantly preempting previously scheduled television happenings. I remember thinking, “Today Challenger? You do this today?”

But secondly I would like to remind us all that most teenage girls are highly self-absorbed and probably borderline sociopaths, just like all college boys are highly self-absorbed and probably borderline sociopaths because girls are ahead of boys in most things. You know, ends justify the means in attention-getting schemes?

I also knew, instinctively, that this was not an appropriate response to the space shuttle explosion and as such I have kept it completely on-the-quiet until this moment. I just clammed up and marched myself right over to Ms. Eichorn’s class.

At least that’s how I remember it.

When I arrived to the class, I saw Ms. Eichorn was visibly upset with what I would imagine, in retrospect, was most likely survivor’s guilt. If she had applied to be the selected teacher astronaut, like tens of thousands of other teachers across the country, she might have felt slightly to bitterly disappointed at first that this Christa McAuliffe person was the one chosen and not her. After the explosion, feelings of lucky guilt might have arisen quite understandably.

Ms.Eichorn’s reaction was to immediately tell the class we must write an emergency essay, (and this was a literature survey class, not a composition class), about what we were thinking about when the explosion happened and what it meant for us all as a country.

“No fucking way,” I thought. “Not a chance.”

In hindsight I do get her response, but at the time I remember thinking this was a complete over-reaction.

I’m sure I dashed off something quickly late that night after watching John Waite guest VJ on MTV, recording the show on my VCR and then rewatching it six to ten times. Yes, the show did proceed to air but with the station identifier discretely removed. “Appropriate response MTV,” I thought. “Nothing more required.”

Second disaster quietly averted.

But another disaster was afoot because Ms. Eichorn read our lousy, quickly-drafted, sociopathic teen memorials and Lost. Her. Mind.

We were subjected to a 50-minute lecture on our heartlessness and bad writings. I thought she should have given us a break. I mean, we were teenagers after all. I was just happy I wasn’t the only malformed one.

In fact, the only kid who did do a good job on the assignment was a kid named Maurice. This wasn’t surprising looking back. He was probably by far the most mature one of all of us. I didn’t know him very well at the time but later that fall we would go to the Homecoming dance together and it would be one of the most fun nights of my life up to that point.

To quickly digress with a recap, Maurice first took me to University City (a city suburb of St. Louis) where there was a Jamaican Restaurant. My parents would never go farther than a two-mile radius from our house to eat so this was a real treat, destination dining. Then we went to the dance, (which was kind of boring except for the fact that we both looked so good…I mean in a ridiculous, 80s kind of way), and then we changed out of our glamour duds and he took me back to University City to the Varsity Theater to see the midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show which I had never been to and was so thrilled to be witnessing. And then we went to a grocery store back in our neighborhood and tried Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream for the first time which I had never even heard of!

A few weeks ago I was looking for something in my garage and I actually came across Maurice’s Challenger essay in a crazy moment of serendipity. It was in a stack of favorite writings of friends from high school and college. It looks like it was published in one of our year-end memory books, the kind where you could leave messages to all your friends. I contacted Maurice through Facebook and asked him if I could excerpt passages from his essay here in my essay. He said okay, why not? His much-more-mature thoughts about the disaster were as follows:

Maurice said he was writing through fear of judgement but he decided he was going to be honest anyway. He listed emotions as he felt them in a particularly sharp self-assessment for a 16 year-old: surprise, interested shock, laughter (his first reaction was laughter at the absurdity of the technical mishap) . He admitted this first response of laughter was “not super socially acceptable.” Then he felt wonder, a horrible curiosity, horror at seeing death made real, a desire to keep watching the televised replays, fascination “at the instantaneous moment of death,” a chill at watching people die, the feeling you were watching your own self die, amazement over “the fact they were doing something that seemed so fun,” a realization that the astronauts might not have ever realized they died, and tears at the end, then a lingering sadness.

Maurice also expressed sympathy for the spectators who had no idea while they would be witnessing sudden death that instant of takeoff. And in his final paragraph, Maurice zeroed in on the #2 teacher, the runner-up teacher, the one who didn’t get to go up into space and that teacher’s face as it was captured by TV cameras while watching the #1 teacher’s demise.

It makes you think about what good fortune really is, something much more nebulous and ambivalent, like the old Zen story about the farmer with a son who had a broken leg. Luck and fortune sometimes reveal themselves over time.

Deep thoughts, me.

