At my job, I have taken on the task of writing a newsletter for each month of the semester, and each one centers around a different mental health issue. An article will describe the mental health concern, and then it is accompanied by two articles that may or may not be related to the theme for the month. January, my first issue, consisted of writing about anxiety, and then outlined the disability resource on campus and how to access their services, as well as an introduction to the law school's charming, competent, and adorable Student Affair's Counselor (me). It was an easy newsletter to write.
For February, though, I'm finding it difficult to write more than few sentences without stopping to find some adorable picture of a baby otter wearing overalls or something equally absurdly cute. The topic I chose for the month is Sexual Assault. With everything going on with Steubenville, Notre Dame, and becoming aware of what is happening locally, it seems like a really important topic to address. And usually, when I'm passionate about something, I can't shut up about it (if you haven't noticed already).
But this one is hard for me.
See, the thing is, I have seen a startling trend in these cases. In my perfect world (well, as perfect as it can be where sexual assaults still happen), a person who has reported that she (because while men can be raped, a large majority of rape survivors are women, so I'll go with that pronoun) has been attacked, she would immediately be placed in a bubble of safety. People she trusted would be at her side. A trained therapist would be there to help her process, as well as advocate for her needs. Accommodations would be put in place for her to feel safe, secure-- whatever that meant (change in class schedule, relocation for work [different office/work from home]). The person accused would be questioned immediately, with such dedication and concern assigned to individuals who has been accused of murder. He would have the burden of proving himself innocent.
I realize, immediately, the potential issue with this scenario. What if it's just someone crying rape? What if it is an ex-girlfriend scorned, and she's just looking for retribution? Yes. I'm sure this happens. But to me, it's a matter of what is at stake-- if the guy is innocent and people go probing into his life, and he's put in a horrible situation when he has done nothing wrong, that would be awful. But in that scenario, the individual accused is probably in a relatively stable emotional state, and while it would be difficult to have to endure that situation, it could be manageable. Awful. But manageable.
Instead, we have our system as it is now. A girl has been assaulted. You have the entire issue behind 76% of rapes occurring from someone she is at least acquainted with (sometimes intimately so), so she has to overcome all of the confusing feelings and guilt that come with being assaulted by someone you chose to have in your life. So she comes forward, reports the assault. And what happens? In a system of innocent until proven guilty, the accused has the benefit of the doubt, and the accuser (the traumatized) has the burden of proving she wasn't "asking for it." What were you wearing? Were you drinking? Have you exhibited poor judgement in the past with multiple partners? Do you have anything to gain by accusing this guy of rape (notoriety, bringing down a sports team, revenge)? Have you ever been in therapy for depression or anything else that could deem you unstable and therefore unreliable?
Ugh. Just typing those words makes me feel sick to my stomach.
And I guess it comes with personal experience. Transferrance. Because recently, I've been in a situation where I was uncomfortable. Felt things were-- inappropriate. Not to the extent of assault. But not okay. And I spoke up about the situation. And spoke up again. And kept bringing it up. The response I got was that I was being "too sensitive." That I was "being unfair." Eventually, I believed them. I felt crazy. I was having a very strong emotional response to something that should not have been happening, but everything around me was telling me that what was happening was okay. When I finally realized that my initial response was appropriate, and I was stuck in a system of enablers, I found my voice-- and I spoke clearly, assertively, and was still met with, "You're making a mistake."
It's scary to me that we live in a culture where so many things that are inappropriate are considered okay. That someone who is uncomfortable because their boundaries have been violated is the one that it is in the wrong, because she's being "too sensitive." Horrible things that happen in public are laughed about-- where will we draw the line? When will we say, "Wait a minute. That isn't okay"? We need to remove the excuses that we assign to inappropriate behavior and instead address the behavior. We need to stop putting the feelings of someone who is doing something hurtful above the person being hurt. Change can be hard. Change can be scary. But I can promise that it isn't harder than what the person who has been rendered silent in an unjust system is experiencing every. Single. Day. Surviving in a system where she is told that she does not matter, that what happened to her is not significant-- that she is merely an object that can be acted upon with no consequences for the actor.
Support. Validation. Empowerment. Even before all of these essential things necessary for healing after experiencing assault, is someone willing to listen. And not just listen to look for holes or defend the accused party-- but really listen. And hear what happened, and what it has done to the person speaking. After having the courage to say something, isn't that the least we can offer?
And because it cannot be viewed often enough:
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Jayhawks' Minor Study in Pornography (Emphasis in Perpetuating the Objectification of Women)
I wish I could be the fly on the wall for all of the feminist groups, women's resource offices, and gender studies faculty offices when this little gem was distributed world(wide web)wide a few days ago:
It’s all about who’s in the driver’s seat, and in the case of #kuboobs, it’s the ladies all the way. #kuboobs has emerged from the throes of March Madness: a frenzied, cultish worship of the male body and its physical prowess. It's a masculine sphere that traditionally excludes women (just like those pricks who assume girls don’t watch the games!). But with #kuboobs, ladies are here to announce their fandom, loud and proud, and to seize their own place among the Apollonian body worship that’s synonymous with the NCAA basketball tournament. (source) [WARNING: going to link will show images that may be considered distasteful to those who have not been desensitized to normalized pornography]
Yes. There has been a movement (so classfully deemed a "boobment") that orginated at good ole University of Kansas. The goal? Take pictures of your breasts adorned with something exhibiting a form of school spirit, and post it to the internet for the world to see, all in the name of supporting the KU Basketball team.
The young lady who was quoted above stated that the idea came to her when KU was losing a basketball game against their rivals, the Missouri Tigers, and felt that her only option was to photograph her breasts while wearing a low cut KU t-shirt, and tweet the picture out into the universe. Miracle upon miracle, KU was able to overcome their opponent in the game, and yet another excuse was created to continue the objectification of women under the guise of "empowerment" and "school spirit" (two Jayhawks with one stone).
Let's break down her quote above, because there are a lot of confusing things about it.
So why is the knee jerk reaction when women feel oppressed to take our clothes off? If we've associated restriction with our attire then perhaps we need to move up a size.
We need to recognize our physical bodies for their purpose rather than define ourselves entirely by what visual stimulation they provide. When we're reduced to eye candy, we are seriously limiting ourselves from doing good in our own spheres.
(Stephanie Nielson says it best, I think.)
It’s all about who’s in the driver’s seat, and in the case of #kuboobs, it’s the ladies all the way. #kuboobs has emerged from the throes of March Madness: a frenzied, cultish worship of the male body and its physical prowess. It's a masculine sphere that traditionally excludes women (just like those pricks who assume girls don’t watch the games!). But with #kuboobs, ladies are here to announce their fandom, loud and proud, and to seize their own place among the Apollonian body worship that’s synonymous with the NCAA basketball tournament. (source) [WARNING: going to link will show images that may be considered distasteful to those who have not been desensitized to normalized pornography]
Yes. There has been a movement (so classfully deemed a "boobment") that orginated at good ole University of Kansas. The goal? Take pictures of your breasts adorned with something exhibiting a form of school spirit, and post it to the internet for the world to see, all in the name of supporting the KU Basketball team.
