I’ve received a great many email messages asking me why I am not speaking out about how the news has made me feel, what I think personally about this subject, and why I have been so circumspect in delivering my usually unabashed opinion.
“There is so much to discuss,” people have said. Why am I not providing more of a forum and starting the conversation by definitively revealing my personal opinion, calling the spade what it is and getting on with it already? “Never tell me you’re going to start being politically correct, you wussy,” one reader said.
It has taken me a few days to articulate in any organized fashion my reaction, which until now has consisted mostly of noise. Lots of noise invoking fury, indignation and disappointment. To learn with great disillusionment that someone admired and liked by many is not at all what I thought… well, it did rock my world more than a little.
Some will say this is old news, that I ought to let it die already and not resuscitate it, but this is my forum, my website, and it’s time I revealed what I really think – not that I’ve ever been accused of holding back.
Fabio, it seems, has given the most egomaniacal interview in the history of the world.
My love of Fabio. It has died an ignominious death.
Jezebel wrote about it, and Details, of course, has the interview in its entirety. Oh, how it hurts.
As Dlisted wrote in their coverage, He is “such a stallion:”
He’s an ultimate fighter, a screwing machine and everybody wants him. Kudos to the interviewer for not throwing his tape recorder in the air and immediately blowing Fabio. I mean Fabio is just that irresistible.
Really, I have tried to remain silent on the subject. Disillusionment is difficult. But honestly? I really liked Fabio until this interview.
Candy wrote in an email exchange in which I remained hurtfully stoic: “…how do you amortize a punch? Does that even make sense? Instead of Fists of Fury, he has Fists of Compound Interest?”
The reply, from the fabulousness who sent us the article to begin with: “I totally want a t-shirt that says ‘Hold still, Ima’ amortize yo ass Fabio style.’”
Oh, the whimpers of shame. I used to be able to defend Fabio so easily, to support my unwavering humorous love for him with a simple analysis of his body… of work: “He’s so big! So virile! So long of hair and large of pectoral! And despite all that he doesn’t take himself seriously! He does commercials for margarine, for heaven’s sake! He did a fake ad for his own shampoo for Nationwide, complete with gondolas and roses! He mocks his own fame! Fabio is hawt because he doesn’t take himself too seriously and can laugh at his own overblown mystique!”
But no, it seems he does. From that interview, I am reborn into a cold, cruel realization – Fabio does indeed seem to take himself seriously. So seriously, it is seriously unsexy. Despite the writer’s assurances that “Fabio knows full well that even in his prime, he was a joke,” I am not buying it any longer. And I am so, so sad.
What kills me is that Fabio is always in the top ten list of people I’d like to have a drink with, if only to meet them personally and talk to them for an hour. But I don’t know if it will happen, since “he has a hard time meeting girls he likes, because, you know, he’s Fabio.” I’m guessing married moms like me are not on his radar, even if I’m buying the drink, since he’s already rather disparaging of aspiring actress waitresses.
So, I admit my shame: my estimation of Fabio, it seems to have been very, very wrong.
However, read this part and see if your brain doesn’t go the same place mine did:
Right now he’s working on a super-secret energy drink. He has already raised several million dollars, he says, and by next year should be in a position to launch it. “I’m telling you, you’re gonna drink this stuff and after a few days you’ll be like, ‘Fabio, I can’t believe how much energy I have.’”
What’s in it?
“I wish I could tell you, but it’s a secret. I’m sitting on this gold mine for a long time. It’s like you’re looking all over your house for your car keys and it turns out you are sitting on them, that’s what this is like.”
Hmmm. Dare I ask: Is Fabio marketing a drink made of poo?
So his energy drink tastes like scotch?
Hee! Hee hee hee.
But does that Details writer have a man-crush on Fabio or what? He seems to be lusting after the expensive cars and the dogs.
Uh-huh. It’s southern California. My dad, living in Westminster, was also complaining about the cold this weekend. It was 50 something.
Poor Sarah!
You can still buy me a drink. After enough of them, I swear, you’ll think I’m Fabio.
See, I was thinking his energy drink was made of something a little more appropriate to his romance-novel-cover-artist career. It’s bottled man-seed!! It will give you energy, all right. And those sperm are so energetic that if women drink it while they’re fertile, his Olympian swimmers will actually plow right through the various digestive organs to get to the lonely egg.
Oh my God. I have just disgusted myself so thoroughly…I want to go lie down now.
sorry to hear about your disillusionment, SB! I will gladly buy you a drink and we can discuss long hair and large pectorals all nite long!
