Thursday 20 October 2016

People are talking... Decoding the dress: Beyonce says back off

Anne Marie Scanlon

Published 11/05/2015 | 02:30

Wispy: Beyonce steps out with Jay-Z in gauze with some strategically placed sequins
Wispy: Beyonce steps out with Jay-Z in gauze with some strategically placed sequins
Tears: Lindsay Lohan said it was all just hay fever
Bono with Jimmy Fallon
Paul O'connell

At the Met Gala in New York a year ago, Beyoncé Knowles wore a demure(ish) black dress. The reason we all remember her outfit so well is because of what happened that night in the lift when sister Solange came out swinging.

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Well, Miss Bey is obviously determined to put that business out of everyone's mind for good. What else could explain the 'creation' that she wore on Monday evening? You couldn't really call it a dress - it was a bit of gauze with some 'modesty' jewel and embroidery embellishments.

To be fair to Beyoncé the wisp o' gaudy gauze with a few tactically placed sequins was also the choice of JLo and Kim Kardashian. Perhaps after last year's rumours of predatory females sniffing around her husband, Beyoncé was out to show them exactly what was what.

The look (what fashionistas call a 'statement piece') - the 'gown', a blonde 'Girls World' ponytail, and an expression that took no prisoners, clearly said BOB (Back Off Bitches). Nobody but nobody was going to come at her man, whether they were flirting or trying to whack him upside the head with their handbag. Solange too, obviously remembered last year's fracas, and was taking no chances as her outfit impeded free arm movements. Luckily this year no heads were broken but given Rihanna's giant omelette dress it looks like a lot of eggs were.

Discord is mightier than Le Pen

Nothing warms the cockles of the heart more than a good family feud, and there's a real humdinger under way in France now, as Jean Marie Le Pen and daughter Marine, respectively former and current leaders of the National Front, trade barbs like two ageing drama queens forced to share a dressing-room.

It all began when Jean Marie was suspended from the party and stripped of his title of honorary chairman.

What could the old charmer possibly have done to upset his one-time friends and admirers? Only said the gas chambers were a mere "detail" of World War II, that's what. Sacre bleu! You mean you can't even be an anti-Semite in the National Front anymore? What is le monde coming to?

In retaliation for this affront, he disowned his daughter, said he hoped she got married soon so that he no longer had to share a name with her, before warning, "This has only just started."

Hold on while we get the popcorn. It's just a pity they can't both lose, as a wag once said about the Iran/Iraq war.

The Irish, of course, know all about family feuds, but in our case it usually leads to one of only two outcomes: violence or silence. We either have furious fist fights with one another, or else spend decades bottling up all that simmering resentment and growing an ulcer instead.

This delicious Gallic bitchiness on show is much more appealing, and could be just the thing we need in Ireland to brighten up the political landscape. Because, let's face it, between grey men imposing austerity on one side, and angry ageing lefties reliving their youth by jumping onto ministers' cars on the other, we could do with a laugh.

Eilis O'Hanlon

Lindsay displays a man allergy

A good old fashioned pavement barney is a milestone in any fledgling relationship. A fit of tears and harsh words, followed by some wobbly, theatrical flouncing off into the city at the end of a long night, is,  according to the rules of modern dating, often the event that transitions a casual affair into more of a boyfriend-girlfriend thing. Well, either that or it marks the final nail in the coffin of a floundering flirtation. An attack of the sulks, if nothing else, proves that you care.

So all eyes were on Lindsay Lohan last week, snapped embroiled in what very much looked like a tearful row on a Milan street with the man who is rumoured to be her new fella - Mathia Milani, with whom she's previously been seen hanging out in London.

But back to Milan, where the actress was photographed fiercely rubbing her eyes (the international gesture for "I'm not crying, I swear" ) and stalking off from the man rumoured to be her lover, as fast as her five-inch stilettos would carry her. Meanwhile, Milani looked on with a hang-dog expression.