The young lady who was quoted above stated that the idea came to her when KU was losing a basketball game against their rivals, the Missouri Tigers, and felt that her only option was to photograph her breasts while wearing a low cut KU t-shirt, and tweet the picture out into the universe. Miracle upon miracle, KU was able to overcome their opponent in the game, and yet another excuse was created to continue the objectification of women under the guise of "empowerment" and "school spirit" (two Jayhawks with one stone).
Let's break down her quote above, because there are a lot of confusing things about it.
- "It's all about who's in the driver's seat, and in the case of #kuboobs, it's the ladies all the way." No. It isn't. It was made very clear that the intention of posting photographs of her breasts was to show support for the basketball team. The male basketball team. Composed of men. And a quick glance over at the facebook page that was created in honor of this phenomenon (which I will not be linking to, because the images there are depressing and disgusting all tied up in one so nice and neat package) show that the comments are coming from men (one from a soldier overseas who is thanking the faceless breasts for improving his day), and the few from women are asking for directions on how to post their own pictures. The pictures of the breasts are not attached to a CV listing the accomplishments or characteristics of the woman in the photograph. Her face isn't even in the picture, so she is defined solely by her breasts. Saying that the women are in the driver's seat when you're falling into the predetermined definition of what is sexy and desirable is like claiming you're the one in charge as you follow the GPS route designed by Hugh Hefner. You aren't calling the shots.
- "#kuboobs has emerged from the throes of March Madness: a frenzied, cultish worship of the male body and its physical prowess. It's a masculine sphere that traditionally excludes women (just like those pricks who assume girls don’t watch the games!)." Okay. I certainly have my opinions about college athletes (especially those that fall into the category of hero worship), but they didn't fall out of the womb possessing their ability. Granted, one cannot train to be seven feet tall, but there is more to it than that-- these athletes are putting in the hours, they're training, they're pushing their bodies and overcoming mental and physical barriers in order to become the best that they can be at what they're doing. So an appropriate response to this sort of "cultish worship" would be to expend energy in supporting women who are accomplishing these same sorts of things-- supporting the KU women's basketball team, for instance. Instead, they continue to feed into the stereotype of women ("just like those pricks who assume girls don't watch the games!") that not only are they not interested in athletics, but they are also defined solely by their physical attributes. #kuboobs = #KUnfusion
- "But with #kuboobs, ladies are here to announce their fandom, loud and proud, and to seize their own place among the Apollonian body worship that’s synonymous with the NCAA basketball tournament." Here's the thing-- YOU aren't announcing anything. If you were, it would include a headshot. Instead, you're just selling a part of your body to the porn agenda, and for what? To feel better about yourself? I really don't understand what the woman gets out of posting pictures of her breasts. To know that some random guy is having a chemical response in his brain to an image of your anatomy is somehow some kind of reward for-- great genetic coding? A decent plastic surgeon? A healthy lifestyle? If you're feeling proud, why isn't your name attached? Someone who is truly "loud and proud" would even link it to their resume, right?
So why is the knee jerk reaction when women feel oppressed to take our clothes off? If we've associated restriction with our attire then perhaps we need to move up a size.
We need to recognize our physical bodies for their purpose rather than define ourselves entirely by what visual stimulation they provide. When we're reduced to eye candy, we are seriously limiting ourselves from doing good in our own spheres.
(Stephanie Nielson says it best, I think.)
Friday, January 18, 2013
Jock Privilege
I had some thoughts about what happens when athletes get a free pass earlier this week. These thoughts were stemmed from a horrific incident that occurred in Steubenville, OH, and as I explored what was going around locally, I found that jock privilege is something that happens regularly. Such privilege can be as little as looking the other way when an assignment is turned in late, to getting away with rape. Apparently, there are some serious benefits to lacing up some cleats and ramming your skull into other people.
I thought about a situation in junior high. I remember the teacher well-- he was the social studies teacher, and also the football coach. My class had several of the football players in it, and I noticed very quickly that these students were rarely prepared for class and were blatantly favored in spite of it. As the token brown-noser goodie two shoes 4.0 student, I was infuriated that my role as Golden Child was threatened because I wasn't a football player. After class one day, I approached the teacher's desk and said, "You favor the football players. They get special treatment, and it isn't fair." How I managed to do this without sobbing the sentence out is beyond me, because I rarely do well when confronting authority figures-- perhaps the favoritism had been so blatant that I'd already lost respect for him.
If I hadn't at that point, though, the deal was sealed when his response was to grab the quarterback who was walking by at that point and asking, "Do you think I favor the football players?"
"No, sir."
"All right then. I don't think we have a problem then."
(I often reflect on incidents like this and so wish that I could go back in time and stand next to my eighth grade self and put people like this in their place. I think if I ever stumble upon a genie's lamp, that would be one of my wishes)
So I thought it was interesting when I pulled up various news sites and found this breaking story about Manti Te'o, a football player for Notre Dame who allegedly was the victim of some internet hoax where a girl was made up and he fell madly in love with her over the internet, only to have fake girlfriend die of cancer the day before his biggest game, as well as the same day his grandma died. There are so many holes in the story, including incidents where he says he went to visit her and his family corroborates, but then he claims he was just too embarrassed to tell his family that when he went to meet her, she never showed up (really? Big football star would keep dating a girl he'd never met who stood him up over and over again?). I'm not buying a thing he's putting down, and I so love that he's also publicly LDS (/sarcasm-- freakin' a, people, stop telling the world you're a Mormon if you're going to be a butthead-- we've already got a lot to work against as it is!). It was an interesting story, one that I definitely read the entire lengthy article for, and just mildly noted that Notre Dame came out and identified Manti as the victim, and stood by him with their abundant resources of PI's who would figure out what happened to this poor, heartbroken football player.
I didn't think much of the latter until I later came across and article about a young lady from Notre Dame named Lizzy Seeberg. The article I linked to is pretty great at covering why this whole thing is an awful mess. Turns out Manti's dead girlfriend was a fake? Let's call in the troops! Use every available resource to get to the bottom of this thing. Leave no stone unturned. However, Lizzy Seeberg reports that she was sexually assaulted by another student. Over a week passes before the reported offender is even questioned, and in that time, Lizzy Seeberg, a freshman, commits suicide. Upon her death, her written statement about the incident is no longer admissable in court, because her demise means it is "hearsay". The reported offender was approached after her suicide, found to be not responsible for any wrongdoing, and was allowed to continue with his routine without a hiccup. Oh, it might help to mention-- that routine included playing for the Notre Dame football team, as he continues to do so to this day.
So what does Manti have that Lizzy didn't, that he immediately got the support because someone lied to him about a girlfriend (supposedly-- that's assuming he actually didn't know anything about it, which at this point seems ridiculous)-- and that support comes in the form of private investigators, but Lizzy is sexually assaulted and her report doesn't even get a second look until more than a week after the report, after she commits suicide?
You're right. In the grand scheme of things, I would much rather be sexually assaulted than be duped on Twitter about some potential love interest. That's how everyone feels, right? No?
No. No one. Ever. Because being lied to on the internet is not even in the same playing field as sexual assault. But if the person committing the assault wears a jersey on a regular basis, the rules don't apply. And unfortunately for Lizzy, she was female, and didn't play for a football team. Maybe if she were a football player, and the attacker were some other faceless, seemingly unimportant (in the university's eyes) person, she would have gotten the immediate support that Manti is receiving, and she would have had a better chance of being in a healthier, safer emotional place where suicide was less likely to seem like an option.
