I was reading one of those uber-embarrassing books that one finds in the self-help section of Exclusive Books the other day. Emblazoned on the cover, in huge, highly-noticeable font, the title read: 'How To Get Anyone To Fall In Love With You.'

With a title like that, promising females across the globe (I'd imagine this wasn't a favourite among the male counterparts of this world), it's hard not to at least take a peek and determine whether the authoress had found the crucible to eternal happiness.

In a nutshell, the book basically prescribes a methodology centered on body language. With the correct use of the latter, she guarantees success. Like all things, large promises itch my inner skepticism: more research was needed.

The media manages to pick apart celebrity couples to the point where they confidently deduce whether the body language of certain couples is sound or put on. For instance, Marc Anthony touching Jennifer Lopez's pregnant stomach is apparently a reassuring gesture in line with break-up rumours, an over-compensation that screams, 'I love my babies, my wife and I'm so attached to her, I need to stroke her stomach on the red carpet.'

According to the book I picked up (and consequently hid with behind a chair in order to read out of embarrassment), real feelings of emotion, or genuine feelings of love are emitted from the eyes. This is a no-brainer — making eye contact with someone you're especially close to not only denotes a closeness or familiarity, but a vulnerability that you're happy to share with that one particular person.

And there's the rub. If you analyse those carnal face-sucking shots of Angelina and Billy Bob Thornton, in days yonder, where they wore a vial of each other's blood around their necks, for all the snoggery, touching and physical closeness those public images exude — from where I see it, at least, there's just no meaningful eye contact between the two.

Look at Tom and Katie. Tom's always smiling really broadly, so one can't make eye contact with the man even if they tried. With all that smiling, his eyes are mere slits in his face. At least nowadays, now that they've had a child and he's stopped bouncing on Oprah's couch.

Above and beyond eye contact, Madonna and Guy Richie prove an interesting dynamic. Let's face it; he didn't walk into that relationship thinking he'd wear the pants. The fact that he got to wear pants at all is nothing less than surprising. Madonna's alpha body language dominates even Hulk Hogan's, if we're going to compare. Perhaps Guy Richie was relatively comfortable in the beginning; being dragged around like a suitcase by the sinewy arms of the Matriarchal Madge.

Perhaps the complimentary body language was an incredible fit. Although I do see Madonna peering into his eyes over a candlelit dinner like a deer in headlights. Hell, maybe he even warmed to that.

But as time went on, Madonna seemed to get more and more domineering — until the two were photographed standing almost metres apart from each other, Madonna always in the front, and Guy lagging behind at the aft. Madonna turned 50, adopted another child from a third world country, and then they divorced.

Sadly they were deemed one of the stronger celebrity couples. After all they were married for over nine years. That's two lifetimes in Hollywood. Surely a few little bumps and adopted babies is small fry in comparison to the other issues couples face during nine years together? Or perhaps the body language was far more telling of things to come.

Perhaps eye contact and physical body language is something we should be more aware of. Does it come naturally? Does holding her hand or gazing into his eyes feel unnatural and repulsive? Or does the fact he crosses his arms when he addresses you across a table bug the hell out of you?

Perhaps body language should be the yardstick of like characteristics when choosing a partner. At least then he'll know your eye colour after the first date, and not your second name. That's got to be more important, if the cliché is in fact a truth: the eyes are the windows to our souls.

Now that's cheesy.

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