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Confessions of a Confused Tomboy – Gender Dysmorphia in Clothes

Posted by Lora Maroney on October 29, 2011
Posted in: Rants. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . 3 comments

I guess I was a tomboy as a kid, but I didn’t really think about it. Now, of course, I wear it like a badge of honour in feminist circles — “Yes, I was a TOMBOY, how GENDER PROGRESSIVE of me!” — but back then, I wore what I liked, and most of what I liked came from the hand-me-down pile I got from my dad’s friend’s son. It was there, it was easy to wear, and it didn’t rip when I climbed trees or made my church’s wheelchair ramp into an impromptu set of monkey bars.

I did get flak for it now and then — I remember a girl in 7th grade trying to give me a hard time for wearing camo khakis because “army isn’t popular anymore” — but I honestly didn’t care. I didn’t realise that clothes were an extension of self, not really, until high school. Besides, I did wear dresses sometimes — to church or weddings, on class picture day, and when I pretended I was an orphan (my favourite childhood game).

Somewhere around the middle of high school I became more conscious of gender identity, and made a personal choice to flaunt it. Girls were expected to wear makeup and spend time on their hair, so I did neither. (With thigh-length curls, this … was more difficult than you’d think.) Girls were supposed to wear clothes that set off their figure, so (smack-dab in the middle of a mild, puberty-related body dysmorphia crisis) I snatched my dad’s oversized t-shirts and wore those. I started wearing things I knew would annoy people (riding boots, cargo jumpsuits, an entire outfit based on Han Solo’s look in “A New Hope” complete with Corellian Bloodstripe down the slacks). Every time someone made a nasty comment about my clothes, I relished it.

At the same time I found the community of tomboys, and fell head-first into that. Tomboys didn’t wear dresses, at least, not unless they’re forced into it, so I made sure to complain loudly any time I had to wear something nice for special events. I got special dispensation from my voice teacher to wear pantsuits instead of dresses at concerts. I put aside my geeky desire for a green wedding dress (the tradition of Corellia — sound off if you knew that!) and vowed to get married in pants.

This is not, in case people are waiting for it, a post about how I later realised my silliness and returned to the world of skirts and girl-jeans. It might be easier if it was, but my own gender identity, as it relates to clothes, is more complicated.

Now I’m an adult (or so they tell me) — I’ve been out of schooling and working full-time for several years now, anyway. I’ve stopped wearing baggy jeans a million sizes too big, and attempting to hide my size-D chest under enormous t-shirts (spoilers: that doesn’t actually work!). I still own more guy-jeans than girls’, and my general wardrobe is made up of t-shirts from Thinkgeek or Threadless or Topatoco, with a smattering of cheap wife-beaters picked up from outlet stores. For special occasions I have snazzy suits and pantsuits, usually pinstriped, and I still refuse to wear makeup or do anything to my hair (now short) other than wash it and let it dry.

Dressing up, girl-style

What I dress like 90% of the time

Dressing up, normal-style (pose mocking the manniquin, mind)

 

 

 

However. For the first time since I was 8, I also have dresses and skirts in my closet; for the first time ever, I’m the one who bought them. Sometimes I’ll wear a dress and go outside — just for fun! This sounds like I’m being facetious, but it’s honestly a momentous change for me. Those close to me will know what I mean.

Every time I do, though, I face a huge internal struggle. I feel like I’m betraying my cultural identity as a tomboy, and by extension, someone who flouts gender expectations — which is still extremely important to me. I feel like I’m somehow letting feminism down. I feel like I’m dressing in drag — even though I am a woman — and that someone is going to jump out of the bushes and call me a fraud. Ever watch that Daria episode where she gets contacts? Her dilemma is pretty much mine in a nutshell, but with the added embarrassment that I’m not 17 anymore. I should be over this.

It would help if people didn’t make such a big deal out of it, but that’s partly my fault. In maintaining myself as a tomboy, I can’t expect to switch to girl clothes and NOT make a stir. It’s subverting of expectations. But what really gets me is the satisfaction in people’s responses. “See, I TOLD you …” or “Oh, good, you’re FINALLY dressing yourself!” or “I KNEW you’d change your mind about dresses one day!” The most dreaded are the “If you do this every day, you’ll get a boyfriend in no time!” because a.) not applicable and b.) pretty much affirms every one of my reasons not to dress in girl clothes in the FIRST place (that men will only want you if you’re a stereotypical girl — FALSE — and that this is a consideration you should take into account daily).

Sometimes I wish clothes weren’t so complicated. I wish we could just wear what we want, when we want to, as long as it’s vaguely appropriate for the situation. I wish that I could wear guy’s clothes without people telling me I’ll never find anyone that way (ha, WRONG, suckers!) or that I’d “look better” if I wore makeup and dresses. I wish I could wear a dress for a day, just because I feel like it, without people saying they KNEW I’d come to my senses one day.

This sort of fails as a blog post because I’m supposed to wrap it up with a thought-provoking solution, but I don’t have one. But I can’t be the only one with confused sartorial gender identity, so shout out! Let’s get some community up in the house!

Why Can’t Boys Like Girl Stuff? Sexism in Gender-Segregated Media

Posted by Lora Maroney on August 2, 2011
Posted in: Books, Rants. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . 6 comments

There’s a lot of talk going around about book marketing (especially YA) and how to make books appealing to a wide audience. The consensus, as far as I can see, is that books “for boys” (meaning, not explicitly “for girls”) can have whatever they want on the cover — explosions, dragons, heroes, swords — but books “for girls” should not have anything distinctly feminine — “girly” colour schemes, pictures of women.