This is a time where we don't need a genie. This is happening now. This is an opportunity now to speak up for the people who don't have a voice-- for the Lizzies, and the countless others who have their report swept under the rug because athletes can't rape-- all women are clamoring for the opportunity to have sex with an athlete, which always implies consent, right? Wrong. All wrong. Women are not trophies. Women are not objects. Women are people with thoughts, ideas, emotions, and the right to say no and have it respected, regardless of who the person is or if he has a spot on the team roster.
So why do we support a culture that enables rape? Why do we paint our faces, spend hard earned money on season tickets, and allow ourselves to forget what it currently means to be an athlete?
This article says it best:
What's really surprising me are those who believe as I do that two players on the team have committed serious criminal acts – sexual assault in one case, and rape in another - but assumed that I'd support the team anyway, just as they are.
"Aren't you just a little bit excited?" one asked the other day. There are plenty of good guys on the team, too, I'm repeatedly told. And oh, that Manti Te'o is inspiring. I don't doubt it. But as a thought exercise, how many predators would have to be on the team before you'd no longer feel like cheering?
How many?
I thought about a situation in junior high. I remember the teacher well-- he was the social studies teacher, and also the football coach. My class had several of the football players in it, and I noticed very quickly that these students were rarely prepared for class and were blatantly favored in spite of it. As the token brown-noser goodie two shoes 4.0 student, I was infuriated that my role as Golden Child was threatened because I wasn't a football player. After class one day, I approached the teacher's desk and said, "You favor the football players. They get special treatment, and it isn't fair." How I managed to do this without sobbing the sentence out is beyond me, because I rarely do well when confronting authority figures-- perhaps the favoritism had been so blatant that I'd already lost respect for him.
If I hadn't at that point, though, the deal was sealed when his response was to grab the quarterback who was walking by at that point and asking, "Do you think I favor the football players?"
"No, sir."
"All right then. I don't think we have a problem then."
(I often reflect on incidents like this and so wish that I could go back in time and stand next to my eighth grade self and put people like this in their place. I think if I ever stumble upon a genie's lamp, that would be one of my wishes)
So I thought it was interesting when I pulled up various news sites and found this breaking story about Manti Te'o, a football player for Notre Dame who allegedly was the victim of some internet hoax where a girl was made up and he fell madly in love with her over the internet, only to have fake girlfriend die of cancer the day before his biggest game, as well as the same day his grandma died. There are so many holes in the story, including incidents where he says he went to visit her and his family corroborates, but then he claims he was just too embarrassed to tell his family that when he went to meet her, she never showed up (really? Big football star would keep dating a girl he'd never met who stood him up over and over again?). I'm not buying a thing he's putting down, and I so love that he's also publicly LDS (/sarcasm-- freakin' a, people, stop telling the world you're a Mormon if you're going to be a butthead-- we've already got a lot to work against as it is!). It was an interesting story, one that I definitely read the entire lengthy article for, and just mildly noted that Notre Dame came out and identified Manti as the victim, and stood by him with their abundant resources of PI's who would figure out what happened to this poor, heartbroken football player.
I didn't think much of the latter until I later came across and article about a young lady from Notre Dame named Lizzy Seeberg. The article I linked to is pretty great at covering why this whole thing is an awful mess. Turns out Manti's dead girlfriend was a fake? Let's call in the troops! Use every available resource to get to the bottom of this thing. Leave no stone unturned. However, Lizzy Seeberg reports that she was sexually assaulted by another student. Over a week passes before the reported offender is even questioned, and in that time, Lizzy Seeberg, a freshman, commits suicide. Upon her death, her written statement about the incident is no longer admissable in court, because her demise means it is "hearsay". The reported offender was approached after her suicide, found to be not responsible for any wrongdoing, and was allowed to continue with his routine without a hiccup. Oh, it might help to mention-- that routine included playing for the Notre Dame football team, as he continues to do so to this day.
So what does Manti have that Lizzy didn't, that he immediately got the support because someone lied to him about a girlfriend (supposedly-- that's assuming he actually didn't know anything about it, which at this point seems ridiculous)-- and that support comes in the form of private investigators, but Lizzy is sexually assaulted and her report doesn't even get a second look until more than a week after the report, after she commits suicide?
You're right. In the grand scheme of things, I would much rather be sexually assaulted than be duped on Twitter about some potential love interest. That's how everyone feels, right? No?
No. No one. Ever. Because being lied to on the internet is not even in the same playing field as sexual assault. But if the person committing the assault wears a jersey on a regular basis, the rules don't apply. And unfortunately for Lizzy, she was female, and didn't play for a football team. Maybe if she were a football player, and the attacker were some other faceless, seemingly unimportant (in the university's eyes) person, she would have gotten the immediate support that Manti is receiving, and she would have had a better chance of being in a healthier, safer emotional place where suicide was less likely to seem like an option.
This is a time where we don't need a genie. This is happening now. This is an opportunity now to speak up for the people who don't have a voice-- for the Lizzies, and the countless others who have their report swept under the rug because athletes can't rape-- all women are clamoring for the opportunity to have sex with an athlete, which always implies consent, right? Wrong. All wrong. Women are not trophies. Women are not objects. Women are people with thoughts, ideas, emotions, and the right to say no and have it respected, regardless of who the person is or if he has a spot on the team roster.
So why do we support a culture that enables rape? Why do we paint our faces, spend hard earned money on season tickets, and allow ourselves to forget what it currently means to be an athlete?
This article says it best:
What's really surprising me are those who believe as I do that two players on the team have committed serious criminal acts – sexual assault in one case, and rape in another - but assumed that I'd support the team anyway, just as they are.
"Aren't you just a little bit excited?" one asked the other day. There are plenty of good guys on the team, too, I'm repeatedly told. And oh, that Manti Te'o is inspiring. I don't doubt it. But as a thought exercise, how many predators would have to be on the team before you'd no longer feel like cheering?
How many?
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
When Athletes Get a Free Pass
In high school, there was a Sports Sister program. It wasn't anything official, you didn't have to apply or anything like that-- all you had to do was fork over X amount of dollars, and they'd give you a sweatshirt with the name and number of your favorite football player on the back. You'd wear the shirt on game days, and you would also bring cookies, candy, whatever for the player and decorate his locker with hearts and good luck charms every single time they had a match.
At the time, I thought nothing of it. I didn't participate in the football program-- instead, a friend and I made our own shirts to support our friend on the soccer team, and even then I had them turn the "6" in his 16 sideways so it would represent both his 16 and my 19 when my season started. But in hindsight, the entire practice is ridiculous-- there was no mutuality of support between the teams. It was done ONLY for the football team, and there was zero expectation that when football season was over, the football players would return the favor for the girls' basketball team. Or track team. Or softball team. Heck, for the debate/forensics team.
Where was my locker decoration on opening night of the musical when I was a lead?
