Montana out of her jersey

Up to now, I have to admit, I hadn't given this a whole lot of thought:

Maybe it is, though I have to admit, the picture didn't do a thing for me. And it's not just because my brain is equipped with an Automatic Jailbait Filter to process incoming image material, either: it's because it appeared in Vanity Fair, a publication whose sole raison d'être these days is to remind people how utterly lovely it is to be rich. Besides, Cyrus is fifteen and a half, precisely the age at which I decided that pajamas were superfluous, so the idea of a teenager lacking same is not going to put ideas into my head.

At best, or at worst, the Cyrus incident is just one more manifestation of the wrongheaded cultural notion that our youngsters, especially our girls, ought to be sexed up, that they may be adequately prepared for the fiercely erotic Real World out there — although such preparation is intended, I submit, not for their benefit, but for the benefit of those who would use them. Like, for instance, Vanity Fair.