The argument is not that YA book covers with anorexic models on them may be a bad idea for girls as well, or that a lot of covers with people on them just look sort of tacky, regardless of sex. The argument is that covers with girls on them will chase away the boys. Whereas no one ever says anything about male fantasy novels where the women always have enormous breasts and armour that wouldn’t protect against a safety pin, never mind a sword.

Leaving aside the notion that boys are overlooked as an advertising demographic, which is a debate in itself, it is true that boys are stigmatized for reading “girly” books much more than girls are for reading “boyish” ones. This also holds true for clothes — very few people try to argue that women shouldn’t wear pants, but how many men do you see wearing skirts and not getting heckled — and films — try being a straight man alone in a chick flick theatre and having your buddies find out.

This naturally leads to the argument that society punishes boys much more harshly for liking things in the female demographic, so female-oriented media must tailor itself away from being overtly “feminine” to avoid unnecessary narrowing of the market. The reverse problem doesn’t exist, because society doesn’t stigmatize girls who like boys’ things as much.

I’ve had this argument a few times now, and couldn’t put my finger on why it sat so badly with me. I think I’ve finally figured it out.

The problem is that the social stigma is not actually against guys who like girly stuff, nor is it in favour of girls who like guys’ stuff. The stigma is against anything perceived as “for girls”, regardless of who likes it.

Girls are allowed to like guys’ stuff because it’s the superior product. Being a girl who likes guys’ things means you have taste, and you’re somehow cooler and more forward-thinking and more stereotype-decrying than those girls who like chick flicks or read books about women who can’t get a boyfriend and love shopping.

Guys, on the other hand, are criticized for liking girl stuff (books, movies, clothes) because “girl stuff” is decidedly inferior. Likewise, girls who like girly things get dismissed both by men and by certain schools of feminists — including me, for years, until I realized what I was doing.

“Guy stuff” is not actually guy stuff, people argue, but can be enjoyed by anyone — the idea that a woman can’t love a movie about cars and explosions is generally accepted to be untrue. “Guy stuff” transcends gender. But “girl stuff” is just for girly-girls and gay men, so straight guys — and girls who want people to take them seriously — should stay away.

“Girly” media is the lesser product — that is, until it acquires enough of a male fan base to “legitimize” it and remove its “femaleness” (like Star Trek, or The Hunger Games). The reverse is also true — despite the overwhelming number of insanely successful male chefs, cooking is still seen as “girly”, so it gets dismissed.

The problem is not that boys get made fun of for reading things about or “for” girls; the problem is that things about or “for” girls are seen as something that a boy should be made fun of for liking. The problem is not that boys are embarrassed to read something with a girl on the cover; the problem is that society tells boys they should be embarrassed.

The solution to the perceived marketing problem is not to remove women from the cover of books with female leads so they can sell. It’s not to re-market Rapunzel as “Tangled”, to make it more about Flynn Rider, to splash him on all the promo materials and have him, not Rapunzel, narrate the trailer, because boys won’t watch “princess movies”.

The solution is to stop supporting a culture where books and movies have to disguise their female leads in order to sell. Telling boys — and girls! — they should be ashamed to read something with a girl on the cover is not the way to do this.

 

***EDIT***

A friend here in Japan pointed out that it must be a cultural thing, because books and manga in Japan are littered with “girly”-looking covers and boys have no problem reading those. The “boys won’t read something with girls on it” is an artificial construct. If Japan — an intensely gender-segregated society in many ways — can get over that in marketing, and realize that books with girls sell just as well as books with giant robots, then why can’t we?

Examining Change – You Bet I Take This Personally!

Posted by Lora Maroney on July 22, 2011
Posted in: Rants. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . 5 comments

(Today's post comes on the heels of yesterday's, but you don't need to read that to get this one.)

One of the things that I put on the bingo card because I hear it so much in discussions about human rights is, "You're taking this too personally" — also its variants, "You need to take a step back and examine the larger picture", or "If you stop focusing on your personal hot-button issues…".

To give you an idea, the last time I heard this was when discussing why I have not, and will not, vote for Stephen Harper or the Conservative Party of Canada. I was arguing with a white, heterosexual male, who hit every spot on yesterday's bingo card — he didn't hate women, gays, artists, scientists, First Nations people, immigrants, veterans, the elderly (it goes on), but he believed that if I took a step back and stopped focusing on my personal hot-button issues, I would come to understand that Stephen Harper best represents the interests of real Canadians. When I told him that left white, heterosexual men, he told me I was taking this personally and that I should attempt to remain constructive.

Yesterday's conversation ended on a similar note, with me being accused of adding a "personal flavour" and ruining the "constructive atmosphere" when I pointed out the irony of a man telling women sexism doesn't exist because he doesn't see it. To that I say this: a big, wet raspberry.

Talking about remaining objective and constructive and aloof in discussions of human rights is the stupidest thing I've ever heard — and, in my (lol emotional wimmin's) opinion, completely counterintuitive. If we remove ourselves from an issue, it's much easier for us to stop caring about it.

I don't know about you, but the last thing I think this world needs is more people treating AIDS in Africa as a purely hypothetical, mental exercise.

Dismissing someone by saying "you're taking this personally" is a silencing tactic, and it needs to stop. Dismissing minority issues by saying they're "personal" or "hot-button" or "too political" is a polite way of saying, "Your issues don't affect me, so I don't want to hear about it". It doesn't help that these phrases are almost always spoken by someone in favour of the status quo, and, just as likely, a status quo that disenfranchises and often harms people outright.

