sex symbol – The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi

Anna Nicole Smith: The Nostalgic Naughty Knockout

To speak her name is to, regrettably, invoke a joke. Here’s a woman who leaves two lasting parallel legacies:

What pop culture remembers about her.
What adult men of a certain age fondly (and secretly) remember about her.

She was a woman who was both a tragic product of her time and, remarkably, ahead of her time as well. She didn’t quite fit in when she gained stardom in the 90s, found a niche career switch in the early 2000s, and met her untimely demise far too soon. Today, modern society remembers her for an eyebrow-raising marriage to an elderly oil tycoon. She was a “gold digger” before that term entered our lexicon. However, for millennial and Gen X men of a certain age, we might think of her in more amiable terms.

Who is this woman? Why, it’s Anna Nicole Smith!

Born as Vickie Lynn Hogan on November 28, 1967 in Houston, Texas, Anna should have been considered one of the ‘It Girls” of the 1990s, alongside Pamela Anderson, Cindy Crawford, Sharon Stone, and Carmen Electra. She certainly had the looks required to enter the “sex symbol” status, though she was never quite able to break into that coveted inner circle. For a variety of reasons, she was never invited to the “cool kid’s table,” despite possessing many of the same attributes of those who were allowed to sit there.

Very briefly, her career launched when she posed for Playboy magazine in May 1992. She would later go on to win Playmate of the Year in 1993. For you young kids reading this, posing nude for Playboy used to be one of the main gateways to earning the status of a model-celebrity. This was back before amateur models could go viral on Instagram or TikTok and sign with major brands as a result. For all his flaws as a human being, being in the good graces of Mr. Hugh Hefner did come with its perks.

Afterward, Anna replaced Claudia Schiffer (a superstar supermodel in her own right) in Guess Jeans’ black and white photography advertisement campaign. I remember distinctly seeing one of those photos on the web (back when dialup Internet was a thing) and thinking to myself, “Now THIS is what a woman is supposed to look like!” She made “mom jeans” a desirable thing before that term even existed.

Known for her uncanny resemblance to Jayne Mansfield, curvy figure, adorable Texas drawl, and fitting into the “dumb blonde” stereotype, Anna Nicole Smith defined an era. The centerfold model was a prized achievement for anyone who wished to break into the world of modeling, movies, television, or the “celebrity industrial complex” writ large. And for young men who grew up during an era when we hid certain magazines underneath our bed, we definitely knew who these women were. We “enjoyed” these ladies in our own personal way, often in the privacy of our bedroom after everyone in the house has fallen asleep. I don’t think I need to get more specific than that.

Looking back on Anna’s life and career, it’s easy to criticize her. It’s easy to point your finger at her and laugh or treat her as the butt of a joke. She never reached Pamela Anderson’s level of superstardom, but she probably was never going to. Her major Hollywood movie role was appearing in “Naked Gun 33+1⁄3: The Final Insult,” where she basically played eye candy. She was not a good actor (as evidenced by the Razzie Award she earned for “Worst New Star”). To be fair, neither is Pamela Anderson – who, ironically, also appeared in a “Naked Gun” movie – but at least Pam has enough charm and spunk to make her watchable on the silver screen. Anna, unfortunately, did not have the charisma necessary to make a career in Hollywood sustainable.

So fine. Anna’s greatest strength was her looks. She couldn’t act, sing, dance, or produce any art that people would want to open their wallets to buy. She was a blonde bombshell, nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps this is part of the reason why she wasn’t respected in her day. And, uh, for the other reason that should be mentioned.

Her controversial marriage to J. Howard Marshall.

Welp, there’s no use beating around the bush. Without getting into too much detail, Anna infamously married petroleum tycoon J. Howard Marshall on June 27, 1994. Marshall was 89 years old and Anna was…<checks notes> only 26. The mind-boggling 63-year age gap was jarring back then, even before our culture’s obsession with “age gap discourse” became a thing. It’s still bizarre to think about.

