Roxanne

I have always thought that the prostitute Roxanne in The Police’s “Roxanne” (1978) is auto-biographical, that she isn’t just a figment of Sting’s imagination, like the French prostitute Sandra who knows her Baudelaire and Kama Sutra in Paul Auster’s Winter Journal (the American author, who kind of regretted not proposing to her, wrote, “if everyone in the world could smile as she did, there would be no more wars or human conflicts, that peace and happiness would reign on earth forever”).

But Roxanne turned out to be as real as Vivian Ward played by Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Or Catherine Deneuve's Séverine Serizy in Belle de Jour. Or Jodie Foster's star making turn as Iris in Taxi Driver.

“Roxanne” was inspired by the prostitutes Sting came across in the vicinity of the Parisian hotel he was staying at while he was on the road with his band mates. He rather conveniently stole the song title from the name of a character in a play advertised on a poster in the hotel foyer. The play is about a man who is plagued by self-doubt because he has a way too prominent nose.

Good artists copy, great artists steal.

So Roxanne is not Sting’s Sandra, she is just a stroke of his genius, but like all full-fledged characters, she feels more real to me than, say, this guy who just zoomed pass me, who is hell-bent on catching all the Pokemons out there.

As much as I love and adore Sting, The Police’s “Roxanne” is too cheerful for the unrequited love story it tells. George Michael’s cover of the song, released in 1999, on the other hand, breaks my heart a little every time I listen to it - I hope she puts away her makeup and doesn't put on that dress tonight and in the nights after.

Good artists copy, great artists steal.