Falling in love with your inner Betty/Leslie/Eleanor
November 29, 2009
Thursday night on NBC should really be renamed from “Must See TV” or “Comedy Night Done Right” to “Ladies’ Night.” The staple show for me is The Office at 9 p.m. EST. As I have mentioned in other posts, on this show, office lovers Jim and Pam have gotten married and own a house together with a private art studio for Pam in the rear yard – wouldn’t Edna Pontellier of The Awakening be jealous!, and “matronly” Phyllis is happily married rather than – as some might expect it – withering away as an “old maid,” her unattractiveness to the opposite sex limiting her romantic prospects. At 9:30 p.m., on 30 Rock, we get to witness the career exploits of successful female Television Writer-Producer and Third Wave Feminist Liz Lemon. But before all of that begins, we can spend 30 minutes with Leslie Knope (Amy Poehler), deputy director of the Parks and Recreation Department in Pawnee, Indiana. Parks and Recreation, a picaresque show, features the industrious Knope trying desperately to claim abandoned Lot 48 for a new park, which, as she envisions it, will be “a perfect park with state of the art swing sets, basketball courts and, off to the side, a lovely sitting area for kids with asthma to watch the other kids play.”
She really has thought of everything.
Deputy Director Leslie Knope
I love Leslie! She is completely earnest but not always politically savvy, much like myself. She challenges established authority, often makes a fool of herself when drinking too much and almost always says “the wrong” thing thinking it’s the right thing. Her office is full of portraits of her political heroes (Hillary Clinton and Madeleine Albright to name a couple) and she dreams of being the first woman President. (I let that dream go when I was 10 or 11.) Wouldn’t Knope’s election to Mayor, State Senate, Governor, Congress or even President be a fine ending to this empowering story?
When it comes to protecting her department’s claim to the former construction site turned abandoned pit, Leslie runs into certain obstacles: lack of funding, public disapproval and the “diabolical, ruthless bunch of bureaucrats” known as the Library Department. “They’re like a biker gang; but instead of shotguns and crystal meth(amphetamines), they use political savvy and shushing… The library is the worst group of people ever assembled,” she tells us, the viewers. “They’re conniving, rude, and extremely well-read, which makes them very dangerous.”
I had no idea that librarians could be that nefarious. (No wonder I’ve always stammered when asking for help with the Dewey Decimal System.) When led by Tammy, Leslie’s boss Ron’s ex-wife (Megan Mullally), that’s exactly what they become. Tammy is smart and pleasing to men. In other words, she’s Veronica to Leslie Knope’s Betty. And everybody knows that, in the world of classic comics, Veronica always gets her way.
In Betty and Veronica, an Archie Comic circa 1950, two high school girls, best friends and simultaneously worst enemies, fight over one boy, namely Archie, and other things like clothes and popularity. And it always comes down to somebody winning out: on the material side, Veronica Lodge finds herself happy in her enviable position as a wealthy teen; but on the side of morality, Betty Cooper wins as the girl who will always do the right thing. In theory, every girl would like to be Veronica with pretty clothes and tangent high school boys fawning over her. But in reality, even if we want this kind of material wealth and attention, only some of us will have it. And the rest of us will have to settle, as “Bettys,” for whatever is left over. In the comic’s 600th issue, Archie proposed to Veronica. Poor, poor Betty.
Of course, it’s all relative. There are many Veronicas I see that make me feel like a Betty. But I’m sure I’m probably Veronica to somebody.
It’s not that Veronica is all bad – or that Betty is all good, for that matter, it’s that Veronica is in possession of the things we validate as achievements in our culture, especially for women: money and good looks. Veronica therefore exhibits a sense of entitlement to all things within her grasp, where as Betty is prepared to fight for the things she wants in life. And of course, classifying women by “types” – such as how some men have done over the years thinking of us as either Madonnas or whores – is reductive. But this Betty/Veronica invocation is theoretical hyperbole used to examine our actions and how they affect the women in our lives.