It feeds into this idea of exalting certain groups of individuals that fall within a certain level of athletic ability (although I don't remember our football team really being all that great). While it seems like a benign practice, engaging in this type of worship behavior can lead to some pretty terrible situations where members of the team can develop an indoctrinated notion that general rules of propriety and appropriateness no longer apply to them. And why should they think differently? How often are athletes given extensions, curved scores, or had a blind eye turned to a missing assignment if it impacts their eligibility? I remember there being an outrage when my eleventh grade English teacher gave the participants of the musical an extra day to turn in an assignment when it was due during opening week. It was a member of the football team that protested, and I remember the heat that flashed across her face when she quickly retorted, "It is far less than what the football players are given, so I don't see an issue with it." At the time, I thought she was amazing. Now, I still think she was amazing, and I'm also mad at my past self and those around me for have such general acceptance for a norm that was so unjust.
It's frustrating when the allowance and favoritism bleeds into academics, but it's scary when the attitudes cross over into moral behaviors. Recently, there has been a lot of press on the Steubenville, Ohio rape case-- all press that is in thanks to a few vigilante social media players/reporters who got wind of the incident and have fought for justice. Without their efforts, this case was going to be swept under the rug-- something a lot of folks in Steubenville are still trying to do. Coaches, teachers, people in the community have accused the gang rape survivor of "asking for it," "consenting," and even that she was trying to destroy the football community single handedly. Such accusations would be a little less disgusting (as anyone accusing someone who has reported a rape of "asking for it" is, in fact, disgusting), except there is a ridiculous pile of evidence showing how this girl was drugged and repeatedly sexually assaulted by members of the football team while they documented their adventures with their smartphones and posted them to the internet, bragging about their conquest.
This video is an amazing response to the incident, and something that EVERYONE should see.
It's a horrific incident. One that we can sit comfortably from a distance away and shake our fingers at, declaring its awfulness and terror and swear to never allow such behaviors to occur in our little community. However, Lawrence is a town with its own athletic worship-- and it comes in the form of KU Basketball.
Just over a month ago, Jeff Withey made a Twitter post after apparently viewing the Victoria's Secret fashion show. Jeff Withey is a basketball player, apparently a good one, as his name is usually plastered all over the home page of the local newspaper's website (you can tell I follow a lot of KU basketball). His post states the following:
Jeff Withey@JeffWithey
@JeffWithey most ballers do
@JeffWithey at least most of them are pretty tall ;)
@JeffWithey probs are! You won't e too talk for them lol:D #LOVEYOU
@JeffWithey you and me both
@JeffWithey Geez, you're not satisfied with being able to have any girl on campus?!! 😈
Because that's something worth asking for.
At the time, I thought nothing of it. I didn't participate in the football program-- instead, a friend and I made our own shirts to support our friend on the soccer team, and even then I had them turn the "6" in his 16 sideways so it would represent both his 16 and my 19 when my season started. But in hindsight, the entire practice is ridiculous-- there was no mutuality of support between the teams. It was done ONLY for the football team, and there was zero expectation that when football season was over, the football players would return the favor for the girls' basketball team. Or track team. Or softball team. Heck, for the debate/forensics team.
Where was my locker decoration on opening night of the musical when I was a lead?
It feeds into this idea of exalting certain groups of individuals that fall within a certain level of athletic ability (although I don't remember our football team really being all that great). While it seems like a benign practice, engaging in this type of worship behavior can lead to some pretty terrible situations where members of the team can develop an indoctrinated notion that general rules of propriety and appropriateness no longer apply to them. And why should they think differently? How often are athletes given extensions, curved scores, or had a blind eye turned to a missing assignment if it impacts their eligibility? I remember there being an outrage when my eleventh grade English teacher gave the participants of the musical an extra day to turn in an assignment when it was due during opening week. It was a member of the football team that protested, and I remember the heat that flashed across her face when she quickly retorted, "It is far less than what the football players are given, so I don't see an issue with it." At the time, I thought she was amazing. Now, I still think she was amazing, and I'm also mad at my past self and those around me for have such general acceptance for a norm that was so unjust.
It's frustrating when the allowance and favoritism bleeds into academics, but it's scary when the attitudes cross over into moral behaviors. Recently, there has been a lot of press on the Steubenville, Ohio rape case-- all press that is in thanks to a few vigilante social media players/reporters who got wind of the incident and have fought for justice. Without their efforts, this case was going to be swept under the rug-- something a lot of folks in Steubenville are still trying to do. Coaches, teachers, people in the community have accused the gang rape survivor of "asking for it," "consenting," and even that she was trying to destroy the football community single handedly. Such accusations would be a little less disgusting (as anyone accusing someone who has reported a rape of "asking for it" is, in fact, disgusting), except there is a ridiculous pile of evidence showing how this girl was drugged and repeatedly sexually assaulted by members of the football team while they documented their adventures with their smartphones and posted them to the internet, bragging about their conquest.
This video is an amazing response to the incident, and something that EVERYONE should see.
It's a horrific incident. One that we can sit comfortably from a distance away and shake our fingers at, declaring its awfulness and terror and swear to never allow such behaviors to occur in our little community. However, Lawrence is a town with its own athletic worship-- and it comes in the form of KU Basketball.
Just over a month ago, Jeff Withey made a Twitter post after apparently viewing the Victoria's Secret fashion show. Jeff Withey is a basketball player, apparently a good one, as his name is usually plastered all over the home page of the local newspaper's website (you can tell I follow a lot of KU basketball). His post states the following:
Jeff Withey
I'm going to marry a Victoria Secret model!
By itself, it says a lot about who he is as a person. It's no secret that I'm not a fan of what this particular industry represents, its method of advertising, and its efforts to ensnare younger and younger girls into buying into the messages they're selling. All that aside, however, Withey has expressed a desire to marry a model-- any of the models. He has not singled one out, which would allow for some benefit of the doubt-- perhaps he has read up on that particular model and enjoys similar hobbies, appreciates her upbringing, or admires her aspirations to go back to school or have a family. No-- instead, his statement is generalized to ANY VS model, which indicates that the only value he is interested in is how well a particular woman is able to model lingerie. If one of the models were to walk off the runway and into his arms, he'd take her-- regardless of whether she was interested in curing Autism or slaughtering baby animals, it would all be moot so long as she's got the smokin' bod.
But that isn't the only issue-- it's what comments followed his statement.
What rings throughout is a general acceptance of this type of comment. Gone is any sense of what is decent and respectful of women, and instead is a tolerance and even promotion of this type of behavior. The last comment is particularly disturbing-- that because of Withey's athleticism and success on the basketball court, he is able to "have" his choice of women across campus. Gone is the idea that any of the women may not have any sense of requited affection, because the expectation is that because he is a good athlete, they want him.
Which isn't too far off from, "they're asking for him/it."
So we look down from our high horses and shake our heads at the small town of Steubenville, when perhaps we should look up and around at what is happening around us-- and instead of shaking our heads and simply saying, "Well, what do you expect?", we should raise our expectations and demand better.
Because that's something worth asking for.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Kittens.
I have the best job. Last October, I started working as the Student Affairs Counselor at the law school here in my town. Going into it, I thought it would be a dilluted, safer version of the therapy I practiced prior at the community mental health center-- gone would be the borderline severe and persistent mental health clients, and in would be the high functioning law students whose problems were certainly valid, but wouldn't leave me wanting to curl up in the fetal position after. I could use my degree without returning home feeling completely drained and devoid of all emotional energy.
