This is the iconographic image of elegant sex that we are used to in the modern West.
Sex is, afterall – well at least it is for the elite in that game - highly formalized and stylized.
I know this because I learned it from a man I interviewed once who was a key part of Helmut Newton's original Sydney (Australia)-based commercial photographic studio. This gentleman – the one I interviewed - spoke of Herr Doktor Markus Wolf long before too many of the even well-read public had ever heard of his name. Of course, I would hazard not many recall now what that particular fellow was all about...
Actual Russian Intelligence Officer - Anna Chapman |
I should say too, though, that whilst I am relaxed in saying that the person that I knew, and that I am speaking about here, did indeed also show me all the great secrets of a good Martini - I am slightly troubled by the fact that later on in his life, I suspected him of either having become, or at least having become very deeply implicated with, a serial killer...
Marinus (Martin) - for that was his name - was also a friend of the actor Lee Marvin and they would spend many summers stalking Black Marlin, I believe it was, from memory. The both of them were surprisingly fit, or let's say physically strong, to be more accurate, and good with long-bladed, serrated-back Marlin knifes,
In one particular discussion about things of the world, Martin pointed out to me that a hundred years ago, the finest restaurants served their clientelle a la francaise and not, as we are used to now, a la carte or a la russe (as it is more correctly termed).
Slava Zaitsev fashion - no ushanka today |
'A la russe' means in the Russian style, and that means bringing dishes out in a sequential manner. Which is a bit like serial monogamy, you could say...
Laying out a large table with more or less all the dishes already there to be served from, to the diners – this is a la francaise. Such a thing is all very formal, with liveried attendants standing behind the guests like soldiers until a toast is made and only then are people seated and things go on from there. It's meant to inspire awe in onlookers...
Martin told me eventually when I asked him directly about the killings, that it couldn't have been him 'because he loved women too much...' A very poor excuse, I thought.
But, I say! This
man was urbane – the most urbane I have ever encountered. Almost
theatrical, but not overpoweringly so, so as you would count it
against him; he was, I must say, tres subtle.
So... French wine, lingerie, red velvet curtains.
But I also think you can present Russian vodka, Soviet era emblems, and ushankas, and caviar, as iconographic of a certain kind of decadence and thus of course also of sex. At the moment I'm not so much concerned about the social or historic derivation of these symbols as anything remotely to do with sex, more the current nuances they conjure up.
Burgundy wine coloured velvet, really... |
You see I want you all to imagine the launch of some luxury prestige or hot sports car, with a closed invitation guest list. You know what these things are like don't you? They are held in rather large rooms, though usually not big halls as such. There is one wall removed and a modest enough stage behind a large floor-to-ceiling dark red velvet drape. And music plays and champagne is served. And right when the music reaches a certain crescendo, the curtains are pulled back to reveal – the great vision. And everyone applauds. And drinks more wine.
What lies behind the closed curtains? Soviet submarines and ICBM's, Bugattis and Jaguars. And so on. Catherine the Great turns into Mother Russia. Crotchless knickers from Napoleon's Josephine...? I don't know. But what's the great American sex icon deriving from power at the apex? If it's Marilyn Monroe and JFK then it's certainly out of very recent history, comparatively speaking.
The curtains pulled open are like a framed window onto something out there. Sometimes we might be too close to the glass and fog it up with our breath so that we are unable to see clearly past our noses.
See the fact is, without the power factor or the sense of it, no one pulls out their chequebooks.
Anna Chapman again |
(P.S. Do we still use chequebooks?)