So I re-read Maurice’s essay and wanted to think I’ve changed between then and now. (See me adulting?) I mean these were all the same thoughts and feelings I had on 9/11. We heard the news “America was being attacked” in New York City. I had just come back from NYC the day before. My friend Julie had set up both an interview for me at McKinsey & Co. and a John Cougar Mellencamp concert for us at Jones Beach. A group of my co-workers and I went a few floors up into another company’s offices, (they had a small tv), and surrounded by strangers we witnessed 9/11 unfold on live TV. I remember someone saying, “One of the towers is gone” and we all thought this must be a trick of a helicopter’s camera angle. It was the same TV confusion.

Anyway, while digging through some photos recently I also came across a photo of Ms. Eichorn’s classroom that semester. My friend Lillian was drawing Notre Dame on Ms. Eichorn’s classroom wall and we took our picture in front of it with me, Lillian, Diana and their friend Kathy.

Then last week I was going through some yearbooks. I had a hard time finding my own class in each one. And I couldn’t recognize most of the names in my own class.

When I was 17, I could identify all 400-plus fellow students of my senior class, save one person who I just never managed to have a class with. I remarked about this feat to my friend LeAnne at our senior overnight party in 1987, saying this would be the last time we would be in a room full of hundreds of people and know all their names.

So this is a significant loss of data here. And it made finding my own Junior picture in 1986 somewhat difficult. But I did find it. It looked like this:

(and that was as high as my hair ever got, by the way). Scanning down the page I was surprised to find snippets and pictures about the Challenger explosion on the very same page. That’s what a big deal it was.

But whew, right? Thankfully nobody could possible imagine what my initial reaction to the explosion had been….except for some godforsaken reason there’s a pull quote next to the explosion photos…

from me.

God. Dammit!

I have no memory of being asked about the challenger explosion, no memory of saying anything about it, least of all saying anything so remarkably dumb. No memory. This was a shock to see.

And this is just great because now any Junior from 1986 with a last name falling anywhere between Kirsch and McCullen can one day look up their picture in the Parkway North High School yearbook and see this pull quote about the Challenger explosion and think firstly “Who the hell is Mary Ladd?” and then secondly “Man, what a heartless boob she must have been.”

Sigh. Ok. Enough of that.

This is an unrelated-but-sort-of-related story about failing memory. When I was eleven or twelve I saw a man get murdered in a park.

My friend Christy’s dad worked at McDonnell Douglas where many of our dads worked. He brought Christy to his department’s summer company picnic every year and she was allowed to bring three of her little friends. LeAnne and I were always solid invites. And then there was always this revolving fourth girl who was the add-on girl every year, the girl who made LeAnne and I extremely jealous. In fact, my relationship with LeAnn probably solidified over this fourth-girl adversity. We were very possessive of Christy. And we made kind of a sisterhood-peace with each other.

On that year’s picnic, all four of us were standing by the curb waiting for Christy’s dad to get the car and pick us up. A blonde-haired man, maybe in his 20s, started running toward us.

(I’m convinced to this day he ran toward us believing nobody would shoot at him if kids were around him.)

We heard what sounded like firecrackers popping and the man fell literally twelve feet from us. All four of us realized at the same time what was happening and we booked it across the street and over a low grass hill.

Like a movie, Christy’s father drove up right at that moment and we pointed at the man who just got shot. To his credit, her Dad hustled us all into the car as fast as he could and got us out of there.

I was convinced that night a killer was at-large and hunting down four little girl witnesses. He wasn’t. He was arrested, if not at the scene then shortly afterwards. The next day the paper reported the murder was a domestic disturbance involving a family picnicking next to the big company event.

I was in St. Louis last November and I met up with my old friend LeAnne for dinner and we talked about this murder. She kept talking about Melissa being the fourth girl. Who was Melissa? I have no memory of a girl named Melissa or her slot as the fourth girl that year. I’m sorry, Melissa, if you ever read this and think who the hell is Mary Ladd? I can’t remember you either.

And it bothers me I can’t remember her. I mean dips and peaks, right? A murder. I should remember Murder-Day-Melissa quite clearly, shouldn’t I?

Well, I do not.

However, I can still remember every video John Waite played as guest VJ that night after the space shuttle exploded.

View the full restored show from my old almost-40-year-old VHS copy.
(Thanks to Dave Fein for restoration magic.)

Proust and the Fan Squeal

March 23, 2023 / Cher Scholar / 2 Comments

If I’m cocky about anything in this life, it’s my nerdiness. I can’t really be out-nerded. I don’t have a stamp collection and I don’t spend my time solving math or science puzzles; but I do plenty of other lit-nerd things, like slog through JStor essays and some very dry, academic books. You can’t out-nerd me by dropping titles like Gormenghast or authors like Proust.