Later on, Lindsay was seen looking like she'd rallied, snapped blowing off steam over a fag while being comforted by her friends. When asked, her representative, who has previously denied the pair are a couple, blamed "hay fever" for Lindsay's troubles. Here at People are Talking, we sympathise. We've known our fair share of handsome young men who have caused us red eyes and runny noses.

Julia Molony

Bono for your Wedding?

Bono is a bit like a volcano. He's always there in the background, bubbling away. You would be foolish to ignore him. Because then he erupts and suddenly he's everywhere.

It certainly felt like that last week. He kept popping up around New York in preparation for his appearance with Jimmy Fallon on NBC's Tonight Show. It started with his hair. Bono showed up for a photo-shoot brandishing a toned-down Billy Idol style bleach job. It's fair to say that it suited him. (A word of caution for any fifty-something men out there who are thinking of following suit. You are not Bono or any lesser-known ageing rock star. Your friends will never stop laughing.)

Next up, Bono and the rest of U2 did a bit of busking at a subway station in Grand Central Station. The Yanks loved it. Unlike us, the New Yorkers are not used to bumping into Bono on the way to work. (You're nobody in this country if you don't have at least two 'the time I met Bono' stories.) And the commuting public probably felt that U2 playing Angel of Harlem was a bit more polite than wedging its latest album on to their iPhone without permission.

Anyway, the question for us is, what will Bono do next? He's clearly over his bike accident and in the mood for helping himself to some attention. It's fair to say that none of us will be safe over the summer, if it ever arrives. He could pop up anywhere, at any time. Our money is that he'll play a wedding. Just don't say "Ah Bono, I didn't recognise you with the cheapish looking bleach job." That would just be embarrassing for everyone.

Pat Fitzpatrick

You're stretching it now Paul!

I'm worried about Paul O'Connell, because the legendary Munster star is acting a bit funny.

This is a guy with a body built from pure titanium and laser beams incorporated into his eyes. We all know the old jokes. When he was a kid, Paul made his mother finish her vegetables, and when he stares into the sun, the sun flinches. Then there's the line that Superman wears Paul O'Connell pyjamas.

What's got me concerned is that Paul is giving interviews talking about doing bikram yoga sessions. "If you want to be able to use your muscles properly, you do need to have some bit of flexibility," he said.

"That not only helps me train better, but it helps me prevent injuries," Paul added worryingly.

We always thought that Paul had god-like taste in music as well, but that's not the case. "Whenever I put music on I generally get booed out of it because I always put on 80s music," he said. The 2009 Lions captain admitted he liked Bon Jovi and Dire Straits.

Then there are the rumours that he may be moving to France to finish his rugby career. The thought of him sipping lattes and nibbling croissants in a beret is too much to bear!

Will Hanafin

Irish men sexiest, sort of

"Irish men are the sexiest in the world," he said to the derisive sighs and tuts of so many Irish women. It's true, but don't take just one Irishman's word for it, take that of around 8,000 American women who voted us so.

Of 66,000 polled by, we were voted the world's sexiest, leaving the Aussies, Americans and English in our wake. It shouldn't be much of a surprise, not because we're all irresistible, but because many Americans suffer a false impression of us.

Some of them think of us as Aran jumper-wearing, shillelagh-twirling, whiskey-sucking redheads who look like the leprechaun off the Lucky Charms box. Others (at least 8,000 or so) think better of us, that we're all demi-gods with lustrous hair, perfect jaw structure, chiselled abs, piercing eyes and generous packages (thanks to Michael Fassbender). And it's because the only ones they know are Fassbender, Jamie Dornan, Colin Farrell and Liam Neeson.

They've never seen the paunched, half-bald men in GAA jerseys in Coppers on a Sunday night. They've never met a man from the back roads of Cavan. They don't know that most Irish men have the sex appeal of an overused brillo pad. They only know of four or five of us who happen to be pretty much the only sexy ones.

They don't know the inconvenient truth, and as a single Irishman in London, where so many suffer false impressions, I beseech Irish women - don't tell it to them.

Christopher Jackson

Sunday Indo Living

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