WHAT do you take me for?
This isn't yet another middle-aged man's semi-depraved drooling over the delicious Antipodean derriere, fine as it is at 44.
No, Kylie's buns, displayed (again) this week in Jubilee hotpants, are more than cheeky. They're a warning to the nation of the triumph of packaging over performance.
Yes, she's been Australian Entertainer of the Year, but then it's not hard to stand out amongst Rolf Harris, Barry Humphries and Skippy. Yes, she was in an Aussie soap and she made a couple of movies early on but wasn't asked back.
Sure, fans will argue they love her music. But does she appreciate scales are not simply for standing on?
Sure, the media will claim she's a national treasure. But so's Brucie. And yes, Kylie's clever. Hence the reinvention, from girl-next-door to rock chick to sex siren.
And media savvy, making the most of the departures of the men who exit her life (still babyless) even though some suitors have suggested it's very hard to walk in her shadow, tiny at 4ft 11in, as it is.
And we can all admire her hard graft and resilience.
But in worshipping performers, let's try and consider those with genuine talent.
Let's not be pulled in by the flirting with Jonathan Ross or snogging females.
Being famous should involve more than making a poor copy of the Locomotion.
And Kylie's been lucky. Very, very lucky. That na-na-na-song thing came to mini Minogue after Sophie Ellis Bextor turned it down.
So let's forget the lovely new hotpants look. Let's look behind the behind.
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