Has it really been more than 20 years since Madonna writhed on that gondola in those crimped, dishwater-blond curls and that stretchy Lycra?
"Like a Virgin" made her a star. Whether you liked her was beside the point -- you had to give her props for her unblinking "blond ambition." Through shameless self-promotion and constant reinvention, she remained a pop-culture icon, whether prancing around burning crosses ("Like a Prayer"), fellating Coca-Cola bottles (Truth or Dare), or titillating the publishing industry (with her book, Sex). What about the Jean-Paul Gaultier cone-breasted bustier? However absurd or garish, she was entertaining, and it will all make for a great VH1 documentary someday. But isn't it time we put this one on the shelf?
Her once-provocative antics grow tired. The double-sided kiss with Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera at the 2003 MTV Video Music Awards wasn't sexy so much as a pathetic, predictable stab at continued relevance. And the constant blathering about the Kabbalah? Enough, already. The media's overexposed adoration has risen to meet her Madgesty's vapid self-indulgence as she strays further into Norma Desmond territory. Yet she refuses to content herself with ruining director Guy Ritchie's once-promising career. It seems that her self-righteous ego, plastic cheekbones, and fake British accent will forever strain after the next set of disco samples -- hence the pilfered ABBA dance beat of "Hung Up." She's that desperate to be No. 1 until she's 80, folks. Isn't it time we staged an intervention?