I have known the eyes already, known them all-- The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
--From The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot, Monica Lewinsky's favorite poem
If Monica Lewinsky had begun to feel fixed and formulated by the eyes of the public, the prosecutors and the media, last week was her chance to change the formula. It was an elaborate affair, spanning continents and media formats, involving a small army of press flacks and a red river of Club Monaco lipstick. Memorialized by a sympathetic biographer, humanized by Barbara Walters and glamorized by an upcoming European tour, Monica was reborn in warm pools of soft publicity.
We have never seen her smile so much, and there were times when it was hard not to break into a grin to match hers. The harsh flashbulbs seemed far away. In fact, ABC built a special set for the Walters interview, with lighting that mimicked a golden, late-afternoon glow. A British magazine ran a photo of Lewinsky knitting, another of her puttering in the kitchen. She lounges on a bed decorated with roses (an image reinforced by Andrew Morton's book, whose very first revelation is that "this girl likes roses a lot"). The publicity encourages us to see her not as a home wrecker but a homemaker, someone who's smart but fun, "sensual" instead of sex-driven, a '90s woman who can write talking points by day and go home to make her boyfriend a sweater at night.
But did Monica's makeover take? After hours of interviews and nearly 300 pages from Princess Diana's own scribe, have we learned to love her--or even like her? It seems not. A TIME/CNN poll taken the day after her Walters appearance found that 72% of those interviewed still have a generally unfavorable impression of her, down just slightly from a high of 78% in September, shortly after the unflattering Starr report was released. Only 15% of us think well of her.
Maybe the problem is that Americans would like less of Monica, not more. When the presidency was in crisis, when Kenneth Starr seemed in danger of undoing the election and the Clinton marriage, there was at least a reason for us to pay attention to Monica. Last week there was none. All that remained was what Monica calls romance and the rest of us know as gossip. Even with all its lusty detail, its hilariously unnecessary cigars and Altoids and thongs, the Starr report, when it appeared, had consequences. Monica's Story, which exists because of the theory that what we want is yet more embroidery of these stories, has none.
But perhaps the theory is right. Some 70 million Americans, after all, watched Lewinsky on 20/20. (ABC called it the most watched "news" show ever, though it didn't beat Oprah's prime-time tete-a-tete with Michael Jackson, which the network somehow doesn't count as news in a world in which Monica does.) At least in its first days, the book was making the splash its publishers paid for. It seems we do in fact want to see more of Lewinsky, even if seeing her makes us feel a little dirty. Even the world's most expensive p.r. couldn't keep Monica from being Monica.