I don't understand how we're supposed to talk about sexism or racism or homophobia from a "constructive" (meaning, "don't force my to examine my inner prejudices") or "impersonal" and "objective" (meaning, "I don't actually care, so stop trying to make me") standpoint. When it's people's lives we're talking about  — when people are being silenced, starved, beaten, killed, driven to suicide, trapped in poverty — how are we supposed to stand back and discuss this "like adults"? When did discussing things "like adults" mean we're not allowed to care? Not allowed to have passion?

I'm not sure who's to blame for this — the PC police, our grade school teachers who insisted everyone play nice all the time, a society that wants to keep the people in power the same forever, what — but we need to erase this attitude, now. In none of the aforementioned discussions did anyone say "Well, you're not allowed to talk because you're a stupid white man with a stupid white penis and I hate you". But it doesn't matter, because any "attack" (read: calling someone out on privilege blindness or bigoted behaviour) means we're just over-emotional women on our period (or fags on THEIRS, because gay guys are like GIRLS, amirite LOLLOLOLOL).

One thing's for sure: accusing someone of being non-constructive when they stop treating bigotry as hypothetical and mention its real-world applications is a big flashing sign that says "WARNING: PRIVILEGE AHEAD". Remember: privilege does not make you a bad person. Ignoring your privilege's effect while forcing it on others does.

If everyone played nice and acted "like adults" all throughout history, then women would not own property, vote, or be able to take care of their income after marriage; black people would still be barred from restaurants and public transportation; gay people would still be tossed in jail; and Amurrica, the Greatest Country on Earth, would still be drinking tea for breakfast.

Change isn't nice. Change is messy. Change is inconvenient. Change is uncomfortable. Change takes hold of everyone's tidy lives and upends them, dumping things all over the floor and rearranging them. Change is also necessary. If no one feels uncomfortable, we're not doing it right.

Playing with Privilege: A Sexism Debate Bingo Card

Posted by Lora Maroney on July 21, 2011
Posted in: Rants. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . 11 comments

The other day I had a conversation that left me reeling. Not because it was exceedingly ignorant (which it was) or infuriating (which it was), but because I'd had this conversation before, almost verbatim.

The conversation, for the record, was about the need for gender-neutral pronouns after reading the excellent Dogs and Smurfs article by Max Barry. Someone disagreed with the necessity, arguing "he" is a perfectly acceptable gender-neutral pronoun. Others disagreed. The conversation went quickly downhill, and ended in the other party packing up his toys and going home.

As I said, this conversation happened to me before. Was it always about pronouns? No. It was about unisex public toilets, or funding for AIDS programs, or the lack of female role models in the media for little girls, or abortion, or same-sex marriage, or street harassment, or rape culture, or the current Prime Minister of Canada. Every time, though, the other party pretty much went through the same motions.

The pattern goes something like this:

Un-Privileged Person (UP): [Something] is a direct result of privilege, and should be changed.
Privileged Person (PP): I don't have that experience, so I don't think it exists.
UP: But that's how privilege works — if you're privileged, it's hard to see it. I'm asking you to consider that.
PP: I can see how you'd think that, but no, I don't think it's true, and neither do other privileged people, so we shouldn't change anything.
UP: That makes you sound like a bigot.
PP: You're taking this personally, and ruining the constructive atmosphere. Discussion over.

I hate these conversations. The other person isn't interested in changing their opinion, and frankly, neither am I, so I don't know why I do it. I suppose I look for that golden day when someone finally says "Huh, you know, you may be right, so I'm going to go home and think about things for a while", even though that hasn't happened to me since, oh, the year 2000 or so.

I also hate them because they've turned me into the sort of person who uses the word "privilege". When I first ran across it on the Internet, the word got my hackles up — not because I disagreed, but because it's so overused (like "paradigm" or "dichotomy" in university). Unfortunately, the more I have these conversations the more I realize there is no other way to describe what's happening.

To make myself feel better (after calling my friends and indulging in a bit of intellectual circle-jerking to reassure myself I'm not insane), I sat down and made a Sexism Discussion Bingo Card. This would work equally well with Racism, Homophobia, Classism, or pretty much any other conversation in which privilege plays a part. Just replace "sexism" with your "ism" of choice.

“It’s not a problem for me, so it shouldn’t be a problem for anyone else”

“You’re taking this too personally”

“Lots of men agree with me that there’s no problem”

"I don't hate women. I just don't see why they need [x]"

“I have opinions I know other people think are sexist, but I’m not sexist”

“Calling me sexist actually makes YOU sexist”

“You’re biased”

“My anecdotal experience outweighs your facts”

“I’ve never had that experience, so I don’t believe it exists”

“It's always been this way, so it's arrogant to say we should change”

"Sexism no longer exists"

“Pointing out my privilege is reverse sexism”

“You should examine your own prejudice against men”

“You only see sexism because you want to see it”

“You shouldn’t force people to change just to suit your own needs”

“Let me explain how being a woman makes you wrong”

Got any more? Add some in comments! I wish this were an exhaustive list.

(PS – Anyone who wants to argue with me about the need for gender-neutral pronouns, please check this bingo card. If any of your points match, I'd rather not.)

(PPS – Anyone who wants to make a "butthurt female overreaction" bingo card, feel free. This is a free society, after all.)

One of the Guys: It’s Not What You Think It Is

Posted by Lora Maroney on July 18, 2011
Posted in: Rants. Tagged: , , , , . 3 comments

I was one of the guys in high school.

Saying this can evoke any number of responses or images from other women, but one I hear quite often is, "Oh, that must have been fun! I wish I could've been one of the guys." Recently I've seen a lot of romanticization of the position, as I live in Japan, where the girls-crossdressing-as-guys thing is a huge trope. When I was actually in high school, I heard this lament from my female friends almost weekly.

