March 20, 2005

• Symmetry is Boring; I am Beautiful.
  © The Author, 2005

  I am very tall. I am creative. I am extraordinarily loving and opinionated. I have acne scars. I care about my community. My teeth are enormous. I like to go running. My ass is round. My tits, however, are not. Symmetry is boring; I am beautiful.

  Last week’s episode of the WB reality series, The Starlet had me foaming at the mouth. The show, which I had been eager to watch, has turned out to be blatant in its disrespect to women, and last week it felt directly insulting to my body in particular.

  While I generally expect the quiet oppression of women in all mainstream media, I had for some reason, expected more from this show. It seemed to have the potential to demonstrate that acting is a difficult profession and a challenging craft; it had the opportunity to show that women in the media are more than “sexy” bodies and predictably pretty faces—they are artists. Or at least, some of them are. I guess I was just hoping for some integrity, which was entirely too much to expect from the WB.

  For all of those who are not hip to The Starlet, this show provides viewers with the opportunity to watch ten young actresses have their dreams pissed on by Faye Dunaway, Vivica A. Fox, and casting director Joseph Middleton. This panel picks only one young woman to be The Starlet, which entails an acting contract on one of the WB’s insipid teen melodramas.

  The ugly(er) underbelly of this particular show, reveals the preparation of these young actresses to continue the disgusting tradition that many starlets have perpetuated before them; the actresses learn to exploit the female form and a woman’s right to an individualized identity (sexual and otherwise), in order to fuel the patriarchal, capitalist machine. This has become obvious in more than one instance on The Starlet, but I’d like to discuss one of the more obvious points first to ease you, my dear reader, into my feminist rant with your comfort in mind.

  Both the first and second episode of The Starlet included acting challenges where bikinis were a requisite. I have nothing against the swimwear (I myself enjoy donning as few clothes as possible in the summer heat, and I am all for the right for woman to go topless as our male counterparts have the option of doing), but the episode last week shamelessly implied that if you do happen to prefer a different style of beach gear, you are not only a flabby, out-of shape failure of a woman, but you are also a bad actress. Case in point: Mercedes, a stunning contestant on the show who preferred to wear a sarong with her bikini while doing a screen test for a hideously scripted hair product commercial. At 24, Mercedes is the oldest actress in the house and by far the most seasoned. While the younger actresses obsessed over creating predictable mainstream bodies when they heard that they had been accepted as contestants on the show, it is evident that Mercedes instead focused on attending her acting classes regularly. But with all this bikini wearing, Mercedes expressed in last week’s episode that she wished that she had done a bit more thighwork than scene work. The panel echoed her insecurity, with Vivica Fox producing the particularly catty comment, “you hear that? It’s the gym calling.”

  What a bitch.

  Not only is Mercedes in no conceivable way fat, but she is in fact thin. She is thin! Her stomach is flat. Her arms do not waggle. Her breasts do not spill. Her butt and thighs, although an admitted insecurity of Mercedes, were not even half the size of one ass cheek belonging to that gargantuant man on the King of Queens. And so what if Mercedes were fat? Who says that fat must equate ugly? Ugly comes in all forms—fat and thin, so Atkins really can’t save you when it comes from escaping the ugly stick. And what is so bad about being ugly, might I add? Why is it that many fat or ugly (or both) men are allowed to be successful, interesting, funny, “good” actors, while beautiful women who happen to on the slender side of average (because as we all know it is the duty of actresses to be on the cutting edge of thin) struggle to be recognized? I’ll tell you why. It’s because the capitalist system perpetuates self-hating behavior on the part of women everywhere in order to sell us shit we don’t need, and truth be told we don’t even want. This goes far deeper than the obvious image issues that Mercedes and women everywhere suffer from. It threatens to follow us into the bedroom.

  As we all know from When Harry Met Sally, orgasms are entirely fake-able. Women are well aware of how they are “supposed” to look and sound during climax because of constant efforts of the media to inform us of these things. But certainly every true orgasm is as unique as the person having it, so why would the media want to deceive us so?

  According to capitalist pedagogy, if women can be convinced that only the traditional “oohs and ahhs” are appropriate during climax, then they can also be convinced that they all have the same desires and the same fears. This tidy little bundle makes it oh so easy for Victoria’s Secret to sell you a “figure enhancing” bodice (which will undoubtedly cut into your flesh while the un-breathable polyester blend gives you a hellish yeast infection) for $70 U.S. dollars.

  That’s the way (uh-huh, uh-huh) Uncle Sam likes it (uh-huh, uh-huh).