Pawnee’s own Betty and Veronica, Leslie and Tammy, find this age old conundrum to be true: will Veronica or Betty get the thing they both covet? At first, Leslie thinks that she’ll be able to talk Tammy out of “stealing” Lot 48 to build a new branch of the library. She optimistically enters Tammy’s office, confesses her true passion for the park and finds that Tammy is strangely accommodating, agreeing to drop her crusade to rule the lot. “We government gals have got to watch each other’s backs, right?” Tammy remarks. And even though Leslie suspects that something about Tammy isn’t completely sincere, she shakes hands with Tammy. “Government Gals,” to our Betty, sounds like a wonderful and empowering organization. For shouldn’t women really want only the best for other women? (Yes, I have fallen for that trick too.)
Wanting to return the favor, Leslie tries to help her boss and his ex become friends again, which works and the two engage in an exaggerated and humorous series of sexual encounters. “I truly believe everyone should be friends with their exes,” Leslie tells us. “I can’t even tell you how many of my ex’s weddings I’ve been to.”
Leslie feels quite satisfied with her actions until she realizes that the sexual activities between Veronica and Archie – uh Tammy and Ron – are part of Tammy’s plot to seize control of the lot. “That woman really knows her way around a penis,” Ron confesses, adding that sex with Tammy is “like doing peyote and sneezing slowly for six hours.” Then he admits something quite controversial. Tammy and he have arranged a trade: sex for the land.
Leslie confronts Tammy:
I know what you’re doing. You don’t care about Ron. You’re just using him to get Lot 48 for your library.
Leslie, that’s crazy; and correct.
Why are you doing this?
Les, there are two kinds of women in this world. There are women who work hard and stress out about doing the right thing. And then there are women who are cool. You could either be a Cleopatra or you could be an Eleanor Roosevelt. I’d rather be Cleopatra.
Cut to: Leslie, direct-to-camera interview
What kinda lunatic would rather be Cleopatra over Eleanor Roosevelt!?
Cut to: Leslie and Tammy at the elevator
Haven’t you ever messed with a man’s head to see what you could get him to do for you? We do it all the time in the Library Department. You should come join us some time.
I would never work at the Library Department… We’re no longer Government Gals!
And that was the end of female political unity in Pawnee.
Well, not really; but this scenario does take us right back to the classic love triangle featuring two women and something they both love: giant pits of dirt. And it also stirs up a lot of moral murkiness. For instance, is trading sex for something acceptable in the political arena or anywhere else? There are theorists like me who would argue that trading sex for money as a service (prostitution) is morally acceptable and consistent with feminism provided that all ground rules are met: participants are safe and the money that is agreed to in advance is exchanged. However, I take issue with trading sex in this case because the sex represents an unfair advantage of one woman over another. Ron tells us that he likes pretty brunettes and breakfast food, and that Tammy made him breakfast while naked earlier that morning. He doesn’t want breakfast food (sex) from blond Leslie. Therefore, Leslie does not have the means to compete with Tammy.
Furthermore, in a professional environment where sex is restricted from being a commodity, Leslie and other women shouldn’t have to compete on a sexual turf for Lot 48 or any other resource. They should be able to make their best arguments for the use of the land and let an impartial leader, who isn’t sleeping with either of them, make an impartial decision. (I know: when does that ever really happen? Like Leslie, I’m optimistic that fairness is possible.)
The other issue I take with this type of sexual maneuvering is that it’s really bad for our feminist cause. It isn’t that Tammy is physically or emotionally hurt in the process – though Ron sustains some emotional scars, it’s that Tammy will damage her reputation and the potential for herself and other women to advance in their careers. Ever heard a man or woman around the workplace refer to another woman as requiring knee pads to do her job? This kind of cynicism makes it very difficult for women to get ahead because of their intellectual merit. In other words, the Veronicas of the world owe us Bettys some fair dealing when it comes to peddling sexuality lest we all will be undermined in our careers. Just because Tammy sleeps her way to the top, doesn’t mean the rest of us do. And just because a woman sleeps with her boss doesn’t mean she isn’t good at her job.
