A lot of critics hold that she has a male physique with big butts and that's not really appealing but who cares? everyone have an opinion and freedom of speech
Serena Williams is now into a disquisition on a piece of
fabric she’s called “Convertible A-line Top
With Scarf,” available to you, the home
shopper, for $39.95 or three “flexpays” of
$13.32. “It’s like one huge circle that has a
lot of style in it,” she says, not without
conviction, fiddling with the bottom of the
one she is wearing (“This is, um, mustard”),
flapping it like a fan, rubbing one hand on
her arm, and smoothing her hair. She forgets
the names of colors, misstates a price.
There with the right number and the right
name is HSN savant Bobbi Ray Carter,
sheathed in a hot-pink Convertible A-line Top
With Scarf and raccooned in black eyeliner,
filling in her co-host’s “ums” with the deft
patter of a sales professional: “Amazingly
transitional, think-fall-think-summer-think-
winter-summer-into-fall versatility, quality,
surprise scarf.” Bobbi Ray Carter knows how
to touch a piece of fabric: She gives it a
crisp snap between her fingers, smartly
smooths the drape, all the while growing
progressively more tense as Serena fumbles
some hangers and launches, at 56 minutes,
into a long anecdote about packing jeans for
Wimbledon. “Mmmm,” says Bobbi Ray Carter,
tight-lipped and possibly not breathing,
awaiting the arc of Serena’s story to make
its mumbly descent — “I felt good packing
my own jeans, I had a moment there” — so
she can finally change the subject — “And
it’s our customer pick!” — and steer us back
to the safe harbor of Denim Moto Legging
color choices.
A little background on HSN’s least
comfortable saleswoman: Serena Williams is
the best women’s tennis player in the world,
breezing through one of the best seasons of
her life. Should she win the U.S. Open next
month, she will have swept all four grand
slams in a calendar year, cementing her
reputation as the greatest women’s player of
all time and making her a serious contender
for the greatest athlete of her generation.
She is a 33-year-old woman who won her
first major at the tail end of the previous
century, a simpler era you will recall for its
consequenceless Napster-facilitated
intellectual-property theft and the looming
threat of Y2K. By now, her shoulder should
be shredded, her elbow a constant wail of
hurt. Instead, she spends her days bageling
20-something moppets who have never
known the game without her. The last time a
man as geriatric as Serena won a grand
slam was 1972. She has won three in the
past six months. Her 16-year run is, in the
words of Sports Illustrated, “one of the most
sustained careers of excellence in the
history of athletics.”
