1. Kleinheider upsets my breakfast by emailing me this link to Cynthia’s post about this crazy ad that is supposed to encourage you to eat Brazilian yogurt. Sincerely, if I looked like that naked, I would have Chris Wage on speed dial, just call him up and be all like “Wow, have you seen how great I look naked? Don’t you want to come over and take pictures of me?”
2. Another of you emailed me a baby Viking helmet. If I knew how to knit, I would so be all over the baby Viking helmet. Coble! Is it possible to make one of those in “world’s biggest head” size?
3. I know some of you grouch, “Oh, why does B. put up with those conservatives? Why can’t Tiny Cat Pants just turn into Tiny Cat Pants Full of Turds We Can Fling at Conservatives?” But look here at Lee and tell me, can’t you, just a little bit, see why, though I tease, I can’t help but love them?
Argh. I’m sorry. I just can’t get past one. Maybe it’s just the whole incident from last week, but I’m rubbed raw about this idea that, if I appear in public, my appearance is up for public judgment. I certainly believe that people will find whatever they find sexy sexy and that there’s not much use in asking folks not to look at each other and ponder each others’ fuckability. That seems like a universal human pastime.
But it’s that next step that just pisses me off–that because we all like to look around and wonder about the fuckability of the bodies we see around us, we have the right to be surrounded only by bodies we find fuckable, and, if confronted with bodies we don’t find fuckable, we have the right to announce our verdict.
In simpler terms, it irks me that there’s this idea that men hold the standard for what women’s beauty is and that it’s y’all’s job to enforce that standard AND that, if we don’t want to be publicly humiliated by whichever man appoints himself judge that day, we should take care to internalize the standard and hold ourselves and other women to it.
I mean, look at the slogan of that ad, “Forget about it. Men’s preferences will never change.“ Don’t ignore the beauty standard and just learn to be comfortable and take delight in your own skin or you will never be chosen by a man.
Shoot, there’s a lot there to unpack, but let me just point out, again, how revolutionary pleasure can be. There is a photo of a beautiful woman taking pleasure in herself (leaving aside for the moment the issues with portraying women as if we all ought to be available for public consumption) and an ad campaign is designed around the notion that we dare not emulate her or not man will ever love us.
Look at her.
Edited to add: I just want to reiterate how weird this is. We are, presumably, supposed to want to be loved by men in order to be happy. Here is a picture of a woman who appears to be happy. We are supposed to identify with her and decide that, rather than being happy with how we are, we should deprive ourselves in order to look good–be unhappy–in order to get a man so that we can be happy. But we’re supposed to identify with a woman who is already happy.
Do you see how fucked up that is? “Happy women, you must be unhappy or you will never be happy!”