In one routine, Bowie wore a see-through black fishnet body suit (designed by him and Freddie Buretti) adorned with two gold-painted mannequin’s hands attached to his chest. A third hand affixed to the crotch had been scuttled after a battle royal with the NBC film crew, who insisted that Bowie cover up his black jockstrap with gold semi-leggings. The two cupped hands formed a bizarre brassiere that made it seem as if Bowie had sprouted breasts. Yet given women’s swerve away from nail lacquer since the mid-1960s, the hands’ black varnished nails (a nihilist colour not yet in the female arsenal) also suggested a man in drag: it was as if Bowie were being sexually pawed and clawed from behind by a raging queen in heat.
Or was he split in gender and acrobatically embracing himself? - a trick (imitated by Bowie on tour) often employed in burlesque by strippers turning their backs to the audience. Furthermore, it seemed as if his body were being played like a piano - not unlike the way Man Ray turned the body of Kiki de Montparnasse into a sensuous violin. The eye was titillated and confounded by an optical illusion: which of the multiple hands, including that on Bowie’s glitter-sheathed right arm, were the real ones?
- Camille Paglia, Theatre of Gender: David Bowie at the Climax of the Sexual Revolution (David Bowie Is)
how many “friend-zoned” guys does it take to change a light bulb? None they’ll just compliment it and get pissed when it won’t screw.
this is the best joke ever
haha…fuck you - sincerely every friendzoned guy ever
You wish - sincerely the women who are by no means obligated to sleep with you.