Under Cover

Apologies for being off the radar but my reasons are legitimate: I am in the middle of Shebug territory, treading very softly, with my eyes wide open and pen to hand.

My secret location? The Southern Cone. Specifics, however, are best kept under wrap.

The ruling Shebug in power has eyes and ears everywhere.  She owns sways of land across the nation, across the River Plate, America and God knows where else.

Under this Shebug’s chestnut mane plots a sycophantic mind as devoid of light as a sea cave. This tacky terror is as scary as she is crazy.

She does, however, possess a sense of aesthetics. Her cabinet includes an unusually high percent of good-looking men, most too young to be allowed anywhere near the nation’s control tower.

The despot’s entourage features hotties such as Martin Lousteau (42), ex-minister of economy; Alfonso Prat Gay (47) and Martin Redrado (51), both Presidents of the Central Bank of Argentina. Note that when they were at the helm, they were between four to six years younger, give or take…

But it is 49-year-old Amado Boudou, her vice-president, who has claimed the longevity prize. The guitar-plucking swindler is part owner of a company that prints money. Interestingly, he is currently under investigation.

This afternoon I have a secret rendezvous with an old friend, an ex-diplomat, whose phones have been tapped since her return to the country. I believe she should run for office.

In exchange for my support, should she accept the challenge, I humbly request two things, and two things only: a small ranch on the Pampas and to be the person to vet her choice of cabinet members.

I might be ghastly with numbers, but I do have an eye for aesthetics.

Kitty Fisher: 18th Century Shebug

The definition of a ‘courtesan’ is a woman prostitute, especially one whose clients are members of a royal court or men of high social standing. 

Synonyms are concubine, doxy, paramour, kept woman, mistress, fancy woman, and, of course, Shebug.

An example of an 18th century Shebug is Kitty Fisher. She morphed from milliner to ‘classy’ prostitute. Kitty she took pride in her work and did it well, down to handling her own marketing. 

She turned an embarrassing moment in St James’ Park that left little to the imagination into the publicity stunt of the century. Kitty’s fall from her horse made every headline and was featured in satirical prints. Songs were even written about the event!

In publishing pamphlets entitled ‘Kitty F—r’s Merry Thoughts’, Ms Fisher not only advertised her charms, but also her ability for clever conversation.

Ms Fisher was reported to have eaten a thousand pound note on her buttered bread such was her voracious appetite for all things luxurious.

Though dead for centuries, this Shebug refuses to vanish. The nursery rhyme, Lucy’s Locket reads as follows:

Lucy Locket lost her pocket,

Kitty Fisher found it;

Not a penny was there in it,

Only a ribbon ‘round it.

Great portraitists, like Sir Joshua Reynolds (first president of the Royal Academy) and Nathaniel Hone, immortalized her on canvas.

I came across this Shebug depicted by a contemporary artist, Mark Hampson, last week at the Royal Academy. The exhibition is called ‘Almost Real Art: A Satirical Archaeology of the RA Collections and Library’.

Here, the muse is featured repeatedly alongside the four roundels painted by the most distinguished Angelica Kauffman, one of the two female founding members of the RA. The banner painted at the top reads ‘Kitty Fisher’s All Ladies Academy For Female Arts’.

It goes to show how the power of good PR can be timeless!

La Rentrée

French Shebugs cough up their prey’s cash no matter how pear shaped the economy might be. Her rich daddy will simply have to get his shoes re-soled till he finds new sources of money making, because her forays into Louboutin will continue as if nothing has changed.  The sharper her stiletto, the higher she climbs.

My recent research trip to Paris proved very telling. The joys of planting oneself at an outdoor table in the 16th arrondissement to observe makes the task of researching très worth it! 

I got my work done feasting on an amuse bouche followed by chevre rôti a la provençale, mesclun de salad aux olives, filet de dorade pochée with sauce beurre blanc and a tian de légumes gillés, culminating with a crème brulée aux fruits de saison and a sinfully dark coffee. 

September is all about ‘la rentrée’. The streets are ripe with Parisians totting their expanded number of wee ones back to l’école in style. But the Shebug at the school gates, whether in Paris or Milan, is easy to spot. Look for the immaculate mummy confidently cataloging potential prey dressed to perfection in designer outfits.

It’s too easy and defeatist to let any Shebug-at-the-gates get your dander up. Why feel a like a mouse fresh out of the spin cycle when you can take charge and invest in yourself? Begin by getting a new hairstyle and try that sassy shade you’ve always fantasized about. Revamp your wardrobe after an honest culling; the charity shops will love you.

Time to pump up your glamour quotient, ladies. So, save your pennies, check out the latest fashions and hit the sales well informed, whether heading for Yves Saint Laurent or for Zara.

And, by the way, if you’re running late for the morning school run, do what Shebugs do: throw on a fur coat over your pajamas, hide behind a pair of sunglasses and don’t forget to put on red lipstick!

Impermeable Italian

New York born, Italian bred, once-divorced Annunziata holds a degree in International Law. She earned the title of ‘Man Eater’ by the press, but lost the High Court libel action against the Daily Mail publishers. Poveretta!

She literally toe-sucked her place into the celebrity spotlight bewitching the manager of the Lazio football team, Sven Goran-Eriksson. When this high profile, heated affair fizzled out, Nancy blazed a new trail in the direction of theatre/film/television director Sir Trevor Nunn, married to actress Imogene Stubbs.

Take heed: Nancy is not one to waste time on pity parties. When that juicy catch slipped from her grasp, she shook her feathers and shimmied on Strictly Come Dancing instead.

