When Farrah burst on the scene in 1976 on ‘Charlie’s Angels’, I was about 12 years-old. I had had a crush or two on girls my age, but…WHAM! There was Farrah. I was captivated. I was smitten. That hair, that smile, those two protrusions in the red bathing suit (see above)…
Farrah was the first woman that I fell in love with. She became my girl. I was obsessed. I collected her posters and magazines featuring articles about her. I cut photos of her out of newspapers. Collecting images of Farrah became my passion. My corner of the bedroom I shared with my younger brother, in those days, became a virtual shrine to a woman I would never meet. I still have most of that collection packed away.
I remember an uncle of mine telling my mother that, at the very least, my Farrah obsession confirmed I wasn’t gay. Why that mattered to my uncle, I was never quite sure. How questionable was my behavior toward the opposite sex that my uncle would be relieved by my love for Farrah? I was only 12. Come on!
My obsession with Farrah lasted well into high school. I had drawn several portraits of her, read one of her unofficial biographies, I even wrote a biographical paper on her for a high school writing class during my senior year. For a time, I took to adding a little “FF” to my signature on my drawings. The “FF” stood for “Farrah Freak”, which is what fellow classmates took to calling me.
(Incidentally, the paper I wrote about Farrah was to be given three grades: one for research, one for composition, and one for grammar. I received three As on the paper. My teacher spotted me in the cafeteria on the day the graded papers were to be returned, and told me she could tell I really liked my subject. I wish I had held onto that paper. It would be nice to read it now.)
The years and my obsession passed. I became more interested in women I actually knew. (Although I wasn’t any luckier with them then I would have been with Farrah. Oh, woe is me.) I didn’t go to her movies, but I did watch her triumphant performance in ‘The Burning Bed’ and her not so triumphant performance in ‘Cannonball Run’. I had long since dropped the “FF” from my signature. I moved on.
Occasionally, I would note some of her doings with mild interest. Such as her very short-lived sit-com with Ryan O’Neal, ‘Good Sports’; her appearance on Arsenio Hall’s show and thinking her legs looked damn good; her less than flattering appearance on David Letterman’s show; her two nude photo layouts in Playboy (Ok, the Playboy stuff was a bit more than mildly interesting.), but the feeling wasn’t the same. The crush was gone.
Then came the cancer. She seemed to handle it well. She was going to fight it with everything she had. And she fought hard. In the end, as will happen to us all, death claimed her.
Now, I feel just a little bit older, a little bit emptier, a little bit lonlier. A big part of my youth is gone. I will miss Farrah Fawcett, she was my first girl.