Waggabe's - the next big thing

The bamboozle fest that is Big Brother has had yet another happy return with the launch of it's 8th edition. Another bunch of desperate Daniella's were thrown into this year's technicoloured hell's kitchen. That's a fact: as it started as an all-girl show - until that guy ziggyziggyzac joined the panty liner panto collective. Oh and the house is all topsy turvey - it's just such a laugh. The producers were no doubtless utterly proud of the lot they had chosen for this summer's bonanza: a pair of identical twins that do not look identical at all and only communicate via giggling and flapping their arms wildly around like a dove trapped in a garbage bin. They also managed to find Tracey, the raver permanently stuck in 1989, a case of too many microdots, too little brain cells anyway? Emily Nazi was there too for a while, till she 'let slip' the N-word which prompted Charley to milk her like a ruthless fat kitten. That Charley, what a piece of work that girl is, self-adoring, cantankerous, completely obsessed with her frivolous nonety status and all that with the face of Miss A.S.B.O. 2007. Shabnam, another one gagging for the limelight and the deals she so did not want to lose. How cute of her to believe that any deals would be granted to her. Shabnam naively believes that the world and it's dog were waiting for her coming, beside this stupid silly thought, she also loves posing for the mirror while talking to the others. Yet, she does not realise that she resembles a crazed up serial murderer prone to
cutting off men's ear lobes after stabbing their eyes. She does my head in that one.
Of course, the old girls, the one that has left looks like Lou Reed, the other just looks like someone who has not had sex in years. Laura the wannabe embalmer who seems very proud of the fact that her friends call her Wangers and tell her she looks like Peter Kay. I guess, she is happy enough to have any friends.
There's a few more but really who wants to talk about the miserable Nicky who vaguely resembles Lieutenant Worf from Stark Trek the next generation with that encrusted frown in her forehead. And talking of look-al-likes, let's not forget Chanelle, who desperately feels that she would like to live in Madrid and Los Angeles to emulate her idol Victoria Bekcham's life. You have to give it to the girl, she slightly looks like Posh - though a much prettier version of the twizzlestick with German swimming instructor hair, Victoria Beckham. So you wonder why she feels the need to be the fish & chips reflection of that woman. And yes, it's probably rooted down to the fact that she had a tremendously terrible history with her mum who used to be a prostitute and junkie and got strangled by a punter. She seems sweet enough Chanelle and I do think her and Ziggy, the eel-like man, do seem a nice enough couple - however - what was that thing about her life dreams and aspiration?

When asked what she wanted to be, Chanelle thought nothing of saying that she was hoping to become a WAG For all that have been living under a rock for the past 2 years, which is most of us really, a WAG is the name given for a wife or girlfriend of a footballer - well known preferably. Victoria Beckham for that instance used to be Uber W.A.G. till David fell out of the English squad. A WAG is what you become, incidentally - you do not hope that you will become one. It is not a job that you can aim to do at some point in your life or a title you will get once you succeeded your masters. Though for Chanelle it is a state of mind. Shamefully, it appears to be on the hot list for so many other girls. Just like a couple of years, girls - and boys for that matter, did not want to become anything specific any longer in entertainment such as actress or coked up camel shagging rock star, they just wanted to become famous. Now the dream of being famous has again turned into something a little bit more specific, a WAG is born. Because they get to wear such beautiful clothes, said Chanelle. True, if you want to look like a primary coloured crackwhore with a Satsuma tan in Jimmy Shoos and bunions the size of Bermuda.
But isn't this a scary thought? How terrified must one be when seeing his daughter writing W.A.G. down as a career choice at her class' evaluation. What is the appeal? Hanging out with collective of girls that have a neuron short of a synapse? Opening your house to Ok magazine holding the umpteenth baby in your arms while spreading your legs in the swimming pool? Selling your wedding to the highest bidder and probably having the shitiest day of your life due to all the hoo ha surrounding the golden handcuff deal? What's so fun about having to hide your wedding dress under layers of black plastic just to make sure that others snappers would not run away with the pictures of the meringue they have hiding under the bin liners? Credit to Chanelle when she mentioned that beside having her nails done and shopping, she was decided upon having what she called a small career - a column in a magazine or newspaper. She learned her masters quickly, realising that this is as much of an effort a WAG would pour into a day job, looking at the Coleens and Alexes tottering dazed and confused around due to another non challenging day on planet WAG.
For these Waggabe's such as Chanelle, the girlfriend and wives of footballers seem to have a charmed life where every street is lined with Criquette shops and dresses from Cavalli and scattered with Balenciaga oversized handbags,
a world where the worst thing that could ever happen to you is not finding shoes in the right shade of pink to match with your fuchsia designer tutu.And all this without having to do any personal input themselves - they find themselves a footballer, they seduce the guy with probably the best and last blow job he will ever get from them and attach themselves like a squid around a sunken tree trunk to his bank account. It is the fast route to success. Cleverly orchestrated and without breaking any sweat.

When writing this all down, I am starting to wonder myself: perhaps, WAG is where the future is? Like Davina Mc Call said wisely for once: there should be a course at university for people who wish to become a WAG. I think I have passed my sell by date already but hey, anyone out there wishing to forget about the road to integrity, bleach that hair, get yourself spray tanned and go get that job! Hopefully you won't realise for a long time that it is a recipe for feeling worthless and brain damaged under the layers of whatever-as-long-as-it's-expensive. Channelle might just change her mind after coming out of Big Brother and decide that she wants to be just famous after all.