I'm here to tell you that no, ladies, you probably don't.

Don't get me wrong — I loved it. In high school I was not interested in dating, had no real romantic inclinations (except a preternatural attraction to men who turned out, without fail, to be gay), and would have been horrified to discover any of the guys I hung out with were interested in me. I loved the freedom, the fun, the complete lack of expectation of how girls were supposed to act in high school. I loved being able to joke with them and have conversations they'd never, ever have with other girls. I just don't think it would have worked for everyone.

This "one of the guys" thing has gotten romanticisized in a way that makes no doggone sense. The popular culture image of said girl is always one who's ridiculously attractive while liking whatever non-stereotypically-girly thing the boys like (sports and beer, if they're jocks; comics and gaming, if they're nerds, and so on), and most of the guys secretly want to have sex with her. I imagine that's how the girls I was friends with saw this — that I was, somehow, privy to a whole level of dating potential that they weren't. Unfortunately for them, there's only one actual rule to being "one of the guys", and that is:

None of them can want to have sex with you.

None of them can even see you as pertaining to sex at all.

Being one of the guys is basically a girl's version of the "friend zone", only moreso. I'm pretty sure all those girls in high school who had crushes on the dudes I flung my orange peels at would've been exceedingly frustrated had they actually been in my position. Where popular culture portrays us as being sex queens who are hot enough, awesome enough, and "not girly" enough (whatever that means) to get past the "NO GIRLS ALLOWED" door and into a private sex party, I can assure you it really, really isn't like that.

To reiterate: if any of them want to have sex with her, she's not one of the guys. If any of them hit on her, she's not one of the guys. The same works in reverse: if she is attracted to, or hits on, any of them, she's not one of them.

I mean, it might be possible. But most high school girls would get tense hearing their boyfriends speculate on which other girls either had, or would end up having, fake breasts, or who would be the best to sleep with if you were gay and didn't want anyone to know, and therefore, who would be the one to avoid sleeping with if you were straight and didn't want people to think you were gay. And, frankly, they'd be right to. That's not the sort of thing you generally talk about with the person you're dating.

Being one of the guys is not a privileged rank that I brag about. It means I was so far from even being on the sexual spectrum with these guys that I didn't trip any filters in their minds, the same way they wouldn't think sexy thoughts about their buddies. On one hand, that meant there was no wall between me and them, which was, I admit, pretty cool. But it also meant that I had to self-censor all the freaking time, because being one of the guys and being a feminist are two very difficult things to reconcile. Even though the guys had forgotten I had lady bits, I never did — and I knew that one wrong move would get me booted out, for good.

When they were sexist or patriarchal (which was, let's face it, about 80% of the time), at first I kept my mouth shut for fear of reminding them I wasn't actually one of them. If a guy makes a rape joke, what do you — ostensibly as one of them — do? Make a big deal out of it, ruining the friendship, or sit in silence, hating everyone and feeling guilty? Eventually I got the hang of telling them off without sounding like a girl, which usually involved being sexist right back, with a good side dose of mockery. It did get to the point where I could call a guy out for saying something sexist or offensive and have him back off, without tripping his defenses or derailing the train of the conversation. Sometimes a simple, chastising "duuuude" was enough; sometimes more. It just took a lot of concentration, and always felt uncomfortable.

Being "one of the guys" can be fun, illuminating, liberating, and challenging. It can also be awkward, uncomfortable, and give you the sense that you're compromising your values. Some days it's great, cracking jokes about Shakespeare and the Salem Witch trials and blackmailing them into dressing as girls for a school project; other days you look through magazines telling them which girls have implants and how to tell, and feeling vaguely icky about it. Like anything, it's a mixed bag. It's not, though, the plot of any movie where the girl ends up in an all-guys' school and ends up in a love quadrangle.

Anyone know any popular culture representations where the girl actually is one of the guys, and not in an uncomfortable way? Let me know! (The only one I can think of offhand is the blacksmith in "A Knight's Tale", and I love her.)

Enough Already: A Feminist’s Defence of Belle and Ariel

Posted by Lora Maroney on March 7, 2011
Posted in: Film, Rants. Tagged: , , , , . 4 comments

It's a sad day when I step in to save the Disney princesses. It's kind of like when the most fundamentalist of Christians think Fred Phelps is crazy. I have a feminist opinion on everything, and always have had since I was a little girl. I've been called "man-hater" and any number of lovely monikers for my opinions since before I hit puberty (though back then I think it was called "cooties").

And yet, I have to say, lay off Belle and Ariel. 

I've seen it all over the place, and it's beginning to drive me crazy. Not because I think the Disney women are paragons of strength and gender non-conformity, but because people are, so often, missing the point. I can passionately agree with someone's ideas, but if I think they're making them on mistaken grounds, I can't get behind what they're saying.

Let's start with Ariel.

What people say:

The "lesson" in The Little Mermaid is all about keeping quiet; it doesn't matter if you have nothing interesting or intelligent to say — and if you do, it's better to shut up, anyway — because men don't care about that. They want your looks.  Your pretty face.  And don't underestimate the power of body language!

Why they're missing the point:

Did that last sound familiar? That's because Ursula, the villain, actually says that in the film.  In fact, her entire reprise of "Poor, Unfortunate Souls" undercuts the very societal trend that feminists are accusing the film of espousing.  Ursula mocks society, highlighting the idea that men like stupid, silent women — and making fun of everyone for it. She clearly thinks Ariel's an idiot for taking the deal, because it doesn't actually work. This is what everyone tells you men like — but it's not true.  Not the good ones.  Not the ones who find true love.

