David Beckham was ostensibly the subject of Beckham, but for me Victoria was the star, so I’m glad to see her on a magazine cover celebrating the profitability of her company — both fashion and her nascent beauty line — and just her, in general. It’s a nice enough piece, although Posh doesn’t give a TON; she holds a few things tightly and close, something the writer ruminates on in conjunction with Posh’s own comments about how she was average at so many things:
But say you have to work really hard your whole life to just be… okay. Singing, dancing, studying, whatever — your biggest enemy is your own mediocrity. So the fight becomes your superpower. You unlock the miracle of discipline. It leads you to fame and riches and unimaginable success. It is your elder wand, your holy grail, and eventually your DNA (not playing by the rules of science here). The last thing you’re going to do is relinquish that. Maybe after all those decades welding closed every gap in her armor to ward off intrusive, relentless media scrutiny, Beckham doesn’t just play at being opaque. Maybe she is.