It wasn't always this way. I used to be able to hear trauma after trauma, in extensive detail, without even batting an eye. If I felt kind of yucky after a session, I'd just flip on Cuteoverload.com, and dancing baby hedgehogs would have me feeling warm and fuzzy and would erase any secondary trauma that may have started. What changed was the birth of my first child-- and suddenly, the scary awful that I was hearing about in the world became something potential, and its potential was that it could happen to this person who was my world.
So now, I don't do stories about children being abused. I can't even do stories from adults recounting abuse they experienced as a child. After enough intake sessions, I had resolved that my children would never have anyone babysit them ever-- only I could be trusted with their care to ensure that no evil monster could prey upon them.
As you can probably imagine, I'm delighted to help law students process the stress of their coursework, the pressure of success, and the doubts of whether they are cut out for law school, or whether law school is cut out for them. It's rewarding, and not triggering. The best of everything.
The thing is, though, life still happens. And it's a startling reminder that we cannot educate ourselves into immunity. Research has always been my defense mechanism-- if there is something that is wrong in my life, I can just read the crap out of it, and then I become the one with the power-- and I can make it go away. I can know enough about it to know its rules, and exile it into a part of the universe that doesn't involve me. So in a very roundabout way, it can feel safe to go to school, to get more education, to have more letters at the end of my name-- because those letters should protect me. They should provide me with the knowledge I need to keep a lot of the bad stuff at bay.
So when an issue comes up with a student that deviates from "Law School is stressful" into "Life hurts sometimes," I am confronted with the reality that so many things are out of my control. There is so much pain out there that is nondiscriminant with its target. It is unfathomable how much can cause so much hurt that you physically, emotionally, and mentally cannot imagine how you haven't died as a result of it, and yet there you are when the alarm goes off in the morning. Sometimes, I think that is one of mortality's greatest cruelties-- that the pain doesn't have mercy and release us from the awful. Usually, I think that when I'm in the throes of it. I would include some uplifting anectdote about how it is empowering to endure, to become strengthened through the overcoming of a hardship, but in the deepness of the suck, I'd rather pass on the strength and empowerment. I'd prefer to keep my coccoon of security and safety, and leave the hurt in that part of the universe that isn't me.
I'm not sure what my point is. There is power in gratitude for what is good, and there is something in acknowledging the terrible. It is there, it is real, and it often doesn't offer notice of its impending arrival. I'm going to work harder to make snuggles with my two (almost three) little ones the most important thing I do each day. Perhaps that will add the needed balance to the things that I cannot influence.
(credit)
It wasn't always this way. I used to be able to hear trauma after trauma, in extensive detail, without even batting an eye. If I felt kind of yucky after a session, I'd just flip on Cuteoverload.com, and dancing baby hedgehogs would have me feeling warm and fuzzy and would erase any secondary trauma that may have started. What changed was the birth of my first child-- and suddenly, the scary awful that I was hearing about in the world became something potential, and its potential was that it could happen to this person who was my world.
So now, I don't do stories about children being abused. I can't even do stories from adults recounting abuse they experienced as a child. After enough intake sessions, I had resolved that my children would never have anyone babysit them ever-- only I could be trusted with their care to ensure that no evil monster could prey upon them.
As you can probably imagine, I'm delighted to help law students process the stress of their coursework, the pressure of success, and the doubts of whether they are cut out for law school, or whether law school is cut out for them. It's rewarding, and not triggering. The best of everything.
The thing is, though, life still happens. And it's a startling reminder that we cannot educate ourselves into immunity. Research has always been my defense mechanism-- if there is something that is wrong in my life, I can just read the crap out of it, and then I become the one with the power-- and I can make it go away. I can know enough about it to know its rules, and exile it into a part of the universe that doesn't involve me. So in a very roundabout way, it can feel safe to go to school, to get more education, to have more letters at the end of my name-- because those letters should protect me. They should provide me with the knowledge I need to keep a lot of the bad stuff at bay.
So when an issue comes up with a student that deviates from "Law School is stressful" into "Life hurts sometimes," I am confronted with the reality that so many things are out of my control. There is so much pain out there that is nondiscriminant with its target. It is unfathomable how much can cause so much hurt that you physically, emotionally, and mentally cannot imagine how you haven't died as a result of it, and yet there you are when the alarm goes off in the morning. Sometimes, I think that is one of mortality's greatest cruelties-- that the pain doesn't have mercy and release us from the awful. Usually, I think that when I'm in the throes of it. I would include some uplifting anectdote about how it is empowering to endure, to become strengthened through the overcoming of a hardship, but in the deepness of the suck, I'd rather pass on the strength and empowerment. I'd prefer to keep my coccoon of security and safety, and leave the hurt in that part of the universe that isn't me.
I'm not sure what my point is. There is power in gratitude for what is good, and there is something in acknowledging the terrible. It is there, it is real, and it often doesn't offer notice of its impending arrival. I'm going to work harder to make snuggles with my two (almost three) little ones the most important thing I do each day. Perhaps that will add the needed balance to the things that I cannot influence.
(credit)
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
A confused idea of "empowering."
I had the sad experience of coming across a quote from a gal whom I usually find adorable. Cameron Diaz was interviewed this past November, and discussed being "objectified," and stated, "I think every woman does want to be objectified".
Read more: http://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-news/news/cameron-diaz-women-want-to-be-objectified-20122011#ixzz2HKWcCVqM
Follow us: @usweekly on Twitter | usweekly on Facebook
Look at that. It cites it for me. What a delightful tool-- the auto-link, not Cameron Diaz, for clarification.
I was disappointed already. Then my heart broke when I read the following:
The Bad Teacher star doesn't even mind stripping down to her underwear for photo shoots, as she did for a recent Terry Richardson spread in the November issue of Esquire UK.
"It's empowering," she explained. "I'm not some young girl with the photographer going, 'Will you take your clothes off?' I'm like [mimes stripping], 'How does this look?'"
Read more: http://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-news/news/cameron-diaz-women-want-to-be-objectified-20122011#ixzz2HKWvao2l
Follow us: @usweekly on Twitter | usweekly on Facebook
It's the age old argument. It's interesting, though, because while prostitution is allegedly the oldest profession, female empowerment is a rather novel idea. So what is this notion that the two are related?
Yes. I'm equating to parading in a magazine in your skivvies to prostitution. You can choose to snort and close your browser now, if you like, but there are many individuals who feel the same.
Know why?
Because objectification, this idea that Ms. Diaz says is something "all women want," is defined as becoming an object. No longer am I a person when I am objectified-- I am a thing. A thing does not have rights. It does not have feelings. A prostitute is not viewed as a person-- merely a tool for sexual gratification. And normalized pornography is the same. So while she argues in the beginning that becoming objectified is "healthy," she then argues that doing so is "empowering."
I'm arguing that she is "confused."
Empowerment is also an idea that lends itself to a greater purpose. When it comes to female objectification, the individual volunteering (or sometimes not volunteering, as the sex slave trade that is alive and well in the United States would have us know) to remove their clothing for the sake of "empowerment" fails to consider the effect it has on the rest of her gender group.
