Bo Derek is an American actress and model whose beauty and ability have enthralled audiences for decades. In 1979, following her role in the romantic comedy “10,” her career took off. She has since acted in a number of movies, including “Tarzan, the Ape Man,” “Bolero,” and “Ghosts Can’t Do It.” However, she laments the love story that led to her prosperity.
Bo initially met John Derek, her future first husband, when she was sixteen years old and going through an interview for a part in the film “Fantasies.” Bo fell in love with John right away because, as her mother had said, he was really gorgeous. Bo found it impossible not to fall in love with John, even though they were married to seasoned actress Linda Evans and had a big age difference.
Despite Bo’s mother’s uneasy presence, their passion flourished throughout the filming of “Fantasies” on the stunning island of Mykonos, Greece. They chose to make their relationship public after the film completed because they were really in love.
But there was a price to their devotion. For their romance to last, John and Linda had to get a divorce. Additionally, because their relationship was illegal in the US, the couple was forced to remain in Europe. Bo left high school early to be with John and went on their European travels with him in order to stay together.
Bo stuck by John’s side until his death, in spite of her parents’ condemnation. She has, nevertheless, always felt responsible for ending Linda Evans’ marriage. Bo acknowledged in an interview that she despised herself for stealing someone’s husband and that it was the worst thing she had ever done. She has been burdened by the guilt, particularly since meeting Linda, whom she found admirable. Bo thinks that was a grave error she made in her life.
Bo never thought he would find love again after John passed away. However, life often takes us by surprise. Although she had no intention of getting married when she first met American actor John Corbett in 2002, their relationship developed over time. After dating for 20 years, they were married in 2020 because they had a strong bond and had a lot of laughs.
Bo is happily married to John Corbett now, and despite their decision not to have children, her nontraditional choices in life do not diminish her as a woman. Her strength and determination continue to inspire people everywhere.
Bo’s contentious love tale ultimately teaches us the value of moving on and the repercussions of our choices. Even though she will likely always feel guilty for her previous transgressions, she has once again found love and happiness in her life.
My 81-year-old grandma started posting selfies on Instagram with heavy filters.
The notification popped up on my phone, another Instagram post from Grandma Rose. I sighed, tapping on the icon. There she was, her face smoothed and airbrushed beyond recognition, a pair of oversized, cartoonish sunglasses perched on her nose. A cascade of digital sparkles rained down around her. The caption read, “Feeling my vibe! #OOTD #YOLO #GrandmaGoals.”
My stomach churned. At first, it had been a novelty, a quirky, endearing quirk of my 81-year-old grandmother. But now, weeks into her social media blitz, it was bordering on unbearable.
It had started innocently enough. She’d asked me to help her set up an Instagram account, intrigued by the photos I’d shown her of my travels and friends. I’d thought it was a sweet way for her to stay connected with the family, a digital scrapbook of sorts.
But Grandma Rose had taken to Instagram like a fish to water, or rather, like a teenager to a viral trend. She’d discovered the world of filters, the power of hashtags, and the allure of online validation. Suddenly, she was posting multiple times a day, each photo more heavily filtered than the last.
The captions were a whole other level of cringe. She’d pepper them with slang I barely understood, phrases like “slay,” “lit,” and “no cap.” She’d even started using emojis, a barrage of hearts, stars, and laughing faces that seemed to clash with her gentle, grandmotherly image.
The pinnacle of my mortification came when she asked me, with wide, earnest eyes, how to do a “get ready with me” video. “You know, darling,” she’d said, her voice brimming with excitement, “like those lovely young ladies on the internet. I want to show everyone my makeup routine!”
I’d choked on my coffee. My makeup routine consisted of moisturizer and a swipe of mascara. Grandma Rose’s “makeup routine” involved a dusting of powder and a dab of lipstick.
The worst part was, my entire family was egging her on. They’d shower her with likes and comments, calling her “amazing,” “inspiring,” and “a social media queen.” They were completely oblivious to my growing dread.
I was trapped in a vortex of secondhand embarrassment. What if my friends saw these posts? What if my coworkers stumbled upon her profile? I could already imagine the whispers, the snickers, the awkward attempts at polite conversation.
I found myself avoiding family gatherings, dreading the inevitable discussions about Grandma Rose’s latest post. I’d scroll through my feed, wincing at each new notification, my finger hovering over the “unfollow” button, a button I couldn’t bring myself to press.
One evening, I found myself sitting across from my mom, the glow of her phone illuminating her face as she scrolled through Grandma Rose’s profile. “Isn’t she just the cutest?” she gushed, showing me a photo of Grandma Rose with a digital halo and angel wings.
“Mom,” I said, my voice strained, “don’t you think this is… a little much?”
My mom looked at me, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? She’s having fun. She’s expressing herself.”
“But it’s not her,” I argued. “It’s like she’s trying to be someone else.”
“She’s adapting, darling,” my mom said, her voice gentle. “She’s embracing technology. She’s living her best life.”
I knew I wasn’t going to win this argument. My family, in their well-meaning attempt to support Grandma Rose, were completely blind to the awkwardness of the situation.
I decided to try a different approach. The next time Grandma Rose asked me for help with her Instagram, I sat down with her and gently explained the concept of “authenticity.” I showed her photos of herself, unfiltered and unedited, her smile genuine, her eyes sparkling with wisdom.
“You’re beautiful just the way you are, Grandma,” I said, my voice sincere. “You don’t need filters or slang to be amazing.”
She looked at the photos, her eyes softening. “Do you really think so, darling?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Absolutely,” I said, squeezing her hand.
Grandma Rose didn’t stop posting, but she did tone it down. The filters became less intense, the captions more genuine. She even started sharing stories from her life, anecdotes that were both heartwarming and hilarious.
And slowly, I began to appreciate her online presence. I realized that it wasn’t about trying to be an influencer; it was about Grandma Rose finding her own way to connect with the world, to express her joy, to simply be herself. And in the end, that was more than enough.
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