I saw a post asking what feminists’ think about the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. I first had to ask myself whether I was a feminist. In my younger days, my roommate and I answered yes in a classroom of women who answered no. A non feminist at an all women’s college?   Yes, it happens. We only felt we were feminists because we believed in a woman’s right to choose her path in life. My roommate and I both ended up having law degrees. She is a founding partner in her own firm, I am a housewife. We have chosen different paths. It is this type of feminist who answers the quandary posed by the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.

When I was younger I reveled in the beauty and sexuality the show represents. The models looked like they were having fun and well; the men’s enjoyment at the parade of young, long, lanky women in underwear was obvious. Obvious to even a young wife who watched with her husband and considered which “looks” might be appealing. As I have aged, I am almost fifty; I no longer watch the show. It no longer inspires the same feeling of fun and frolic it once did. I wonder if I have lost the sexual spark the show should inspire or have I begun to see the problems in a nationally televised lingerie show? Have I become jealous or merely wise?

Jealously is not allowed. See I have one daughter who could walk the runway. I have been surrounded by young women who look better than the models for quite some time. They are beautiful. They are long, lanky and young. So young. I watch the similar young women to the girls on the runway walk into the pool and turn heads, then fight their younger sister’s over the front seat. I watch these young women handle adult jobs, and then need their “mommy” to make dinner. I see how young these women are, and how young 21 really is.

I went to a salon school to have my hair done. There I saw young women who made my daughters look like children, almost. Youth was so evident, even if children and bills were involved. These women were dealing with the challenges of adulthood, parenthood, with the attitudes shown by my children, but the responsibilities I experience. Their energy was amazing, but I shifted into my “mom” role almost immediately. I was amazed at what they had to deal with. I was amazed they could. I am not really sure they can, because see, they let me see their lives. I was “mom” and quite frankly I was afraid for them.

These are the young women who model Victoria’s Secret’s product. I believe it is because they are the only ones who can. The older models lose their joy. They look uncomfortable. You can see it on TV. They no longer exude the “good time” emotion the younger women exhibit. The men do not see it right away. I do. Who wants’ to watch a woman look uncomfortable modeling underwear? If you do enjoy the model’s discomfort, well that is an unpleasant path I do not want to pursue.

I do not want my daughter to pursue it either. As one ages one becomes aware of the multiple layers of sexual thought and enjoyment. The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show has been exploring these layers throughout the years. An old time viewer like me sees the hints of religious music, leather and lace and fantasy. I have watched the show bounce from fun to slightly odd. I have watched the models begin to look uncomfortable. I do not want to watch any longer.  I do not want to watch young women experiencing euphoria that cannot be maintained as she ages. You start to get the feeling the enjoyment is premised on ignorance, or innocence. You start to get the feeling these young women are being used.

Now let’s be realistic, these women are paid huge amounts of money to parade down the runway in next to nothing. These women are at the top of their field, modeling, and they are utilizing their beauty in the most financially productive way our culture allows. Being a Victoria’s Secret Model is a coveted position by models and mortals alike. I am looking at their real life counterparts and sometimes even at them. I watched one of the models on television soon after the fashion show. Television is supposed to put weight on an individual, but this woman looked emaciated. I had to wonder where all the men were who celebrated her sexuality? She looked freakish, her high cheek bones too prominent and her body frighteningly thin. Many women would have reveled at her appearance, and I think the TV people did. I wanted to feed her.  I wanted to contact Victoria’s Secret, which is headquartered in my town, and scream “feed her!” I chose not to.

So you see I have been seeing Victoria’s Secret in many ways for a long time. I used to go to a club where I saw the “looks” of the fashion show quite some time before the show was aired. No, I never saw wings but I saw themes, model duplicates and maybe even a model or two. I would see the seeds of the catalogues before they were ever published. I have been watching the show for a long time.

I do not want to watch any longer. I do not begrudge the basic biological truths this show represents. I do not want to stifle sexuality, especially a young woman’s sexuality. I used to be that young woman. I think a woman reveling in her own beauty is a woman exploring one of the most powerful assets she has. I just know young women are so much more. Maybe that is why I do not want to watch any longer. I do not want to see how fleeting beauty and youth really are.

I know I will still review the show when it is over. I will go through the pictures, assess the lingerie and think about the messages imparted by the show, the messages underlying the performance. I will look at the production and the fashion presented. See Fashion is my abusive boyfriend. My love, my hate. It inspires me while I absorb its message that I will never be thin enough or beautiful enough to be on the stage. Fashion is part of me. Maybe that is why I can no longer watch. I know how the relationship ends.

So my feminist perspective?  I want to take the girls to an amusement park and let them eat whatever they want. But maybe that is just the mom in me talking. Or maybe it is mom, the feminist.

 

Mass Media Reflections

Well hello! I know it has been awhile but I have been busy. We got an Irish Setter puppy. It is as if a young child has moved into the house, demanding attention from the moment he awakens to the moment he falls asleep. Irish Setters are highly emotive, demanding, but worth the effort.

I dropped by to share a story. A prominent, retired marketing executive from a local well known company started up a Facebook / website page dedicated to women who have changed the world. This man used to live behind me though I am not sure we ever actually met. We certainly had been at the same places at the same time but a formal introduction never occurred. He came to Columbus to jump start his new project and everyone who is anyone attended. I of course did not.  I was aware of the event; in that strange way I am often aware of community events I rarely attend. Because I was aware of this site’s existence I clicked “like: on the Facebook page. Thought I would see if the old guy (he is 80) still had his marketing magic, The posts would float by on my Facebook feed and I must admit I read a few and learned a bit about women’s history. Then I commented on a post.

I make a distinction between knowing someone and merely having been around someone. I think an actual introduction or conversation is necessary to claim you know someone. This does not mean I do not know who people are, and they know who I am.  Well this gentleman obviously remembered me. He posted a link to a current soft porn best seller that is the “must read” book of the week. Huge sales, controversial subject, lots of press but basically soft porn, and not that great of porn from the reviews I have read. I challenged his post. Women of achievement are not normally into promoting porn, even if it was written by a woman. I  questioned why the link was included, thinking I would be another voice in the conversation. I became the target.

The marketing guru attacked me. Asked why I had not added a story to his site. He ignored the subject and attacked me as an individual. The post was personal and reflected the author's awareness of my identity. It was nasty, mean and uncalled for. Not out of character for this individual or his crowd, but unprofessional never the less. I unsubscribed and in a digital way, “walked out the door.”

Well this site popped up in my search box. I decided to see how his site was doing. Given the type of local people he had at the kickoff event and his level of experience, his site does not appear to be a resounding success. Now if local media were reporting this story the site would be described in glowing terms and a reader would think it was the next pet rock. It has 185 fans. In the Internet world 185 fans is nothing. The site has gone to a woman focused magazine, recycling existing web content with very little conversation, historical perspective or personal narratives. To put this in perspective, my dog, Henry has over a 1000 twitter followers and his posts concern trips to the dog park and bad hair days. I have a degree in communications but I never was a marketing guru nor even a marketing exec. Most observers would describe this as an "epic fail."

Yes, I am taking a bit of malicious amusement in this site’s failure. It may be a sleeper site and take off later but as of yesterday only 185 people are following it and I am not one of them. The concept of welcoming only the “right people” to your marketing party takes another hit in the gut. It used to be a tried and true method of generating interest in a product, but that was before the Internet.  A wiser choice in these days of instant Facebook and Internet referrals  and information sharing is to appreciate all your customers not just the “right people.” Just a thought.