Consider the spouse of a ponography addict (by the way, I hate porn.). Do you think she feels empowered when she finds her husband glancing over your image? Do you think women anywhere feel empowered when they see you in all of your phonishopped glory, riddling themselves with feelings of inadequacy and an unquenchable desire to be "enough"?
I'm so sick of this notion that declaring one's strength requires the downfall and destruction of everyone else. It's all very Hunger Games-y, and we all know how that ended.
So I have a proposal for you, Ms. Diaz. Consider the impact you have on others when declaring "empowerment." Really understand what it means to be "objectified," and explore how normalized pornography contributes to the acceptance of rape myths (among other super "empowering" things).
Read more: http://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-news/news/cameron-diaz-women-want-to-be-objectified-20122011#ixzz2HKWcCVqM
Follow us: @usweekly on Twitter | usweekly on Facebook
Look at that. It cites it for me. What a delightful tool-- the auto-link, not Cameron Diaz, for clarification.
I was disappointed already. Then my heart broke when I read the following:
The Bad Teacher star doesn't even mind stripping down to her underwear for photo shoots, as she did for a recent Terry Richardson spread in the November issue of Esquire UK.
"It's empowering," she explained. "I'm not some young girl with the photographer going, 'Will you take your clothes off?' I'm like [mimes stripping], 'How does this look?'"
Read more: http://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-news/news/cameron-diaz-women-want-to-be-objectified-20122011#ixzz2HKWvao2l
Follow us: @usweekly on Twitter | usweekly on Facebook
It's the age old argument. It's interesting, though, because while prostitution is allegedly the oldest profession, female empowerment is a rather novel idea. So what is this notion that the two are related?
Yes. I'm equating to parading in a magazine in your skivvies to prostitution. You can choose to snort and close your browser now, if you like, but there are many individuals who feel the same.
Know why?
Because objectification, this idea that Ms. Diaz says is something "all women want," is defined as becoming an object. No longer am I a person when I am objectified-- I am a thing. A thing does not have rights. It does not have feelings. A prostitute is not viewed as a person-- merely a tool for sexual gratification. And normalized pornography is the same. So while she argues in the beginning that becoming objectified is "healthy," she then argues that doing so is "empowering."
I'm arguing that she is "confused."
Empowerment is also an idea that lends itself to a greater purpose. When it comes to female objectification, the individual volunteering (or sometimes not volunteering, as the sex slave trade that is alive and well in the United States would have us know) to remove their clothing for the sake of "empowerment" fails to consider the effect it has on the rest of her gender group.
Consider the spouse of a ponography addict (by the way, I hate porn.). Do you think she feels empowered when she finds her husband glancing over your image? Do you think women anywhere feel empowered when they see you in all of your phonishopped glory, riddling themselves with feelings of inadequacy and an unquenchable desire to be "enough"?
I'm so sick of this notion that declaring one's strength requires the downfall and destruction of everyone else. It's all very Hunger Games-y, and we all know how that ended.
So I have a proposal for you, Ms. Diaz. Consider the impact you have on others when declaring "empowerment." Really understand what it means to be "objectified," and explore how normalized pornography contributes to the acceptance of rape myths (among other super "empowering" things).
Monday, January 7, 2013
An the winner of the BFF award goes to...
The Sportsart 805p.
It was a difficult journey to get to this point. A few weeks ago, I went running on the treadmill, and was dismayed to find that before the end of the first mile, I felt that my abdomen was going to split in half. I walked at an incline for five minutes, and then attempted mile number two. I made it through it, but only through harnessing all of the mental energy that was required to get me through the last few miles of my twenty mile training run last fall. It was excruciating, and as I walked another five minutes on an incline, I decided that I had two options:
1. Give in and use pregnancy as an excuse to get soft, doughy, and just be determined to train harder this summer to get my PR at the Kansas City Half, or
2. Get an elliptical.
I have a very strong, loving relationship with the elliptical. It was my machine of choice for the longest time at the gym, and my parents purchased one immediately prior to me returning home for my last summer before getting married. I could spend hours on the thing (and often did when I was eating disordered). No matter what injury I may have been nursing at the time, the elliptical consistently let me work out without hurting myself further.
So it was my answer.
I told the husband, got approval, and then immediately began perusing Craigslist. I wanted something inexpensive, but I also wanted something that wouldn't squeak. I knew I'd be using it while the chitluns napped, so those were really my two considerations. After looking for a while, though, I got frustrated, as many of the reviews of the machines I'd found in my self-determined price range had a common complaint: They were noisy.
Ugh.
I vented my frustration to my husband, who adores online shopping, and he committed to finding the elliptical. We researched stride lengths and what would be ideal for our height ranges, and he went out from there.
Then I got the phone call.
"Hey, I want you to look at this one."
I got on to look, and was shocked. Yes, it looked great. It was a great deal for what the machine retails for. But it still cost twice what I was considering for another one, one that I thought was insanely expensive itself, and felt selfish for even considering spending the money on something for me.
My husband went through the logic with me.
- It's something I'll use every day while pregnant, and every other day when I'm not (going to be a good girl with cross training this time to avoid injury)
- If we get something cheap, we won't want to bother moving it in a couple years when the husband finishes his master's and we move elsewhere for his PhD, and at that point we really won't be in a position to purchase a new machine
- The cheaper ones on Craigslist weren't that much cheaper than what you'd pay for them new, and even new they're a mediocre machine. This one is a great machine (per reviews), can handle a lot of use, and is a great deal for what retail is for it.
Best. Decision. Ever.
The machine is super quiet. Our house is small, with the two bedrooms adjacent to the living area, and the machine sits in the living room on our cement floor. When I got on to workout while the husband put the 1 year old down for a nap, he came out and was surprised I had already started-- he couldn't hear a peep from the other room.
I didn't even consider this when getting the machine, but having the motor in the back as opposed to the front is ideal for having small children. The kids see it as playground equipment and want to climb on it, and if the temptation proves to strong while I'm exercising, I can see them by the moving parts in the front and prevent injury from occurring, and there are no exposed moving parts in the back where I wouldn't have seen them before. I never even thought of that when I was looking at machines, and I'm so grateful to realize after the fact that I made a good choice!
The workout programs are great. It syncs with a heart rate strap, so I can do the heart rate workouts and set it so I don't over exert myself in my preggo state without having to even pay attention to what the resistance level is throughout the workout. Delightful.
Most of all, my emotional health is already improving. I am in that awkward place where I'm too pregnant to do the workouts I was doing before pregnancy, but too fit to feel many benefits from pregnancy workout videos. A lot of days I couldn't get motivated to carve out time to "exercise" when I didn't feel I was getting anything from it. This gives me my "me-time" that feels productive, gives me my endorphin fix, and helps me feel like I'm maintaining some fitness so I won't be starting from scratch after baby #3 arrives.
It was an expensive toy. But with all the benefits I feel like I'm getting from it already, I know wholeheartedly that it will be worth it.
In related news, when we ask the 1 year old if he's exercising, he immediately starts doing squats. Love. That. Boy.
Friday, January 4, 2013
I have an idea... how about the people BEHIND the camera show us THEIR beach bodies?