I find her dress sense more entertaining than counting the layers of make-up, coats of mascara or lashings of lip-gloss she piles on like impasto.

Nancy’s choices of outfits reflect her enviable self-assurance and child-like bravado. Who else would flash cleavage, squeeze into minis, body-hugging leather, peek-a-boo frocks, let alone appear straight-faced wearing an Cleopatra-style headdresses? What about turning up at 10 Downing Street clad in a scarlet sequins catsuit before, or after, the age of reason?

Good taste might have eluded her, but it is Nancy’s sense of extravaganza that ensures you never forget she is alive and well, fully equipped to hunt down- and trap- another high-profile multi-millionaire.

Watch this space...

French Lessons

Valérie Trieweiller, the French president’s domestic partner, has acquired a few soubriquets since her recent arrival at the Élysée Palace: La Frondeuse (The Troublemaker), and The Rottweiler. Officially, the forty-seven year old is the first ‘unmarried’ first lady.

The twice-divorced, 47 year old political journalist reportedly had an affair lasting several years with Patrick Devedjian, 68, a married former economic recovery minister in Nicolas Sarkozy's government.

When he refused to leave his wife of 30 years, she hedged her bets by roping in Hollande (a father of four married to Ségolène Royal, a senior Socialist politician in her own right) to her cinq-à-sept list.

Valérie showed off her multi-tasking skills straddling both the Right and the Left candidates whilst dutifully reporting on politics.

But La Frondeuse drew blood when photographed on a beach holiday with her president boyfriend. She felt the paparazzi snaps made her look ‘fat’ and sued. A Paris judge ordered celebrity weekly VSD to pay Valerie £1,500 versus her demand for £24,000, for breaching her privacy and image rights.

But Miss Trierweiler’s fangs are not as sharp as many portray: she declined to attack her own employer, Paris Match, saying she felt "ill at ease" doing so. After all, they published the photos inside not magazine and not on the front cover…

But what has the entire country mesmerized is the interaction between Valérie and the president’s ex-wife, Royal.

The Rottweiler recently engaged in a public swatting at Ségolène by way of Twitter. Her actions caused much debate. Enviably cool, she quipped, "To speak of jealousy in this business is idiotic. I see no conflation of public and private lives here. It has got out of all proportion and things should be put back into perspective."

Oh là là! Will Ségolène slam a ball in Valerie’s court next?  Stay tuned…

In the meantime, enjoy watching Michelle Obama’s body language as she officially greets the Rottweiler during the G8 conference.  

The Shebug Rules

If you think Shebugs are strictly gold-digging man-poachers, think again. Potentates also qualify as Shebugs.

You will find the complete array of these Queen Bees exposed in their full glory in ‘Shebug: Dissecting the Gold Digger’, under Corporate Creepers.

One such Shebug basks in the limelight 24/7, showing off her glossy trout lips and botox-filled, surgically enhanced visage. Naturally, it helps immensely when you control a nation’s media and every angle of the camera...

Widow Cristina Kirchner rules Argentina from a pink palace. Just like her president husband before her, she creatively finds new ways of milking the already anorexic cow for more money.

She hates the US. Her best buddy is Chavez. She gives stipends to young girls to bear children. She restricts travelling Argentines to spending $30 a day, and extracts a 15% tax on every item bought overseas - but earmarks $68,000 to cover the expenses of those accompanying her to the Middle East on the presidential plane.

But there are good things about her. Cristina will grant a person their fifteen minutes of fame - so long as they do not object to public defamation. She disbanded the military to avoid a coup: in a machista republic, it pays to be cunning.  

Cristina is a good mother. She makes sure that her twenty-one year old daughter lives in the lap of luxury in a fabulous Park Avenue penthouse in Manhattan. She also has no qualms about cutting the rescue helicopter queue should her son so much as twist his ankle out in the Pampas. This mama has her priorities very clear.

A feminist, she insists on calling herself Presidenta, though grammatically incorrecto. She also does her best to speak languages other than ‘Porkies’. As you will see in the video, Cristina does her very best to speak English. Bless her.

The Pole and The Au Pair

The specimen under the microscope today falls under Chapter Eight: Curvaceous Crawlers, in my book ‘Shebug: Dissecting the Gold Digger’.

A colleague of mine presented me with her Shebug story, which centers on her au pair- except, not in the way you may think…

The Shebug is of Polish origin.

“She became known in the neighbourhood as ‘Glamour Puss’ ”, Kathleen tells me. “We all expected to see her on the arm of an oligarch.”

What nobody imagined was that one with such pulling power would end up dating Kathleen’s au pair.

Eyebrows went up and chins got scratched across the communal gardens when the unlikely Shebug coupling announced plans to wed.

The twenty-eight year old had only just graduated from university. Neither he, nor his family, had a penny to their name. Immemorial insofar as his looks and his carriage, he qualified as ideal MI6 material. His only future prospect worth note was to further his education.

The dodgy gaggle of individuals, whom Glamour Puss referred to as ‘family’, kept coming up with more and more colourful reasons to delay the wedding date, one sounding more ludicrous than the next. Everyone saw the writing on the wall, except for her smitten fiancé.

Eventually, the ridiculous excuses ran out. And so did the Glamour Puss along with her and her cronies.  

Kathleen knows it is only a matter of time before the Shebug’s face surfaces on the cover of some magazine as Mrs. Rich Deep-Pockets all decked out in riotous layers of crinoline and lace, and everything bad taste.

Fortunately, the broken-hearted au pair has since obtained a post-graduate degree, and a position with a major management consultancy.

And wouldn’t it be nice if his face showed up on Fortune Magazine instead?