I don’t know he strikes me as such a snotty rich white guy he could suck the aphro out of the aphrodesiac
Okay, this is totally off the subject, but I had noticed a severe lack of bitchery presence on my (Livejournal) f-list and… for some reason the RSS feed isn’t working! FOR DAYS NOW I’ve been without the bitchery! THIS AIN’T RIGHT, Y’ALL!!
*breathes deeply* I feel reborn now. I have come home!
I never really cared for Fabio. Too long of hair, too big of pecs, too vapid of expression.
Not my cup of tea. Or scotch.
HOWEVER,
BIG BIG fan of Clooney. Ah….*heavy sigh* Clooney.
I really want to know the REAL deets on what went down in that restaurant. It just seems odd that Clooney would meander over to FABIO’s table to drop some verbal shiite. Probably, we’ll never really know…
Ummm…did you get a chance to read the comments at the end of the article? I’m really hoping that they are tongue in cheek.
Seriously, the guy thinks because he only thinks insults at his dates that he’s a gentleman?!
Narcissistic much?
I would say I told you so, but I didn’t know about this blog when I told everyone so. He’s poo. I never thought he was sexy, good looking, articulate, or anything but his own biggest fan. Poo. And I never use that word.
Oh Fabio, Fabio, Fabio….when are you going to learn? Talking is not forte. Just sit there quietly with your massive man-titty and let me brush and amortize your pretty, pretty hair.
Arrg…not *your* forte…I need to preview more often
Oy! I think he needs another goose in the honker! I always thought like you did Sarah -there are lots of us out there that were just plain wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
I was also thinking his energy drink is made from spooge, not poo. Think he’s been bottling it for years, waiting until he, umm, collected enough?
Madre de Dios!
All those comments on the all so sekrit ingredient for the fantabulous energy drink are making me feel nauseated.
Ugh.
Oh, Fabio. He’s never been my type, because he looks to me like someone who has never had the stillness of his mind intruded upon by a single thought. I guess I was wrong – he has lots of thoughts, and they’re all stupid.
he likes to tear up the nearby trails on his motocross bikes, despite the persistent efforts of local park rangers to arrest him
I don’t think the ferrets would approve of that sort of behaviour.
“And they are always complaining about their work, or how they are not working. About this casting or this part they are hoping to get, and I have to say, ‘Come on, you’re a fucking waitress.’ I don’t say that, but I think that, you know, because I’m a gentleman.”
Ah, Fabio… you are a prince among men.
I fear I may swoon!
Yikes, those boobies must be implants. They look scary.
One had to at least suspect, given the fact that his very small head is much to small for his pumped up body, that there wasn’t a single intelligent thought inside.
I would say I told you so, but I didn’t know about this blog when I told everyone so. {…} I never thought he was sexy, good looking, articulate, or anything but his own biggest fan.
You and me both, Ciar. I only extracted the “poo” remark because frankly my thoughts on Fabio aren’t that strong.
Poo or his semen? You decide…
I never cared for Fabio. Now John DeSalvo is another story! John is yummy!
Maybe he should be included in the Mitchell Report now that even musicians are being accused of juicing up. Hey! Maybe that the secret ingredient!
It’s not true… I refuse to believe it.
He’s just misunderstood… I can change him.
He just needs a new publicist…
Alas ~A
*Uh-huh. It’s southern California. My dad, living in Westminster, was also complaining about the cold this weekend. It was 50 something.*
But, Lorelei, it’s brutally cold to us! (I live in L.A. county.)
Ah, Sarah, sorry you were disillusioned in this way. Can’t say I ever saw much in Fabio (like Randi, I’m more of a Clooney girl), but I do have a story to show just how much appeal he had, once upon a time.
In the late 90s, a friend of mine came to stay with me for about a week. A total intellectual and literary snob
(the kind of person who won’t read Nobel Prize works because they’re too popular).
Anyway, one day I was taking her on a tour of some of the sites. We stopped for gas at a corner of a busy boulevard. (Can’t remember which one now.) As I was filling the tank, she was out talking to me. Suddenly she stopped. I looked up to see why, and she’s slack-jawed and pointing. “Isn’t that Fabio?” she says.
Sure enough. He was stopped at a light, in an expensive-looking sports car.
To be honest, I don’t remember anything else about that day, but I’ll never forget the look of awe on the face of my usually reserved, ‘highbrow’ friend.
While he still hasn’t found the “one special lady”—because he is exacting, demanding “the best woman possible”—he believes that he will find a woman with “good family values, good morals.”
I guess Britney is out of the running.
Probably for the best since Fab would look far more believable in the white dress.
