Tonight, after getting home from work and watching TV while relaxing and eating dinner, I stumbled upon the Julia Roberts flick Mona Lisa Smile, a film that I both love and hate. I love that it is so unabashedly extolling the virtues of 1950's feminists, and uses the exploration of art as a medium to find inner confidence and independence, but I also get very, very mad, as I know the movie is completely accurate in portraying the stereotypes of what an ideal woman would strive for back then - to be a perfect little wife and mother.
I have no idea what I would have been like if I were in my 20s in the 1950s, but what scares me is that I almost have to admit to myself that I would be just like Joan or Betty, defining "everything I've ever wanted" as having a wealthy husband who could buy me a lovely house, a washer and dryer, and the "luxury" of never having to think for myself again. I wouldn't be able to help it; that was the norm, and what girls were raised to believe was right and correct.
I was lucky enough to be raised by a strong and independent woman, who never has pressured me to hurry up and get married, or expected me to tether myself to a man in order to provide a nice life for me and the forty children I would singlehandedly raise. My duty is not to be a wife, but to be a self-sufficient, happy, and successful individual who can choose the kind of future I desire. I know that that may not be the case for all girls (certainly some girls in the old sorority never got the memo that getting an MRS degree was no longer the point of going to college...), so I appreciate the values instilled within my upbringing.
However, I worry about what my potential future children's or even grandchildren's opinions may be of my generation's portrait of what a real woman is. In the movie, Julia Roberts rails against ads for girdles, cookbooks, and serving utensils used by pretty little ladies in their pretty little homes in their pretty little heels and pearls. We scoff now at these misogynistic images, and are so pleased with ourselves for being so much more advanced, liberated, smart, etc. etc. etc. then these women. But do we really have room to talk?
I'm not going to get into facts and figures because, frankly, I don't care enough to, and it's quite late, and I highly doubt that anyone will "nany-nany-boo-boo" me if I say something that may be a little umbrella statement-ish. But here's the thing: I would wager that there is a higher percentage of young girls in middle, high school, and young adult aged that voluntarily do not eat for long spans of time or up chuck their meals. Why would they do this? Because Hollywood and pop culture has told us to. Gone are the days of Elizabeth Taylor's, Marilyn Monroe's, Eva Gardner's and Sophia Loren's sexy, luscious curves. Now we all strive to have the "Sexiest Woman Alive"'s - Jennifer Aniston's - complete and total lack of curves. She has, for years, been a darling of the fitness world for her long, intense pilates work outs, and her every bulging arm vein shows it. We are told that we are encouraged - nay, required - to hate ourselves for not being lower than a size six. Just watching TV tonight, in an hour time frame, I saw SIX weight loss aid ads. Women are practically being badgered into being as skinny as possible, but nonchalantly claim "oh, it's just a healthy diet and exercize." Screw that. It's pain, judgment, and self loathing. An article in the Boston Globe a few months ago claiming that Elizabeth Taylor's passing was the death knell of the "bodacious bodies" of old Hollywood.
"Just looking at what makes its way down the red carpet now, flesh has given way to bone, sin has given way to purity. Increasingly, we are no longer watching women at the movies. We’re watching weight. The goal of many careers now appears to be the promotion of fitness as a sort of talent."
Actresses like Mad Men's Christina Hendricks, and her amazing body, are not "bringing back old Hollywood glamor...," but rather, they are filling a very specific niche, bordering on fetish. For every one actress that a fashion reporter coos "Ohhh, she has an 'hourglass figure... how exotic!" there are about 100 Calista Flockhearts, Angelina Jolies, Sarah Jessica Parkers, and Lara Flynn Boyles.
Beyond the weight issue, there is other other aspects of physical appearance. Women clink Cosmopolitan-filled martini glasses for being "power players and ball busters" while waiting in line for a brazilian bikini wax followed by another insane trend, "vagazzling," or gluing little tiny crystals into pretty little shapes all over your freshly scalped hoo-hah. Now, I know that there were not that many women who actually bought into that vagazzling crap, but I can probably only count on one hand the amount of friends I have that do NOT partake in the ritualistic process of turning the appearance of our nether regions into those of underaged girls. Or chihuahuas. I won't lie. I've experienced that AMAZING thrill of the feeling of having bits of my body ripped off. And you know what? I felt sexier for it. But why? Why should we go through that pain, that embarrassment (you have to have a skin made of armor to not feel at least a little shy lying in front of your friendly neighborhood waxer, splayed out like a chicken), and the expense of that procedure? It sounds like a scam almost: "for just $85, you get to strip down and experience a whole lot of pain, and then repeat every two weeks for the rest of your sexual life!" Huh?
Next: makeup. I LOVE makeup. I also will never, ever leave my apartment, or, when company is present, my bedroom without at least a little war paint slapped on the old noggin. In order to be seen by people, I require at least ten minutes of prep time. And that is for the MINIMUM amount of makeup. My work look takes about twenty minutes. Foundation. Bronzer. Blush. Finishing powder. Eyeshadow primer. Eyebrow powder. Two, sometimes three, shades of shadow. Liquid eyeliner. Mascara. Lipstick. That is twelve, count it TWELVE different products I put on my face every day, just so I can feel my best. I don't feel pretty if I don't have every one of those items on. If I tallied up the amount of money I spend on makeup a year, I would probably cry. A lot. BUT... I love it. It makes me feel womanly. It is what I need to put myself through to get "everything I ever wanted."
What will girls see when looking at the vagazzled, emaciated, made up women of today? I don't know, but I hope to be as strong of an influence on my kids as my parents are to me. Hopefully my daughters won't find self-worth in a lipstick tube, or have the thought of "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." Back in the 1950s, girdles were considered an item that set women free. What sets women free these days? And how will that be scoffed at 50 years from now?
No comments:
Post a Comment