Or better yet... how about the people who are writing the headlines and putting people into columns: "BEST/WORST BEACH BODIES OF 2012!!!"
It's really annoying to me when I click on a news story, only to be bombarded on the right hand side of my screen with image after image of beach body this, teeny bikini that, and look who just tweeted a picture of herself in her underwear!
Quite frankly, I feel the digital age has done terrible, terrible things for people who, in another era, would have been able to pretend they were full of depth, substance, and dignity. It is also not so fun for those of us who like to be informed about current events and prefer not to know whether or not Celebrity X or Politician Y is full of depth, substance, and/or dignity.
I also wish someone they trusted would sit down with them and have that important conversation about how posting mostly naked pictures of themselves on the internet may get them the attention they so desperately crave, but it also tells anyone and everyone that they so desperately crave attention, which is very telling in itself. See: #notsoattractive
Quite frankly, I don't know how famous people even go to the beach. It seems like in order to make it into the WORST column, all that is required is for someone to have a grudge against you. With phonishoppe, camera angles, and simply what you're doing at the time (it's amazing what sneezing at the inopportune time during a photo-op can do for your perception of your physical appearance) it's all a matter of whether or not the person writing the article even likes you-- or thinks that posting an awful picture of you will sell magazines.
The question is-- why DOES it sell magazines?
Because the normal folks (and the non-Pretty People) like to know that even with a personal trainer, personal chef, stylists galore, and gobs of money and free time, even the shining stars can exhibit a frog throat now and again that humanizes them into something inferior-- something like us.
Frankly, that's silly.
I recently read a book that was a compilation of essays written by women who have battled and/or are currently battling anorexia. One of the essays was from a gal who was in Hollywood, and chose to remain anonymous. She stated that her career originated in front of the camera, but she has since transitioned to behind the camera doing editing work and production, which she said has been paramount in her recovery. She described how interesting she thought it was when it was tabloid news that some celebrity has an eating disorder-- "They all do," she said. "It isn't news out here." That's what is so interesting to me-- and sad to me, really. As someone who has battled the ED demons, and worked with individuals who are experiencing an eating disorder, I can tell you with absolute certainty that there is ZERO happiness in the throes of that mental illness. So these people that we place on pedestals, wishing for the glamour and limos and premieres and parties and fancy clothes, fantasizing about what it would be like to be one of them-- chances are, they are in a place where they can't even enjoy it. They are in a place where nothing feels good enough, nothing fills the void, and they are so desperate for the validation that comes from their success to fill that void, and it doesn't come-- fortunately, they can just tweet a half (or 3/4) naked picture of themselves and get a quick fix. But it isn't lasting.
It's important to take care of our bodies. Feed them properly, exercise them, and make them the healthiest they can be. But that doesn't mean fitting into the same dress Rihanna wore at the Grammy's. It means being the best you there is. Let's shift to making that the goal rather than some arbitrary number that 90% of population only reaches through damaging themselves.
And for the love of Pete... Refrain from camera phone self portraits. You're sending a lot more than just an image.
(credit)
It's really annoying to me when I click on a news story, only to be bombarded on the right hand side of my screen with image after image of beach body this, teeny bikini that, and look who just tweeted a picture of herself in her underwear!
Quite frankly, I feel the digital age has done terrible, terrible things for people who, in another era, would have been able to pretend they were full of depth, substance, and dignity. It is also not so fun for those of us who like to be informed about current events and prefer not to know whether or not Celebrity X or Politician Y is full of depth, substance, and/or dignity.
I also wish someone they trusted would sit down with them and have that important conversation about how posting mostly naked pictures of themselves on the internet may get them the attention they so desperately crave, but it also tells anyone and everyone that they so desperately crave attention, which is very telling in itself. See: #notsoattractive
Quite frankly, I don't know how famous people even go to the beach. It seems like in order to make it into the WORST column, all that is required is for someone to have a grudge against you. With phonishoppe, camera angles, and simply what you're doing at the time (it's amazing what sneezing at the inopportune time during a photo-op can do for your perception of your physical appearance) it's all a matter of whether or not the person writing the article even likes you-- or thinks that posting an awful picture of you will sell magazines.
The question is-- why DOES it sell magazines?
Because the normal folks (and the non-Pretty People) like to know that even with a personal trainer, personal chef, stylists galore, and gobs of money and free time, even the shining stars can exhibit a frog throat now and again that humanizes them into something inferior-- something like us.
Frankly, that's silly.
I recently read a book that was a compilation of essays written by women who have battled and/or are currently battling anorexia. One of the essays was from a gal who was in Hollywood, and chose to remain anonymous. She stated that her career originated in front of the camera, but she has since transitioned to behind the camera doing editing work and production, which she said has been paramount in her recovery. She described how interesting she thought it was when it was tabloid news that some celebrity has an eating disorder-- "They all do," she said. "It isn't news out here." That's what is so interesting to me-- and sad to me, really. As someone who has battled the ED demons, and worked with individuals who are experiencing an eating disorder, I can tell you with absolute certainty that there is ZERO happiness in the throes of that mental illness. So these people that we place on pedestals, wishing for the glamour and limos and premieres and parties and fancy clothes, fantasizing about what it would be like to be one of them-- chances are, they are in a place where they can't even enjoy it. They are in a place where nothing feels good enough, nothing fills the void, and they are so desperate for the validation that comes from their success to fill that void, and it doesn't come-- fortunately, they can just tweet a half (or 3/4) naked picture of themselves and get a quick fix. But it isn't lasting.
It's important to take care of our bodies. Feed them properly, exercise them, and make them the healthiest they can be. But that doesn't mean fitting into the same dress Rihanna wore at the Grammy's. It means being the best you there is. Let's shift to making that the goal rather than some arbitrary number that 90% of population only reaches through damaging themselves.
And for the love of Pete... Refrain from camera phone self portraits. You're sending a lot more than just an image.
(credit)
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Phony-shop
"Phonishoppe"? Maybe that's a bit catchier. Trendier.
Something.
It's hard to come up with a word that is capable of garnering enough attention to bring light to something that has become such a sad case of normal.
The day after Christmas, while out visiting family, the husband and I took the boys to the mall to spend some gift card money that was burning a hole in our pockets (okay, in my husband's pocket-- I was just determined to get the kids out doing something after spending so much of the past several days in the car travelling to various family locations to celebrate the holidays). As we were headed to our store of choice, there was a Pepsi advertisement with Sofia Vergara. I'm annoyed with myself for not taking a picture of the advertisement-- I assumed I could just google it and find it, but this particular one won't come up (and I got a little sick to my stomach viewing all of the google images that come up when you search for said actress-- Good. Grief.). I saw the ad, almost life-sized near some soda machines, and I started to laugh. Here was an actress touted for her curves, claiming her figure is a result of regular pilates and nothing more (though, to be fair, certain other actresses have claimed this as well in the past, and it turns out "pilates" was code for "cocaine and bulimia", but I believe Sofia on this one), and she was whittled down to a stick. Her image, her liveliness, was processed out of her through a click-happy photoshopper who destroyed everything about her that makes her wonderful and attractive, simply so she could fit into some idea of what is considered "beautiful." Why get her in the first place, then?
