Are we not divas?

Guys -- at least straight guys -- can't be divas. They don't have the right shoes.

By Jori Finkel

April 10, 2000 | The bitch is back.

Once again, VH1 has gathered together for one concert a handful of the most "demanding, dramatic and often outrageous" singers ever to share -- or monopolize -- center stage.

Back in 1998, the middle-of-the-road music video channel launched its divas series by bringing together Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, Gloria Estefan, Aretha Franklin and Shania Twain. The second concert, in 1999, featured Brandy, Cher, Whitney Houston and Tina Turner. Tuesday night, VH1 broadcasts "Divas 2000: A Tribute to Diana Ross," with Carey, Faith Hill, Ross and Donna Summer.

This time the high-concept series has stooped to new lows. Milking the cash cow to its last drop, VH1 has pulled a desperate gender-bending stunt. It has organized a "Men Strike Back" concert to air on April 18, starring the Backstreet Boys, D'Angelo, Enrique Iglesias, Tom Jones and Sting. It's billing it as "the revenge of the male divas."

Come again? Since when did men get to be divas? Since when did straight men get to be divas? Since when were divas named Brian, Kevin or Howie? Have I missed some crucial stage in the evolution of American pop culture? In the evolution of the Italian language? In the devolution of VH1?

My guess is that the music channel that I trust (well, watch) has conveniently glossed over the heart and soul, not to mention the R&B, of the diva essence in order to grease its moneymaking machine. True, the concert proceeds go to charity, an educational fund called "Save the Music," but that doesn't excuse VH1's show of disrespect for divas around the world. Save the music, they say. Save the diva, I say.

But before I let any more accusations fly, it may be time to explore the meaning -- the essence -- of diva. The word and its implications have evolved dramatically since its first use in Vincenzo Bellini's 1831 opera, "Norma," when it referred to a female opera singer of great fame and acclaim. It has evolved further since 1982, the year that French filmmaker Jean-Jacques Beineix created a thriller by the same name.

Yet another spin will come with the release of an American remake of Beineix's "Diva" produced by Will Smith and Whitney Houston. Houston, not Smith, takes the title role, playing an R&B diva.

Could Smith play the diva? Can the concept be bent and stretched to include men? Last week I broached the subject with Antonio, my hairstylist, who is one of New York's great authorities on Madonna, opera and, it turns out, divas.

He shared a few essential rules: Divas are royalty, and they are queens, not kings. Divas play hide-and-seek with their hair. (Think Sinéad O'Connor. Think Houston.) And, on a more general note: Forget everything you've been taught about hair. It's not about the cut anymore; it's all about the styling.

Do the VH1 women meet Antonio's criteria? Well, hair definitely matters: Straightened or bent, teased or tamed, the hair has style of its own. But hair is just the beginning. Cleavage counts. Legs, too. And shoes are core -- crucial to the point where it's not clear if the heels are being used to show off the legs or the legs are being used to show off the heels. In either case, the diva stands as the supreme sexual object, one all the more powerful for being an object of her own design.

Celebrity is another must-have diva accessory. A diva is famous for being famous, with the ultimate test being the use of one name. A diva should be recognizable by first or last name alone, as Callas was in her heyday. Today Barbra, Cher, Madonna and Queen Latifah are just a few of the chosen who inhabit their names to the point that nobody else can have them. (Would you want to name your daughter Cher?)

Next page: Selfishness bordering on lawlessness