“I hope you die!” she told her former babysitter.
Her first wedding took place on the beach.
She thinks her new look is “a little rebellious.”
Despite her humble birth on July 1, 1967, in Ladysmith, British Columbia, to a waitress and jack-of-all-trades, the brunette in the photo’s birth was reported in a newspaper. She was the first centennial baby.
She went on to have an extraordinary life sparked by another instance of being in the right place at the right time. However, she first had to survive a traumatic childhood of violence and abuse.
Her parents were 17 and 19 when they had her and still went out occasionally. Somewhere between the ages of four and eight, she had a female babysitter who molested her for around a year.
The babysitter “sexualized” the girl at a very young age, making her play inappropriate games. One day, the caretaker told her because she is a “bad girl,” Santa Claus would not visit her that year.
“I ran after her in tears, calling her a liar… and clumsily stabbed her with a candy-cane-striped pen in her chest,” she penned in her memoir. “‘I hope you die!’ I screamed through tears.”
The female predator died in a car accident following her graduation not long after. On hearing the news, the girl came to believe it was her doing, that she had some extraordinary power. She carried this with her for her “entire young life,” eventually confiding in her mom and dad.
Her parent’s volatile relationship would also cause her to act out. Once, when the couple was fighting, she tried to divert attention away from it by telling her younger brother to hide while she convinced the town that he was missing.
Her father would dole out cruel punishments. When she went against his wishes to have her kittens in the house, he placed them in a paper bag and drowned them in the ocean. “I felt like I died that night, too,” she remembers.
Between ages 12 and 14, she was sexually assaulted twice, and a boyfriend kicked her out of a moving car. She once stopped her father from assaulting her mom further by punching him.
The young brunette became known as “Blue Zone Girl” when she was spotted on a jumbotron at a football game, but she would soon be renowned worldwide by her real name, Pamela Anderson.
A beer company scouted her as a spokesmodel, leading to a Playboy shoot. A “Home Improvement” role brought her into the mainstream, but she became a superstar portraying CJ on “Baywatch.”
Her whirlwind romance with drummer Tommy Lee crescendoed into a wedding on the beach in Cancun, Mexico, in 1995, where she wore a white string bikini and he was in trunks. The couple had two children, Dylan Jagger and Brandon Thomas.
The footage they made during their honeymoon was stolen and sold as one of the first sex tapes of the internet era. The actress has never watched the tape but has felt its effects. She wrote how it “ruined lives,” starting with their relationship.
Lee was jailed for four months after he was found guilty of spousal abuse, and they divorced in 1998. She filed for full custody of the children in 2012, claiming that he was emotionally and physically abusive towards them.
Anderson has experienced a resurgence in her career. She has taken back the narrative surrounding her crafted by the media with a memoir, “Love, Pamela,” and participating in the companion Netflix documentary.
Returning to her coastal hometown of Ladysmith, Anderson found a “healing space” with its “crazy calmness.” With limited paparazzi on the island, she feels protected. She lives alone with her five dogs.
“I live a more romantic life now that I’m alone than I did in relationships,” Anderson said of the home she made in her grandparent’s old farmhouse.
The humanitarian runs through the waves on the beach adjoined to her property year-round. When not working, she keeps busy in the 15,000-square-foot vegetable and rose garden and has taken up pottery. “I’m very crafty. I didn’t realize,” she said.
In an interview with People in January 2023, she conceded that she would like to have someone to share her life but that it tended to be a case of her catering to her partner’s needs. After Lee, she wed Kid Rock and married Rick Salomon twice (one of which was annulled).
Her most recent marriage to Dan Hayhurst lasted only a few months and ended in 2021. The “V.I.P.” star has learned that she does not need a man to bring her roses:
“I’ve just planted a hundred rose bushes. I can get them any time I want — and they’re my favorite roses.”
She told Elle in August 2023 that the early morning hours were her favorite time. Anderson spends this time writing a newsletter, though she quipped she does this to distract herself from writing long, rambling emails to her sons.
Just as gardening and writing in the mornings replaced the party lifestyle she enjoyed at the height of her fame, so has her signature beauty look morphed into something else.
She was known for big blond hair, thin brows, and heavy eye makeup with tiny outfits that were, by her own account, “wild and uninhibited.” Anderson added:
“I don’t know if it was a defense mechanism or what. I just thought, ‘I’m going to have fun.’”
Over the past few years, she has been sporting a more stripped-down beauty look, sometimes looking like she is not wearing makeup. Following the death of her makeup artist, Alexis Vogel, she started taking a new approach. She explained:
“She was the best. And since then, I just felt, without Alexis, it’s just better for me not to wear makeup.”
The star might have turned her back on the signature look, but a new generation of people have rediscovered her Y2K style and #Pamcore trends frequently on TikTok.
The animal lover contends that her beauty update is “freeing, and fun, and a little rebellious too.” When she looks in the mirror, she feels “rooted for.” Pamela Anderson says she is in a good place.
Tears Overwhelmed Me After Uncovering My Husband’s Scheme with My MIL, Leading to Their Expulsion from Our Home
At 27, managing a household with a loving but often preoccupied husband, a lively three-year-old, and a newborn feels akin to performing a ballet on a tightrope. My husband, Alex, aged 36, has been my steadfast partner throughout our shared chaos. We’ve enjoyed seven years of marriage, and we recently celebrated the arrival of our baby boy, Sam, just two weeks ago.