I'd been thinking about using models and actors to promote various products lately, and I started to get annoyed. I'm supposed to purchase a product based entirely on what some pretty person says-- that they love it, so I should too, out of a quest to also become one of the pretty people. Why, I asked, don't they have someone like Hillary Clinton telling me what cell phone she likes best? That's something I'd listen to. Or what Condeleezza Rice prefers to drive. Or which clothing line Rachel Maddow prefers-- because these are brilliant women, and I'd strongly consider their judgement when trying to make a decision for myself. But then, in my quest to find the Sofia Vergara Pepsi advertisement, I also simply searched for "Pepsi advertisement," and pulled up the google image search.
Good. Grief.
It's no wonder these brilliant individuals don't align themselves with product endorsement (assuming these particular companies have had the brains/courage to ask them). It seems that to become the face of something (an accomplishment so many wannabe Top Models strive to achieve) requires agreeing to degredation.
Take, for example, the ad that popped up from 2004 (which was also the year I graduated high school, so a bit dated-- but also not THAT long ago):
Notice Enrique-- decked otu for battle appropriately. Armor covers his thorasic cavity, and his weird pouty look is enough to distract anyone from actually attacking (okay, not really-- what is up with that face? That's the best image they could get?!). Anyway.
Then we move on to the other women. They're depicted as warriors, also preparing for battle (we can assume), but what is their attack strategy? Distract with cleavage? Assume blood is rushing to your genitalia, and thus your limbs will not be as fortified to deliver any sort of deadly blow? It sends the incredibly destructive, mixed message of "Women are strong! And powerful!" with "This is what it looks like to be a woman-- thin, toned, busty, and willing to share it all for the sake of empowerment-- if you aren't there yet, hopefully someday you'll be enough. [insert pity smile here]".
I'm trying to imagine such an ad being sent for approval fifty years ago, and the reaction it would get. It honestly looks like it could be the cover of a pornographic movie, and these women are just puppets in a fantasy held by the run-of-the-mill male.
So what do we do? Is there something that can be done to battle such imagery? Something I've been trying to do is to educate myself on the advertisments and moral code of the various companies filling the shelves of my local stores to understand who is promoting the values I want to support, and those that promote normalized pornography. I know I can't speak for all households, but in ours, I am the one with the most buying power. As the person who is typically running the errands and filling our pantry, I decide what we buy-- and if I refrain from the products that spend a large chunk of their money objectifying women and promoting these negative ideals, then maybe they'll get the message if other moms (and other concerned consumers) jump on board.
So in a culture where we, women, potentially have the largest say in what fills our shopping carts, why does this kind of behavior perpetuate? Why are so many companies getting away with telling us we aren't enough, we aren't sexy enough, and challenging us regularly to overcome our own demons of inadequacy and self criticism as well as creating an environment that does not allow our children to develop healthy ideas about relationships and sexuality?
Let's get smarter. Let's educate our selves. Let's take a consumer stand against products who utilize their advertising to tear us down, perpetuate rape myths, and promote the normalization of pornography.
It's one way to stop the cuts.
Something.
It's hard to come up with a word that is capable of garnering enough attention to bring light to something that has become such a sad case of normal.
The day after Christmas, while out visiting family, the husband and I took the boys to the mall to spend some gift card money that was burning a hole in our pockets (okay, in my husband's pocket-- I was just determined to get the kids out doing something after spending so much of the past several days in the car travelling to various family locations to celebrate the holidays). As we were headed to our store of choice, there was a Pepsi advertisement with Sofia Vergara. I'm annoyed with myself for not taking a picture of the advertisement-- I assumed I could just google it and find it, but this particular one won't come up (and I got a little sick to my stomach viewing all of the google images that come up when you search for said actress-- Good. Grief.). I saw the ad, almost life-sized near some soda machines, and I started to laugh. Here was an actress touted for her curves, claiming her figure is a result of regular pilates and nothing more (though, to be fair, certain other actresses have claimed this as well in the past, and it turns out "pilates" was code for "cocaine and bulimia", but I believe Sofia on this one), and she was whittled down to a stick. Her image, her liveliness, was processed out of her through a click-happy photoshopper who destroyed everything about her that makes her wonderful and attractive, simply so she could fit into some idea of what is considered "beautiful." Why get her in the first place, then?
I'd been thinking about using models and actors to promote various products lately, and I started to get annoyed. I'm supposed to purchase a product based entirely on what some pretty person says-- that they love it, so I should too, out of a quest to also become one of the pretty people. Why, I asked, don't they have someone like Hillary Clinton telling me what cell phone she likes best? That's something I'd listen to. Or what Condeleezza Rice prefers to drive. Or which clothing line Rachel Maddow prefers-- because these are brilliant women, and I'd strongly consider their judgement when trying to make a decision for myself. But then, in my quest to find the Sofia Vergara Pepsi advertisement, I also simply searched for "Pepsi advertisement," and pulled up the google image search.
Good. Grief.
It's no wonder these brilliant individuals don't align themselves with product endorsement (assuming these particular companies have had the brains/courage to ask them). It seems that to become the face of something (an accomplishment so many wannabe Top Models strive to achieve) requires agreeing to degredation.
Take, for example, the ad that popped up from 2004 (which was also the year I graduated high school, so a bit dated-- but also not THAT long ago):
Notice Enrique-- decked otu for battle appropriately. Armor covers his thorasic cavity, and his weird pouty look is enough to distract anyone from actually attacking (okay, not really-- what is up with that face? That's the best image they could get?!). Anyway.
Then we move on to the other women. They're depicted as warriors, also preparing for battle (we can assume), but what is their attack strategy? Distract with cleavage? Assume blood is rushing to your genitalia, and thus your limbs will not be as fortified to deliver any sort of deadly blow? It sends the incredibly destructive, mixed message of "Women are strong! And powerful!" with "This is what it looks like to be a woman-- thin, toned, busty, and willing to share it all for the sake of empowerment-- if you aren't there yet, hopefully someday you'll be enough. [insert pity smile here]".
I'm trying to imagine such an ad being sent for approval fifty years ago, and the reaction it would get. It honestly looks like it could be the cover of a pornographic movie, and these women are just puppets in a fantasy held by the run-of-the-mill male.
So what do we do? Is there something that can be done to battle such imagery? Something I've been trying to do is to educate myself on the advertisments and moral code of the various companies filling the shelves of my local stores to understand who is promoting the values I want to support, and those that promote normalized pornography. I know I can't speak for all households, but in ours, I am the one with the most buying power. As the person who is typically running the errands and filling our pantry, I decide what we buy-- and if I refrain from the products that spend a large chunk of their money objectifying women and promoting these negative ideals, then maybe they'll get the message if other moms (and other concerned consumers) jump on board.
So in a culture where we, women, potentially have the largest say in what fills our shopping carts, why does this kind of behavior perpetuate? Why are so many companies getting away with telling us we aren't enough, we aren't sexy enough, and challenging us regularly to overcome our own demons of inadequacy and self criticism as well as creating an environment that does not allow our children to develop healthy ideas about relationships and sexuality?
Let's get smarter. Let's educate our selves. Let's take a consumer stand against products who utilize their advertising to tear us down, perpetuate rape myths, and promote the normalization of pornography.
It's one way to stop the cuts.
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