ABSTRACT
My first crush was directed not at a girl in my class or my neighborhood but, as is frequently the case in the era of mass media, at an image on my television screen. “The Avengers” was a British show, half spy adventure, half surrealist cinema. The lead female character, foil to John Steed’s unflappable bowlertopped gentleman, was Mrs. Emma Peel, played by Diana Rigg. There seemed to be no Mr. Peel in the picture to interrupt the accessibility of the magnificent Mrs. Peel. She often wore skin-tight leather jumpsuits a la Catwoman (I also had a certain affection for Julie Newmar in the latter role), and she moved around the English countryside with a grace usually reserved for professional dancers. And she absolutely kicked ass; she was an early example of the feisty, self-sufficient, potentially violent heroines who are now a staple of everything from Disney animations to high literature. She met every dilemma with perfect composure and deep wit. And of course Diana Rigg was beautiful, all cheekbones and slim curves.