Now, did she marry him for love…or money? I certainly don’t want to speculate on the inner thoughts of someone I don’t know, but a reasonable person acting in good faith can definitely come to a particular conclusion. I won’t pass down any judgement on her, especially since she’s no longer around to defend herself. Let the dead rest in peace, I say. Here’s what I will put out there: If you were a young woman who found an easy and sure-fire way to gain nearly instantaneous generational fortune, would you pass up this opportunity?

Go ahead and tell yourself that you wouldn’t. But I’m humble enough to admit that if I were placed in her shoes, I’m not sure that I would have made a different choice. Do you have more integrity? Great. That’s fantastic. Good for you. Keep telling yourself that.

Anna’s controversial marriage and the legal fallout from it (culminating in not one but two different Supreme Court cases) for sure contributed to the lack of respect this woman has received from the public at large. It’s partially why very few people can utter her name without making a snarky comment or cracking a condescending smirk. Anna isn’t looked fondly upon like Marilyn Monroe, Pamela Anderson, or Farrah Fawcett. She had the physical looks to go toe-to-toe with these women, though not the cultural gravitas. As someone who actually watched two of her direct-to-video movies (1994’s “To the Limit” and 1996’s “Skyscraper,” respectively), I can say with 100% honesty that acting was not her specialty. She was a model after all; someone whose literal job was to stand around and look pretty. She did exactly that at an elite level, so props to her for that.

Anna was the stereotypical “dumb blonde” and truly leaned into that persona. She knew she had limitations as a celebrity (as did her agent, no doubt), so her “shelf life” would be limited. Now, did I watch in my parent’s basement at 2:00 in the morning “The Anna Nicole Show,” a reality TV show that aired from 2002 to 2004? Uh, perhaps. I saw a handful of episodes. I was never big into reality television, so I didn’t really have a whole lot of genuine interest in watching her show. But any Anna-related content that I could get was good enough for me. I had a major celebrity crush on her during my junior high school days. She, Pamela, Rena Mero (WWE’s Sable), Famke Janssen, and Halle Berry (who’s still one hot mama) had major strangleholds over me during my teen years. I can admit that I frequently jerked off to Anna in the privacy of my bedroom as an awkward teen. I distinctly remember looking at her Playboy photos on my mom’s old computer (which still had dialup Internet) and fantasizing about being able to bury my face in her enormous boobs. My imagination was quite limited in those days.

There was something about her that made me briefly obsessed with her. I’m pretty sure it was her curvaceous figure, which was in stark contrast to the 90’s to early 2000’s trend of supermodels being unhealthily skinny. The “skinny is beautiful” craze led to a major backlash, namely when conditions like anorexia and bulimia became household words. Before then, Anna’s “plus sized” body was also considered somewhat of a joke. She was “fat” in a way that set her apart from her modeling peers. Before the Body Positivity movement started, it was commonplace to look at Anna – despite her incredible natural beauty – and question whether or not she deserved her status as a celebrity model. By all accounts, she deserved it. However, the fact that she didn’t win everybody over is telling unto itself.

Looking back on it, my obsession with Anna probably led to my current obsession with female bodybuilders. Anna was no bodybuilder, of course. But like I just said, her body felt like a defiant statement against the current zeitgeist. She was a pretty blonde lady who liked to eat, married an old rich man, and lived a luxurious life that she only dreamt about as a little girl. Given how quickly she became a star, it’s no mystery why she made the choices that she made. She had opportunities presented before her that a regular person could only imagine in their wildest dreams. Do any of us really know how we would have reacted? Would we have truly made different choices than her? Who knows.

My love of Anna was brief. I was obsessed with her for probably a 2-3 year period. As I became an older teen, I moved on from her. Then, once I became an adult, I discovered the world of female bodybuilders. And the rest, as they say, is history. Anna was a distant memory of a time when I went through puberty and discovered beautiful women for the first time. Anna was one of my earliest celebrity crushes, but not my strongest. My present-day adoration of Cindy Landolt far surpasses how obsessed I was with any other famous lady. But I don’t want her to fade out of my memory. She still holds a special place in my heart, even all these years later. “Never forget your roots,” as they say.

