WHEN Malcolm Turnbull retired from politics, we all wondered what he would do next with his illustrious life. None of us were expecting this.
Sit on a few company boards, perhaps? Join the global speaking circuit? Follow the Keating model, and periodically pop up on the ABC to lecture whichever inferior being had dared to occupy his old office?
Few among us could have predicted the truth — that Mr Turnbull would, in fact, become the next Kardashian.
Paparazzi have been following the former prime minister around New York, taking surreptitious photos of his tight-fitting pants.
Yesterday, for example, we were treated to images of Mr Turnbull and his wife Lucy preparing to embark on a bike ride together. The couple wore matching Lycra ensembles from what I can only assume was the Tony Abbott Spring Collection.
The bold fashion statement sparked a little debate on Channel 9’s Today Extra this morning, which I’m going to quote for you now, because it saves me from having to articulate any of the disturbing innuendo myself.
“Who wore it better, Malcolm or Tony?” Davina Smith asked, as photos of each man in Lycra flashed up on screen.
“Wow. The lighting on Malcolm’s is quite interesting,” David Campbell responded.
“There’s so much to compare there,” Smith said.
“I’ve got to say, I think Malcolm’s a bit more impressive,” interjected Sonia Kruger.
“Well, obviously, he’s not come out of cold water,” Campbell said.
Unsettling as this subject is, I suppose it is appropriate in a way, given Mr Turnbull and Mr Abbott have been locked in a metaphorical dick-measuring contest since about 2009.
I’ll give the final word to Karl Stefanovic, a man renowned for his gravitas and maturity on such matters.
“I tell you, that photo is like, just, like … I mean, gee,” he said.
Well put.
But wait! There is more. The paps were still not satisfied, so today, they followed Mr Turnbull to a
waxing salon.
Google tells me that is a place where people, many of whom, coincidentally, are Kardashians, go to cause themselves extreme pain in the hope they will emerge with less hair.
As a prematurely balding man, the very concept sickens me. Every hair attached to your body is precious, my friends. Never take them for granted, for you never know when they will abandon you forever.
Anyway, what in the name of all that is good and holy was Malcolm Turnbull doing at a waxing salon? For answers, I turned to the establishment’s website, and found this description of the European Wax Centre experience.
“It reveals a more radiant you. A more honest you. A more confident you. The version of you that speaks her mind, stays true to herself and walks with a strut in her step everywhere she goes.”
Mr Turnbull has been walking with a strut for years.
However, many Australians thought the version of him that spoke his mind had been ruthlessly murdered by the Liberal Party’s conservative wing years ago.
Some ABC employees still swear they have seen a spectral presence haunting the halls of Ultimo in a leather jacket, whispering to them seductively about action on climate change and an Australian republic.
Perhaps that Malcolm never left us after all, but was simply trapped beneath the surface, waiting to be waxed out.
There was no snazzy leather jacket for Mr Turnbull’s outing today. He wore the collared shirt and bomber jacket combo generally adopted by the dads of Western society during their final phase of respectable fashion choices — before the inevitable onset of T-shirts tucked into hitched-up trackpants, which invariably accompanies early senility.
Mr Turnbull also donned New Balance sneakers, presumably selected to represent the new sense of balance that has entered his life since he left the toxic atmosphere of parliament.
https://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/fashion/paparazzi-keep-following-malcolm-turnbull-for-some-reason/news-story/c0416d0cb2884198f1c198e35c0494b3
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