These are real paradoxes that exist for some women. I am really anxious to find out what will happen in the careers of David Letterman’s co-workers and simultaneous sexual “partners.” While our culture hasn’t been very hard on Letterman, human resource departments will struggle over whether Letterman’s ladies are Veronicas or Bettys: women who took advantage of male sexual desire to get ahead in business or women who were taken advantage of. Their ethics will be questioned even if his aren’t. Were they actually good at their jobs or just good in the sack? And what about why they did it: did they think they had to sleep with the boss lest they be excused from employment at The Late Show? It’s really muddy water over there at CBS…and everywhere in puritanical America where sex is concerned, I’m afraid.
This episode would probably have ceased to be funny if Leslie had done what I would have done: file a report with human resources the minute Ron told me he was participating in a sex trade. I’ll cut her some slack in the name of sitcom frivolity. (Shame on Ron, however!) But I do want to mention the opposing argument that I met with many times in graduate English seminars when talking about women in Victorian literature. Let’s take The Wings of the Dove, for instance, wherein a woman schemes to marry a poor man by asking him to seduce a dying woman so that, once she dies, all of her money will go to him and he’ll be free to marry the schemer. I remember a classmate explaining to me that I couldn’t be mad at the schemer because she’s a woman and she has to operate within the boundaries of the period and culture she lives in. The only way she can marry the man she loves is if they have some money, and the way she’s found she can get that money is to con an innocent out of her fortune.
That’s tragic. I’ve never been able to agree with this viewpoint, however, because I think a woman hurting another woman is counterproductive. This is why we have an expression “kicking someone when they’re down.” Women historically have been the underdog, so why would we kick each other? That same sympathetic logic applied to the Pawnee triangle would mean that Tammy’s actions are acceptable, even though Leslie gets hurt, because the limitations of Tammy’s circumstances make it difficult for her to get the lot any other way than by sexual means. Leslie was first to claim Lot 48 and she’s been working on her park idea for months. She is an obstacle for Tammy that can be overcome through sex. So, for me, the sex is just the means to a horrible end: Leslie loses her park. Is the sex wrong? Yes, because Leslie gets hurt and not because it’s sex. Bribery with any commodity like money or a promotion or food, etc. would also be wrong…because Leslie gets hurt.
Which is the prevailing feminism? It probably isn’t mine. In my experience, many feminists aren’t critical of women in these types of hypothetical scenarios. The tendency is to blame the man: it’s Ron’s fault, he’s in charge and he’s letting what he wants get in the way of doing his job, he’s using Tammy for sex and nothing more, etc. But in my book, I think that, while Ron is contemptible, so is Tammy. Tammy also should know better. Tammy should be kinder to a female comrade, a fellow “Government Gal.” Tammy should play fair and pose her argument for the lot to higher powers based on practical concerns for the community. (Where will the children with asthma sit in her library, for instance?)
And I agree with Leslie: only a “lunatic” would rather be a conniving, manipulative person over a bona fide hero.
Eleanor Roosevelt: Another Betty?
Eleanor Roosevelt was the First Lady of the United States from 1933 to 1945, married to President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Her legacy includes such democratic feats as: co-founding Freedom House to evaluate the level of human rights consideration in government, supporting the creation of the United Nations and even serving as a delegate, as well as proving instrumental in launching the “Second Wave” of the Feminist Movement.
Perhaps she too was a Betty. Nothing like a conventional beauty, she often sacrificed personal satisfaction, adoration and comfort for a life of public service. And she had her own Veronica: Lucy Mercer Rutherford, her former social secretary. Informed and angry about the affair between her husband and her former employee, Eleanor reportedly threatened him with divorce, also known as political murder/suicide. She arrived at his deathbed to find Lucy by his side, which is really a tragic end to an unsatisfying romance.
However, Roosevelt’s unhappiness in love did not infect her political, feminist and humanist triumphs. Betty she may have been, but she was no less than the Betty I want to be.
Why “gender” must go
November 21, 2009
I am speaking about gender as a distinct concept from sex: gender is masculine/feminine and sex is male/female.