You know what kind of person Anna was? Picture this hypothetical rom-com:

A young man who grew up in a small town in Texas graduates from college and gets a high-paying job at a law firm (or financial firm) in New York City. There, he parties with ridiculously hot “city gals” who look like Ana de Armas and Megan Fox in their primes. He gets drunk, parties at the most popular nightclubs, and even gets lucky enough to take home one or two of these gals for a nightcap.

Then, out of nowhere, there’s a tragedy back home. Grandma and grandpa are coming down on hard times and they’re forced to sell their farmhouse. Our protagonist flies home in an effort to secure emergency funding so that his grandparents can keep their beloved home. Perhaps his connections with Wall Street financiers could help. Dejected and feeling lonely, he goes to a local dive bar. It’s a popular place that he’s known about for years, but he was never old enough to go inside. Once in, he guzzles down a couple of beers and plays darts with a few “good old boys” who treat this bar like it’s their second home.

Suddenly, something catches his eye. Across the room, playing pool with her buddies, is a busty blonde hometown girl that he vaguely remembers from high school. Maybe she’s lost a little bit of weight since then. Or maybe the opposite: She’s “filled out” quite nicely. Regardless, he feels compelled to approach her. He does. He’s struck by her natural beauty, curvy figure, and rural small-town charm. He asks her for her name. She kindly replies, “Lizzy.”

Now, our protagonist is caught in a major dilemma: Does he return to the “Big City” and continue living the life of urban luxury? Or does he “come home” and settle down with Lizzy, who works at the local diner as a part-time waitress? And will grandma and grandpa be able to keep their farmhouse from falling into the hands of those darn greedy land developers? Oh, what wacky hijinks will ensue!

Ah ha.

In this hypothetical rom-com, you could easily imagine Anna playing the romantic lead. I’m not sure which 90s-era Hollywood actor would play the male co-star, but whatever. In an alternative universe, Anna’s niche would be appearing in made-for-cable-TV romance movies in the 90s and early 2000s, milking that success by appearing in reality shows during the 2010s, and spending the 2020s doing “special guest appearances” on various podcasts or YouTube channels. Maybe having a bit role in a streaming show here and there. But after her tragic death on February 8, 2007, none of this would ever come to pass. Her fate was sealed. So it goes.

So what’s the takeaway here? Well, I felt compelled to pay tribute to one of my childhood celebrity crushes. I also felt obligated to provide her with the respect she deserved and (oftentimes) did not receive when she was alive. I cannot defend every choice she made. I obviously did not know her. I don’t know anyone who knew her. Like any famous person, I only knew her from a distance. Perhaps she made regrettable life choices. Maybe she was a monster behind the scenes. It’s entirely possible she mistreated certain people. Who knows? I don’t feel the need to dig through every rumor about her. Let the dead be.

What I can say is this: Anna Nicole Smith was a woman who was a product of her time. She was blessed with immense beauty, which handed her opportunities that aren’t normally presented to people without it. She was given choices that are unimaginable to normal folks. She made those choices, whether you agreed with them or not. She lived with those choices, until she no longer had to. And that was that. It is what it is. Anna lived and died as an example of what the “American Dream” can be. She started with nothing, exploited her looks for personal gain, married rich, tasted the celebrity life for a brief time, milked her fame for as long as possible, and died of an accidental drug overdose. For the 39 years she walked on this Earth, she experienced things most of us could not comprehend.

Was she happy? I’m sure she was for part of it. I’m also certain she was unhappy for a lot of her life. Is it fair to judge her for her actions? Sure, why not. But like I said before, can you say with any degree of certainty that you wouldn’t have done the same?

Another thing I know is that Anna was a gift. Her beautiful face and beautiful body brought joy to many people, myself included. She wasn’t a gift that we deserved, but the gift that we got. As a teenage boy, she opened my eyes to a whole new world. I finally understood why adult men were obsessed with beautiful women. Why did men fight and die in wars over Helen of Troy? Discovering Anna Nicole Smith as an impressionable teen taught me why.

She was the type of woman that drove men mad. We may not have wanted to admit it, but it was true. Anna was a special lady.

May she rest in peace.

Every ‘90s Kid Will Remember Pamela Anderson

Pamela Anderson looking her very best.