And it doesn't work. Eric doesn't fall in love with Ariel based on her looks ("on her BODY!" one scandalized blogger spat, as though noticing someone's physical appearance is a sin).  There's an entire scene, leading up to the iconic "Kiss the Girl" song, devoted to wondering why the heck Eric hasn't sealed the deal yet on the basis of Ariel's big blue eyes alone. Sebastian's advice to Ariel about "you gotta bat your eyes, like dis; you gotta pucker up your lips like dis" is for naught.  Eric does lean in to kiss her in the boat, but only because the animals give him the subliminal equivalent of a sledgehammer to the back of the head.  It's not enough.

The other thing is, though, that Ariel and Eric do communicate. They communicate like a mute person and someone who doesn't speak sign language, or two people without a common language.  And it's not just mad flailing; while Eric occasionally misunderstands her, he responds to her as a person who is actually talking to him, not like someone making goo-goo voices to a baby or "you're so cute, aren'tcha!" to their dog.  So often in movies, when there's a communication gap, people talk at the other person, not expecting a response; Eric doesn't. He waits for Ariel to react and gauges her opinion on her expressions and gestures — watch the scene where he tries to guess her name.

Yes, all right, it is lame that he falls in love with her just because she saved his life, and this is not the best basis for two teenagers (sixteen and eighteen) to marry.  And yes, Ariel drastically changes her physical appearance and leaves her family in order to be with Eric, something that always made me frown even when I was five years old. I always cried at the ending, not because I was happy, but because I couldn't believe Ariel would leave her father and the ocean just for this guy. I'm not crazy. But this is why I get so annoyed at the people who focus on Ariel's silence — there are plenty of things to criticize, so why that point?

Let's move on to Belle.  First, let me just say that until I came across a number of blog posts castigating her — one that even referred to her as "the worst" Disney princess — I didn't even realize there was a problem. I, a person who routinely gets frothingly angry over commercials, no less.

What people say:

Belle's story is all about living with an abusive partner, hoping that if you stick with him long enough, he'll magically change and you'll have a prince. It sets up the unrealistic expectation that abusers will stop if you just keep quiet and take it — eventually, your love alone will heal them. That's a horrible message to tell little girls.

Why they're missing the point:

We already have a Disney princess whose moral is to keep quiet about abuse: Cinderella. But that's a rant for another time.

I don't even know where to start with this. First of all, Beauty an the Beast is not about putting up with domestic abuse, because Belle does not put up with it — not once!  She shouts back; she refuses to acquiesce to his demands; when he orders her to stay in her room and starve if she won't play nice, she waits until he's alseep and gets her own food; she ignores practically every rule the Beast sets out for her.  She never rewards his behaviour, instead calling him out openly and clearly, rather than reacting passive-aggressively and hoping he gets the point. When the Beast changes his temperament, it's not because he was healed by her love but because for the first time in his life — he was transformed when he was 10 or 11, for goodness' sake, and surrounded by nothing but kowtowing household objects after that — someone told him his behaviour was inappropriate.

This is not what abuse looks like.  If it were abuse, Belle would not have shouted back at him; she would not have "broken her promise" and left when he roared at her and broke things; she would not have refused to come to dinner; she would not have explored the castle against his wishes, even going so far as to barge in on his private sanctuary — which, when I was a kid, bothered me immensely, as I valued my privacy, and I understood why he went a little nuts.

Some people are not taught how to behave; the Beast certainly wasn't. Of course we don't date these people, hoping our love will change them — Belle doesn't do anything of the kind. If anything, she takes on the role of stern teacher, and shows not even a hint of romantic interest until after he realizes he's been behaving badly and attempts to change.

In fact, the movie gives us a distinct contrast in the way that potential abusers can react to being brought up short on their behaviour — Gaston.  Remember: the Beast behaves badly, and Belle tells him so; he falls back, reconsiders himself and his actions, and decides to better himself.

Now take Gaston.  He behaves even worse than the Beast, in my opinion — while the former has the excuse of being sequestered away in a tower, turned into a hideous monster, and never told the word "no" by his entire entourage, Gaston has nothing.  He's dismissive, disrespectful, physically threatening (notice how he's always inserting himself into Belle's space, and attempting to initiate contact while she expressly refuses).  His dream marriage is one where his wife is a combined mother, housekeeper, and sex slave — not unlike the marriage ideal of our society.

Belle calls him out on it.  Repeatedly.  She even uses small words when she realizes he's not getting it, just like with the Beast. But rather than realize that his behaviour is inappropriate, Gaston responds in the creepiest manner ever — becoming more attracted, and resolving to break her, even if he has to isolate her from her family and loved ones in the process.  The Beast does the same, but not out of sexual intent; Gaston does.  Gaston wants Belle, not because she's particularly beautiful, but because she's a challenge — and his ego can't handle a challenge.  Nothing would please him more than seeing this fiery, intelligent girl massaging his feet.

And so, rightly, Belle rejects him, because he does not change. Later, she ends up falling for the Beast because he does change. This is not a weak woman who knuckles under to abuse. Belle ignores the Beast when he's having a tantrum, smacks him when he's out of line, and doesn't fall for him until he grows up.  To accuse her of being an abuse victim misses the point so entirely that I can't even come up with an appropriate metaphor.

The fact that these bloggers write off the Beast for having a temper — one to which Belle never capitulates, but challenges herself — bothers me to no small degree.  In a way, what these women are suggesting is that the only men we're allowed to marry are, in fact, the personality-less Ken dolls of Disney movies past.  No personality, no faults, no temper.  As if no one could enjoy verbal sparring, when in fact I know several couples who use fighting as foreplay.  If we flipped the gender switch, would these bloggers argue that a woman should not be allowed to have a temper?  I think not.