The two weren’t originally distinct. As language evolved, as it continues to do, the concepts of male/female gender said to be “masculine”/”feminine” arose as adjectives inclusive of traits traditionally exhibited by either sex. But as the eras morphed and gave way to one another – and with women’s liberation advancing women’s choices in behavior – the concept of gender became archaic. While masculine and not feminine might originally have been thought to include athletic agility, certainly we have seen women accumulate a myriad of athletic achievements. And while feminine and not masculine might originally have encompassed all things, activities, attitudes and behaviors relating to the sphere of the home, we have seen men take over housework and child rearing in the absence of and occasionally as the preference to women. Ergo, gender as masculine/feminine doesn’t mean anything anymore, really…but we still use these words. For the purposes of this and all my essays, my use of the word gender will always refer to traditional masculinity or traditional femininity. (What is traditional? That’s my point.)
Because Americans are often inhibited by public mention of private, personal things – such as sex and other bodily functions like flatulence – we have learned to substitute the word “gender” for the word “sex.” We fear that we might confuse people with the word “sex,” making them think of the act of sexual intercourse rather than the differences between its heterosexual participants.
When making an academic argument about the members of one sex or the other and their inherent traits, we must remember to use the word “sex” and not the word “gender.” Be clear: are you talking about men and woman and their differences/similarities, or are you talking about the traditionally held attitudes toward what each sex’s sphere encompasses? If it’s the latter, feel free to utilize the term gender. For instance, my sex is female, but many of my traits are traditionally masculine: I have a job outside my home, I drive a car, I speak my mind, I wear pants, etc.
Actress Rachel McAdams was recently quoted by Entertainment Weekly (Nov. 27, 2009) as summing up her character Irene in the 2009 Sherlock Holmes movie by saying: “She’s not a typical woman of her time. (Portraying Irene) was a matter of balancing her femininity with what was masculine like being a weapons expert.”
McAdams is correct in this wielding of masculine/feminine concepts (gender) in referring to her 19th Century muse as a woman (sex) with traditionally male (sex) qualities. But until we get far enough away to look back on the period we inhabit now (2009), we can’t clearly distinguish the overlying characteristics attributed to either sex. In other words, we don’t know what gender is today because we can’t objectively examine all of its parts or predict what its outcome will mean for the next generation. McAdams is only correct in saying Irene was not typical because the women who came before and after Irene were not weapons experts as a general rule. That skill did not pervade our sex. Does it today or will it tomorrow? We don’t know yet. And someday, when men and women aren’t restricted by expectations of gender, it won’t matter.
“Gender,” when used as a verbal stand in for the collective of men or women, has got to go. We need the term to represent the collective traits long believed to be inclusive in groupings of people of the same sex. If we are specific with this language, then we will be able to examine how gender is really meaningless and detrimental. To believe that women (sex) are only as strong as our femininity (traditional gender) would limit our potential to advance ourselves in society. And to believe that men are all as stoic as traditionally masculine men would limit their potential to assume some of the roles traditionally undertaken by women, thus limiting our potential to advance in roles traditionally held by men. If my husband and I have children, and I am subsequently offered the career opportunity of a lifetime, I might choose to abandon the traditional wifely and motherly duties for a “male” career model leaving my husband to pick up the slack in the arenas of cooking, cleaning and child rearing. He would have to let go of his fear of being judged feminine by other men and women just as I would have to prepare to receive and shrug off any criticism about abandoning my children for long hours at the office. Working mothers often have guilty consciences because the world has long believed they are selfish for pursuing their dreams and leaving their children to be cared for by others.
In my utopia, gender is gone: both the word and what it really means. It is reductive and restrictive and…inaccurate in this day and age.
I could list hundreds of examples of how gender restricts females from doing the things they want in life, but I’d like to turn the tables for a second and talk about one instance where males are being restricted: fashion. It is the privilege of my sex in America to wear ruffles, boas, elaborate costume jewelry, outrageous shoes, make-up and hair accessories. Of course, this isn’t a universal privilege. Some men get away with it right here in the New York City metro area where I live. And certainly, women are restricted from the fun of dressing as they please in countries like Afghanistan and Iraq. Plus, I also must mention that women do painful often terrible things to their bodies sometimes to feel worthy of the adornments I hereby champion including but not limited to surgery and eating disorders. But for the purposes of this argument, we can hopefully agree that some females in Houston, Texas and Atlanta, Georgia are having fun with fashion, basking in the soft and colorful feminine decorations that males are not allowed.