From the early 1990s all the way to the mid-2000s, Pamela Anderson reigned supreme. Every boy (and girl who appreciates girls) who grew up during this time period should wholeheartedly agree.

Who knew that one fateful day in 1989 an unknown pretty blonde girl from Canada would attend a B.C. Lions Canadian Football League game and set off a chain of events that would eventually lead to tens of millions of horny teenage boys spilling much of their seed during their formative years? The so-called “Butterfly Effect” can be a funny thing to behold.

Pamela Anderson soon afterward would pose for Playboy in October 1989, which launched her stardom. After moving to Los Angeles, short guest appearances on Home Improvement would lead to a prominently featured role in Baywatch, a TV show that launched a few other noteworthy (but not necessarily valuable) careers. And the rest, as they say, is history.

A groundbreaking sex tape, a few failed high-profile relationships, and several plastic surgeries later, Miss Anderson elevated herself beyond stardom. She became an icon. She became in the ‘90s what Marilyn Monroe was in the ‘50s, Raquel Welch in the ‘60s, Farrah Fawcett in the ‘70s, and Brooke Shields in the ‘80s. These women defined not just the beauty and fashion standards of those decades past, but the adolescent experiences of boys everywhere as well.

Although what Pamela Anderson added to the mix could either be the greatest thing or the worst thing ever. She added the element of actual sex to her iconic image. The infamous sex tape with Mötley Crüe drummer Tommy Lee notwithstanding, she lived in a time period in which pornography started to become mainstream. And not just elegant “topless” glamour shots, but hardcore porn involving real sex acts, nudity that leaves nothing to the imagination, and unbridled sexual expression that makes no attempt to be subtle.

Miss Anderson could do what Marilyn Monroe could not (or would not) do. If Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly had participated in such explicit pornography, their careers would have been toast. They probably could never fully recover from such a scandal. Yet, regardless if you consider such breaking of social taboos to be positive or negative, there was something lost when hardcore porn turned mainstream: Classiness.

But that is a whole other discussion for another time. Let’s get back to the biography of Miss Anderson.

Pamela Denise Anderson was born on July 1, 1967 in Ladysmith, British Columbia, Canada. In addition to her modeling and television career, she’s become an outspoken animal rights activist, participating in many awareness campaigns conducted by the controversial People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA). She is obviously a vegan and eagerly encourages everyone to become one as well. Whether you choose to follow her advice is, well, completely up to you.

Pam offering up her ass.

As a woman who just turned 50 years old, Miss Anderson has for the most part been out of the spotlight since the mid-2000s. The problem with building a financial empire based solely on your physical appearance is that when your looks do start to erode, there’s not much left for you to do. She isn’t 25 anymore. She isn’t 35 anymore. And no amount of cosmetic surgery is going to change that. But somehow, one gets the impression she doesn’t have any regrets. It seems doubtful that she would still prefer to be in the public spotlight as if it were 1996 all over again. But that could be an incorrect assessment.

Pam recently returned to the national conversation when she expressed support for WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. Whether you think the man is a freedom fighter or a terrorist (or a puppet of Vladimir Putin), you got to give him credit if the “It-Girl” of twenty years ago who inspired millions of teenage boys to perfect the art of masturbation thinks you’re good for the vitality of democracy.

Alright, so what does Pamela Anderson have to do with muscular women? The answer is absolutely nothing. She’s always been a skinny blonde bimbo (which is meant to be endearing, not insulting) who never attempted to gain extraneous muscle mass in her life. She’s never been – or aspired to become – a bodybuilder, athlete, or fitness model. So what’s the big deal?

Perhaps the most significant contribution Pam made to modern day female muscle enthusiasts is providing us with our “Awakening” moment.

When we were 12 or 13 years old and just beginning to go through the awkward phase of puberty, there came a moment for almost all of us that hit us like a ton of bricks. Yes, there are the simple moments like when that annoying girl you’ve known all your life suddenly becomes someone you actually enjoyed looking at. But more often than not, you had someone – most likely a celebrity – whose beauty punched you in the face so hard, you felt like your world has just been opened up to new possibilities.

