Nobody who reported the Anna Nicole Smith story or viewed it on TV need apologize. The Anna Nicole Smith death trip didn’t catch fire on cable just because she was a bosomy, semi-famous blonde who checked out at the age of 39. For 15 years, she had been gathering chunks of fame the same way a successful World of Warcraft player gathers gold, armor, and potions: again and again. A Playboy cover girl in 1992, she became Hef’s “Playmate of the Year” in 1993, and then won a Guess Jeans modeling contract. The following year brought bit parts in movies and status as New York magazine’s “White Trash Nation” cover girl.
By this point, Smith was no more accomplished, newsworthy, or interesting than, say, Carmen Electra is today. What paved her path to renown was her 1994 marriage to an elderly oil billionaire who had the superb timing to die in 1995. For the next 11 years, Smith earned almost as many headlines for the legal fight she waged for a portion of the codger’s estate as she did for her performances as model/actress/spokesperson/reality-show star.
Fat, no-talent, bleach blondes from Texas with breast implants aren’t rare. But add a little show-business success to that package and top it with a potential half-billion dollars, and you’ve got a story. When Smith won a procedural round before the U.S. Supreme Court in 2006, even the New York Times’ Linda Greenhouse had to pay 654 words of attention to the gal.