But, unfortunately, it falls short of the contradictions that make Traci such an appealing symbol. And like all morality tales derived from far more interesting real-life experiences, it is full of bizarre contradictions. It’s a piece of candy fluff, as bad as you’d expect a book plucked from the supermarket shelf to be, a sensational morality play about a girl who triumphed over evil. This is not a well-written book, nor does it seek any sort of self-reflection above the typical higher moral ground sought by porn stars who want mainstream acting careers. In it, as in most authorized biographies written about people who are still alive, we get a roughly filtered version of Traci’s life experiences. Nowhere is this more evident than in Traci Lords: Underneath it All, her book about her life as a troubled teen and a “together” grown-up. Her pixie pucker, now self-proclaimed squeaky clean, screams “dirty” more than ever before.īut Traci Lords moves through her own mystique like a woman half-asleep and half-awake, like a medicated bombshell, a lurid Ophelia. The very dirty past she struggles to keep in a tightly closed closet gives her that much more of an aura of bad-girl sexiness. The determination and unrefined sex appeal of the trashy blonde isn’t lost on me at all, but in Traci Lords it’s personified and launched into the realm of icon. Who she’s licked, sucked, fucked and kissed, in films all the way from porn to John Waters’ Cry Baby and all the bad B-movies in between. Her petulant pout has inspired many fantasies the world over, but what makes her mouth so very sexy is knowing where it’s been and what she’s done with it. I am not alone in being erotically fixated on Traci Lords’ mouth.
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