From a personal point of view, I cannot remember the first time I “discovered” Pam. It was probably somewhere on TV. Or maybe during the early days of dial-up Internet. But it doesn’t really matter. Like many teenage boys and young men who grew up in the 1990s, Pamela Anderson single handedly sent us on the fast lane through adolescence into adulthood. I clearly remember downloading and printing nude pictures of her and stashing it underneath my bed for illicit late-night use. I’ll leave it up to your imagination as to what that “use” consisted of.

Pam with her “enhancements.”

For lots of us, Pamela Anderson opened our eyes to a whole new world called Female Beauty. For the first time in our lives, we learned why Daddy wanted to marry Mommy in the first place. We found out why Prince Charming felt the need to search the entire kingdom for Cinderella. Every kissing scene we ever saw in movies and TV shows suddenly developed a deeper meaning. She, and others like Carmen Electra and Cindy Margolis, gave us an education on human attraction, sexuality, reproduction, womanhood, and growing up that no textbook could ever come close to providing.

We were no longer boys. We were men. Because we discovered women.

While I don’t really hold a lot of nostalgic feelings for Pam, I can reflect upon my childhood and appreciate her for who she is: A gorgeous blonde bombshell who made my pulse race and my hormones rage into overdrive. There’s something to be said about that.

Coincidentally, at around the time Pamela started to fade into the pop culture background (God forbid she turn 40 years old!), I discovered female bodybuilders.

I don’t think the two events are related, but I cannot help but suspect that they are. I first discovered the glorious world of female bodybuilding during my freshman year in college, which would have been 2005. Pamela would have been 38 at that time, which from my perspective wasn’t super old, but old enough that I was ready to “move on” to other avenues of eye candy.

Female bodybuilders quickly filled that void and became that much-desired candy.

In a way, I felt like I had matured as well. I was not a dopy teenager anymore (even though I was still technically one at 18). I was now into “strong, independent women” who weren’t afraid to show off their big chiseled muscles. I tossed my old photos of Pamela Anderson in the trash can and replaced them with videos of Monica Brant, Karen Zaremba, and Deidre Pagnanelli saved on my laptop computer. I had moved on. Or had I?

I don’t want to suggest that muscular women are a “step up” from more traditionally beautiful women like Pam, Carmen, Sophie Marceau, or Monica Bellucci. I would never say that Monica Brant is definitely more beautiful than Monica Bellucci, because she isn’t. Miss Bellucci still holds a special place in my heart, even though she, like Pam, has never been anything close to a bodybuilder.

Muscular women are just one more tool in my toolshed. It’s one more taco I can put on my plate. Muscular women haven’t replaced traditionally beautiful women. Rather, they’ve just been added to the list. Even at the ripe age of 50, if Pamela Anderson – despite her years of extensive plastic surgery and sordid romantic past – were to approach me and ask me to take her to bed, I would not hesitate to say “yes.” I suspect many of you would probably do the same thing.

Pamela with one hell of a lucky guy.

Maybe that’s nostalgia somewhat kicking in, or maybe it’s not. If Alina Popa and Pamela Anderson both approached me with the same proposition and I had to only choose one of them, my decision would favor Miss Popa instead. As much as I (still) love Pam, I cannot say no to a younger muscle goddess who might be The Most Perfect Woman Ever Constructed on God’s Green Earth.

However, without question the female celebrities who defined my past have played an immeasurable role in shaping who I am today. I fully accept that if it weren’t Pamela, it would have been someone else. And yes, there were girls I knew in junior high and high school who caught my eye and made human sexuality more tangible for me. But I have to give credit where credit is due. Miss Anderson was a huge deal. It was like she held a baseball bat with the words “How to Appreciate Female Beauty” etched in it and whacked me on the back of the head a hundred times with it. I was for a brief period of time obsessed with her. I thought about her every night before I fell asleep. I never talked about her publicly (even with friends who were most likely sympathetic with my opinion of her), but she definitely pervaded my thoughts and fantasies during my early teen years.

