The first thing you notice about Jenna Jameson is her stature: She's just a tiny little thing. The next is her chimerical rack, even more mountainous on such a petite body. And the third, if you happen to be at the unveiling of her wax figure at Madame Tussauds Las Vegas museum on August 2, is the aura of celebrity with which she now carries herself.
Upon arriving at the event, I was as unfamiliar with Jenna Jameson as any modern man could be. That is: I of course knew her name, her line of work and her image, but to either my fortune or misfortune I was always too busy with the fantasies of my own life to pay much attention to those inspired by her. Yet there was no mistake about it the moment I saw her: Jenna had on black high heels and a lavender dress that left the tattoos on her lower legs exposed, with white straps that must not have done a very good job of supporting her fantastical boobs, because she often was forced to lift them by hand, to the audible sighs of hopeless men, throughout the afternoon.
If she had not already written an autobiography—How to Make Love Like a Porn Star, a New York Times best seller—this afternoon might've made for an entire chapter in her memoirs. "This, I think, is the biggest day in my career," she said; and then, after posing for photographs with endurance and a movie star's dexterity, and after readjusting her breasts, she explained:
"I started out a porn star, and now I'm a solidified star, because—look: Only the biggest stars in the world are immortalized with a wax figure."
In one sense it's true—you don't make it into Madame Tussauds' historic museum unless you've received tons of nominations from the general public. And judging by the vast and diverse crowd at the museum and on the moving walkways between the Strip and the Venetian Resort, Jenna is well-loved. There were girls who adore her, there were guys with fond memories of her, there were media from Las Vegas to China, and they were all videotaping, snapping photos of, or buzzing about Jenna Jameson. And so I put to several of them a basic question: Why is she such a big deal?
Without fail their answers dwindled down to one thing: Jenna Jameson is a commodity, they said. Her image, like Madonna's name, or even Shakira's hips and Pamela Anderson's boobs, gravitates money toward itself. Even if the girl from Bonanza High School in Las Vegas has accomplished this by giving loveless sex to oh so many men—and women—and supplying at least three generations of guys (and probably more to come) with the graphic provocations necessary to relieve their loneliest hours. Or, as she put it: "I've worked so incredibly hard, for so many years, to turn myself into a real businesswoman."
In any event, her figure is now there, an absolute replica of the legendary porn star sitting as naked as the day she entered this world, save for a black leather thing bearing her name in rhinestones, and using her arms to hold up her breasts with taste. It rests on a bearskin rug inside a museum of world-renowned celebrities who have nothing to do with Las Vegas, like Oprah and Jordan and Arnold, and a few of those who do, like Elvis and Ali and Don, the three Kings.
And it will be there for a long time. Perhaps as long as her epic films.
Just before I left the unveiling event for Jenna Jameson's wax doll, celebrated with classical music overhead and waiters serving fancy treats, I took another look at the unmistakable porn princess, with her tiny, buxom and glamorous figure, re-lifting her rack in front of a herd of idolizers, and I had no doubt she was correct when she said she is now a solidified star.
But then again, less than a week before, the wax figure of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's newborn daughter had been unveiled to similar fanfare at Madame Tussauds New York museum.