Comparing herself to other leaders’ wives, Miss Bruni says: ‘I’m so different. I was a model. I sing, and I want to continue to sing. And on top of that you expect me to be subtle?’ And she admits: ‘I am a femme fatale, my dear.’
(I’m kind of into the fact that Carla Bruni thinks she can say whatever the f—k she wants. In a book. Why can’t I do that?)
My friend Bobbi (a beauty herself) emailed me this weekend to ask if I had thought about making Charlotte Rampling my icon. I had not, but five seconds on IMDB convinced me pretty thoroughly that I was a fool not to have featured her earlier.
Charlotte Rampling has the kind of beauty that reverberates through generations. She’s Carla Bruni, she’s Eva Green, she’s Natalia Vodianova and she’s Gisele Bundchen, all rolled into one, and aging ever so gracefully.
She has an exquisite cinema lineage, working as she has with Woody Allen (in Stardust Memories) and Luchino Visconti (in The Damned), and her career continues to flourish, unlike many of her contemporaries, in movies like Swimming Pool and the upcoming Never Let Me Go.
(I hate it when my Icon posts start sounding like E! True Hollywood stories. I can’t believe that I just said “exquisite cinema lineage.” Who do I think that I am, Roger Ebert? I’m gonna leave it.)
Charlotte is British, but she has starred in more French and Italian films than I have fingers to count on. I can only assume that she speaks with something of a mixed accent, draws in her cheekbones before she pulls a drag from a cigarette, and sleeps with much younger men, frequently.
For you, Charlotte. For freckles on your nose, and back massages from Woody Allen. For living with two men and posing naked. For amorality and innocence, for the dark side of life in the characters you play. For being more than a little alluring to me, Charlotte Rampling, you’re my Icon of the Week.
