Katie Price, iconically known as Jordan, always presents me with a moral dilemma. Is it really chic to flash your chesty asset in people’s faces and live and be proud of the proceeds of such shameless perversion? Does the West have any sense of decency as to how much booby titillation we require for our daily intake? Er, know what, rather than regret the disappearance of our chastity, the Generation Y men seem to be savouring the voyeurism of the booby age. To affirm the arrival of the booby age, women looking for men in the personal ad columns, must, of necessity, make loud declaration that they have large breasts.
Such declaration is nothing short of a magnet. Amorous men with large appetite for generous cleavage will come barging down to the doorstep of such women. That desire to behold the wonder of ballooned knockers once kept Jordan in public demand on our Page 3 tabloid, soft-sell magazines and our television screens. Today, iconic Jordan has moved on, put on her chastity belt, married her sweetheart, Peter Andre, morphed into a doting mum and a savvy media hugger. To crown her soft porn glory, she recently made the British rich Bible, the Sunday Times rich List of 2009. In there, it was revealed that she is worth an estimated personal wealth of £30million earned through glamour modelling, showing off her huge tits and through judicious property investment both at home and abroad.
As a porn again…er, sorry, born again woman, her self-regeneration is something of a miracle. I have watched with childhood amusement the rise and rise of Jordan through the grey lens of the yester years. This damsel with little beauty, no brain, no education and on a scrawny body frame could well give out a glad cry and say, yepeyepe-ye, the world is my oyster! Nobody can question such triumphalism. Not least her adoring fans who have been applauding every of her act from the day she invaded the British greasy limelight. Jordan is a child of the age; the generation Y set who idolise sex-punk-rock-soul with a bit of drug on the side. Those on the permissive avenue still find her an irresistible Barbie. Jordan is the incarnation of Venus who satisfies every craving libido. In the language of the carnally damned, Jordan is hot! A salute to an authentic Brit chix!
In her earlier incarnation, Jordan was a wet sex siren. A raunchy delight worshipped by many page three faithful who greedily fed on her sole asset: big, pear-shaped breasts. The Sun , a tabloid newspaper, was fond of rumbling lecherous men into booby feeding frenzy anytime Jordan posed with her breast on its page three column. As Sun’s circulation began to rev up and profit soared, so was Jordan’s fortune. Couriers and long distance truckers carved effigies of Jordan on their trucks and tattoos bearing her booby image were carved on clean skins.
In the mid 90’s and to the wild admiration of her worshippers, Jordan crossed the proverbial Rubicon of moderation and went under the surgeon’s knife. The whole world was waiting for her re-entry into the celebrity showbiz. She did not disappoint. By the time she emerged, Jordan has had her boobs enlarged from cup size B to D, lips injected with collagen and eyeballs widened. With pouting sexy lips and two huge breasts, she could now defy beauty gravity and play her natural role as a glamour goddess to a society weaned on trash and celebrity excesses. In 2004, she played the role of an Amazon in the Australian jungle in “I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here”.
Since then she has been soaring high like a wild eagle and has appeared in many television shows. The latest of her television shenanigans is entitled Katie & Peter: Stateside which debuted in April 2009 in Malibu, California. The alchemy of her rise to stardom is unchanging: display socio-sexual comedy with Andre, dangle huge breasts for Californians, and presto, the till is ringing with tons of dollars. She is the princess of Chav, (omo oba Alatika) and like one, Jordan is still being feted both home and abroad for her single appetising delight, huge breasts. She once stood on the balcony of her opulence UK mansion where prestigious cars littered the car park and, looking at the camera, yelled, “all these through these” touching her two breasts implant. That is a modest understatement. Her huge tits have not only brought her fame and material comfort but also fortune of £30million.
Jordan is fortunate. She is a product of European super states that have rebuilt its civilisation on sexual perversion of all kinds. Nigeria has no comparable Jordan among its 140 million people. There are millions of Nigerian women who are naturally endowed with beautiful, huge, solid breasts without any implant. We do not value their assets because we see intimidating knockers as embarrassing. In fact, we complain to friends that Bukola’s breasts are too big. In one continent, separated by 7 hours flight, huge breasts are in demand, worshipped and marketed for cash. In the African continent, “Oshodi oke” is a burden to the carrier as most Nigerian men prefer “size kolie”, average, manageable breasts without the need to wrestle with extra pillows all night.
There is no Max Clifford, the PR guru behind Jordan’s marketing success to market well endowed Nigerian women and turn their assets into money making machines. Rather, such delight is allowed to fallow only to be enjoyed by rich Alhajis, sugar daddies, bosses and Casanovas, who, in all honesty, may not even know how to manipulate such awesome chesty wonders.
In sum, life is cruel. Jordan, 31, the princess of Chav, goddess, glamour model, breasts exhibitionist and soft-porn cutie when re-packaged by a savvy marketing guru, commands £30million and earned the privilege of being listed among the British richest people. Western sexual perversion and pornography is seen as chic, marketable, entertaining and rewarding. A salute to an authentic Brit chix!
In Nigeria we are still torn between hypocrisy and cultural dilemma as to what to do with our women endowed with voluptuous breasts. We may need a glamour tutorial from Jordan, savvy marketing techniques from ruthless Max Clifford and willing media to serve titillating, carnal dishes to perverted and damned Nigerian men. Can a Nigerian woman boast before 15 million viewers that her cash, mansion, 4×4 and other material comfort are products of prostitution? Sorry mate, we are Nigerians. We don’t watch, pay and parade our huge knockers on television pleeeeeeze!
Breaking news: it has just been announced that Peter Andre, Jordan’s wild boy-husband has done a runner. Rumour is suggesting that it is a publicity stunt to recharge Jordan’s fading star. Rumour or fact, Peter would soon realise that too much of mammary delight is not good for his health.