BODY DOUBLE

Every New York party needs some star power. And Pam Anderson is the queen of the celebrity drop-in appearance.

By Shinan Govani

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Stencil by Pamela Kenny

I’m standing in a Stella McCartney store in New York, where a party for PETA – People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, in the Meat packing District – is underway.

Juicy juxtapositions being one of the things that turn me on, I am at this precise moment happier than Bono at a sunglasses sale. Minutes earlier, my party-hopping compatriot had realized that she was wearing a sheepskin vest and promptly embarked on an alfresco change. Close call!

The Fashion Week-timed party turns out to be not only very pro-animal but also very pro-celebrity. And what a bowl of mixed-greens celebs it is! Pamela Anderson, who haunts me shamelessly at every New York party during this visit, brightens up the room. Larger-than-life than a Mardi Gras float, she’s there to be cute and turn it on for the media. It’s that funny thing we call a celebrity “appearance” but so terribly commonplace that we hardly even think of it as funny anymore.

Pam seems to be everybody’s fave rent-a-celebrity, the most preferred at this juncture in history because – unlike other well-known rent-a-celebrities (Paris Hilton, anyone?) – there is always an element of goofiness to go along with her vavoom. Even when Pam is giving you the finger, she is still giving you a wink. And that is what makes her irresistible.

Helping support the cause are various other A-to-B-list animal activists. Babe’s keeper, the actor James Cromwell, is there, which makes its own wicked sense. Alan Cumming, the scrawny Scot whom USA Today once called “Pee-wee Herman’s butchier brother,” is accounted for, as is civil rights leader Rev. Al Sharpton, who mentions that the recently departed Coretta Scott King was a vegan. Alexis Stewart brings greetings from mom Martha (PETA’s latest boldface recruit).

Safe from the party swordplay of chicken satay skewers and down with the tofu and dairy-less chocolate squares, the party hums along. The pneumatic DJ at the turntables is the rather conveniently named Lady Bunny – New York’s most notorious she-male. “I’m a drag queen, and even I don’t wear fur,” she boasts. What she does do, though, is play a J. Lo song. Nobody raises a brow – not even Pam, whose brows are perfect. I raise both of mine, revelling in the even juicier juxtaposition of fur supporter Jennifer Lopez having a virtual presence at a PETA party.

Meanwhile, faster than you can scream, “Where’s the beef?” Pam has vanished. But she never gives me enough time to miss her. MAC Cosmetics threw a fantastic Chinese-themed party in Chelsea, where Pam appeared to get as much a kick as the rest of us out of the body-painted perfect specimens perched on platforms. Stopping in front of a pectacular man wearing nothing but a William Morris-style print, she seemed a little stressed to be surrounded by pseudo-models and fashion victims with camera phones. A little later, she reportedly hid in a closet when her car took a bit longer than she’d have liked to speed her escape.

Pam and I rub shoulders next at a party on the same night for the relaunch of Tab, the energy drink (formerly known as Tab, the soft drink). The blond bombshell is photographed sucking a straw peeking out of one of the new skinny pink cans – the best publicity money can’t buy. She’s not there for long, though. Boy, does Pam know how to do a speedy entrance and exit! Instead, I have to settle for Lindsay Lohan and Missy Elliott and their entourages hogging couches on either side of me in the VIP area. I feel trapped in a fifth-dimension episode of The Jeffersons! (Someone should really warn that Missy about the perils of wearing an all-white Adidas track suit, which is completely filthy by night’s end.)

When all is said and partied, I badly miss my Baywatch friend. Let’s face it: Where Pam is concerned, there is no present like omnipresent. Especially when we know that her heart – and every hair on every brow – is in the right place. 

Write to us: letters@enroutemag.net

Shinan Govani is the Scene columnist for the National Post and frequently appears on television commenting on celebrities and the social whirl. Write him at sgovani@enroutemag.net.

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