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Frankie Cocozza

27 Sep

Frankie Cocozza

“I want to get lots of girls” the pug-faced cheeky chappy from Brighton (by way of Malia! WAHEY!) tells the judges. Then he gets his bum out to show the panel, the whooping crowd and the whole bloody country the tattooed names of all the girls he’d presumably boned while in Malia. The names are still visible, but the hairy bumcrack is blurred out. This was to save The X Factor’s producers’ skin – they were given a wrap on the knuckles by Ofcom after broadcasting Rihanna and Christina Aguilera’s raunchy performances in last year’s finale. It was also, I like to think, blurred out so that not one young girl’s notion of smooth, groomed heartthrobbery could be thwarted by the appearance of wiry curled hair on a Syco darling’s bumhole.

But that’s not the hair I want to discuss. The only hair that makes Frankie Cocozza of any worth to anyone – his eyebrows, though not as offensive as many of his fellow contestants’, appear to be slugging their way around his face – is his head hair. His voice lacks the pizzazz of his surname – Gary said the 18-year-old scamp has “Rod Stewart vocals”. But the fist of pure emotionlessness forgot to mention that the vocals he meant were the yelps he’d imagine the feather-haired troll emitted when he discovered Benicio Del Toro had got his daughter up the duff and finally had a taste of his own salty medicine.

Frankie’s similarity to Rod Stewart starts and ends with his inability to keep his pants on. Not only did he drop trow in front of the bloody nation, but with rumours flying – doubtless greenlit by the show’s PR officers – that he bonked a female contestant on the bootcamp round, it appears the lad is just as quick to get his end away as he is to hit a flat note.

Arguably, Frankie’s got some charisma. The type of Olly Murs/Robbie Williams ITV1 Saturday evening charisma which is so anemic it must be subsidised with either trousers so tight you can tell he’s not circumcised or monthly injections of testosterone. The type of charisma that also needs a hat or a quiff to really work.

Or, in Frankie’s case, a thick, lustrous head of hair. He’s done the Shane from The L Word look with the same audacity that only the most feckless of lesbians in the mid-2000’s could do. It’s a great cut. We, as lesbians, like to distance ourselves from it because it’s all a bit cliché to mooch around like Shane, and trends tell us that hair’s to be swept up off of our foreheads unless arranged in a neat bowl. Our own micro-society tells us to hold back from The Shane.

But Frankie probably hasn’t done like his namesake on Lip Service (shit, remember Lip Service) and borrowed his hair from Shane. He’s just let a Justin Bieber ‘do grow out and all of that time rolling about in bed (or his natural Italian curl) has done the rest. The Shane is a brilliant haircut and we shouldn’t relegate it to a ‘don’t’ ‘do simply because it was at the height of lesbian cool years ago. I am 110% anti-Frankie, and would rather see Kendro perform sex acts on one another than him rasp his way through The X Factor’s final . But his one redeeming quality, perhaps his only redeeming quality, is absolutely classic lesbian hair.