Again, like The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast does have its own weird mixed messages. After all the emphasis on falling in love with someone regardless of appearance, the Beast gets turned back into a cookie-cutter prince who, strangely, loses all his originality and appeal. With some thinking and twisting you can find ways to look at it that aren't disturbing — that, for example, this isn't Belle's reward, but the Beast's, as now he can marry without having pitchforks thrown at him, and his servants can stop being, well, tableware — but at first glance, it's definitely puzzling.  So why, again, stoop to the false premise approach?

Unfortunately, there's an even bigger problem at work here. More than one blogger expressed distaste for Disney princesses, and either refused to buy them for her daughter, or sighed and capitulated but gritted her teeth in secret.  Why?  Both these approaches are flawed.  In the first, the daughter won't understand the reasons, and will just think her mother unreasonable; in the second, she won't ever learn that her mother is upset.  There's a better answer here, and wait for me, because it's a radical one –

Talk to your children.

No. Really. If a child is old enough to absorb unhealthy messages from the media, then she or he is old enough to sit down with a parent and talk about these messages. 

When I was a child, my mother banned several things she thought were inappropriate. For some of them, she gave me reasons; for others, she just said "because I said so". In the cases where I was given a reason, I was able to consider whether or not I agreed with her reasoning, and decide for myself whether it was worth it to break her rules. Sometimes I ended up agreeing with her; sometimes I thought she was worrying unnecessarily, as I wasn't getting the message she feared I was. But in the cases where I got no reason, other than "it's inappropriate" or "it's not funny", I honestly didn't understand, and generally was angry or bitter about having something taken away. When we didn't have a meaningful discussion about why my mother disliked me watching or reading something, I took nothing away from it.

No one can force a parent to let their child watch Disney films.  If said parent really, really hates the Disney princesses with a passion but has a child who loves them, then why not make it a teaching point?  Why not counterpoint the "bad values" that the Disney movies espouse with positive ones, as contrast? Ask the child questions: "Do you agree with Ursula? Do you think girls should be quiet if they want boys to like them?" or "What should you do if the person you love shouts at you?" and see what they say. At worst, the kids will think exactly what the parents are afraid they're thinking — at which point the parent kicks off a discussion — and at best, the parent fosters the desire to think critically about the messages presented in the media from an early age.

Either way, in the words of that youtube guy whose name I don't actually know, leave Belle and Ariel alone!

Writing: Kill the “Unfaithful Lesbian” Plotline

Posted by Lora Maroney on December 16, 2010
Posted in: Books, Film, Rants, Writing. Tagged: , , , , , , . 4 comments

If there is one on-screen plot device that I could kill, burn, and desecrate, it would be this: lesbian has affair with straight man, but goes back to her partner in the end.  I can't think of many plotlines that are more erroneous, dismissive, and harmful to an entire demographic.

Lesbian characters in film are one of the toughest demographics to get right.  I adore Famke Janssen's Judy in "Eulogy", Lena Headey's Luce in "Imagine Me & You", and both the main characters in "But I'm a Cheerleader!", but more often I find myself slapping my forehead at screen lesbians who are either overly butch and nastily played for laughs, or preternaturally feminine and gorgeous.

Lesbian relationships are even more difficult to get right.  Since most conversations between women on screen happen about men or over men, screenwriters can't seem to imagine what lesbians actually talk about.  (A similar problem exists with depictions of gay men, who, apparently, see more women in their underwear than heterosexual men could ever dream of seeing.)  This leads to the usual "conversion/cheating experience" — most film lesbians don't realize they prefer women until they've been in a relationship with a man, usually cheating on him with another woman.  When it comes to portraying difficulties in an established relationship, this problem escalates.  Instead of dealing with any of the myriad things that couples face on an every-day basis, the go-to plot seems to be, "make one of the lesbians have an affair with a guy".

I first saw it in Queer as Folk, an abysmal waste of an hour a week, when Lindsay — for no reason I could fathom — ignores her long-time partner and their two children for a tryst with a man who's been pursuing her at her gallery.  Um, okay.  My relationship with the show was always stormy at best, but this was the final straw that got me to stop watching for good.  It was such a blatant slap in the face to the legitimacy of lesbiansm (ironic and hurtful considering none of the gay men in the show ever had an affair with a woman) that I was flabbergasted and furious.

I've come across it since several times since then, and each time I just get angrier.  Lesbians have a different problem in society than gay men do — where gay men are much more visible and would like to be left alone to live their lives, lesbians have to struggle to be recognized at all.  Lesbianism's unjustified reputation as a "phase" (no doubt bolstered by the innumerable female celebrities who grab an extra fifteen minutes by citing the quintessential "bisexual college phase") is so ingrained that very few people take it seriously.  (The only other orientation that has it worse on this front is true bisexuals, but that's a rant for another time.)  Even beloved (?) gay icon Lady GaGa has stated that women are fine for fooling around with, but when it's time for a real relationship, that's when you go for a man.

It's insulting, it's untrue, and it's horribly dismissive.  As a woman not interested in sex with men, I can't count how many times a man has leered at me and told me "just to try it" because then I would find out what I've been "missing".  I've also lost track of how many women have told me, quite kindly, that that's all well and good, but one day I'll meet the "right man" and put all this behind me.  Ask an 'out' lesbian and I can guarantee she'll have at least one experience of this.  In some cases it's been a one-off comment, a sort of joke that falls flat, but in others, I've been harassed and followed and badgered — down side streets, no less — until I was forced to call in reinforcements to rescue me. 