We must agree that there is a privilege of our sex in these locales because we are allowed to beautify ourselves in ways that males are not, and this can be an enjoyable activity. Earlier this month, Houston’s O’Rhonde Chapman, a 17 year-old high school senior, wore a long wig and stiletto heels to school because they make him feel good. But the school’s dress code restricts males from growing their hair past their shirt collars or wearing wigs to conceal an unruly hair length. Females are not subject to the same hair length restriction. A video interview with Chapman is available online.
Boo hoo, right? Well, dress is a form of self-expression, whether it includes wearing sparkly barrettes in your hair or the name of your favorite sports team across your chest. Males should no more be restricted from expressing themselves in this way than females. The New York Times featured an interesting article about cross dressing rules for high school students and what it means to both sexes on Nov. 8 in the “Sunday Styles” section. This situation of restricting dress based on sex is unsettling at an all-male college in Georgia that has banned, according to CNN, “the wearing of women’s clothes, makeup, high heels and purses as part of a new crackdown on what the institution calls inappropriate attire.”
Oh my god… Does a messenger bag count as a purse? Does zit concealer count as make-up? What’s the reasoning behind this? “We are talking about five students who are living a gay lifestyle that is leading them to dress a way we do not expect in Morehouse men,” said Morehouse College’s Dr. William Bynum, vice president for Student Services.
Basically, what Bynum is saying is that the rest of the men at Morehouse College are homophobic and uncomfortable with men who exhibit other than masculine characteristics. The school’s resident gay organization supported the ban by a majority vote, presumably to protect its individual members from further ridicule, hatred or fear.
But why should this animosity exist? It exists because of gender, the concept that men should exhibit only a masculine demeanor and women only a feminine demeanor. And before anybody goes accusing men of being the sole perpetrators of this distinction, I’d like to point out that many women, including and embarrassingly myself, prefer to be feminine and look for largely masculine qualities in their partners. I believe this tendency is somewhat natural, and somewhat compounded by its constant reinforcement in the media. Either way, it’s a yearning of both sexes and neither sex can be exempted from its implications. (I’d like to point out here as an aside that, after rereading some of my older posts, I find it interesting that I used to write these essays for people who were unaware of a feminist perspective on choice issues; but now, after spending time with some radical feminists, I find myself writing these essays with them in mind, defending my “lesser” feminism that holds women partially responsible for our decreasingly subordinate position.)
For the minority of males who want the freedom and yes, privilege to dress with color and flair, I offer you some suggestions. You don’t have to wear women’s clothes to feel…er…feminine. Just adorn one of these outfits for men from other eras and varying cultures:
In case you don’t recognize them, these are depictions of Italy’s Julius Caesar (b. 100 BC, d. 44 BC), Mongolia’s Genghis Kahn (c. 1162, d. 1227), England’s Henry (Tudor) the VIII (b. 1491, d. 1547), France’s Louis (de Bourbon) XIV (b.1648, d. 1715) and America’s Sitting Bull (c.1831, d. 1890) respectively. Each of these men was a ruler or warrior in in his time and each is wearing a traditional “masculine” garb of that time. (You really do know what culture you’re in by checking out what people are wearing.) Yes, those are tights, feathers, ruffles, velvet and gold lame’. But those are men, right? Yes. Yes they are.
So have fun, you cross dressing men! Wearing these outfits, you really aren’t breaking any rules, but you might be able to achieve the femininity (by today’s standards) that you deserve. Don’t complain; get creative!
The biology that is sex and the romance that is gender are no longer always compatible, for either sex. We need to get rid of gender, but first we need to understand it and wield its meaning correctly so that one day we can let it go, celebrate the biological differences that exist between men and women yet not reduce either sex to the sum of his or her parts.
