When Blond Meets Ambition

New York Times

8 hours ago

Loni Anderson's TV persona — the bombshell with a brain — was a brilliant amalgam of old Hollywood and 1970s feminism, pitched perfectly for a pop-culture audience. As Jennifer Marlowe, the clever receptionist on 'WKRP in Cincinnati,' she solved everyone's problems while bringing the slightly doofy men in the office to their knees with just a glance.
Ms. Anderson, who died on Sunday, developed a signature look on this show: clinging jersey dresses or sweaters, nearly always in solid colors (to minimize any visual interruption of her famous curves); false eyelashes; wide lipsticked smile; and that famous blond mane: shoulder-length, bouffant on top, with low-hanging scalloped bangs undulating around her face — all immovable, firmly sprayed into place.
That hair was key. At first glance, it looked much like the So-Cal glamour styles worn by her TV contemporaries, such as Farrah Fawcett or Suzanne Somers. But those women looked tousled and touchable, their bangs feathering out as if blown by ocean breezes, while Ms. Anderson's hair had a teased and lacquered look. Its shape said 'come hither,' but its sculptural stiffness said 'keep a respectful distance.' And while those other women's variegated blond tones mimicked sun-kissed highlights, Ms. Anderson's hair was bleached to a monochromatic platinum more doll-like than human, a color reminiscent of 'blond bombshells' of earlier decades.
This makes sense, because Loni Anderson was not aiming for '70s and '80s 'lighthearted naturalness.' (In fact, she was turned down for the role of 'Chrissy' on 'Three's Company,' which went to Ms. Somers.) She was fashioning herself into a kind of exaggerated, ironic version of the classic Hollywood sex kitten, the voluptuous blonde no man can resist. Numerous stars have occupied this category (including Jean Harlow, Mae West, Lana Turner, Jayne Mansfield, Brigitte Bardot), but it was Marilyn Monroe whom Ms. Anderson conjured most clearly.
Critics often noted Ms. Anderson's Marilyn-like qualities — particularly the combination of mature sexual allure and disarming sweetness. (Vincent Canby pointed out her 'sweet, Marilyn Monroe-like turn' in his review of her 1983 film, 'Stroker Ace,' for example.) But there was more to Ms. Monroe's onscreen persona. Through all her breathy bounce and giggle, she always seemed to be winking at her audience, acknowledging that this creature she'd dreamed up was purely fictional — a kind of useful, even slightly funny, alter-ego, a masquerade.
Ms. Anderson picked up where Ms. Monroe left off, borrowing elements of the Marilyn persona — the showcased bosom, the Kewpie-doll prettiness, the white-blond hair — while adding a new ingredient: obvious, self-assured intelligence. When first offered the role of 'Jennifer,' Ms. Anderson had rejected it, disliking its stereotypical 'dumb blonde' portrayal. But seeing her star potential, the producer Hugh Wilson offered to rewrite the role so that Jennifer could be 'the smartest person in the room,' as Mr. Wilson recalled to The Hollywood Reporter.
It worked. Ms. Anderson had figured out a way to don a Marilyn-esque persona and then infuse it with a new intelligence that did not need suppressing, the recognition that a woman could look like a pinup but think like a C.E.O.
This self-awareness was in keeping with the second-wave feminist sensibilities of the late 1970s. 'Jennifer,' in all her high-gloss artificiality, was like a theatrical prop, even a marionette operated by Ms. Anderson, the canny puppeteer. Audiences could sense both halves of the act, and loved them equally. (It's not surprising that Ms. Anderson was married for a time to Burt Reynolds, himself the epitome of a winkingly ironic sex symbol.)
While Ms. Anderson's career continued past 'WKRP in Cincinnati,' her look remained largely the same throughout her life. Later, she savvily capitalized on her association with 1950s Hollywood sirens, playing Jayne Mansfield in a 1980 television movie, and even channeling Marilyn Monroe at a 2010 event at the Hollywood Museum, where she appeared in one of Ms. Monroe's evening gowns.
'Bombshell' style never fully fades away, of course. We see it in celebrities such as Sydney Sweeney, Sabrina Carpenter and the Kardashian-Jenner clan, especially Kim, who bleached her hair and wore Marilyn's sequin-covered 'naked dress' for the 2022 Met Gala. We see it in the 'Real Housewives' franchise, with its bosom-centric fashions and big blond hair. Recently, we saw it dissected thoughtfully by Mariska Hargitay in 'My Mom, Jayne,' her excellent documentary about her mother, Jayne Mansfield.
And we even see it among some government officials and their spouses. Big hair, tight curve-displaying clothes, big lashes and high heels are not uncommon among women in the current administration.
Few of these bombshells-come-lately evince Ms. Anderson's degree of witty self-awareness. Perhaps we're too far away now from the Hollywood golden age that invented all this outré glamour, and even further from the feminist wave that inspired its reassessment. Whatever the reason, even decades later, Loni Anderson is still uniquely watchable, seeming to peer out at us conspiratorially from beneath the persona she invented. She remains the platinum standard.