How Low Can They Go?

So what’s the deal with necklines these days? Is it my imagination, or has the display of female chest (cleavage optional) become de rigueur? I cannot recall the last time the last time I saw a woman who did not expose at least a square foot of bare bosom. And I’m not just talking about movie and soap opera stars. They, after all, are expected to reveal an abundant amount of cleavage. It’s part of their job description. But the epidemic has spread even to news anchors on "serious" channels, like CNN. Necklines of the luscious Hala Gorani, for example, have been creeping infinitesimally and tantalizingly lower by the week. What was once a promise has now become a mouth-watering reality.

Don’t get me wrong. As a tepid-blooded, heterosexual male (so what if I’m 62), I applaud and encourage this exhibition of smooth, satiny skin. But there’s the rub. Not all ladies are blessed with flawless flesh. Why some of the less fortunate insist on displaying unsightly freckles and even wrinkles is a mystery for which I have yet found no answer. It’s almost as if they had a masochistic streak in them. And what about the not so well-endowed ones? Do they honestly imagine that limp appendages, hanging there like a pair of orangutans are attractive to the opposite sex?

You just can’t seem to escape bare upper bosoms nowadays. They are everywhere. Unwashed, back-packing tourists flaunt them; as do top-heavy society matrons, well past their prime, at concerts and premieres. Mercifully, a portion of the iguana epidermis is covered by diamonds or gold. Sightings have even been reported at PTA meetings.

As a savant of history ( and everything else), I have observed that the covering of female anatomy follows wild swings of the pendulum. In 17th century England, the spectacle of heaving bosoms was, literally, uplifting. Tight corsets ensured that wobbly mounds of mammary glands overflowed over low cut bodices. This gave way to the Victorian era, where a glimpse of stocking was considered very shocking (I’m sure Cole Porter will forgive this well-meant plagiarism).

Now, heaven knows, anything goes. If history repeats itself, we may witness a return to prudery in the next 50 years. Fortunately, I won’t be around to see it. Meanwhile, I would urge the bountifully bosomed women of the world to carry on the good work. As a weapon to reduce strong men to jello, those golden globes have no equal. May your tribe prosper and multiply. This is your century. Revel in it.