Beauty and me
November 7, 2009
I love shopping for drugstore cosmetics. It’s like being in that fabulous box of 64 Crayola crayons I loved to use when I was little: an arsenal of colors that offered 64 creative choices. As I browse the many colors of lipstick, I envision a pretty me with bright lips and shiny eyes. I pucker and imagine using glitter lipsticks, fruity glosses and nourishing balms.
And so my wicker vanity is littered with brightly colored sticks, designed to paint dry, lined, pale lips, transforming them as my whim would have it. But as my fear would have it, I am often afraid to leave the house in some of the brighter hues. I put them on, look in the mirror…and fear that bold red, plum, coral and magenta call too much attention to my otherwise lackluster visage.
Still…the fantasy, a picture in my mind of beautiful me, is fun to entertain.
The last time I wandered through the box of crayons, I noticed the shift in trends from long-lasting glossy lipstick to lip-plumping lipstick, just as the trend of matte colors had shifted to glossy the winter before. I recalled in a flash a time when, as a child, I’d overheard somebody, a woman, describing another woman as having “thin, cruel lips.” That probably wasn’t a compliment, but I’d never given it much thought. Certainly, the word “thin” connotes something standard in the world of female beauty in this day and age. “Cruel,” though possibly suggesting something untouchable, also meant severe; and it made me think of a clenched smile that hid a world of anger or heartbreak. And, while I’d never considered my own lips to be either thin or cruel, I got excited by the prospect of fuller lips with – certainly not without – bright, shiny color! I plucked a “tester” ripe berry shade of lip-plumping lipstick from the drugstore shelf and subsequently discovered, to my surprise and delight, that it contained flecks of silver glitter in the mix. This was the one for me.
(Incidentally, I love glitter! I love anything sparkly!)
There was a “buy one get one half off” special, so I snatched up a pearly crimson gloss too. In the car, after carefully scanning the parking lot to see that nobody was watching my ritual, I tried the gloss. It was dusk and so the result was less than awesome. I decided to wait for better light to plump my lips. How does that work? I wondered. I hoped that the lipstick wouldn’t be chunky and thick, likely to smear on clothes. I drove home with purpose leaning to the right at stop signs and lights to admire my new gloss in the rear view mirror.
It’s three flights of stairs into our condo and another flight up to my vanity in our master bedroom suite. I took the stairs two at a time – I was on a mission. I unwrapped the lipstick tube after some difficulty, finally finding success with my teeth. There they were: the aforementioned sparklies! What glee! I puckered my lips and smoothed the pink stain across them, top and bottom. The glitter particles were a bit abrasive and I was forced to slow my painting in order to apply the shade evenly. But what a beautiful color! It reminded me of raspberry yogurt: jam-like pink with a bit of plum thrown in to intensify the color. It wasn’t a drippy or thick consistency as I had worried. Rather, this lipstick was somewhat dryer than others I’d tried. The color caught the light from the many bulbs surrounding my vanity mirror and made my eyes sparkle. The color of my eyes seemed to intensify too and…
Holy shit! There was a burning sensation everywhere! It seemed to originate with my lips, which I could feel pulsing to the beat of my heart…but the pain was spreading outward from my mouth. I felt hot and sore. So, this is how it works! Beauty really is pain. If this lipstick stings your lips enough, they’ll plump? Well, I had to check. At least I’ll be beautiful, I thought. I looked in the mirror. I didn’t see a beautiful me. Instead, the person staring back at me looked something like this:
I looked down at the shiny black tube of burning poison. It had a white sticker on the side, which I hadn’t noticed in my excitement to unwrap it. “PEEL FOR CAUTION,” it read. I did so.
This product may cause a temporary tingling sensation which is normal. Discontinue use if you experience excessive discomfort. Do not use on chapped, damaged or sensitive lips.
