Thinking Makes My Head Hurt
That’s the problem with reading—especially if it’s non-fiction. So, since I’m thinking too much about it and I’m still confused by it all, I’ve decided to share my bafflement with you.
The book is Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture by Ariel Levy. It’s basic idea is that a lot of the women who act like guys—sleep around, make out with other women for a man’s eyes, or say they enjoy porn/strippers—are confused about their own sexual needs and/or think it’s the best way to gain power. Here’s an excerpt.
Tomming, then, is conforming to someone else’s—someone more powerful’s—distorted notion of what you represent. In so doing, you may be getting ahead in some way—getting paid to dance in black-face in a Tom show, or gaining favor with Mas’r as Stowe’s hero did in literature—but you are simultaneously reifying the system that traps you . . .
It would be crazy to suggest that being a woman today (black or white) is anything remotely like being a slave (male or female) in antebellum America. There is obviously no comparison. But there are parallels in the ways we can think about the limits of what can be gained by “acting like” an exalted group or reifying the stereotypes attributed to a subordinate group. These are the two strategies an FCP [Female Chauvinist Pig] uses to deal with her femaleness: either acting like a cartoon man—who drools over strippers, says things like “check out that ass,” and brags about having the “biggest cock in the building”—or acting like a cartoon woman, who has big cartoon breasts, wears little cartoon outfits, and can only express her sexuality by spinning around a pole.
My first instinct is to nod in agreement. The sexual revolution has been commercialized and the criteria for female attractiveness is very narrow. There is a constant message given to all women that you must have A, B, and C to be attractive. Levy does make an excellent point about the sex industry—it’s a job. The women are paid for it but they don’t get sexual gratification from it. So why are we holding these women up as role models? She also points out that most teenage girls don’t have the knowledge or experience to deal with the constant bombardment of sex our culture throws at them. So they dress the way society tells them they should, but the girls don’t deal with their own wants and desires.
But isn’t choice part of feminism? How do we know that some women don’t truly enjoy their job in the sex industry or that they don’t gain sexual gratification from it? How do we know that every FCP is just being an Uncle Tom? Couldn’t a FCP just really like living like that ?
My problem with the idea of FCP is that it’s being pushed as the norm. If you don’t act that way then something must be wrong with you. I thought feminism was about giving women options? About giving us the choice to do and to be most anything? So why does it feel like women are more constrained today than 20 years ago? Our only option no longer seems to be marriage, family, homemaker but stripper, lesbian for men, porn star. Both are constricting and very anti-feminist goals for women—and for the girls who are hearing the message better than any of us.
I also find it mildly disgusting that women are using their bodies as commodities. Not the women who have to strip or prostitute themselves to survive. But the women who adopt these things as “hobbies” and then giggle about it. I’m not sure why it doesn’t settle with me very well. It may have to do with the fact that I believe a lot of the women who do it aren’t thinking any deeper than “He’s looking at me and it feels good.”
Sigh. So you see my problem. I can see both sides of the argument—and I hate that. I like to have prejudgments that I refuse to let facts change. You know, like George W. Bush.
I think I lean towards the FCP are bad side. Not because I’m a prude but because I think their actions are hurtful to women as a whole. Yes, feminism is about choice and equality. But I truly believe we won’t be equal until our bodies are not our most important attribute. Whether we use our bodies to turn men on or to shock them, our physical form is still the most important part of us—in either case, a man is not seeing a woman as a human being. He’s seeing a body that he finds attractive or a body that he finds gross. FCP, women acting out sexually for a man’s benefit, and the just-trying-it-for-fun sex workers aren’t helping us get to the point where that idea changes.
Man, I just keep adding to this post and it just gets longer and more incoherent as the day goes on, doesn’t it? This is why thinking is bad, people! This post has no pictures and not a single reference to a superhero. This stinks!
Pan’s Labyrinth
I just saw this movie last night and it’s a keeper.
First of all, it’s violent. Do not take your children to see it. The violence is realistic and pretty gross.
Well, it’s not realistic in the above picture but that’s the scene that creeped me out the most, so shut up!
A girl and her pregnant mother go to live at a small army base in Spain. The year is 1944. The mother’s new husband—and father of her unborn child—is the captain in charge of the garrison. He’s sadistic and cruel.
A woman named Mercedes runs his household. She ended up being my favorite character in the film. Not to give too much away but I’ve decided to name any future daughters I may have Mercedes. They will also be taught to knife fight at a very young age.
Spoiler! I’m such a nut that when the captain—who just had his mouth sliced open and looked like a half-Joker—followed Ofelia into the labyrinth I immediately thought, “Oh, look! The half-Joker is following her into the labyrinth just like Jack Nicholson’s character followed his family into the maze at the end of The Shining! And Nicholson played the Joker!” I then spent way too much time trying to explain to my husband how these facts meant that I’m getting direct signals into my brain from the director, Guillermo del Toro. Needless to say, my husband refused to listen to my discovery.
The movie looked gorgeous. From the washed out look of the camp to the bright color of blood, every picture reinforced the story. And when you get to the ending—well, I was blown away. I honestly didn’t see it coming.
Of course, take that with a grain of salt. I’m a grown woman who’s gone for the post-Modern Primary Colored Superhero look in decorating her apartment.