Yeah, maybe you’ve read Proust. How cute. I have a Proust shelf. I have two sets of the Moncrieff translation, (the Vintage edition and the Modern Library edition), the Quarto Gallimard edition in French, Eric Karpeles’ Paintings in Proust (which I perused concurrently with the novel). I’ve read the first volume, Swann’s Way, three times, (once at Sarah Lawrence College, once in a book club and once reading the full epic with someone who had previously read it in French) and along my journey I have the collected The Paris of Marcel Proust, his biography by George D. Painter, lighter fare like How Proust Can Change Your Life and his Letters to His Neighbor, the book that traces the origins of all the characters called A Proust Souvenir (in English and French), and two actual human students of Proust!

And let us not forget the two books of poems based on the novel, Proustiennes by Jean Fremon and The Albertine Workout by Anne Carson.

I have also visited the cork-lined bedroom of Proust at the Musee Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris in Paris, at the suggestion of one of those aforementioned Proust students, Ann Cefola, and I purchased the Lydia Davis translation of Swann’s Way so that Cefola and I could compare the paragraphs of the Davis edition with the Moncrieff edition with the original French novel in a month-long email and phone project to see which translations was more faithful to the original vocabulary of Proust.

It was great!

But none of this is to say I’m a Proust Scholar. That shelf is probably a small fraction of the Proust universe. Actually, I would say I am no Proust expert at all. I only understand In Search of Lost Time in fragments, kind of like I understand the poems of Anne Carson.

And, in fact, after five years of high school French classes, I can’t even speak French! So some of the books on this shelf (like the French ones, for example) are my husbands, a former French major. But I’m still buying and reading essays on Proust and he is not. And I think this is because I am what you would call a fan of Proust, and a pretty flamboyant fan at that (judging by the cock-a-hoop paragraphs preceding).

But even so, it took me a very long time to decide to read Proust. It seemed a pretentious thing to do, even for a lit major. Faulkner, Pynchon, okay; but Proust?

And when I did start reading the world’s most famous novel, I realized it was what we used to call, (in less PC times), very, very gay (as in that is so gay!). Which just means the novel has a queer sensibility and this is most likely because Proust himself was a gay man, a fact I didn’t know and if I had known I would have read the books decades earlier. Because I too have a kitschy, campy sensibility that is very closely aligned to queer culture. Is this because I am a life-long Cher fan? Or am I a life-long Cher fan because I instinctively appreciate camp? It’s a mystery.

In any case, when I describe Proust’s In Search of Lost Time as having a gay sensibility, it’s hard to explain to people what I mean. I keep saying Proust has a kind of exuberance you don’t normally see in straight male writers.

It’s not that certain straight men don’t go on and on about a subject like Proust does but that they might do so in ways like pontificate or lecture. You might hear someone talk about a particular thing they are excited about with words like ‘awesome’ or ‘great’ or, if they’re feeling really compelled, ‘so cool.’ But that’s as hyperactive as they may allow themselves to get; the remainder is at an emotional reserve, intellectualizing, doing what fan-scholar Mark Duffett calls distancing.

And I must say here that when I reference straight males, this is not at all exclusive. Some straight women, gay women, gay men and non-gendered people I know have a tendency to restrain a grand enthusiasm just as much as anybody; but usually they do it for the same reason.

I started putting it all together, myself, very recently while I was reading yet more Proustian analytics, the triad of Living and Dying with Marcel Proust by Christopher Prendergast, The New Yorkers’ May 10, 2021 article “Peripheral Proust,” (where Adam Gopnick ponders why “secondary works on Proust continue to appear in manic numbers”), and the textbook Understanding Fandom, An Introduction to the Study of Media Fan Culture by Mark Duffett.

Today, we have such a plethora of things to be fannish about: tv shows, movie auteurs, music artists, authors, whole food genres. Proust didn’t have many of those things. He had sights (architecture and painting), sounds (both ambient and music), and ideas (books, articles, the Dreyfus affair). Oh, and the Guermantes. He had nobility (which was the celebrity obsession of his time).

In Understanding Fandom, Duffett talks about hierarchies of fandom. All of Proust’s pleasures are high brow, for the most part respectable pursuits. The Proust novel is itself a respectable thing to be a fan of. However, Proust had plenty of what we now define as guilty pleasures including the theater, one of those things that has flipped from low to highbrow for us.

Mark Duffett explains one of the basest of fan gestures is considered to be the fan squeal. It immediately signifies lowliness. And the squeal is most often applied to “girls” because they do it with such lack of inhibition. And by definition this marks these girl fans as a lesser kind of fan because they are offering up an emotional versus intellectual response. And further, any object that elicits the girlish fan squeal will become quantifiably downgraded in the hierarchy of subjects.