I see. The “temporary tingling sensation” that I was concurrently experiencing was “normal.” “Beauty is pain” is not just something people say – like “shit happens” or “that’s life” or “it’s a slippery slope, my friend;” it’s true, and furthermore, it’s meaningful. The standard of beauty for women is to be pin thin; and thus we starve ourselves, purge our stomachs, pinch our flesh and spends hundreds – even thousands – of dollars to be skinny. In some cases, we pay the ultimate price by weaning our bodies off of food until our bodies are forced to consume their own organs for sustenance. And we die. That’s extreme. Normal is “mild” anorexia or bulimia, liposuction and self-hatred. And normal for lips – painful though it is – is the burning, tingling and ultimately numbing sensation of trying to achieve what every male desires in a life partner: blow job lips. (Because, let’s face it: who ever heard of a man looking for a woman with those undesirably thin, cruel lips?)
I’m not saying that men don’t have their fair share of superficial requirements. I think the idea of “male privilege” has been somewhat romanticized to the point that some feminists believe men have it really easy all the time. In actuality, men do terrible things to their bodies to buff them up or trim them down. (I always get a kick out of the Herculean men who break from hours of weight lifting and stride confidently down to the underworld where I work out – otherwise known as the pool – only to nearly drown or struggle to do a single lap. They think they’re in healthy shape; but really they’re just bloated.) And, in many cases, men aren’t allowed to show signs of physical or emotional weakness by failing to carry something heavy up a steep flight of stairs, going to a therapist or crying in public. But what is the male equivalent to stinging, “blow job lips” lipstick? What painful thing do men do to attract the people they desire that women don’t? Both sexes shave, wax and pluck unwanted hair. Both sexes visit gyms and fitness centers. Both sexes watch what they eat – or don’t eat.
I decided to write this essay after a girlfriend asked me to define the line between feminism and feminine beauty. In other words, she asked, what beauty rituals are acceptable for a feminist such as yourself? The answer: the beauty rituals I enjoy, for me and only me, are “acceptable.” If I’m lip plumping to fulfill a male fantasy, then that’s “unacceptable,” according to the “rules of feminism.”
As I began to account for all of the beauty rituals I perform, I realized that there are a lot that are full of nuisance or irritation. Some pleasure rituals are just for me: lavender bubble baths to soften my skin and help me sleep, lotions and creams to hydrate me, application of glitter makeup and colorful lip gloss for fun, and manicures/pedicures for relaxation. If my husband benefits from these rituals, that’s just a(n un)fortunate side effect. But when I started to think about some of the other things I do – like shaving my legs, plucking my eyebrows, squeezing into control top pantyhose and wearing breast minimizers, I realized that I don’t do these things because I worry about men finding me beautiful. Ironically, I do the most painful things I do to fit in with other women. I do these things so that women will respect and admire my “beauty.” (Because, let’s face it: I have never known a man to scrutinize the space between my eyebrows or complain of a fat bulge on my body here or there.) I don’t want the women I know to notice my flaws. I am competitive with them. I can’t stand the feeling that other women have contempt for me. I fear that they are thinking, “That sweater makes her butt look fat!” Women are the people who’ll notice and comment on your recent chemical facial peel or indistinguishable panty line. Men generally don’t notice that stuff.
I wonder how many other women feel this way. How many women fear what other women think enough to subject themselves to painful beauty rituals? Of course, there will be a length or two women find themselves going to for the admiration of men – like breast augmentation and Brazilian bikini waxes; but how is that worse than going to a painful length for the admiration of women? What’s the difference?
The goal of feminism is – or should be – the equal happiness opportunity for men and women. If happiness is hindered by beauty rituals for any reason, they violate this tenet of feminism. Unfortunately, it’s not always easy to identify why we do some of the silly, even painful things we do. (For instance, I will never understand prune juice.) While it’s fun for me to browse the make-up counter at the drugstore, I should pause and think about why I’m there. Am I there to bask in the color and glitter that makes me feel pretty and whimsical when I look at it on my vanity or on my face? Or am I staring down the barrel of the unhappiness gun, trying to be unattainably, even cruelly pretty so that others will like and admire me? I need to make the health and beauty aisles of the world into “Femspotter’s Happiness Aisles.”
After all, I can make my peace with tweezers – I hate to feel stubble with my own fingers. Blow job lips…for me, they have to go!
8 comments