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Title : "At SI Swimsuit, we strive to continue to spread the message that whether you are wearing a one-piece, a two-piece, or a burkini, you are the pilot of your own beauty."
link : "At SI Swimsuit, we strive to continue to spread the message that whether you are wearing a one-piece, a two-piece, or a burkini, you are the pilot of your own beauty."
"At SI Swimsuit, we strive to continue to spread the message that whether you are wearing a one-piece, a two-piece, or a burkini, you are the pilot of your own beauty."
Wrote Sports Illustrated, quoted in "Sports Illustrated now has a model in a burkini. Can the swimsuit issue truly get woke?" by Monica Hesse (at WaPo), who calls that statement "gibberish":Let’s revisit that Sports Illustrated public-relations gibberish. Let’s just bask in the utter nonsense of “pilot of your own beauty,” a phrase that sounds like it was cooked up on a Pinterest board run by Ivanka Trump with help from an Amelia Earhart conspiracy theorist. Pilot it to where? For why?Heh. Reminds me of "I can land this plane" (Ron Rosenstein's famous quote).
I really don't care about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. I don't care if it goes under or figures out a way to steer itself to a safer course in these woke or benighted times.
But I am fascinated by the notion that I am the pilot of my beauty. I can't help reading it as a variation on the great old poem "Invictus" that ends "I am the master of my fate/I am the captain of my soul."
"Beauty" is a weak substitute for "fate" or "soul," but "pilot" works as well as "master" and "captain," and it's easier to picture a woman as a pilot than as a master (mistress?) or captain. And — since the context is swimsuits — a pilot can be someone who controls a ship (as well as an airplane).
In "Invictus," the poet imagines his soul as a vehicle, a separate thing from himself, but which he which he steers. That's odd, but it's also odd to think of your "beauty" as something you ride inside and steer.
When I try to Google the idea of feeling that you somehow exist inside a contraption that is your beauty, I'm flooded with articles inquiring into whether a person is beautiful on the inside. That's an old-fashioned concern. It makes me think of the old Jefferson Airplane song, "You're Only Pretty as You Feel."
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Wrote Sports Illustrated, quoted in "Sports Illustrated now has a model in a burkini. Can the swimsuit issue truly get woke?" by Monica Hesse (at WaPo), who calls that statement "gibberish":
I really don't care about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. I don't care if it goes under or figures out a way to steer itself to a safer course in these woke or benighted times.
But I am fascinated by the notion that I am the pilot of my beauty. I can't help reading it as a variation on the great old poem "Invictus" that ends "I am the master of my fate/I am the captain of my soul."
"Beauty" is a weak substitute for "fate" or "soul," but "pilot" works as well as "master" and "captain," and it's easier to picture a woman as a pilot than as a master (mistress?) or captain. And — since the context is swimsuits — a pilot can be someone who controls a ship (as well as an airplane).
In "Invictus," the poet imagines his soul as a vehicle, a separate thing from himself, but which he which he steers. That's odd, but it's also odd to think of your "beauty" as something you ride inside and steer.
When I try to Google the idea of feeling that you somehow exist inside a contraption that is your beauty, I'm flooded with articles inquiring into whether a person is beautiful on the inside. That's an old-fashioned concern. It makes me think of the old Jefferson Airplane song, "You're Only Pretty as You Feel."
Let’s revisit that Sports Illustrated public-relations gibberish. Let’s just bask in the utter nonsense of “pilot of your own beauty,” a phrase that sounds like it was cooked up on a Pinterest board run by Ivanka Trump with help from an Amelia Earhart conspiracy theorist. Pilot it to where? For why?Heh. Reminds me of "I can land this plane" (Ron Rosenstein's famous quote).
I really don't care about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. I don't care if it goes under or figures out a way to steer itself to a safer course in these woke or benighted times.
But I am fascinated by the notion that I am the pilot of my beauty. I can't help reading it as a variation on the great old poem "Invictus" that ends "I am the master of my fate/I am the captain of my soul."
"Beauty" is a weak substitute for "fate" or "soul," but "pilot" works as well as "master" and "captain," and it's easier to picture a woman as a pilot than as a master (mistress?) or captain. And — since the context is swimsuits — a pilot can be someone who controls a ship (as well as an airplane).
In "Invictus," the poet imagines his soul as a vehicle, a separate thing from himself, but which he which he steers. That's odd, but it's also odd to think of your "beauty" as something you ride inside and steer.
When I try to Google the idea of feeling that you somehow exist inside a contraption that is your beauty, I'm flooded with articles inquiring into whether a person is beautiful on the inside. That's an old-fashioned concern. It makes me think of the old Jefferson Airplane song, "You're Only Pretty as You Feel."
Thus articles "At SI Swimsuit, we strive to continue to spread the message that whether you are wearing a one-piece, a two-piece, or a burkini, you are the pilot of your own beauty."
that is all articles "At SI Swimsuit, we strive to continue to spread the message that whether you are wearing a one-piece, a two-piece, or a burkini, you are the pilot of your own beauty." This time, hopefully can provide benefits to all of you. Okay, see you in another article posting.
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