Famous people like Isabel Preysler (Manila, Philippines, 1951) live two lives, hers and the one in magazines. As Isabel Preysler has been famous for half a century, she finds things like this in her parallel life, the well-known cut life . A publication called La Revista published in 1985 that she was three months pregnant. Why? During a flight between Madrid and Malaga, the young Preysler would have left a personal diary on the plane in which she wrote down the dates of her periods. A passenger got hold of her, noticed that there had been nothing written down in recent weeks, did accounts and sent photocopies to the press. The pregnancy is false, the finding is supposed to be false and the menstrual calendar false.
Thus, on the border of the unreal, the real and the magical realism, the history of Preysler is written. A territory dedicated to the cultivation of mystery in which they speak (and speak: assistants, nannies, drivers) of their false romances of removable and put until a last maddening drift in which Jorge Valdano and Florentino Pérez were associated , hence Before the rumor mill took her into Mourinho's arms, Preysler assumed the publication of her first photos with Mario Vargas Llosa, the last couple of a woman who was married to Julio Iglesias, Carlos Falcó and Miguel Boyer (“ I fell in love with him , I felt sorry for Carlos, but it happened ”). Since it is a magazine vending machine, anything associated with its name explodes commercially. Years ago the news spread that in her beauty treatment (two hours a day according to a tongue-in-cheek assistant) she used a cream that cost ten euros : it ran out after a few days. The same days the world thought looking like Isabel Preysler was cheap
Brand image, beauty entrepreneur, sleek hostess of parties. Generous trades (for those who exercise them) that demand from her what she gives best: presence. Train it, maintain it, display it. Also the character, as reported in the magazine Caras de Perú. “My heart is on the left, but my head is on the right,” he said, to which Vargas Llosa replied: “That is an acceptable weakness. But you won't be a feminist , will you? Preysler responded that her daughters consider her a "radical feminist" because she believes in equal pay and is against discrimination, but dislikes frivolous extremes. “Why are you going to be less respectable if you wear heels or paint your lips?”
The best proof that a Nobel Prize upsets a writer's relationship with reality is that Mario Vargas Llosa believed that the expectation for his courtship with Isabel Preysler it was because of him. He confessed to a friend those youthful days of 2015 that passed between paparazzi chases through the streets of Madrid. “He told me he was tired of the exaggerated attention on them, and I nodded understandingly until suddenly, as the conversation progressed, I realized that he took it for granted that the focus was on him. There I no longer knew where to go ", says this friend, who decided, when he hung up, to call another colleague, a writer like them:" You have to tell Mario the truth. " The fact is that Vargas Llosa knew approximately who Isabel Preysler was, but only when he started dating her did he know perfectly who Isabel Preysler was.
Who knew Mario Vargas Llosa; why , another Peruvian writer, Santiago Roncagliolo. He was one of the attendees at the coveted party for the Nobel's 80th birthday and there, being in a crowd, Isabel Preysler approached, greeted everyone and continued on her way. When Roncagliolo turned to continue the talk, they found everyone with their mouths open. "Isn't it wonderful?" Said a man, almost with tears in his eyes. 'Perfect', clarified a woman with her jaw on the ground ". The writer, who wrote that encounter in Vanity Fair, thought he was missing something. After meeting her on successive occasions, he thought he understood: “It was not a person, but an aspiration. After 40 years managing her social image with the precision of a Chinese craft, people do not salute her, but their own dreams (…) Most of us, trying to be elegant, we only manage to be imitations of others. Isabel gets to be herself. And that is true elegance. "
Isabel Preysler turns 70 years old next Thursday 18 and more than 50 as famous, specifically since the night of 1970 in which the young Julio Iglesias accompanied Preysler to his house and they declared the romance inaugurated. She was studying International Secretariat and had been in Spain for two years, since her parents took her out of the Philippines because they did not like the relationship she had there with a boy. That your parents make you cross half the planet at the age of 17 because they don't like your boyfriend and you end up in the arms of Julio Iglesias should be, according to scientific consensus, the canonical example of the phrase "poetic justice." He married — pregnant — crying profusely, so much so that the priest told him that he had never married such a sad bride, as she acknowledged in Vanity Fair . She loved Iglesias, but she wasn't ready to get married. I still loved him when he showed up at the airport to tell him, when the singer got off the plane: “You asked me many times to marry you. I'm only going to ask you once to separate from me ”. Preysler's mother flew to Spain to remedy it because she understood that if a man loved her like Iglesias, it didn't matter what he did outside the home. "I'm not in love anymore," her daughter told her. "In love?" Her mother replied. “If that doesn't exist. If you think about being in love, you're going to get married 14 times. ”
“ I'm against Photoshop, ”Isabel Preysler told EL PAÍS a few years ago . On one of his first pleasure trips, Vargas Llosa told Roncagliolo that they reached an island escaping from the press while jumping from plane to plane. “The island was populated with completely obscene monkeys who fornicated or masturbated in front of everyone. The sea was infested with ten-foot snakes biting and Komodo dragons everywhere. A horrible place, ”said the Nobel Prize winner in Peru. Everything, "to have a little privacy", in what could be a risky metaphor worthy of his essay The civilization of the show , having to go find privacy between an orgy of monkeys.