FYI There was a good interview with Fabs in the Dec/Jan 2008 RADAR magazine by Spenser Morgan. They included one of Fab’s covers:
Savage Promise by Cassie Edwards.
HEE!
No, no, no.
There can only be one ageing man with flowing hair and overdeveloped pectorals pimping out a dubious energy drink, and his name is Steven Seagal.
http://www.agonybooth.com/articles/Steven_Seagal_s_Lightning_Bolt.aspx
While he still hasn’t found the “one special lady”—because he is exacting, demanding “the best woman possible”—he believes that he will find a woman with “good family values, good morals.”
SBSarah, I think I used to share your opinion, a sort of fondness for Fabio because he seemed to be always joking at his own hype. But this, oh no, I am irked to say the least. Che Carcioffo! Che bestia! I hate this kind of double standard where he can have all the “chicks”—did he really use the word chick and without humor!!—he wants and still expects to find a nice girl. He’s a walking petri dish. What nice woman with good morals is going to be interested in a piece of him? Bestia mia!
Seriously what century is he living in and what definition of gentleman is he working with? Now I have to go read some Gaspara Stampa or something to wash the taste of bad Italian caricature out of my mouth.
I agree with Abney, it’s not true! This must be another attempt of his to use the industry.
Shame on you, Sarah! Losing faith like that!
Seriously, this man should have his own column—Fabio Tells It Like No One Else Can
No, no, no.
There can only be one ageing man with flowing hair and overdeveloped pectorals pimping out a dubious energy drink, and his name is Steven Seagal.
http://www.agonybooth.com/articles/Steven_Seagal_s_Lightning_Bolt.aspx
omgroflmao!
And by “good morals” I should state that I mean what society usually lays out as good morality ie: not sleeping with hundreds of models. This is the kind of moral standard that in my opinion Signore Fabio is referring to. I thought I better clarify since otherwise I sound like some sort of ravening prude when really I’m just irritated by his double standard.
SB Sarah,
Have you tried transferring your love to someone else? I would hate to see all that adoration go to waste.
Why not fixate on The Rock a.k.a Dwayne Johnson? He’s quite handsome and large of pec, though I heard somewhere their shape and/or largeness was due in part to plastic surgery. Still, that’s not nearly as heart breaking as
“And they are always complaining about their work, or how they are not working. About this casting or this part they are hoping to get, and I have to say, ‘Come on, you’re a fucking waitress.’ I don’t say that, but I think that, you know, because I’m a gentleman.”
Think about loving The Rock, SB Sarah and let your heart be healed.
Candy said:
Fabio, it seems, has given the most egomaniacal interview in the history of the world.
Oh-hhh, the perils of believing one’s own hype.
And George Clooney is teh hawt!
I’d rather have a drink with him than that other guy, any day!
I am so sad in the pants about this. I always loved Fabio because he seemed so irreverant to the fame he had. Now, I see the truth.
That’s it Fabio, I will no longer defend your honor!
“…looks like a muscular ostrich wearing a jennifer aniston wig”
this image will stay in my mind till the end of my days…
Oh shaunee, if SB Sarah wants to find a new selfish egomaniacs who thinks nothing of destroying the positive impressions their most devoted fans, then yes, Dwayne “Please Forget I Used To Be The Rock” Johnson is a fine choice. But reading her reaction to Fabio’s latest interview reminded me a great deal of my feelings towards the man who used to be The Great One.
“And they are always complaining about their work, or how they are not working. About this casting or this part they are hoping to get, and I have to say, ‘Come on, you’re a fucking waitress.’ I don’t say that, but I think that, you know, because I’m a gentleman.â€
Mrrr? I can’t imagine WHY he would think that he is superior to a “fucking waitress,” as he seems to be a “fucking man whore.” Indeed, he waitresses of the world are too good to go slumming with him…in fact, ladies, don’t even serve him food. Next time he’s in YOUR restaurant, don’t ask for his number. Don’t ask for his autograph. And don’t EVEN think of petting the man-titty. Nay! Instead, say to him, “we don’t serve man-whores here; you can have this Red Bull to go.”
Then give his well-honed ass the kick it deserves—to the curb.
I feel shame for having enjoyed his fridge magnet poetry at the I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter website. Yes, I once defended him. I mean who could take himself seriously whilst shilling margerine? But no. The dream is dead.
Dammitjim, does NO ONE take romance readers seriously?
“That is a Husqvarna 450 RR,” he tells me when we go out to his driveway.
My mom has a Husqvarna. But it’s a sewing machine.
But this does solve the Clooney vs. Fabio match up angst. Clooney, baby! Sweet, sweet Clooney…