You can easily picture this, girls circled together in a bedroom verbally expressing shrieks of delight over handsome pop objects. At its screechy worst, it becomes a public scream, Beatlemania. When boys were Beatle fans, it means one thing. But when the girls arrived, it got screechy.

Steve Miller explains this repeatedly and unapologetically in his book Detroit Rock City. When girls start offsetting the audience ratio at any heavy metal rock show, the band is no longer cool.

Because bitch, please…

You should be a connoisseur not a sentimentalist.

Girls defy this edict, but so do a certain segment of the gay male population, men who also squeal performatively in public. ‘Flaming’ was once the derogatory term used for this type of very effervescent man.

And some gay boys were probably squealing themselves over John, Paul, George and Ringo…behind closed doors. Squealing is actually a highly acceptable practice within most circles of girls and girls hanging out with gay boys. And I believe this is partly why certain types of girls, (equally reactive ones, I would argue), develop such close friendships with them.

I, myself, do the very act of of distancing Duffett describes as a Cher fan. I do this very likely because I had two disparaging, older straight teenage boy music aficionados in my house growing up. Your ideas about music would be discounted otherwise.

Duffett quotes music critic Caroline Sullivan as using the word credibility in her book about the Bay City Rollers. As a fan of boy bands, your ideas lose credibility.

But there’s something absurd about that. And this was part of my original joke, Cher Scholar. But then when I actually began Cher scholarin’ there was respectability inherent in the endeavor. And I appreciated that. It was helpful to me and to the ways we speak about Cher. There’s nothing innately wrong with intellectualizing. But I was probably doing it just as subconsciously as consciously. So I would include myself as one of the straight females who tends to “tone it down,” to downplay my own version of the flaming squeal.

Another thing I notice that I do, and I noticed it while writing this essay and the one on Philip Levine, is that when I talk about poetry, I tone down my academic vocabulary and sentence constructions and when I talk about music I rev it up.

But I actually do love exaggerated enthusiasms and so it annoys me that I self-protect myself in this way. And so I try to offset my reticence with the occasional, politically-willful, calculated squeal. It’s not hard to find the object that will do it. Usually, it’s a Cher doll. In fact, I can remember my first Cher doll squeal all the way back to Christmas 1976. I can get plenty squealy about the dolls.

Because I can.

Speaking of dolls, I am revamping the nativity of the Christmas Cher doll tree.

I finally bit the bullet and bought the Val Kilmer action figure from the movie Willow. Then I found a hip, online paper doll artist from Perth, Australia, for our new nativity member, Alexander Edwards, and we had no Robert Cameletti! How did that happen? And while doing that, I decided to upgrade the paper dolls for Gregg Allman and David Geffen.

Anyway, we can see that there are strict boundaries around fandom all the time. And here we come back to Proust. He can go on for pages and pages of happy exuberance about a madeleine in a cup of tea, the passages of the moon or a flower patch. He uses words like bliss and glorious over things like train timetables, steeples and trees.

And although arguably he doesn’t squeal in volume, I would argue he does squeal in the amount of ink dispensed and the emotional particularity he demands from that ink.

Even if you didn’t know Marcel Proust was a gay man, you might consider the long, meandering Proustian sentence feminine just as you may consider the brief, single-syllabled Hemmingway sentences as masculine. That’s the dichotomy, although it’s inherently unfair (and inaccurate) to both Proust and Hemmingway. Hemmingway famously had his own feminine side and as for Proust, as feminine as any gay man might seem he is still a man.

The dichotomy is false but easy to digest with our primitive ‘othering’ instincts. And intellectual distancing is an armor, which makes straight men particularly good at it. It’s a masculine effort. Women and gay men tend to have less armor, by design or by choice.

In any case, this is my somewhat distanced yet attemptive emotional fan squeal about Proust’s own fan squeal. And such as it is, I value it more dearly than all the nerdy academia of Proustlandia and you’ll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands.

Category: What This Really Says About Me (Page 2 of 16)

Stealing Fandom

Dear Sonny & Cher from 16 Magazine, Part 10

Dear Sonny & Cher from 16 Magazine, Part 9

Dear Sonny & Cher from 16 Magazine, Part 3

Cher Scholarin Out in the World

Little Richard, Cherlato and Cher Specials

More Records in The Man’s World

The Mythology of Cher Breaking Up Rock Bands

Memory and the Space Shuttle Challenger

Proust and the Fan Squeal

Recent Posts

Recent Comments

Archives

Categories

Websites