Don’t turn the page yet, don’t whine about how hard we newspaper writers have become with Tamara, I’m still here. This column could not see such a carriage (actually a carriage made in Porcelanosa and upholstered by Carolina Herrera) go by without getting on it.
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If the CIS did a poll without cooking up the result, the majority of Spaniards would think they were smarter than Tamara Falcó. Even smarter than Tamara. This Onieva thought he was smarter than Tamara Falcó, and after watching the Netflix docuseries, one can admire the boy’s hubris, who thought he could outwit the kingdom’s greatest trickster. To think that by putting on a good face you can cheat Tamara and get away with it is very unintelligent.
Tamara’s move of going from victim to victim in two gestures and using a quip to tame the vermin that would have torn up anyone else in their place is worthy of strategic genius. Tamara is the Napoleon of the heart, but that’s not what I liked most about the episode, but how she stood before Juan del Val in El hormiguero en la libertad and led the people of civilization. “We are not animals,” he told the Beukelaer prince of polyamory. The world of ridiculous luxury in which Tamara lives can be read as a rococo sublimation of the civilized ideal: we constantly oppress ourselves. We quell hunger, we quell insults, we quell gas, and we quell the desire to kiss hippie models in the desert of the United States too. Every day we sacrifice instincts on the altars of civilization. Anyone who sees Tamara as just a dick (as happened to the creators of her series) will miss the size of the character and the grace with which the world around her dissolves.
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