Thin White Duke? No, Chunky Dory

Updated: 17:00 EST, 26 March 2011

David Bowie invented glam rock with Ziggy Stardust

'I’m an instant star,’ said David Bowie, back when God was a boy.

‘Just add water and stir.’

He not only meant it, but he was good at it too, and in his 45-year career Bowie has reinvented himself more times than Lady Gaga probably ever will.

Back in the Sixties, when he was just starting out, he was a convincing London dandy before morphing into an effete singer-songwriter with stars in his eyes. Five minutes later he invented glam rock with Ziggy Stardust, and then he kept reinventing himself throughout the Seventies with each subsequent record.

With Tin Machine he even reinvented the yuppie, dressing like a banker who’d decided to form a rock band.

For two generations he has been something to everyone, from Aladdin Sane, the Young American Plastic Soul Boy and the Thin White Duke through to the man who graced the covers of Earthling, Hours… and Heathen. He is the quintessential rock chameleon, the archetypal pop changeling, everyone’s favourite space face.

But he’s never been fat. Which is what I think he ought to do next.

Since his heart attack in 2004, Bowie has been in semi-retirement, and has spent much of his time at home in his New York apartment looking after his daughter Lexi, and occasionally speaking with his fans online.

He hasn’t released an album since Reality in 2003, but there will undoubtedly come a time when he decides to reconnect with his audience, when he decides he must throw caution to the wind and step out once again into the spotlight.

And when he does I think he ought to be fat. Really fat.

Bowie has been thin, and he’s been skeletal. He’s been blond, and he’s been flame-haired. He’s wrapped himself in Bacofoil, worn the sort of thigh-high boots that would have shamed Madonna, and in Labyrinth he even looked like something out of Fraggle Rock. He’s done it all.

But he’s never been fat. Which is why I think this should be his next career move.

Since his heart attack in 2004, Bowie has been in semi-retirement in New York (above with wife Iman)

When Ziggy eventually crawls out from his lair I want to see the Fat White Duke, I want to see Bowie waddle up on stage looking like Alfred Hitchcock or Peter Ustinov. I want Bowie to look properly fat. Orson Welles fat. Falstaff fat. Epically fat. So-fat-he-has-his-own-postcode fat.

I don’t want to demean him, and wouldn’t want him to appear unnecessarily overweight or sweaty. I’m not for one minute suggesting that he reappear as a tragic and bloated version of his former self, not suggesting he parade around as a 21st-century Vegas-period Elvis, popping out of his rhinestone jumpsuit as he hurries his way through Life On Mars?, Absolute Beginners or Let’s Dance.

No, I want Bowie to descend on us looking grand, groomed and incredibly well manicured, like Orson Welles promenading in Paris – an unlit cigar in his mouth, his hands pushed deep into his jacket pockets  and his belly stretching all the way from here to over there. He would be wearing a bespoke suit (obviously – how else is it going to fit?), bench-made shoes and possibly a purple suede fedora. Yup, he should supersize himself.

The only problem, as far as I can see, is that Bowie is banned from enjoying all the good stuff that could make him look this way.

Orson used to consume four or five large portions of caviar every day, along with at least 20 cups of coffee, and many more tumblers of 100 per cent proof vodka. And those were just the snacks between meals.

A typical lunch might start with a bottle of champagne (all for himself, mind), followed by boudin noir aux pommes (black pudding with apples), then a bottle of hearty red to wash down a terrine de canard, and finally something sickly and sweet along with a treble Calvados. Bowie rarely eats anything that isn’t organic these days, and hasn’t drunk (or smoked) in years. If he attempted to ‘do an Orson’ he’d probably explode before he reached his next birthday (his 65th).

So maybe he’ll have to come back as a hologram, or a 3D viral, bouncing around our laptops and our iPads as though he were Max Headroom reinvented as a cyber cipher. No matter. I’m sure Bowie would look cool even if he were 18 stone.

Of course, such a radical departure would warrant – nay, would demand – a serious marketing campaign, along with some well-placed TV interviews, a couple of concerts and, of course, appropriate new material (a selection of overwrought torch songs).

There hasn’t been a new Bowie album for eight years so the title would have to be catchy as well as fitting. And after considering various options, I think I’ve got it. The record should simply be called this: ‘David Bowie: Chubby’.

Dylan Jones is the editor of GQ

Comments (0)

Share what you think

We are no longer accepting comments on this article.

Who is this week's top commenter? Find out now