Nudity and television have an uneasy relationship. Sex sells, but TV can't even show nipples.
Television has found a happy medium in breast cleavage--that innocent eye candy for emasculated husbands and prepubescent boys alike. However, cleavage is such an effective marketing tool that it also turns up in the most unexpected--and disturbing--places.
(Oh and happy Mother's Day, ma! We made up a new word for you!)
Suspicious deaths are serious business. That's why the state employs a specially trained medical examiner to determine the cause of every death. To properly study the victims, you must spend most of your day leaning over them, for hours at a time, in front of other people.
What better job to wear a skimpy tank top! Really, who would you rather have investigating your loved one's death? A sober and analytical clinician, or Dr. Alexx Woods, the sassy and emotionally labile medical examiner with a porn-star name and grade-A rack?
Sure, she has this disturbing habit of talking to dead bodies like they're still alive and she gives all her co-workers a heaping helping of homespun sass that several years of graduate training should have extinguished, but don't let that shake your faith in her professionalism. If anything, you should be concerned about her baffling knack for cleavage flashing next to cadavers.
We suppose that her impressive chest-chasm might be construed as an artsy metaphor for the gulf that separates life and death. We like that metaphor because it insinuates that death is simply another boob, and we hope it's really like that.
But, at the end of the day we'd rather not develop any unfortunate unconscious associations between corpses and big ol' titties. After all, funeral tumescence is the most inappropriate kind.
There are no official standards for becoming a television chef, but you've got to have personality, and you have to be able to cut an onion really fast on live TV without looking like a moron. Most importantly, though, a TV chef has to make menial tasks entertaining.
Hmmm ... what are some ways we can do that?
Giada is blessed with certain characteristics that might be described as obstacles to achieving optimal TV-chef charm. Her mouth, for instance, is Tony Robins-esque and she's got a gigantic head. In order to overcome these liabilities, she seems to have resorted to one of the more time-tested of feminine wiles: showing off the goods.
If it's done tastefully, this is a perfectly respectable strategy for increasing ones marketability. Giada, though, has taken it to the rarely vaunted 'wanton medieval barmaid' level.
That seems to send a bad message, since all of us know what it's like to get splattered with grease while frying an egg shirtless (or, you know, naked). And really, while enjoying what should be an innocuous family program, we shouldn't be provoked into involuntarily imagining anything splattered on the host's chest, even if it's just hot grease from a frying pan.
As Dean of Medicine, you have a tremendous burden. You must earn and maintain the respect of patients and egomaniacal doctors alike while asserting an air of leadership the moment you walk in the room. Significantly less important to the job is asserting that you have huge boobs.
For an eminently successful and intelligent medical professional, Dr. Lisa Cuddy has certainly amassed a number of self-sabotaging behaviors. We suspect all that stems from her frustration at having earned everything that she has received rather than sleeping her way to the top. This type of frustration can manifest itself in many ways, a soft-spot for inveterate misogynists for example.
None of these side-effects are more unfortunate than her desperate insistence on flaunting her well-supported sweater kittens at every opportunity. Working in her office, making her rounds, evaluating a patient: it doesn't seem to matter who she is distracting, or how much she risks undermining her authority.
Her cleavage is probably responsible for more off-screen deaths in the House universe than cancer.