In the 1990s, I was on The Gossip Show, a popular, daily half hour of juicy tidbits as delivered by flavorful columnists such as myself.
They were pretty liberal for a while as to what I could wear on the show — they even had me wear a gown for a gag once — but they studiously drew the line at any nipple flashing.
Well, one day I got a call from a producer who had just watched the segments I’d taped for the show.
He sounded like he’d just witnessed a plane crash.
And no wonder. The guy had noticed that I was wearing a see-through shirt on camera and my nipples were as visible as my flop sweat whenever I had to do an item about a sports figure.
“I don’t want to see your nipples!” said the producer, persuasively.
“No one does!” he added, for effect.
“No more nipples!” he concluded.
As the smoke billowing out of his nostrils came through my end of the phone, I got what he was saying.
Basically: no more nipples.
And though I was initially pained — nay, devastated — by this development, it forced me to come up with other venues for my nipples.
And that paved the way for a whole lot of excitement in the next decade!
On a totally unrelated note, here are some fully clothed photos from last night’s wacky Molly Equality Dykeman show at the Laurie Beechman Theatre.
A lesbian security guard, Suzanne Somers’s poetry, the world’s only female Liza impersonator, and a sweater from Conway’s?