  Aside from selling us actual items, the capitalist pigs who are in charge have historically been men. To stay on top of the proverbial power fuck, these men also try to sell women a weak and powerless mold to fit into. Sure, you can decline purchase of this mold, but then you will be ostracized and isolated and receive an automatic placement into another category: the FemaNazi Dike Butch Bitch Category. This placement is for women with those pesky little things called emotions and opinions. Only men are allowed those things. Proper women receive barbiturates, complacency to a male dominated culture, and fashions that reinforce their powerlessness.

  You know as well as I that those ultra pointy-toed boots with stiletto heels aren’t made for walking. And neither are the emaciated and feeble legs that are shoved into them.

  One could easily argue that feminism is advancing in U.S. society and culture. Women, although they make an average of 71 cents to every dollar a man makes, are nevertheless prevalent forces in the workplace. Women, although their reproductive rights are constantly threatened by whatever white man happens to rule their land, nevertheless have choice. Women, although they typically only see themselves portrayed in our culture as being in sexual relationships with men, and when they are with women it is to appease a male fantasy, are nevertheless free to embrace another woman as a lover, a partner, or both. Women, although faced with the light-skinned, straight haired, white ideals of beauty in nearly every facet of our culture, are nevertheless encouraged to embrace the beauty in their ethnic identity. Women, although pressured with daunting diets that produce a skeletal version of beauty, are nevertheless free to embrace their curves. After all, there is another reality show especially for those who make this choice—Kristy Ally’s Fat Actress. But this too is unsatisfactory. Why should the fat actresses be separated from the thin? The game of separating women into clean demographics and categories is getting old.

  It is time for us to see beauty in all its forms—fat, thin, and in between. It is time for women to reject the images of what we are supposed to look like and the fashions we are supposed to prefer. It is time for us to writhe in the bedroom how want to. It is time for us to laugh in the face of the predictable, easy to market to robots that the capitalists want us to be.

  After watching a very pink Gap ad starring Sarah Jessica Parker singing, “I Enjoy Being a Girl,” my husband recently asked me, “Do you enjoy being a girl?” I didn’t know how to answer. I enjoy my personality. I enjoy my opinions. I enjoy my brain. I enjoy my body. With all the shit that I as a women have to combat on a daily basis just to keep a shred of my actual identity from being snatched up and shit upon by capitalists selling “The American Dream,” it’s a wonder that I can say yes—I enjoy being a girl. I only wish that society could enjoy my womanhood as much as I do.
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  An Afterward
  As always, thank you for your readership. If there are any points (or counter points) that you felt need to be tossed about on this issue, please feel free to post them in my comment box. In interest of keeping this essay short, I am sure I left crucial points un-discussed and certain arguments un-combated. Open discourse on this topic is the only way to dismantle it, and since media literacy is something few are privy to learning in school, the web seems a likely place for this discussion. Your opinions are important and valuable, and I look forward to hearing them.

  Also, in pursuit of honesty, I’ve got to tell you: I’m still planning on watching The Starlet this week. I like to try out the acting challenges during the commercial breaks. It’s more entertaining than it deserves to be.

  Finally, I’d like to invite you all to participate in Chicagoartgirl23’s The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly Photo Challenge. This will challenge us to take a look at the beauty and the horror in ourselves instead of taking the television’s word for what looks good and bad.

  The Rules
  If you dare, post a minimum of two pictures of yourself. One must show you at your ugliest. The other must show you at your most beautiful. This does not have to translate into the least/most attractive pictures of yourself. This challenge is open ended in interpretation, but since it is as such, it would be cool if you could post a brief description of why you chose the photos you chose. Once you have done so, drop me a comment—I’m curious to see what you post!

  My Photo Challenge Results

  The Ugly
  

  This is, by far, the ugliest picture I have of myself. I almost ripped it up and threw it away before I realized that it is actually quite hilarious. In this photo I am sunburned, dehydrated, and frustrated. I snapped this picture myself because I wanted to see what an openly irritated me looks like. I am a ham for the camera, so I did sprout this expression intentionally, but it comes from deep within my monstrous self. An openly irritated me is not only ugly to look at—more importantly its ugly to feel and ugly to be around. After seeing the startling physical manifestation in this picture, I was reminded of the importance of keeping my cool—if only not to frighten young children who might see me. Plus, it’s an effing funny picture.

  The Good
  

  This is a picture that my partner and I took after we made up after a horrible fight on a vacation we took together when we were still dating. The pure happiness is not because we have a love of quarrelling (in fact we seldom fight), but rather because we were able to take comfort in the fact that it was going to be all right. We are actually happy that we are two different people, with two different ways of approaching the world—even when that sometimes results in the occasional argument. We used this picture on our wedding invitation because it reminded us that we are strong—and that is beautiful.

  How does beauty flourish/wither in you? ::smile::

  • 10:15 pm
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