The Spice Girls are like German biscuits in reverse. They don’t remind you of the seasons – the seasons remind you of them. On the eve of St George’s Day, our minds turn inexorably to Geri Halliwell’s union jack dress. The approach of the Summer Olympics in Paris makes you wonder who the French could possibly find in their musical pantheon to match London’s closing ceremony, and its full-ensemble performance of Spice Up Your Life. And the weekend marked the start of birthday season, with Victoria Beckham holding a party for her 50th at the private members’ club Oswald’s in London. She is not the oldest Spice Girl, even though she always acted like the one who wished everyone else would grow up: that’s Geri, who turned 50 two years ago.
Memories of Ginger and her performative patriotism are bittersweet: she loved red, white and blue and she really loved Margaret Thatcher, and it felt a little bit underexamined at the time – like, what was it exactly that she loved about Thatcher? Rapid deindustrialisation and utility privatisation? Yet given the choice between Geri’s capers and what came later – public figures cosplaying the Iron Lady to baby talk a stupefied electorate while causing havoc to the nation’s wellbeing – I would take Geri any day, not just as a Spice Girl, but also as prime minister. In fact, I would take any Spice Girl over any of the last five prime ministers, and Mel C in particular. She seems like a person who gets stuff done.
