Chuck Klosterman - Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs

Oh, I know: Every one of those guys had sex with Marilyn, so it’s kind of a naive notion to think of her as pure. But it’s not so much that Monroe seemed virginal; it’s more like she seemed too overtly sexual to actually participate in the unseemly process of intercourse. Trying to picture Norma Jean (ahem) “getting her freak on” is like trying to imagine Bruce Lee getting into a bar fight: Even in my mind, I can’t conceive anything that doesn’t seem like cinema. It’s impossible to think of Monroe having sex like a normal person. I always imagine a breeze blowing the curtains over the bedpost, and all her naughty bits are hidden; her hair is perfect, and she’s sorta smiling with her eyes half closed. It’s even PG-13 in my brain . Norman Mailer used to tell a (possibly) apocryphal story that claims—upon signing her first lucrative contract with Twentieth Century Fox—Monroe sardonically said, “Well, that’s the last cock I eat.” I really hate that story, even if it’s true. Marilyn Monroe is the definition of the old-school American sex symbol, and part of that definition is that it’s unfathomable to picture her giving anyone a blow job.

Conversely, it is not particularly difficult to envision Pamela Anderson doing this. It’s actually happening on the TV in my living room as I type this very sentence. [31] 3. And—as I mentioned earlier—it’s surprisingly unsexy (it’s sort of like watching that cow get butchered at the end of Apocalypse Now). But what’s weird is that my ability to experience Pam enjoying an act I can’t even imagine Marilyn performing is not an illustration of how they are different; it somehow makes them more alike. And I think this is because we all unconsciously identify iconic figures with whatever social philosophy they represent (I suppose this is what makes them “iconic”). Monroe and Anderson might suggest totally different worldviews, but they both seem like victims. They’re both sexually tragic figures. Looking at the life of Pam Anderson in the present tense tells us as much about ourselves as looking back on Marilyn Monroe tells us about our fathers and mothers.

Monroe’s men were generally the kind of people I wanted to be until I turned about fourteen: a great athlete, a president, a writer, etc. Anderson’s men are the kind of people I want to be whenever I watch documentaries about KISS. But both Marilyn and Pam desired what their world valued: Men in the fifties wanted Monroe because she made love to the men they respected; modern men want Anderson because she makes love to the concept of celebrity.

There’s no way the modern-day version of Marilyn could date the modern-day version of DiMaggio. Today, there is too much of a chasm between sexuality and “classic greatness.” DiMaggio wasn’t necessarily the finest baseball player on the planet in a technical sense, but he was always the greatest player, inasmuch as he defined what was beautiful and noble about the art of the game. He was classically great. Even when Ted Williams was hitting better than Joe, Ted was only striking a leather projectile with a wooden stick; DiMaggio was defining what Americans loved about democracy. Through the 1990s, the closest thing there was to a DiMaggio-esque figure was Michael Jordan; M.J. is the DiMaggio of his age, just as Pam is the Marilyn of hers. But it goes without saying that Michael Jordan could never date Pamela Anderson. That would cause the apocalypse.

If Jordan dated Pamela Anderson, it would destroy him. He’d still be remembered as the greatest two-guard who ever lived, but his iconography would never be the same. In the eyes of people who obsess over celebrities without reall y thinking about why they care—in other words, in the eyes of 90 percent of America—Jordan would be dating a slut. It would be like the rich, big-toothed high school quarterback showing up at the prom with a Goth chick who’d dropped out of community college to buy a used IROC. America’s greatest athletes can no longer date America’s greatest sex symbols unless said athletes are willing to become freaks (case in point: José Canseco and Dennis Rodman). But back in Monroe’s day, it was normal for vixens to date dashing sports stars; Jane Russell was married to Bob Waterfield, and they slept in a Murphy bed in downtown Cleveland. That seemed normal and kind of sweet. Today, that would seem unnatural (and not just because of the Murphy bed). There are a few exceptions, but none of them matter. Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter used to date Mariah Carey, but nobody cared; she’s crazy and he’s not crazy enough. Chris Webber hits it with Tyra Banks, but C-Webb refuses to talk about it and T-Banks evidently can’t speak. Canadian hoopster Steve Nash supposedly dated Elizabeth Hurley, but she’s about ten times more famous than he is, even in Canada. [32] 4. However, you gotta give Steve Nash this: On December 11, 2001, Nash scored 39 points against the Portland Trail Blazers on 12 of 16 shooting. He scored 17 points over the final 6:23 of regulation, including two free throws with 3.9 seconds remaining that gave Dallas the win. And then he went back to his hotel room AND PROBABLY HAD SEX WITH ELIZABETH HURLEY. Nice night, dude.

The reason Pam Anderson can’t date M.J. is because being the modern Monroe means there is nothing understated about your sexuality. At all. That’s what I mean when I say the gap between sexuality and classic greatness has expanded beyond recognition; there is something inherently understated about the term classical, and there’s obviously nothing understated about Pammy. Sleeping with Pam would destroy Jordan’s ethos; you can’t be the hero to an eight-year-old boy in Duluth and the paramour to 107-pound public orgasmatron. But the larger problem is that dating the Michael Jordans of the world is not part of Pam Anderson’s job description. Since Pam is the hyperaccelerated manifestation of contemporary sexuality, she is socially obligated to deliver her most intimate gifts to those who represent contemporary America. That’s what Marilyn did; she gave her body to the post–World War II archetypes of sport, art, and politics. She was the lover of—at least for —classic greatness. Pam’s in the same position, but she has to be the lover of post-modern greatness. That’s why we all had to watch her give a blow job to the drummer from Mötley Crüe.

The newfangled postmodern sex goddess can’t just sleep with a cool guy; she needs to sleep with the entire “concept” of celebrity. For people born in the seventies and eighties, the “concept” of celebrity has replaced people like Joe DiMaggio. On the surface, this probably seems paradoxical, since DiMaggio was a celebrity. But DiMaggio was a celebrity when “celebrity” wasn’t a concept; it was merely a designation. If you asked anyone in 1951 why DiMaggio was a celebrity (or even if you asked someone that question today), they could undoubtedly give a satisfactory answer. However, it’s impossible to explain why Tommy Lee is a celebrity. You can’t say “because he’s a rock star,” because he’s not; the last record Tommy Lee made that lots of people liked was Dr. Feelgood, which came out in 1989. Yet Tommy is far more famous now than he was in 1989, and it’s because he’s directed his energy into being a celebrity in the conceptual sense. He is famous for being famous, and for behaving famously, and for taking drugs, and for having his relationship with Pam Anderson available on the pay-per-view menu of most hotels (which makes him more famous, but which only happened because he was famous). And he is exactly the type of man Pam Anderson should be with. This is not a criticism of Pam or a backhanded compliment to Tommy; it’s just sort of true.