Our relationship has spanned nearly a decade, yet it took an unexpected turn last week. Alex’s mother, Kathy, had been deeply hurt by her second husband, and in her vulnerability, she turned to Alex for comfort. Without consulting me, Alex invited her to stay with us. Given her situation, I initially held back my objections—family should support each other, right?
That was my initial thought, until Kathy’s brief visit began to feel like an indefinite imposition. Kathy has always been vocal about her parenting beliefs, which she freely expressed during holiday gatherings. But living with her daily magnified her criticisms to an intolerable level.
Kathy continuously criticized my methods, particularly how I cared for Sam. Struggling with breastfeeding due to low milk supply—an issue I’ve come to terms with through numerous consultations with our pediatrician—Kathy viewed my use of formula as nearly criminal. Her rants about “squandered money” and comparisons to her own parenting left me feeling undermined in my own home.
Her criticisms extended beyond feeding. Kathy claimed my way of holding Sam was spoiling him, and she labeled my quick meal preparations for our daughter, Lily, as lazy. She would start her lectures with, “Back in my day,” dismissing the pediatrician’s advice and asserting her superior parenting knowledge.
The tension in our home was palpable. Alex attempted to mediate but often ended up making me feel more isolated as he struggled to balance his loyalties. My dread of facing another day of Kathy’s relentless critiques grew daily.
The breaking point came last night.
The atmosphere at home was charged with silent confrontations, turning dinner time into a battleground. Weighed down by exhaustion and the constant pressure, I sought a brief escape, asking Alex for a few minutes alone in the shower—a simple request for respite.
Kathy’s harsh response sliced through any hope of peace. She accused me of being lazy and gold-digging, suggesting that I was unfairly burdening Alex by asking him to momentarily step into a parental role. Her insinuation that I was reducing Alex to merely a babysitter was the last straw.
I had pleaded with Alex to address Kathy’s toxic attitude toward me and our household dynamics. Initially, he defended her, his maternal loyalty clouding his judgment. Yet, seeing the strain her presence put on me, he reluctantly agreed to speak with her. Clinging to hope, I believed we could overcome this together.
That hope was destroyed in the most painful way. Awakening in the middle of the night, I found Alex’s side of the bed empty. A chill of foreboding led me to the kitchen, where I stopped, overhearing a conversation that would crush any remaining trust.
“Listen, mom, tomorrow I will sell some of my wife’s jewelry and will rent you an apartment, ok?” Alex’s voice, once my comfort, now seemed alien.
Kathy’s reply twisted the knife deeper. “You know what she is like, how you tolerate her, she spoils your child. Doesn’t care about you at all. I’m not just telling her all this for nothing. I want you to be happy.”
Reeling from the betrayal, I confronted them, tears streaming down my face. I demanded that Kathy leave our home immediately. Alex tried to defend her, but it was too late. My heart wasn’t just broken by Kathy’s cruel words but by Alex’s participation in her schemes.
Overcome with anger and weeks of pent-up frustration, I erupted, “Go back to your own house!” My voice reverberated against our walls, contrasting starkly with the warmth it usually carried. “Mind your own parenting!”
Instead of support, Alex sided with Kathy. “You can’t do that to my own MIL,” he argued, aligning with her against me. His words felt like a betrayal, as if defending my dignity in my home was an act of cruelty.
Our argument escalated quickly, filled with high emotions and loud voices. “She has three other children she can stay with!” I cried out, my voice breaking. “What kind of husband lets his mother treat his wife this way?”
Ultimately, the house divided; Kathy and Alex left, the closing door marking a definitive end to our dispute. Left in the echoing silence, I felt completely isolated.
Feeling deserted, I turned to the only support I felt I had left—my sister and my mother. Their arrival brought some warmth back into the home, contrasting sharply with the coldness of Alex’s and Kathy’s departure. Together in the living room, I shared the full extent of the ordeal, my voice breaking as I recounted the painful events.
They offered me steadfast support, their presence soothing the raw edges of my emotions. Yet, despite their comforting presence, uncertainty about my future with Alex lingered. How could we possibly mend our relationship after such a betrayal?
As the night drew on, the emptiness of our house felt more pronounced, a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. Without answers, only the heavy burden of uncertainty remained, making the path forward daunting.
With Alex gone, my family rallied around me, their actions reinforcing their support. My mother, driven by protective anger, gathered Alex’s belongings and placed them outside—a clear symbol of crossed boundaries. My father joined in, supporting us as we faced what seemed an insurmountable betrayal.
Support also came from unexpected places. My in-laws expressed their disappointment in Alex and Kathy, offering words of comfort during this tumultuous time.
As we discussed my next steps, the reality of potentially starting anew without Alex became clear. Consulting a divorce lawyer seemed a necessary step toward securing a future for myself and my children away from the toxicity that had seeped into our home.
In those moments, surrounded by my family’s unwavering support, I contemplated the future. Though laden with tough decisions, their presence reminded me of the resilience within me. The journey to healing and rebuilding would be long, but I was ready to take it—one step at a time.
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