Full Name:Victoria Caroline Beckham
Birthplace: Hertfordshire,England
Height: 168 cm 5ft 6 ins
Weight: about 110 pounds or 50kg. She gained a few pounds during pregnancy and lost a lot of weight after giving birth. She's thinner than ever. There are rumors of anorexia and bulimia, but they are false.
Family: Husband David Beckham and new son Brooklyn Joseph Beckham.
Nicknames: Posh Spice ,Sticky Vicky, Acne Face, Vicky (she hates this one) and her favorite: Tor
Wears: Gucci, Prada and sometimes NIKE and Adidas ,and alot more designer clothes
Wedding Day:July 4th 1999. The wedding was taken place in Ireland.
Likes: clothes shopping, having 10 percent discount at Gucci, being with David, toast and fruit.
Dislikes: Selfish, self-centered people, B52's (especially their hit 'Love Shack' - "It gives people a false impression of hapiness. If I met them, I'd ask Mel C to kick their butts.")
Favorite Color: Black "Black is the colour, darlin' !"
Who wouldn't like to be a Spice Girl ? If you're a Spice Girl, princes dote on you. Politicians fawn on you. Paparazzi depend on you. Primary schoolchildren want to be you.
And if you are a Spice Girl, who would you like to be ? Victoria Beckham ofcourse, she's got most money (rich before Spice Girls), she's got the best nickname and the best husband who plays for the best and richest team (Manchester United) and who has the most money (comparing to the other girls boyfriends) and also she got the best clothes.
Other Spice Girls have problems, worrying little niggles which they have to circumvent or rise above. Victoria doesn't. She doesn't have a past, like Ginger Spice, so there are no nude pictures popping up. She doesn't have a horrible tongue screw clanking around her mouth, like Scary. She doesn't have 'the bum of a 41-year-old' (Daily Mail), like Baby, or a wardrobe full of dreary nylon trackie bottoms with Adidas written all over them, like Sporty. She doesn't - it's true - have the dazzling smile displayed by all the other Spice Girls, which shows off their brilliant white teeth and faultless orthodontics, but what the hell? Victoria's learned to pout for her publicity pictures like a moody supermodel, smouldering away with mouth closed.
Anyway, smiling or unsmiling, Posh Spice has all the best clothes. 'Prada and Gucci! Prada and Gucci!' she says, as though they were joined at the hip like Dolce & Gabbana. She's leaning back on the sofa in the Abbey Road studios, looking utterly sweet and half-naked after the prevailing fashion this summer, in a black jacket (Gucci), a red microslip (high street: 'I wanted a nightie dress'), no bra and a G-string ('I always wear G-strings'). She wears very heavy make-up for a girl in her 20s, right down to the brown cheek contouring and bronzing powder.
Let's get this Posh thing out of the way, shall we? Victoria Beckham may well be 'posh' so far as the tabloids are concerned (big house in Cheshunt, swimming-pool, Dad did the school run in his Roller, siblings are equally smartly named Louise and Christian), but her speech rhythms are not what you'd call Sloaney. A few examples. Victoria on the Spice Girl chemistry: 'It's a vibe thing. When we get in the studio we all vibe off each other.' Victoria on the media: 'I never read that piece in The Spectator. I don't ready hardly anything.' Victoria on the Prince of Wales: 'When we met Charles we was all really, like, cheeky with him. And at the end of the day, prince or no prince, he really does sit on the toilet like everybody else. You just got to picture him with nothing on.'
She was picked on at her local school, and not just because of the Roller. She was well-behaved and smartly turned-out by an affectionate and aspirational mother who arranged after-school Brownies and ballet classes for Victoria to shine in. 'I used to get on with my work. I used to be at school on time. I wasn't round the back of the school sheds having a fag or drinking or having loads of boyfriends - I didn't even have a boyfriend then. I was really well-behaved and that isn't the cool thing to be. I was totally straight
A football wife maybe - but she'll never become a football fan. The Theatre of Dreams passes Victoria completely by, and she'd have a hard time comparing notes with United diehards on, say, Beckham's 60-yard Goal of season Kick from his own half at Selhurst Park. 'I call what he does football competitions. I can never remember what they're supposed to be. Football games? Football matches. Oh well, it's all a performance, innit?' She laughs and puts a luvvie voice on: 'You got a show tonight? Performing tonight?'
She says: 'I like him for him and I don't care what he does as long as it makes him happy.' So she isn't thinking of moving to Manchester? She pulls a face. 'Not many nice shops in Manchester. No Prada and Gucci in Manchester.' Maybe Becks should move to Celtic, then, and she could shop in Glasgow? She pulls another face (and who would blame her?) and says silkily, 'Or Italy.' Oh, now you're talking. Ecco! - Prada and Gucci. Posh's dark eyes go dreamy for a second, the way they do when the words 'Prada' and 'Gucci' come to mind, which they clearly do a hundred times a day, and they suddenly focus into shock and she leaps to her feet yelling 'Oww! Naoww!' like Eliza Doolittle. 'What? What?' I ask, startled, and she howls aloud: 'Don't put that. Leave it out. Promise me you'll leave that out. Hate-mail. I'll get such hate-mail from all those Manchester United fans. Oww!' She really, really means it. 'I get enough as it is! If they think I'm persuading him to move to Italy. 'I'll get sacks of hate-mail.'
By this time, I am laughing fit to bust at her consternation, but then she gives out another anguished yell as an even more horrible thought strikes. 'Even Alex Ferguson'll start sending me hate-mail,' she says, and we both go quiet.
Poor little Posh. She shouldn't have a care in the world. She's young, rich, successful, famous and gorgeous. She's beloved by Becks, adored by fans, cover-starred by Tatler and clothed from head to toe by Prada and Gucci - and what's her problem? She's haunted, like every football manager in Britain, by the terrifying spectre of Manchester United's Alex Ferguson.
