So when I opened up today’s Fairfax broadsheet and found the weekend liftout solemnly informing me that ‘Lara Bingle Wants To Be Taken Seriously’ my first instinct, obviously, was to do this


Because I am a giant jerk and look, until you’ve whiled away happy hours finding old Good Weekends and sticking your tongue through a torn hole in the front page for comedic effect then we have very little to discuss and good day to you sir.

It’s obscenely easy to hate on Lara Bingle, mostly because she appears to be idiotic to the point of brain damage. For the most part I am unbothered by her except when she appears in my Good Weekend bleating about being ‘taken seriously’ and yearning for ‘credibility’ all the while spouting pithy bon mots such as ‘I lose my words sometimes because I don’t know myself!’ and ‘You don’t often see me eating like that!’. Why, why is it that these women taking precious space in the public eye have so little to fucking offer in the way of national discourse? And why is it that someone of Lara Bingle’s astonishingly gargantuan profile, who purports to influence ‘females under 35’ (‘Our feeling is that there are very few people in this country who have the ability to influence an audience as much as Lara’, self-described ‘brand architect’ Simon Bookallil leers at one stage in the piece), offers absolutely 0.5 slice of fuck-all in the way of engaging, inspiring, provocative, or stimulating acts?

I want women in the public eye to be quick on their toes like Yumi Stynes, to spit passionately with their words like Clem Ford, to uplift through music like Mojo Juju, to stoically square off in the face of naysayers like Kate Ellis, to unite, to stir, to debate.

There were plenty of things that bothered me about Lara’s Good Weekend article, not least imagining poor Jane Cadzow, Walkley-nominated journalist, suffering the ignominy of trailing around behind an aspiring lingerie designer prone to career-defining insights such as ‘I think I did, like, a Campbell’s soup, and, like, a Head & Shoulders’. There was also the skin-crawling awfulness of digging up Professional Creep™ Sam de Brito to rush to defend Lara’s honour like the noble knight he is FOR GOD’S SAKE LARA PLEASE HAVE SEX WITH HIM ALREADY CAN’T YOU SEE HE IS DOING HIS BEST TO GET YOUR ATTENTION LIKE A DESPERATELY LONELY FLAG-WAVING CASANOVA.

The worst bit, however, had nothing to do with Bingle herself and everything to do with the tiresome re-hashing of ‘that’ photograph, taken by professional wankstain Brendan Fevola, allegedly in the dying days of a presumably much-regretted affair between the two, and eventually passed around amongst magazine editors with grubby paws, eager to play a role in the scandal. You’ve all seen it, I’m not going to repost it. In the picture, a showering, naked Bingle looks clearly distressed and is in the midst of telling Fevola to stick his camera phone up his fucking arse (I’m paraphrasing of course, I wasn’t there to enjoy the moment). Why the Good Weekend – or indeed, any media outlet profiling Bingle – have to dig up this incredibly painful, exploitative moment of a nineteen-year-old girl being photographed naked without her consent is beyond my understanding. It happened, it was apparently newsworthy, it can be referenced in a profile piece WITHOUT BEING PRINTED.

The next time Nick Riewoldt is profiled by the Good Weekend do you think they’ll run that idiotic picture of him waving his dick around like a little wand? No, because Riewoldt is more commanding, more untouchable, more powerful, and the media fear his icy wrath more than they do the insipid, tittering Lara Bingle’s.

So you have it correct – I’m pissed off they profiled her in the first place because she is a fucking waste of time and I’m pissed off because the Good Weekend should know better than to rub salt in the wound of a girl who was once put in the vulnerable position of making a very public mistake. I’m like a pissed off tiramisu. Stay out of my way, or if you’re in it, bring ice-cream.

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