In the old days of movies and TV, before Star Wars and CG effects and $150 million budgets, the future was often portrayed as a place where people drove low-riding, sleek, outer-spacey cars and wore silver jump suits. Characters resided in antiseptic, geometric architectural landscapes that, rather than actually looking to the future, recalled the Bauhaus era.
That and the girls had purple hair.
Nothing says “the future” like crazy hair colors. Even the movie-buff deity Stanley Kubrick’s vision of the future in Clockwork Orange included a mum with purple hair. Perhaps he took a good long look at his previous flick, 2001: A Space Odyssey, realized he (and Arthur C. Clarke) had come up with an overly ambitious concept of what the world was going to be like in 30 years, and decided to scale back. Out with the megalomaniacal robots and space taxis and in with the Easter grass on people’s heads.
Beating Kubrick to the hair trend by a year were the makers of the British sci-fi series UFO (1970), about an Earth defense force called SHADO that is called upon to fend off an alien invasion in 1980. Maybe they were onto something back then, because when I finally caught up with the show as a lad, the only thing that registered was the hot chicks with purple hair. I remember nothing else about it, but those girls are as vivid in my mind as Jessica Lange being disrobed by King Kong and Dwayne from What’s Happening saying, “Hey hey hey!”
But those movies and shows from the late ‘60s and ‘70s turned out to be all wrong. No one flew to Jupiter in 2001 and came back a star baby. There was never a “Moonbase Alpha,” as predicted on Space 1999 (1975-77). Unless you can afford a Bugatti, you don’t have a sleek, low-riding futurecar. Furthermore, we haven’t moved into utilitarian, cubist neighborhoods and donned silver jump suits in an effort to shed our sense of individuality and become mindless conformists. (The latter concern was a silly sci-fi warning from the beginning. Society has been moving dramatically away from conformity and uniformity since the middle ages, and no one laments the demise of fascism.)
Inflation eliminated any chance of space cars and laser guns. We might be able to build that stuff if we had the resources, but no one can afford to. The only things we can afford are wigs and luminous hair dye. Who knew the most comical element of filmmakers’ future vision would be the only part to come true?
Imagine of one of those gigantor Star Trek computers had actually been built. You know, the ones that talk with unnecessary reverb effect. It may have produced an algorithm or regression analysis (or some other fancy word smart people use when studying complicated shit) to come up with this formula: The future – money – spaceships + Nicki Minaj + Hello Kitty = Women Literally Looking Like Candy.
I hate to get technical on you, but think how brilliant you’ll sound when you repeat all this at a cocktail party later!
I don’t know if it’s lighting and make-up or she’s actually a doll come to life, but Nicki Minaj does not look human. Her plastic skin, impossible facial expressions, and bizarre hair/wig colors make her impossible not to look at, and I hate myself for that. For someone heavily into image control, she comes off as a pretty mean person with hardly a spec of musical talent. Still, I can’t look away. It’s that cotton-candy chic she’s got going on.
Far more likable and – from my perhaps skewed perspective – talented is orange-headed pixie Megan Massacre, who is as far from Texas and Chainsaws as a person can get. The 5’0” “alternative model” is pretty handy with a tattoo gun, as witnessed on the TLC show NY Ink. Her art style involves a lot of saturated Disney-esque color and sweet, flowing, girly subject matter. Nothing about her says ‘massacre,’ and I’ll bet the other chicks all hate her because she’s cute as a button. I know what that’s like. I work in an office building. You girls are so catty!
But going all-out cotton candy, above and beyond the rest, is pin-up model Amelia Dinmore, AKA Amelia Nightmare, who looks positively edible. I don’t mean that in a pervy, lascivious way. She literally looks like you could make a lollipop out of her. OK, now that I put it that way and am visualizing it…
If Megan Massacre is trying to sound a lot more badass than she really is, Amelia Nightmare is being plain-old ironic. The only nightmare here is the price of wigs these days. My dream is to put this woman in a time machine – which, admittedly, would render all talk of future technology irrelevant – and send her back to the 1970s. She could materialize on the set of UFO, whip out her lollipop, and say, “I have seen your future, and it’s me.”