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A Generation Of Skanks
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November 22, 2002, 04:00 AM
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"Look, Mama, she`s naked!"

I`m waiting in line at the newsstand with my very observant 2-year-old daughter, and she is pointing to Rolling Stone magazine.

On the cover is 21-year-old singer Christina Aguilera, sprawled on a red velvet blanket. She is wearing black leather boots, black nail polish, one studded bracelet, ratty hair extensions, and as my child has so innocently noted, nothing else. Aguilera`s privates are strategically hidden behind a guitar; her backside is tastelessly, tritely, exposed.

The article lays bare all the silly, sordid details of Aguilera`s new album (appropriately titled "Stripped"), her new hardcore music video (titled "Dirrty," with an extra "r" thrown in for, you know, edge) and her transformation from bubble-gum, Mickey Mouse Club member to foul-mouthed vixen. The young woman who once sweetly warbled the theme song to the Disney movie "Mulan," now grunts and writhes in a thong and kneepads, thrusting herself onto every moving object in her way, while "singing" the following "lyrics":

Ah, dirrty (dirrty)

Filthy (filthy)

Nasty, you nasty (yeah)

Too dirrty to clean my

act up

If you ain`t dirrty

You ain`t here to party

(woo!)

DJ`s spinning (show

your hands)

Let`s get dirrty

(that`s my jam)

I need that, uh, to get

me off

Sweat until my clothes

come off

 

In a pathetic attempt to prove that this is not just a made-for-TV act, Aguilera has been spotted around New York City re-enacting her "Dirrty" video in popular nightclubs. The New York Post`s gossip page even launched a "Christina Aguilera Skank Watch," which tracked her recent visits to local strip clubs, where she "got lap dances," "fondled the breasts of a buxom stripper" and "was spotted cuddling with some sexy female friends at a `Drunk Love` party."

"F— the pretty," Aguilera retorts when asked by the Rolling Stone reporter about her tamer, younger years as a teen idol.

"F— the dessert — where`s the tequila?" she exclaims, apropos of nothing.

Aguilera`s other favorite f-word is "flava." As in: "I want the boys with the flava." Explaining why she doesn`t usually date "white boys," Aguilera expounds with faux ghetto flair: "He`s got to have some flava and edge to him. I don`t discriminate because of color. I actually dated my first one recently. I put some cream in my coffee." Flava lover Aguilera herself is paler than vanilla ice cream when not slathered in coffee-colored, self-tanning lotion.

"I don`t see anything wrong with being comfortable with my own skin," Aguilera snaps defensively, as she strikes another gangsta pose and shows off her ridiculous body piercings — which Rolling Stone has painstakingly diagrammed for the masses.

As I am returning the trashy magazine to the newsstand rack, my toddler chirps in again: "Mama, where`s her shirt?" I answer: "Her mama forgot to tell her to put one on." My daughter, naturally, has a follow-up question: "Well, where`s her mama?!"

That`s exactly the question I ask myself whenever we encounter some young Aguilera look-a-like and her friends hanging out at the mall with their thong straps glittering out in the open, their hip-huggers succumbing perilously to the forces of gravity, their noses and eyebrows and tongues marred with metal, and their faces plastered with red light district makeup.

Where were their mamas — and dadas — to teach them that slutty is not sexy? Gutter talk is for vagrants, not for young ladies who want respect from the world. Promiscuity isn`t a sign of maturity. It`s a sign of self-loathing. Being "comfortable in your own skin" doesn`t require having to bare every last inch of it in public.

From Madonna, to Britney and Christina, to the under-dressed teens at the mall, legions of girls have been raised to believe that letting it all hang out is the only true path to womanhood. Christina Aguilera is a sad symptom of this cultural zeitgeist. Stripped of her inhibitions and sense of self-restraint, it`s much too late for mama to put her peep-show-profiteering daughter`s shirt back on.

This naked truth cannot be disguised: The era of radical feminist sexual liberation has produced a generation of shameless skanks.

Michelle Malkin is author of

Invasion: How America Still Welcomes Terrorists, Criminals, and Other Foreign Menaces to Our Shores.

Click here

for Peter Brimelow`s review.

Click here

for Michelle Malkin`s website.

COPYRIGHT 2002 CREATORS SYNDICATE, INC.