[from Harper's Bazaar | thanks Beth]
The prospect of going to see Eddie Izzard’s Work in Progress currently at the Soho Theatre in London raises several existential questions. Number one: what shoes should one wear to an Izzard gig? Eddie is, after all, a footwear connoisseur, an appreciator of a heel, a stiletto-fiend. It seems sacrilege, that is, not in the spirit of things AT ALL, to NOT fish out a jazzy shoe from the back of one’s wardrobe for the occasion. For if one is EVER to wear a six-inch silver platform shoe with a metallic silver pair of tailored trousers alla chic Marc Bolan (the outfit that I indeed settle upon) – it seems now would be the time. I’m pretty sure that Eddie is going to get shoe envy. And I want to impress.
This brings me to my second existential question: why is Eddie Izzard so goddamn sexy? Well, yes, he is funny: that bubbling delivery, the snaking stream-of-consciousness, the leaps of sense, the surreal situations and characters…but why has no-one noticed that he looks like a slightly stockier Ewan McGregor with the same ruinously cheeky grin? There is also, of course, the nonchalance with which he skips from topic to topic (cows, atheism, the Stone Age, the European Union) and heckles his audience (he nicknames one poor spectator Captain Birdseye on the night on which I attend and fails to notice my camp finery); oh and the fact that he does his gigs in fluent German and French despite being dyslexic, that he has a professorial knowledge of history. But ultimately, it’s because Eddie has the nerve and the chutzpah to wear a dress and heels in front of a room at least half-full of rowdy, heterosexual men and get them onside (although rather disappointingly he has taken to wearing predominately ‘boy clothes’ recently, on the night in question a striped shirt and blazer).
In summation, we lust after Eddie Izzard because he embodies the dream male for women: funny, intellectual, self-deprecating, lateral–thinking, risqué and undoubtedly an attentive and empathetic shopping companion with a canny eye for a shoe. Eddie, nous t’aimons…