She was one of the first celebrities who made me feel a certain way that I couldn’t quite explain. I knew she was attractive as hell. I knew there were only a small handful of human beings on planet Earth who looked as stunning as her. I knew she was a rare specimen. But what I couldn’t point my finger to was the root of my obsession with her.

I wasn’t obsessed in a “celebrity crush” sort of way. Rather, I was obsessed in an I-Can’t-Believe-Human-Beings-Are-Able-To-Be-As-Fucking-Gorgeous-As-Her sort of way. Perhaps it was because I was relatively young and inexperienced in appreciating Female Beauty, but I could have sworn that Pamela couldn’t actually be real. She has to be a human-looking cyborg who was developed in an underground laboratory specifically to test the limits of human beauty. After all, how can someone actually be that beautiful?

Well, someone can. Later, other women would either replace or complement Pamela as objects of obsession. Rena Mero, Trish Stratus, Sophie Marceau, Famke Janssen, Monica Bellucci, Carmen Electra, Cindy Crawford, and Halle Berry immediately come to mind. And yes, female bodybuilders would also follow. But Pamela still holds a special place in my heart. Even as she began to age (not-so-gracefully, unfortunately) and newer and younger sex symbols took her place (paging Megan Fox), I would come to appreciate a middle-aged Pamela and realize that one cannot stay young forever. Nobody wants to become Joan Rivers. Nor should anybody.

Pam cooling off in the sexiest way possible.

Still, looking back upon Pamela’s career, I’m saddened by how she’s become more of a punchline than someone whose contributions to pop culture are rightfully recognized as being noteworthy. If you were to ask the typical person on the street (who’s older than 25) what you think about Pamela Anderson, you’d probably get two typical responses:

Wasn’t she the one who couldn’t decide what kind of boobs she wanted?
Didn’t she make that horribly crass sex tape with Tommy Lee?

While both observations explain why her name was always in the tabloids, they both ignore what she truly provided for the lives of teen boys (who are now adults) like myself:

The discovery of Female Beauty.

Through her, we learned what it means to be so darn attracted to a woman that it would drive you to do things you’d never thought you could do. I never knew about the concept of masturbation until I accidentally tried it one fateful Saturday afternoon – and oh boy, did that leave an unexpected mess! I never thought I’d ever download porn, print it out on our shabby HP printer, and hide it underneath my bed. I never thought I’d be sweating bullets every time my brother or parents wandered into my room, fearing they’d inadvertently stumble upon my “collection.” But the discoveries we make as adolescents do lead to bizarre and unexpected life choices.

Pam looking coy.

I realize as I write this that the unexplainable electric feeling Pamela conjured up inside me would later return the moment I first discovered female bodybuilders. It was as though Pamela first introduced me to Female Beauty and female bodybuilders later introduced me to a whole new subculture within Female Beauty. They are two sides of the same coin.

So that’s it. My obsession with Pamela eventually faded away, but it wasn’t because I “grew up” or “matured.” It’s because someone else took her place. Or more specifically, hundreds of others took her place. Lindsay Mulinazzi. Denise Masino. Debi Laszewski. Emery Miller. Victoria Dominguez. Ginger Martin. Brandi Mae Akers. Tina Nguyen. Amber DeLuca. Angela Salvagno. Shawn Tan. Mavi Gioia. Monica Martin. Larissa Reis. Annie Rivieccio. The list goes on and on.

I’d like to thank Pamela Anderson for playing a role that she probably never intended to play. She acted as the catalyst for hundreds of millions of boys to discover a whole new facet of their humanity that they never knew existed. She made all of us feel a certain way that we couldn’t put into words but are certainly not complaining about. While I would never go as far as to say that if it weren’t for Pamela I wouldn’t have discovered female bodybuilders, I think a compelling argument could be made that she opened my mind to new possibilities. She inspired me to seek out beauty in new and wondrous places. She put me on the path toward searching for other women who could conjure up those same feelings I had for her when I was 14.

I craved bolder forms of Female Beauty that would push the limits of my imagination and light a fire inside my soul that I thought had died out the moment I left childhood. I wanted to rekindle that fervor. Badly.

Well, I eventually found what I was looking for.

You can probably guess what that was.