Since society is being so pigheaded about this, I suppose it's too much to ask that movies abstain, but I keep hoping.  The worst part is how deep this myth has dug its little claws.  It would be easy for me to dismiss this as a male fantasy, and sure enough, the writers of Queer as Folk, Gigli, and most instances of this trope are, in fact, men.  But that's not always the case, and this is where my brain explodes.

The most recent example is found in "The Kids Are All Right", a film with Julianne Moore and Annette Bening.  Oh, look at the nice lesbian couple and their kids.  Uh-oh, one of the kids is looking for his birth father (an anonymous sperm donor).  Oh, they found him, and he's cute!  Oh lord. Eventually the birth father comes to dinner.  I hoped, nay, begged that the film would not go where I knew it was, but I was wrong.  Julianne Moore's character does indeed have an affair with him.  Apparently, not even over twenty happy years of partnership and two children is enough to keep a lesbian happy; one dimpled, rumpled man comes into her life, and of course she jumps in the sack with him.

Annoyed, afterward I checked the film's credits and was flabbergasted to find that the film was written by a lesbian.  And not just any lesbian: Lisa Chodolenko, whose prior films I didn't personally enjoy but the cultural relevance of which I would never deny.  Remember the scene in "The Two Towers" (film) where Treebeard sees the waste of the forest of Isengard and howls, "A wizard should know better!"  That was basically my reaction.  Not just anger, but betrayal as well.  If any film should be free of this horrible trope, you'd think one written by a lesbian would do it.  But apparently not.

Because of this, I find myself baffled over what the target demographic of these films is supposed to be.  If it's written by men, that answer is fairly clear; consciously or not, these films chip away at lesbian relationships by insinuating that all lesbians are up for sex with a man, whether they're single or committed.  These films are gratification for men, but also subtle education for women, enforcing the unwritten rule that all women need a man at some point or another.

If written by a lesbian, however, then I just have no idea.  I don't know what message Chodolenko was attempting to pass on with her film, but as a lesbian she must be aware of the culture of dismissiveness surrounding female-female relationships; ignorance is not an option.  As such I find myself more saddened by her film's inclusion on this list than any of the others.

Regardless of the intent, though, I think we can agree that this needs to stop.  It's bad enough that filmmakers can't come up with a better conflict for an established relationship than infidelity, no matter what the sexuality, but when this only adds to a public consciousness that refuses to recognize the validity of an entire set of relationships, then it stops being funny.

Lesbians deserve respect in life; film should be no different.

The “Pretty” Paradox, Redux

Posted by Lora Maroney on December 10, 2010
Posted in: Rants, Writing. Tagged: , , , , . 1 comment

I've been thinking about yesterday's post and why the issue of pretty heroines bothers me so.  It ties in to a few personal issues I have, as a plain woman with an extremely attractive family, I'm sure, but also with what I perceive as a problem with society at large.

I said yesterday that I don't mind so much if the romantic lead is beautiful; I roll my eyes, but the world is apparently not ready to break the "beautiful people date beautiful people" barrier, nor reverse the equally icky "shlubby guy with hot girlfriend" trope.  If the love interest has to be beautiful, well, that's the hero's failing.  But when the competent, witty swordswoman or reporter or political analyst or what-the-heck-ever needs to be pretty, as well, then that's where it crosses the line for me.

Girls growing up have it drilled into their heads that being "pretty" is the best thing they can possibly achieve — whether the people doing the drilling are aware of it or not.  We know we're bombarded by imagery — in books and magazines, on television and in movies, in advertising — and we've come to accept that.  A quick Internet search can turn up scores of articles and blogs decrying the culture of superficial beauty. That's not news.

No, it's far more insidious than that.

Here's an experiment: tell someone you're not beautiful.  Not in a "fishing for compliments" way, not in a half-joking, half-embarrassed, "please tell me I'm wrong" way.  Straightforward, honest, and unapologetic.  Tell them you're okay with it, because you have other qualities — intelligence, humour, athletic ability, artistic talent, whatever — and that, in your opinion, is more important than looks.

Don't say it to straight male friends, who will run away as the "Does this make me look fat?" alarm triggers in their heads. Say it to your female friends.  Watch what happens.  (Note, this will only work if you really are plain, not Hollywood Homely, so be careful.) 

There will be panic. 

These people, who love and adore you, will rush to tell you that you are so beautiful, even if you don't see it.  You may not be traditionally good-looking, but you are pretty, whether you think so or not.  You might even get anger: how dare you say you're unattractive?  All in all, by the end of the conversation, they will reassure you in every way possible that you do, somehow, possess physical attractiveness.

There will not be one comment about the attributes you said you prized more.

I've done this several times.  I've tried it on several occasions with different groups of people and with varying levels of transparency, starting from completely out of context and ending up in the context of this exact discussion. What I said each time, for the record, was something akin to this: "I'm smart, funny, a good singer, and one heck of a fiction writer, and I know it, but because I know I'm not beautiful, people think I have low self-esteem. What's up with that?"

Every time, the result was the same.  People scrambled to reassure me that I was beautiful, pretty, attractive, etc. etc., that I was just blind to it all.  They assumed my matter-of-fact opinion about my looks meant I somehow thought I was Lon Chaney in the 1925 "Phantom of the Opera" silent film.

I told them that this wasn't helping; that by attempting to convince me of something that not only wasn't true but that they themselves knew was untrue but felt compelled, for some unknown reason, to say, they were in fact lowering my self-esteem.

