Dolly Parton: Bimbo Icon

I would be lying if I told you I remembered the first time I saw Dolly Parton. I only know that for as long as I can remember, my notion of womanhood and what I found desirable, both in temperament, personality, and aesthetics, have been Elvira and Dolly Parton. A fact so obvious that anyone who has read or talked to me can see the evidence as plain as day. 

Dolly Parton was the perfect woman. Brash, honest, sexy, kind, with a delightfully pervy wit, and equipped with two monster knockers. What can I say? Tomboys crossed with bimbos are the sexiest thing on this green earth. Possibly even the galaxy, but our meager understanding of the ever-expanding infinity makes me hedge my bets. 

I’ve talked about how, as a young man, I saw Straight Talk as many times as I could in the dollar theaters. Seeing those twin towers on the big screen, straining every top, and making every outfit advertised those impossible curves even when dressing casually activated me in ways I’m still trying to unravel.  

The movie sucked. But we can’t control what turns us on, what imprints upon us, or even burrows its way into our DNA. 

But sitting through James Woods as the romantic lead was a small price to pay to see Dolly laugh, flirt, and bat those sensual hazel eyes at the camera. Sitting in the dark, looking up at Dolly, bigger than life, was akin to first seeing SaRenna Lee, Pamela Anderson, Anna Nicole Smith, or Pandora Peaks all rolled into one. Yes, Carl, women with huge fake tits and cartoonish figures did exist and could be more real than women with natural breasts in ways you couldn’t measure.  

She was an immense talent both on and off the screen. I defy you to pick any of her songs at random and not find one that doesn’t make you at least tap your toes. The woman was a musical beast, able to reach into the essence of humanity and find the emotional lyricism within every verse. It’s why her songs are so easily adaptable; when your work understands the breadth of humanity, it becomes universal. 

Dolly also had one of the first sets of huge fake watermelon-sized hooters I’d ever seen. Sweeeeet Jeebus, were those things noticeable! While Dolly would sport breathtaking cleavage, it always felt at once intensely sexual while coming off as casual. She tried without making it seem like she tried. 

Seeing Dolly was akin to a religious experience. An understanding of something deep inside that I couldn’t give voice or words to, but when gazed upon felt as right and pure as my dreams. Anyone who met Dolly walked away feeling as if they had encountered something of the divine. That’s because as fake as Dolly was, there was no one realer. 

As is often the case with bimbos or people aspiring to be bimbos. There’s a brazen honesty that comes with committing yourself to a hyper-sexual feminine look that has little to do with catering to the ‘male gaze’ or any of that nonsense. Because to commit, you must believe in yourself and your principles while reaching a Zen place of body, mind, and spirit. 

Those hefty warlocks were as fake as her hair and makeup. She wasn’t shy about admitting this, either. She was a proto bimbo. Much like Elvira, who sadly did not get implants but did grow riper with age and came out as Queer. Win-win really.  

Like Elvira, Dolly refused to tone her appearance down. For her, her aesthetic, her style, was her way of not only presenting as what she thought being a woman was but also serving as another outlet for her creativity. It was peak gender as a performance, embracing the roles society demands but making them your own. For as much as Dolly was a bimbo, she was her own kind of bimbo that is impossible to imitate. 

Too many people get bogged down in “living for the male gaze”. They miss the point of dressing up and looking pretty, for both men and women, is about making yourself feel good. Dolly wasn’t trying to tell women they had to look like her, but she was trying to say there was no shame in doing so either.  

Dolly famously modeled herself on the town tramp. She looked at so-called sluts and moral trash as emblematic of some of the most fascinating and most human aspects of our existence. Dolly was transfixed by her femininity; the painted nails, the trashy make-up, the dyed hair, and slutty clothes spoke to her. 

“She’s just trash,” her mother said when asked about who the mystery woman was. What others found crude and distasteful, Dolly found to be the embodiment of beauty. 

Dolly often referred to her aesthetics as “silly”, “outlandish”, and “ridiculous”. The clever reader will recognize how she uses similar adjectives as modern bimbos who strive to look “fake”, “cartoonish”, and “impossible to hide”. Both use these terms not as insults but as markers of pride. Her kindness and ability to subvert any and all expectations also make her an icon like many modern artists; she refused to allow people to put her into a box. 

All through my life, Dolly has been a constant. A barometer for how other women measured up. To be fair, a woman not being able to live up to Dolly Parton is a high bar, but it’s important to have standards. If she doesn’t match her looks, she should at least match her personality.  

But what makes Dolly so irreplaceable is the way that she contained multitudes. A fearless artist, Dolly was up for anything, as long as she didn’t have to be vulgar. Being vulgar, it should be noted, wasn’t playing a madame of a whore house or even standing against fascism. Vulgar to Dolly was something very simple: mean. You could be witty, critical, and even mad. But being mean, cruel, and assholish never sat right with the Appalachian beauty. A quality that separates her from the other celebrity from that locale who is so fake and flippantly pious as to make even the most ardent of fools bristle with distrust. Simply being religious and not cussing does not make a good person. 

Dolly’s unerring generosity is a beacon and a reminder to us that all of us live in this world together; it only feels as if we are alone. 

Yet, the real revelation with Dolly, for those who only tangentially knew of her and didn’t light up like a Christmas tree whenever she slid into their field of vision, was that despite her so-called "traditional heteronormative” trappings, Dolly shockingly, blisteringly, like her art, refused to be defined by labels. She thought of herself as a walking drag show because, again, she looked at her persona as a performance of what she admired about womanhood. It had very little to do with what men or women wanted. Even her relationship with her husband, Carl Dean, which, by all accounts, was one of devotion and love, was not at all traditional.  

In other words, everything we were told that led to women being like Dolly was false. She didn’t hate other women. She didn’t suffer from internal misogyny. She wasn’t sex obsessed. Nor was she trying to pretend to be something she wasn’t.  

The thing that was so amazing about Dolly Parton was that above all else, her beliefs, her work, and her friends, she was indefatigably the genuine article. Dolly Parton was Dolly Parton through and through, right down to her press-on nails, peroxide blonde wig, and big ol’ fake titties. 

Dolly was one of a kind. 

Images courtesy of NBC, Playboy, and Country Style