I tried to explain that this attitude hurt me.  That by insisting I believe an untruth about my looks, rather than be secure and content about the truth of them, they're valuing those looks above the skills I actually value.  That no matter how intelligent, witty, perceptive, caring, or talented I may be, if I'm not beautiful, I'm still deficient.

One or two people stopped and thought about it. The majority got defensive, and told me they were just reminding me that I was beautiful whether I liked it or not, and that that didn't mean I wasn't smart as well.  Still others just became more convinced that I needed compliments that much more.  Eventually I gave up, every time.

This attitude frustrates me more than almost anything else. We're steeped in it; our society is permeated in it.  We continue to tell our little girls this as well.  Mothers love to tell their daughters they're beautiful, but how many of them tell them they're clever?  How many parents introduce their daughters as "my witty little girl"?  Sure, it's great to be all those things, but in the end, we must be pretty, even when it's not true.

When I see this creeping into my literature — my escape, my world-that-is-not-my-world — this is when I begin to cry.  Literature is supposed to be the window of the soul, and all that, so can we please, please give up this idea that a female character is lacking if she's not beautiful?  Please.

The “Pretty” Paradox: Airbrushed on the Printed Page

Posted by Lora Maroney on December 9, 2010
Posted in: Books, Rants, Writing. Tagged: , , , . 2 comments

Film is a lost media when it comes to representing the average woman. While ordinary-looking men are allowed to be stars onscreen, even romantic leads, female protagonists still require a thin, drop-dead gorgeous actress to play them.  The best we can hope for is "quirky", like Juliette Lewis, or big and beautiful, like Queen Latifah, but forget combining the two, and definitely forget just average.

It's understandable, in a stupid way; people like seeing pretty people, for reasons I don't and never will understand, and the amount of backlash against a female actor who doesn't conform to standard is stunning.  I don't even want to know how many times I've heard Twilight fans decry Kristen Stewart for being "ugly" instead of her acting.  The risk of having an ordinary-looking woman destroys the fantasy world that viewers like to create for themselves. In an entirely visual medium, it's difficult to escape from this.

So why, then, do authors insist that their female characters be stunning, ethereal, gorgeous, sexy, beautiful, breathtaking? We're not forced to stare at an actress who has to diet or risk being fired for being too chubby for the screen, but yet, this ridiculous insistence on physical perfection for female characters continues.  This I can't understand.

It's so bad that we have things like the Mary Sue Litmus Test, which marks various self-indulgent tropes that first-time authors are prone to giving their heroines. Amateur writers are ridiculed for giving their female characters violet eyes and cascades of locks like autumn sunlight, but the truth is, that's who we get in popular fiction. The descriptions may not be so purple, but they are there. 'Slim' and 'slender' are popular words to toss in as well, reminding our readers that this character is not fat, no sir! 

Strong female characters are even worse off.  I recognize that weak, one-dimensional love interests have to be stunningly beautiful, otherwise they have nothing to recommend to the hero. For those women, even if it's not overstated, we can assume that they are. But for female characters who are clever, intelligent, good at swordplay, talented warriors, or anything else that breaks the 'submissive female' role, assumption isn't good enough.  The narration needs to tell us — and it will — that these women are not just talened, but exceptionally good-looking as well!

It's not enough to be a strong woman in fiction. If she isn't beautiful, she can't function at the top of her game. One of my favourite female characters in modern fantasy, Beka Cavish of Lynn Flewelling's Nightrunner series, suffers from this.  In the first two books, we get glimpses of a young girl with fire-gold hair, who loves horses and fighting and wants to be a warrior; in book three, she joins the cavalry and becomes a talented commander. Beka has now reached Power Woman status; she handily defeats men in combat, and leads her troops through raid after raid with terrifying results.  It's time, now, for what I like to call the Feminism Softening Moment.

Every strong female character will go through this.  She must fall in love, and someone must call her beautiful; in most cases, she will deny the charge, often angrily, accusing her lover of lying to her.  He will, then, insist that he is not lying, that she is beautiful, and only her strength and other non-feminine qualities (intelligence, wit, fighting prowess) stopped her from realizing that.  Her tough facade cracks.  They make love. 

Without this moment, strong female characters are too threatening.  Authors apparently believe we can't "relate" to women who are both powerful and physically unattractive, who reject both social and physical norms. If we can reduce them down to their beauty, however, then they're no longer a problem.  Everyone knows that beautiful women are, at their core, sex objects.  It just takes a few well-spoken compliments to turn this warrior queen into a quivering maiden.  Not so scary, then, is she.

This is, I think, the same reason that a woman's chance of being raped or nearly-raped is proportional to her role in the plot.  It makes me sick.

There are exceptions, though they are rare. In her Queen's Thief series, Megan Whalen Turner states outright that the Queen of Eddis is ugly, and the young man in love with her brushes it off saying he doesn't care. He doesn't deny it, he doesn't make up some nonsense about her being beautiful "to him" — he simply doesn't credit the importance of physical attractiveness. This was a shocking departure from the norm, and I can guarantee you that if the series is optioned for film, it will be ignored entirely. (Velvet in Enid Bagnold's "National Velvet" is explicitly described as an unattractive girl, but her movie counterpart is played by a young Elizabeth Taylor, for goodness' sake.)

Fantasy stories are the worst for this, but mainstream novels are just as guilty. When was the last time a heroine was acknowledged as plain?  If she does have a fault, it's softened by words like "unconventionally pretty", or "not precisely beautiful, but interesting".  I hate to break the bubble here, but there are women who are not cute, pretty, beautiful, dazzling, stunning, or any of the above.  I am one of them.  And not all these women are torn to pieces by their inferiority — which, in my opinion, shows tremendous strength, as we can't even escape from airbrushed magazine women on the printed page.